#and even then. like the whole book tries to desensitize you to the fact that They Killed Two People bc that's what richard's trying to do

[kneworder]

dude the secret history is wiiiiiiild the whole thing is about how aesthetics are a lie and how there's horror in wealth and privilege and somehow that spawned the entire dark academia aesthetic thing?? like i understand the appeal of the aesthetic because That's Literally The Point the outfits and the look and the poetry of it all are so cool but it is baffling to me that the Don't Obsess Over Pseudo-Intellectualism and The Aesthetics of Old Wealth book created the pseudo-intellectuallism and aesthetics of old wealth movement

[solomonish]

selfless (to a fault?) [demon brothers]

CW: allusions to past toxic relationships. minor description of injury in beel’s. belphie’s is a bit sad (happy ending! just melancholic vibes) and alludes to chapter 16.

no problem nonnie! i hope this is to your liking <3

nowdateables: here!

---

Lucifer

Honestly, he'd be a tough one to get to allow you to do anything for him. You know, the whole avatar of pride thing….and he also just generally has a habit of holding the weight of the world on his shoulders. He thinks - no, he knows he can handle everything on his own

If he's letting you in enough to help him - not only trusting you enough to think the tasks he delegates to you will be done to his liking, but allowing you to help and opening up the possibility that he might be risking his image of perfection - he can only expect you'll let him do the same for you. It's like your own special love language, right?

He does NOT like how jumpy you are about the subject. At first, he's miffed. Do you not think he can do the task to your liking? Has he given off the false impression that he cannot take any more work than he already has? Was your offer to help not based on affection, but pity??? It really ruffles his feathers.

He's the type to confront you head-on. At first, his voice is harsh because he's talked himself into thinking you've offended him, but when you start backing away and trying to dodge the conversation, apologies falling from your mouth about how the last thing you wanted to do was upset him, he softens. He doesn’t understand yet, but something is upsetting you and he intends to get to the bottom of it.

Not one who would pester you about opening up to him, but the sooner you do, the more of a show of good faith it is. He’ll trust your word entirely regardless, but it does a lot to soothe the upset of his own creation if you come back to explain sooner rather than later. After all, being vulnerable is perhaps Lucifer’s greatest show of love - it does not go unnoticed when you do the same.

Doing his best to talk through a solution is act of kindness #1 - and it helps you adjust a little since you worked with him rather than completely handed him the reins. He starts off his own plan to help you out by bringing in things he was already going to do for himself - offering you coffee when he gets his own, for example. He uses the fact that you’d feel bad for refusing against you for a little bit, but he means well!

You might notice him going softer on you for just a little bit - don’t say anything about it. He’s worried that he gave off the impression of using things against you because of how much of a disciplinarian he is. Besides, the two of you normally don’t get into arguments (he doesn’t have the time to let things simmer - if he’s that upset about something, he’ll try to address it immediately), so he doesn’t really know how else to change his behavior. He just hopes that allowing you the opportunity to open up to him again, should you need it, will alleviate the feeling that he’d ever use your kindness against you.

Mammon

The first time you stiffened up after he tried to help you, he thought you were crazy. Lucifer had just given you a punishment for one of his schemes that you took the fall for (and he still isn’t sure why Lucifer let you take the fall when it was obviously Not You), and you insisted that you could do it by yourself! He wasn’t too keen on cleaning every window in the House of Lamentation himself, so he left soon after placing the offer, but his time was spent mindlessly wondering about you.

The next time was shortly after, when you came into his room and crashed on his bed. He offered you a hand massage, although he did it in a very muttered voice with dark cheeks - and you said no again! Forget being offended that the romantic hand-holding idea he totally didn’t get from a magazine he was reading waiting for you (that would’ve somehow ended in disaster anyway) wouldn’t play out - he was getting worried.

He doesn’t bring anything up immediately, but he worries about you and watches you intently. Sometimes you’ll catch him staring at you, and he flips out when you ask him what’s up. The only clue Mammon gathers is that you don’t seem to be angry with him, so what’s up? He’s used to his backwards advances working against him, but he’s making a genuine effort here!

He finally gets pent up in his frustration and asks you head-on. Mammon isn’t known for his tact - “Oi, why won’t you just let me take over once in a while? Cut yerself a break, MC!” - but there’s a certain...desperate tinge to his voice that makes you realize he really does care (and is driving himself crazy trying to figure things out on his own). When you DO finally tell him, he sort of deflates and his voice goes to that softer, more genuine tone.

“H-hey, I would never do that kind of thing to ya…” He starts shuffling in place, kicking at rocks (if there are any) and you realize he kinda looks like a kid. “You do so much for everyone, and it makes me feel real good inside. I just wanna make you feel that, too. Besides, we don’t need TWO cranky workaholics in the house. Lucifer is plenty.”

He knows one moment of honesty isn’t going to fix your entire way of thinking, but he goes right back to his blatant offers after that. Maybe if he desensitizes you to it, you’ll feel less weird about accepting his help! It doesn’t work, so he shifts to little things. Catch him running across classrooms as soon as you’re dismissed so he can grab your textbooks to carry for you off the desk before you can. 

Once he realizes you’re more receptive to him helping you, he’s ready to breathe a sigh of relief and be annoying about it again. Generosity doesn’t come easy to him, okay? Besides, he’s The Great Mammon! You should’ve known he’d be better than any other guy you’ve been with!

Leviathan

Of COURSE you wouldn’t want someone like him to help you out. He’d probably mess it up, anyway…

Seriously, Leviathan is very sensitive to rejection, so the moment you politely decline any offers to help he backs up about a thousand miles and sulks when you’re not around. It’s hard for him to get out of his own head, and he’s so ready for you to just tell him what everybody else is thinking and how much he sucks…

It dawns on him, though, that you never gave up on him when he pushed you away. It’s totally not poggers sucky of him to just give up on you like that. You’re his henry! You’re his s/o! He’s totally ready to fight any boss for you!! …..after he levels up a little more.

Levi spends a TON of time looking up ways to talk to you, one-on-one. He isn’t good with emotions like this but he is capable of them and having deep, serious talks. It shouldn’t MATTER that his research material is a bunch of feel-good romance anime scenes that he based his most recent Top 10 OTPs of the season post on! 

Surprisingly enough, he brings it up relatively smoothly one night when you’re chilling in his room and he’s playing some relaxing simulator. You’re complaining about the things you have to do in the morning, and when there’s a lull in your conversation Leviathan turns and tentatively asks, “Hey...why don’t you try letting me help you out?” He can feel your refusal before it comes so he hurriedly adds “Please! I just- you stress yourself out so much and what good am I if I can’t even help you at all?”

Is it his impassioned plea for you to let him in? Is it his willingness to obviously step out of his comfort zone? Have your walls just conveniently crumbled at this moment? Whatever it is, you don’t have it in you to reject him when he’s so open about wanting to help you (and the pain it’s caused him not to). Either way, you sigh and give him a few, small tasks that you think you both could manage him having and he swears to do them well!!

Truly opening up to him about the reason why you were so hesitant on letting him help takes a while, and he doesn’t exactly pick up on it himself. Once you do tell him, though, in your journey to help yourself let him in, he holds you a little tighter and mumbles that he’ll never do that to you. Levi knows better than anyone that words can only mean so much, but he’s grateful for the chance to prove it to you. He won’t let his Henry down!

Satan

Satan is perceptive, and he knows how to talk about emotions. He might even have suspicious about the root cause before you even think about letting him know what’s up. He’s already started doing a few things for you - carrying each other’s books, for example. Small acts of kindness to get the both of you through the day.

However, one thing Satan isn’t good with…..is dealing with emotions head-on.

He spends so much time keeping his own under lock and key! After doing his best to keep the most calm, analytical front he can, Satan tends to uh….forget about the emotional part of emotions.

So. When he asks why you won’t let him reciprocate in the relationship, attempting to display that he just wants the two of you to be on equal ground and he is worried about you, he sort of comes off...as cold. And like he’s accusing you of feeling a certain way. He definitely presents it as “I’ve noticed you feel x and i think y would be helpful for us to fix it” rather than “how are you feeling? What is causing you trouble? How can i offer assistance in a way that translates well to you?” And if that doesn’t bring back some memories…

He feels awful, and at the end of it all you’re crying (or presenting your stress and bad memories however you normally do) and he still doesn’t know how to fix things. Counterintuitively, he looks through his books for an answer, and it takes him a few days to realize that’s what got him into this mess.

So he goes to you directly and, albeit a little clumsily, apologizes and asks what he can do to help you through this. You say that’s just the problem - you don’t want his help - and he sits next to you and just asks why? The two of you wind up talking for hours, sitting next to each other and just...really talking. You aren’t the only one feeling vulnerable - Satan is talking about his emotions full-on rather than through a scientific lens and it makes him just as nervous as you are.

Satan doesn’t get into arguments with you. He runs from the possibility because he’s worried about what his wrath could do to you. But he promises you that he could never hold anything against you, especially something like asking him for help. It’s an honor that you let him this close, and he can only return the favor in kind. He hopes you have enough faith to believe in him until he has the opportunity to prove it beyond a doubt.

Asmodeus

Asmo does things for people without asking. He gives unsolicited makeup and relationship advice, he offers to touch-up any products you may have on, he lends you clothes just because he felt like he should…

The thing is, Asmo will start before you even have a chance to ask him to stop. He’ll start before you’re even wondering if you like him. And at first, you’re ok with it. Well, you’re not, but you can decide he’s just testing the waters or that this is some weird demon way to earn your friendship or tell you he considers you a friendly presence, like cats. But it still rubs you the wrong way.

However, Asmo always notices that you...aren’t receiving it the way he wants you to. He invites you out and leaves you an outfit on your bed, and you come out wearing something entirely different. He leaves you a bouquet of flowers, and suddenly the dining room has a new bouquet in the center of it. (and you always avoid his gaze during those dinners, which is totally weird.) It’s almost like you’ve recognized the face he makes when he’s about to touch up your makeup, because you pull out a pocket mirror and check yourself over before he even has a chance to!

Are you leading him on? He doesn’t think so, but you are quite literally the only person he can’t literally charm the pants off of, and he isn’t quite sure how to navigate the signals you’re giving him. You seem fine with the relationship - it felt pretty genuine to him, and you looked thrilled when he made the romantic moves on you - so what was going on?

He finally caves and asks when he’s going through your wardrobe, sifting through it with you on the bed to make room for a shopping spree the two of you had been planning, and sees all the outfits he’d bought you hanging, still in their outfit bags. Some of the bags even had DUST on them!

He turns around and puts on a gentle voice. Though Asmo doesn’t know what’s happening, he can feel the air in the room shift and he knows he’s encroaching on some sensitive territory. “Hey, do you not like when I give you gifts? I haven’t been able to understand what’s been bothering you, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable…”

He does NOT like the way you turn your face away from him, but he sits a respectable distance away and keeps his hands in his lap. Asmo is as good at genuine advice as he is at gossip, so it isn’t hard for him to get you comfortable enough to open up to him. You don’t have to tell him everything at once - he’ll listen to whatever you’re willing to tell him, letting you lean against him when you’re ready.

Asmo is known for being petty, but you bring out sides of him nobody knew were there. He’ll swear up and down that he’d never turn your good heart against you - after all, it’s one of the many things he loves about you - but he does understand where you’d get that impression. If you’ll let him prove it to you, he will - and he’ll start by only pestering you to let him buy one outfit for you on that shopping spree!

Beelzebub

Listen. Beel is a generous soul (for a demon) ((to those he really loves)). He just doesn’t ever really find himself in possession of anything worth sharing. Really, the only thing he is ever in the possession of is food. When he isn’t at his sports practice, working out or studying, he’s eating, and he’ll gladly share his food with you.

Oh? You don’t want it? He gives you a confused look - he’d ask if you were feeling well if he hadn’t eaten lunch with you just an hour before - but shrugs, his growling stomach winning over his concern. It’s not like you’re skipping meals, anyway. It isn’t until you get hurt helping him work out and refuse to let him pick you up to carry you to medical attention that he gets VERY concerned.

He feels awful enough as is. It was his fault you were even there - he just wanted to add more weight to his workout. (And, he won’t admit it, the idea of using a bench you were sitting on to lift over his head may have been a bit overkill. But he saw that little spark that said ‘that isn’t possible but man i wish it was’ when you saw it happen in that show and mmmmmmaybe he wanted to impress you. How was he supposed to know Mammon had broken it and left it there?) He could practically feel the pain in your ankle from the sound it made, and you were clutching desperately to your shin, wanting to press on the wound but knowing it was a bad idea. MC, there’s no way you can walk on that, why aren’t you letting him help?

The guilty puppy face he’s giving you is making the whole situation worse. It’s taking everything you can not to snap on, from the overwhelming pain in your ankle to the negative thoughts racing in your head to the knowledge that you’ll have to give in eventually. Finally, you face him head on and decide to just rip the band-aid off. “I don’t have the best experience with letting people do things for me. If you’re expecting to use this against me, I’m going to be out of commission for a while, so remember that.”

He is. So confused. Are you really mad at him? What are you talking about? It’s not that he’s stupid - because really, he isn’t - this just kinda came at him from left field and he does not know what to do about.

“What? I’m worried about you, MC, and there’s no way you can walk on your ankle. Come on, please let me take you to get help. I won’t mention it ever again if that’s what will make you happy.”

So maybe it takes a while to get to the nearest infirmary, and maybe he’s going extra slow so as not to jostle our injury, and maybe in the meantime he’s being so contemplative and quiet that you have a heart-to-heart. Beel’s too genuine not to trust him when he swears he’d NEVER use your kindness against you, but he understands it’ll take a while to show you.

Belphegor

So. Um. This is awkward.

Belphie is a smartass, and he’s the youngest and used to getting his way. He’s definitely the type to dig his heels in and fight dirty in an argument, just because he’s used to winning. He’s also sadistic and has plotted with you to use his brothers’ weaknesses against them for fun. So he gets it. He totally gets why you would think he’d do it. Honestly, that’s basically what he did to free himself from the attic, only with more violence involved. He gets it.

Since Belphegor hasn’t exactly been the nicest to you in the past, he isn’t about to make you pity him with words like “yeah, of course you wouldn’t trust me after what I did to you…” First of all, on the off chance that it’s completely unrelated, he doesn’t want to put that idea in your head and give you a resentment you never had, but also he’s getting a hang of this redemption thing. Yes, on an average day he’s still a bratty, selfish little shit, but he does show you how sorry he is for using you and hurting you. It shows in the way he checks up on you in situations he knows you’re uncomfortable in, in the way he cares for you in that gentle way that’s so subtle you wonder if he’s even actively doing anything. (He is - offering you the best spot in a blanket nest, suggesting your favorite meals when the brother on dinner duty needs ideas, little things - and you both know it.) But how does he repent for something he doesn’t even know if he’s doing?

The way you stop cold when you peek in the kitchen and see him (and Beel) cooking the dinner you just complained about wanting hurts. The two of you have a stare-off for a moment, and Beel gets the message to slide out of the room. Belphegor clears his throat.

“What do you want?” You ask with narrowed eyes. Ouch, way to be a Lucifer. He instead says, “Nothing. I just wanted to do something nice for you.” “And you don’t want anything in return?” “Have I given off the impression that I would?”

You sigh and step into the kitchen to wash your hands, asking if he needs help since Beel left. He grabs your wrist. “You’re welcome to keep me company, but I want to do this for you.”

He doesn’t like you looking at him distrustfully, but is relieved you sit at the counter instead of leaving. He wants to ask you what’s up, but something is stopping him - he ignores that what’s stopping him is fear that you’ll have another thing to add onto the list of the unforgivable sins he’s committed. If you feel like telling him, he’ll listen - but until then, he’ll go back to quietly trying to prove his worth to you, hoping one day you’ll see that it’s genuine and let him give you all the good things you deserve.

[butterflyinthewell]

Important online safety message to minors.

I’m almost 40. I’ve seen some scary stuff online.

It’s a sad world that someone has to tell you to be more situationally aware of creeps, but I hope this advice helps you be safer online.

🗣

You don’t have to specify your age, but make sure it’s clearly known that you are a minor if an adult engages you online.

If it makes you more comfortable, you can put something on your profile like “I am a minor, 18+ please do not interact.” Add it to your posts too if you have room (it depends on the site). One unfortunate part of Web 2.0 social media is not everyone checks a profile before they retweet / reblog / share someone’s stuff.

If an adult keeps engaging with your stuff and you don’t want them to, it’s okay to block them.

Stay away from spaces adults have marked as nsfw, off-limits to minors or unsafe for minors. Chances are there is material in those spaces that you may not be ready for, or it will shock, offend, frighten, disgust and/or trigger you.

Some adults will pretend to be minors, and unfortunately I don’t know what kind of “tells” give away that they’re lying about their age, but I’m sure someone who knows more about that can reblog this and add that info.

Now, here’s what to do if a creepy adult starts creeping.

If their profile states they’re a MAP or NOMAP, block instantly. MAP / NOMAP means Minor Attracted Person / Non-Offending Minor Attracted Person. These people are pedophiles. Some of them identify themselves with the acronym PEAR or the pear emoji. 🍐 Be wary if you see this in someone’s profile info.

PEAR stands for Pro-Expression Anti-Repression. That’s something you apply to fiction, NOT reality. Fiction can be turned off, flicked off a screen, a book closed or otherwise disengaged from the moment someone doesn’t like it. Real life doesn’t work that way, and don’t trust anyone who claims it does.

It doesn’t matter if a MAP / NOMAP claims they’re getting “help” for their pedophilia or not, they should not be engaging you in any capacity.

If you engage them and discover they’re a MAP, disengage and block.

If an adult sends you anything that is sexually explicit, no matter the form, be it art, fanwork, videos, audio, roleplays, etc, screenshot it for evidence, block that person and tell someone you can trust.

Even nudity that is not sexual (this includes furry art with exposed genitals) should be treated as suspicious if an adult knows you’re a minor and still sends it to you despite being told you’re uncomfortable with it. They might be trying to desensitize you to the sight of nudity so they can show you more and more explicit stuff. Do as above; screenshot, block and report to someone you trust.

+ Part of the grooming process is the adult tries to reach you somewhere private, like DM’s or a messenger app and desensitize you to stimuli you would normally reject by exposing you little by little to it. Think of it as a twisted form of exposure therapy for phobias, but you don’t want this exposure. They want you to get curious and will up the ”intensity” of the explicit material.

The media itself existing is not the problem (unless the adult using it on you made it), the real problem is adult using it specifically to desensitize you into thinking that kind of stuff is okay in the real world. If an adult engages you, shows you media with questionable material in it and tries to tell you “see, it’s okay because it’s being done here” screenshot it, tell them fiction is not the real world and break off contact.

Most creeps stay hidden, so their blog may not contain a trace of anything weird, but when they engage you they send you all kinds of creepy adult stuff. An adult who is engaging you to groom you will use pretty much anything to try to make you think it’s normal and okay for them to do that to you. Remember always that it’s not. Remember the line between fiction and reality.

No adult should be sending a minor any pictures of naked people (or naked furry art with visible genitals) of any age no matter how innocent it seems!!!

If an adult sends you pictures or videos of themselves in their underwear, naked, showing their genitals or showing themselves doing sexually explicit stuff, screenshot the evidence, block them and report it to someone you trust.

If an adult asks you about sex toys or sends you info about them, that is really suspicious. Screencap, block and report to someone you trust.

If an adult asks you questions about your body, like what your hair ‘down there’ looks like, or how you’re developing, or if they ask if you touch your private parts, screenshot the evidence, block the adult and tell someone you trust.

If an adult asks you questions like “do you know what a (something sexual here) is?” or any questions that are sexually explicit or makes you uncomfortable, screenshot that crap, block them and tell someone you trust.

If you’re a creator and an adult tries to commission materials with nudity or sexually explicit stuff, refuse and tell them you’re a minor. If they persist, take screenshots, block them and tell someone you trust.

If an adult sends you violent or gory stuff and you don’t like it, demand that they stop and block them if they don’t. Screenshot anything they say if they keep doing it, and tell someone you trust.

If an adult demands you get on camera for them, do not do it. Screenshot the evidence, block them and tell someone you trust.

If an adult is threatening to reveal secrets you told them unless you do what they say(ie “send me a closeup of your private parts, or I’ll email all our chatlogs and your old naked photos to your whole school”). DON’T DO IT!! Screenshot the evidence, block them and tell someone you trust.

If an adult threatens to hurt themselves if you stop talking to them, stop talking to them anyway. This is especially true if they actually harm themselves and show you pictures or videos of it. That is a classic abuse tactic and it’s not your fault if they hurt themselves. Block them.

If an adult you blocked makes more accounts to keep contacting you, or starts showing up on other sites you visit trying to contact you, screenshot all the evidence and tell someone you trust.

If an adult (or anyone)tries to smear your name because you wouldn’t obey them, use any evidence you have against them in your defense and tell someone you trust about the situation.

If you run a blog talking about your abuse or experiences and an adult engages you to ask uncomfortable probing questions about the details of your trauma / abuse, be very suspicious and block them.

If an adult talks to you like you’re their special friend, or if they say you’re their very special friend, be very suspicious.

Acting like a sole source of kindness is one way an adult can groom a minor. They want you to feel like they are the only source of good that you can trust because they want you to gravitate more and more to them.

If you tell an adult you don’t like it when they swear while talking to you privately and they stop, but gradually start to do it again, be wary! An occasional oopsie slip or typo is one thing, but slipping in swear words when they know it makes you uncomfortable is suspicious. They may be testing your boundaries.

If an adult tries to set up an in person meeting, refuse it and talk to someone you trust about it.

If an adult (or anyone) tries to tell you that you should only trust them and nobody else, expects you to behave a certain way to be accepted, or if they act as if you’ve wronged them for trusting people other than them, that is a huge abuse warning sign. They are not safe to be around and you should break contact immediately.

If an adult compliments you in ways that makes you uncomfortable, break contact. A grown adult should not be telling a minor “you’re sexy” or “you’re hot.”

If an adult makes frequent comments about how mature and grown up they think you are, be suspicious.

If an adult learns you’re trans / non-binary and asks questions about your private parts or whether you plan to get surgery, be suspicious.

If an adult asks if you’re alone at home, say no even if you are.

If an adult asks if they can come visit you, say no.

If an adult asks for your phone number, don’t give it to them, no matter how nice or tempting they may be.

If an adult is making you uncomfortable in any way, it’s okay to block them and disengage.

Do not approach an adult with nsfw stuff you made. If they run across it in public on your blog that’s one thing. Sharing it with them in private can get both of you into trouble. Don’t do it.

🗣

Note: if you, a minor, did any of the above because you didn’t know better at the time, know that you are not a bad person. No adult should take advantage of your youth or innocence to hurt you.

🗣

To adults out there:

Do not approach minors with anything sexually explicit!!! This should not need to be said.

If you send something and find out they’re a minor after the fact, apologize and don’t do it again. If you think it’s proper to avoid any more private contact, do that. If you think breaking all contact period is proper, do that.

Make sure minors know you are over 18, whether it’s somewhere on your profile or tacked onto your posts. Something like “over 18, minors DNI” is helpful. I personally have my year of birth (1980) on my profile because that’s easier than changing a number every year.

You can’t prevent minors who fake their age to see naughty stuff from engaging with your stuff, but you can make it clear that you will not engage them back. And do not engage them. In fact, if you’re worried about that, block them when you discover them.

Private conversations with minors is okay, but make sure you tell them you’re not comfortable talking about something if they mention something sexually explicit. Even if it’s fandom related stuff, keep the conversation away from anything more than talking about characters dating or kissing or whatever.

If something you ship has an underage character, do not talk about it in private with a minor, not even if the character is aged up to adulthood.

Got nsfw stuff on your blog? Tag it that way.

I use “n s f w post” for stuff I want to show up in other related tags, “nsfw post” for reblogs, and “nudity” for nonsexual nudity like mermaids with bare chests or artistic nudes. Those tags are specifically for minors to blacklist or mute. (I don’t usually reblog nsfw artwork, but sometimes I post nsfw fanfics, create nsfw text posts or reblog nsfw text posts / fanfic. If I feel it’s nsfw, I tag it such even if most people don’t think it’s nsfw.)

If it’s fanfiction, I make sure the rating is listed and that it’s nsfw, and I try to warn for triggers as best I can.

If your blog or website features a lot of adult or violent content, mark it 18+ and tell minors to not interact.

If a minor approaches you and tells you a harmless secret, fine, keep it secret. You, the adult, should never approach a minor and tell them you will keep their secrets.

If a minor is expressing a desire to harm themselves or someone else, don’t keep that secret. Tell them to talk to someone they trust irl or put them in contact with a hotline or website where they can get help. Be supportive in talking them down from immediate harm, but do not become their therapist. (It’s tempting, you see a kid in trouble and want to help, but always be careful!)

If a minor tells you they’re being abused by an adult in their life, put them in contact a website or phone number where they can seek help. Be supportive and listen, but don’t become their therapist.

If you run a role play blog, state explicitly that you will not engage in nsfw rps with minors.

If you’re roleplaying with a minor and the story takes a nsfw turn, tell the minor you will not role play a sex scene with them no matter how much they want to. Either fade it to black with a time skip or bail out of the rp.

I say this because I forgot the age of someone I was rping with on AIM a long long loooong time ago and it got explicit, and they got in trouble with their parents for it. Their parents contacted me on AIM without their teen’s knowledge and reamed me out so hard I was scared for weeks. They were right to do so! I told them they were right, apologized profusely and swore to never rp with or speak to their teen on AIM ever again, and they agreed to those terms. I kept that promise. Any contact with that former rp partner was done in public, such as via deviantart comments or LiveJournal comments. It was a major learning experience for me and it stuck because this happened almost 20 years ago.

As an autistic adult I feel more like a kid with all kinds of adult knowledge and privileges (ie can gamble, drink, visit adult places) that most kids don’t have. I relate more to people who are younger than me, but that doesn’t give me the right to assume their level of knowledge or lived experience is equal to mine.

What I’m trying to say is always be aware of the age of the person you’re rping or speaking with!

Do not commission sexually explicit or violent stuff from creators who are minors.

Do not engage with a minor who sends you sexually explicit stuff. Tell them that’s inappropriate or you’re not comfortable with getting that from them.

It’s okay to agree with a minor that an adult celebrity or character they have a crush on is attractive or whatever, but if the celebrity / character is a minor or the minor talks about wanting to have sex with that character / celebrity, tell them that’s not an appropriate topic of conversation because of your ages.

This also applies to them sharing fanworks with you depicting explicit nsfw stuff. Deflect them and tell them it’s not appropriate due to your ages.

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Don’t do any video chats with a minor unless they’re family or it’s a group thing like a Zoom event.

‼️ TAG YOUR STUFF APPOPRIATELY!! YES, EVEN STUFF YOU RESHARE!!

‼️ USE APPROPRIATE WARNINGS!! YES, EVEN STUFF YOU RESHARE!!

[ephemerlskies]

lottery | pjm

⇢ pairing: reader x jimin

⇢ genre: angst, fluff, fluff, flufff, soulmate au, jimin is a dancer, strangers to kinda lovers to friends?? kinda? to ??? 

⇢ word count: 23.4k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, excessive cheesiness and pining, slow burn (prepare yourself now)

⇢ summary: everyone was born with a soulmate and a ring. when your soulmate was alive, the ring would be green. when your soulmate was close to you, your ring would turn white. and when your soulmate was dead, it turned black. yours turned black at the age of 20. your soulmate had died along with your hope. but then, one fateful day, it turned green again. 

a/n: this story went, and i cannot stress this enough, in a compLETELY different direction lmao. i hope you enjoy!!! also it’s partially unedited so forgive any grammatical errors or typos <3

When you were four years old, your mother explained to you that there is a human with a heart and a soul that is tied permanently to yours. That person was your soulmate, and if you’re one of the lucky few that meets them, she said, then you can thank your lucky stars that the universe granted you this gift. Some people spend their entire lives searching, hoping that their soulmate unites with them, while others simply give up or lose faith that they’d ever find their soulmate. And eventually, they settle for someone and love them as much as they can to fill that void. You couldn’t imagine yourself ever becoming the latter of those two kinds of people.

“Mommy, I’m not going to find my soulmate. I think my soulmate will find me! I’m so cute!” You replied ever so hopeful and innocent. Your mother laughed in response to your bold declaration while stroking your hair lightly. Back then, you never hid your excitement for the idea of a soulmate, and your mother told you to hold on tight to your persistence.

“Love finds its way of sneaking into your life unexpectedly. And when it does, it’ll sweep you off your feet just like this!” Her hands pinched the sides of your torso to represent her description of love, and you erupted with a fit of giggles.

When Jimin was seven years old, he asked his father, “Why do you only get one?” The concept that only one person out of the billions of people that walked this earth could be your destined lover didn’t register as probable in his mind. 

“Why would you need more than one?” His father asked in return, to which Jimin huffed. He was young and couldn’t express with the proper words how he had felt. The desire that raged in his heart to plant himself and his love in as many people as he could was something that always plagued him. He carried that burden the moment he fell in love with his first grade crush; Jimin knew from then on that waiting for his soulmate was going to be impossible for him. He would fall in love a thousand times before he’d ever become close to meeting his soulmate.

When you were ten, you told your mother with firm inquisition, “Mommy, I want to find them now! It’s not fair I don’t know who it is. I wanna be in love forever!” Your pout, though cute, was a bit worrisome. She remembered when she was  beginning to grow impatient and frustrated with the idea that out of the billions of people, only one could be your soulmate. She tried to ease your newfound resistance to waiting for your soulmate by saying,

“Baby, what is meant to be will come to you. Your entitlement to love is written in the stars, and so you just have to wait. Promise me you’ll never lose hope?”, you nodded eagerly and held your pinky out with confidence. Your mother curled her pinky around yours. She smiled at the way your eyes pleaded with the universe to send you your soulmate and the way you grinned when offered words of encouragement. 

When Jimin was thirteen, he raced home and said with all the honesty his young heart could convey, “Dad, I fell in love today. I swear I’m going to marry her, I swear it.” His father glanced up from his book to Jimin then looked back down, a small grin surfacing on his face. Though he knew there was no way in the world that could be true, he believed one thing Jimin said. He was in fact in love.

“Be careful with your heart, Jimin. I know you love so hard but don’t forget to protect your heart.” This succinct and thoughtful warning was spoken through experience. He scrunched his nose and trudged off to his room, believing his dad only said that because he didn’t understand. He did, though. Jimin’s father, like Jimin, was in the same position as he was. He loved outrageously and abundantly. It took him many heartbreaks for him to learn to allot his love more carefully. And he wondered how many heartbreaks it would take Jimin. 

When you were seventeen, you gained a comprehensive understanding of the soulmates, and the rings, and the chances of you finding them. They were slim, which was a difficult conclusion to accept, but that didn’t stop your stubborn self from never becoming indifferent towards the idea of finding your soulmate. This unrelenting hope had been instilled into you ever since you were young, thanks to your mother. And every minute of every day, your eyes never failed to check that your ring was green. Each time you peered down, you hoped to see it white someday. But as long as it was green, you promised your mother you’d never lose hope. You did everything in your power to uphold that promise.

When Jimin was nineteen, he experienced the worst heartbreak of his life yet. The words his dad spoke to him years back finally made sense. He still loved, and that love never diminished but it simply was only to be granted to those he knew wouldn’t hurt him. 

Most of your friends and peers were cynical of their soulmate rings, along with most of society. Modern technology and media have desensitized finding your true soulmate with corny dating apps that “help you find the one” and reality television shows that depict the lives of those who have found their soulmates. It was disappointing how commercialized soulmates and soulmate rings had become. The romance that once surrounded the concept of the soulmate rings had been tarnished by the world’s hunger to capitalize of the profits of soulmates and rings. It was common to not believe and a bit expected to lose hope, tragically so.

Your best friend Wheein was one of the few people you trusted in telling your genuine faith of the soulmate ring, and she of course took every opportunity to tease you for it. Though, she always held a tremendous amount of admiration for your ability to maintain optimism. And when she looked into your eyes, she witnessed the same unadulterated longing that your mother had seen for your whole life, and she felt like crying, “You’re crazy but if anyone finds their soulmate it should be you.” She found beauty and purity and everything good that exists in this world, all bundled up in your heart. The way you loved was as infectious and uncontrollable as a wildfire.

At some point, she realized she too constantly checked your ring to make sure it still emanated green.

It was a week after your twentieth birthday. You woke up in the morning with the heaviest pressure residing in your chest. You had no idea what this feeling was or why it was happening, but there was some cloud of uneasiness settling in as the pain grew more and more prominent. It dawned on you a few minutes later, and you felt your heart drop. Your throat began to close as you frantically searched everywhere for your ring. You usually didn’t take it off but you remember removing it when writing thank you letters for everyone who came to your party because the friction of the ring had caused somewhat of a blister along your middle finger.

Your breathing grew short and rapid, and every ounce of you was trying to deny that this pain could only mean one thing.  

“No no no no.” you muttered lowly to yourself, and just as your body was about to become undone with fear, you ran to the dining table to find your ring, “that’s not possible… please. That would never happen.” You didn’t know what denying this would prove, or who you were trying to convince. Maybe yourself, or anyone who has ever belittled you for believing in that ring, or to your mother, or to the promise you made, planted heavily in your heart for all these years. You rushed over to it as your face rose in temperature and your heart accelerated to about 200 beats per minute; it was pounding against your chest so aggressively it felt as if it could have shattered your ribcage.

As you grabbed hold of the ring, there it was. The suffocating, abhorrent color.

Black.

It covered the ring with a piercing and unforgiving hue that drilled right through your heart. You instantly collapsed to the ground. The turbulence of your breath being the only thing making a sound. You brought your knees to your chest and rested your chin atop them. Your eyes filled with tears and the wave of regret swarmed your mind; your eyes squeezed shut forcing the tears to flow even heavier.

Just as the ring was black, your entire world transformed and lost all color. All those years of pining over this stupid ring, all the work and endless nights of staring at that ring telling yourself that one day it would turn white or that it would stay green forever, amounted to the greatest defeat. And your belief in love had been violently dissevered from you.

Your soulmate was gone, forever.

All you could do was sulk in the cruel irony of loving the someone you have never met, never touched, or held or kissed.

Wheein was the one who found you lying in the same spot of the dining floor where you first discovered the ring. She couldn’t express how seeing you so hopeless made her feel. It wasn’t her loss, but her heart broke for you. She walked over to you and offered you a simple, loving embrace. She sat there with you for hours, unsure if she should be the one to speak first. The words didn’t come. All she could do was watch you turn the ring in your fingers over and over again.

You didn’t see it, but she cried the hardest she’d ever cried before, and wished she could take your pain away.

“What do I do now? How do I go on?” you whispered, a thick layer melancholy drowned in your voice. She felt relieved when you spoke then held you tighter.

“I don’t know, but I will love you a thousand times more than anyone ever could. Believe me, okay?” She planted soft kiss on your forehead and pressed your head into the nook of her neck. “This isn’t the end of your story.” You wept into her, and you believed her. You finally looked up at her, doing your best to regain your sensibility, and she noticed the blinding absence of hope; it used to be all she could see when she looked into your eyes. That was by far the most heartbreaking thing she’d ever witnessed. You had lost a piece of yourself that day, she knew that, and every day to come you will carry this in your heart forever.

“I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but love exists in every life in countless ways. You just need to find the strength to begin searching in different places.” Your mom said.

 Two years later

 Life without the green of your ring had grown mundane.

Your existence had become a routine and instead of waiting to meet your soulmate, you were just waiting. Most days everything felt okay, especially when Wheein was around. She was one of the few people that sparked some livelihood into your heart. Despite there being a small part of you that couldn’t accept what happened, you lived your life as if you had.

Still, you kept the ring. That same part of you that couldn’t come to accept that your soulmate had died was the same part that couldn’t let go of the ring. So, you kept it but never wore it around your finger. You were ashamed, for some inexplicable reason, that it was black. Your mom would always remind you that it wasn’t your fault whenever she caught you staring grievously at the ring. You knew there was nothing you could have done to prevent what happened, but somehow you felt this sense of failure.

Eventually, you settled on putting it on a thin, gold chain and wearing it around your neck where you could tuck it into your shirt and keep it hidden from the world. It was a gift from your mother. She gave it to you about a month after it happened, disguising this gesture as a late birthday present. She knew you wouldn’t be able to part from the ring.

Today was one of those days when you couldn’t to rid thoughts of your soulmate. You often found yourself imagining what they smelled like, or if they liked the rain, or what they wore to the beach, or what their eyes looked like when they smiled.  

Your daydreaming, pensive and glum, were interrupted by a ringing. Your eyes found your phone which read, Wheein.

You took a deep breath to compose yourself, “Are you lost already?” You chirped.

“Hey, people change! I’ve gotten, like, somewhat better at navigating.” She laughed, at first not wanting to admit that she was lost, “but on a totally different note, totally hypothetical question, where would you go if you were on 23rd avenue and needed to get to your apartment?” She questioned in sheepish confusion.

“Well, hypothetically, I’d take a right onto Ventura then turn onto 19th avenue and go straight until I got to my apartment.” You tried to hold back a chuckle about to escape from your mouth along with a boastful ‘I told you so’. “My apartment is on the left side of the street, by the way.”

“Yeah, me too, I’d do that too. I knew that, I was just testing you.” She replied, which counted as her special way of saying ‘thank you for helping me because I was in fact lost.’

“Okay, well, could you hurry? I’m starving and that new coffee shop has something like a cinnamon hazelnut latte that I want to try!” Your voice elevated in pitch just thinking about that cupful of sugar and caffeine. You’d like to consider yourself somewhat of a coffee connoisseur, you’d like to, but the reality of your coffee addiction was that you just loved sugary lattes.

Wheein fake gagged in response to hearing the drink you’d described, “___ that sounds so disgusting… You might as well eat spoonfuls of straight sugar.” Every time you expressed your cravings for sweet things, she couldn’t help but wince at the thought of it. You two were mildly opposite of each other which could credit why you never grew bored of one another.

“You say that as if I’ve never done that before.” You said with slight embarrassment, but Wheein laughed loudly upon remembering when you would sneak packets of sugar from diners and eat them in the car or at home. Wheein would quite literally slap the packets of sugar out of your hand while scolding you on how disgusting and unhealthy that was.

“Oh shit, how could I forget?”, she joked, “Also, I’m here. Open up!” You heard her voice outside your apartment and hung up while eagerly prancing to the door. You opened it and greeted her with a hug and she, unsurprisingly, did not reciprocate that hug.

“___, I literally saw you two days ago.” She laughed at how clingy you were, trying to pull away from you.

“Yeah but that was two days ago. Two days!” You rebutted as you stepped back and gestured for her to come in. You closed the door behind her and sat your couch while scrolling through route options to get to the café. “I can drive us, also we’re meeting Jackson there.”

Wheein nodded, “Yeah, cool.” You looked up at her and noticed she was pacing with a face that always indicated that she was contemplating something.

“What’s up?” You inquired with caution. She looked at you with a coy smile resting on her face. She didn’t have to say a word for you to know exactly what she was about to say.

“No…” You interfered before she got the chance to speak, “No, not again!”

“Come on! He’s really really nice and cute and funny! I promise he’s nothing like the last guy I set you up with.” She argued, walking towards you and sitting down next to you. She always had a few tricks up her sleeve when it came to persuade you to do something she wanted you to do. These include, but are not exclusive to, pouty lips, puppy eyes, and non-stop pestering. All of which she used right now. Wheein lifted her hands in front of her chest and interlocked her fingers together in a pleading manner. Your eyes were glued to how cutely her lip was protruded.

“Wheein…” You attempted to be stern with her, though there was no doubt in your mind that you’d give in eventually, “I’m not-“

“Busy?”, she interrupted, “Yeah, I’m aware.” She untangled her hands and flicked your forehead causing you to flinch and chuckle lightly.

“Hey!” You scoffed, unable to defend yourself, “I… I was going to say not interested.” You couldn’t help but laugh at her friendly jab, in admittance that she was right. She only answered with yet another puppy dog-eyed stare to which you groaned loudly. You then bitterly shot her a defeated look that spoke for itself and added yet another triumph to Wheein’s collection.

“Yay!” She clapped her hands excitedly, “Okay his name is Jimin. I’m pretty sure I’ve told you about him! He’s the guy that I met during my first year of college and he fell over in front of the entire class when we were doing introductions. Holy shit, it was hilarious.” Wheein laughed to herself when she recalled this but then shook her head to refocus her train of thought, “Sorry. Anyway, he’s a dancer, one of those fancy contemporary ones that does all the flips and stuff. He’s honestly super cute and if I weren’t the gayest women to walk this earth then I would have hopped on that a long time ago.” You had an outburst of laughter when she said this.

“He’s blonde and kinda short but that’s okay because size doesn’t matter.” You were convinced she switched her brain off when she rambled on like that, yet you found her absurdity hilarious. Your eyes widened as she let that last comment slip from her subconscious.

“You’re so weird.” You scoffed back at her, suppressing your laughter and preventing what could have become a ten-minute speech on why yet another one of her bachelor’s she set you up with was ‘different from the last guy’ and worthy of a chance. She nudged you gently, trying to enliven some excitement from you about this date.

“It’s true, it’s how they use it!” She proceeded causing the both of you to burst in a fit of childlike giggles.

“Okay, jeez, I’m already going on the date! You can stop now.” You wiped your eyes and clutched your stomach as it began to ache from how hard you laughed. It was always like this with Wheein, and you loved her for it even when you didn’t show that, “But, in all fairness, you’re right.”

Wheein nodded proudly and smiled widely before rising to her feet and pulling you up off the couch by your arms. You huffed as she forced you from your comfortable spot and followed her as she walked to the door, “Text Jackson to let him know we’re on our way!” She called back to you as you hummed in response and fulfilled her request.

“He’s gonna throw a little fit that we’re late.” You smiled, staring at your phone.

“Yeah, yeah, he always does.”

A few days later, you stood in front of your mirror and stared at the muted pink colored, semi-casual dress you tried on. The pile of clothes scattered across your bed soon catching your attention, none of which occurred by your own doing, but by the same pest that was forcing you on this date tonight. Wheein walked in rambling on about something you didn’t pay much mind to, “So I couldn’t find your red lipstick but I found this pink one-“ She paused and gasped, eyeing you down in your new attire.

“___, I love it!” She smiled, looking ten times more excited about this night than you did. You smiled nervously turning back to the mirror and inspecting it once more.

“You like it? It’s not too much?” Your eyebrows furrowed as you ran your hands along the side of the dress.

“Too much? Please, never.” She came up behind you, held both your shoulders, and turned you around to face her, “Turn.” Wheein proceeded to apply the dusty rose lipstick, her eyes fixed on perfectly lining your lips. She always liked to visit you and assist you in getting ready for dates, knowing fully that you needed that push of encouragement. These kinds of things were always difficult for you, and she tried her best to distract you from that damn soulmate ring hanging around your neck.

“Why do you say turn when you’re just going to turn me anyway?” Your muffled joke was shushed by the girl who was still meticulously filling in your lips.

“Shh, you’re gonna make me smudge it.” Wheein whined and lifted your chin slightly to get a better angle. To this you simply rolled your eyes to sarcastically jab back, ‘God forbid.’

As she finished with your lipstick you spun back around to examine your makeup and hair one last time. You nodded in satisfaction and stepped away from the mirror, checking the time to assure you weren’t running late.

Twenty minutes until the date. Now that you were finished getting ready, there was nothing left to distract yourself from how anxious and a bit unmotivated you felt. You began to absentmindedly twirl your ring in your hand while your foot tapped rapidly against the floor. Wheein reached out to grab your hand, along with the ring which was enclosed in it.

“You don’t have to take it off, ___.” She consoled, softly running her thumb along the back of your hand. Your eyes landed on hers, then you shook your head discontentedly.

“Wouldn’t…” You paused, fighting your voice from cracking, “That would be weird, though, right?” Your eyes fell back to your ring, which reflected that haunting shade. Despite your nerves still being on edge, Wheein significantly managed to ease your anxiety.

“No, and besides who cares? Its your body, you do or wear what you want.” Wheein was always so headstrong, that characteristic often served as a solace to you. “And, if Jimin does say something then, I’ll kick his ass. I’ve got a baseball bat on hand one hundred percent of the time.” She offered nonchalantly, generating a soft chuckle from you. Upon seeing your smile, she continued, “Hey,” you looked up to her, “What’re you thinking?”

“It’s not that I don’t ever want to find love. I do, It’s just- knowing that I lost them…” You inhaled deeply in attempt to yield your tears, “I know I could never love someone as deeply and truly as I would have loved them. It’s just hard to be excited about these kinds of things, you know?” Wheein pressed her lips together and she stared at you empathetically. She grabbed a tissue and dabbed your eyes gently, trying not to ruin your makeup.

“As much as that is true,” She paused, folding over the tissue and drying your other eye, “that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to find love. And that doesn’t mean the love you will find won’t be just as real.” She tossed the tissue aside and wrapped her arm around you, kindly ushering your head to lay on her shoulder. “You love me and I’m not your soulmate.”

“That’s true.” You sighed, finally tucking the ring into the front of your dress, feeling the coolness of it dangle against your chest. “But you are my soulmate.” You lifted your hand to squeeze her cheeks lovingly. She laughed, only allowing you to do this because she was truly proud of you for going on this date.

“At least I know I will never experience a heartbreak so painful as that ever again.” That comment elicited a few tears to well in Wheein’s eyes.

She sat you up and hugged you tightly, running her hand against your back. In that moment, she wanted to tell you that you were so strong, but she remained silent. She then pulled you up from your seated position. Wheein steadied you by gripping your shoulders, softly.

“Hey! No tears, okay? You’re about to go on a date with a super hot dancer with the legs of a god.” She rocked you back and forth gently to loosen up.

“Okay, yeah, you’re right.” You groaned and smiled trying to release those sad feelings. Your reluctance to tonight was only the tip of the iceberg when it came to what you thought about dating; deep down, you did want to fall in love even if that wasn’t with your soulmate. You couldn’t tell whether you were disappointed or relieved in your ability to consider settling.

“Okay, well it’s almost time to go! Text or call if you need anything. You remember our code word?” Wheein led you to the door before exchanging one last glance. Your code word was the word you texted her that signified you desperately needed an out from the date. Both you and Wheein have used this word various times for you often found yourselves rescuing each other from awkward, uncomfortable, or creepy dates. Your nerves began to ease even more upon remembering you could always count on Wheein.

“I will, and yes: candle.” You affirmed, then stepping out of the threshold of your door. “I’ll probably be back around 10:30ish? I’ll text you when I get there!” You called to her as you began to walk down the hallway. “Oh, and don’t burn my apartment down!”

She laughed and waved as you turned the corner.

You sat in your parked car for a bit. Your hands squeezing the wheel tightly just like the first time you’d ever driven. You focused on steadying your breathing and shut your eyes. “You got this. You can do this.” You chanted quietly to yourself, “It’s just a date.” You opened your eyes and let go of the wheel. Your heart raced, but not enough to be too noticeable. You developed a knack for hiding how nervous you were when you went on dates, not without practice, however.

As you walked into the restaurant, your eyes scanned the area searching for the man named Jimin. You then felt a hand gently place itself on the back of your shoulder to which you turned a little too quickly. Your eyes landed on a man, who was notably attractive, and a bit taken aback.

He was smiling. The creases around his eyes complimented him so well; that alone weakened your legs.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you!” He chuckled, his laugh was childlike and charismatic and light, “Are you ___?” His eyes were puffy in the cutest way and his hair framed him so fittingly he looked like a painting. Your eyes wandered down to notice he was wearing a simple, white button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone, and a pair of black, fitted slacks. This outfit accentuated the curvature his legs, which were admittedly ‘god like’ as Wheein described.

“Yes! You must be Jimin?” You held your hand out and he met yours with his. They were soft and warm which relaxed you for some reason. You glanced down to his fingers noticing he was wearing his soulmate ring that illuminated green. Something you hadn’t seen in a while. At first you felt a bit of sadness settle in, but then that was replaced with a bittersweet content. For some reason, you were happy he was wearing his ring. To you that meant he still believed which was oddly reassuring, but it also reminded you that he wasn’t your soulmate.

“That’s me!” His voice was cheerful and welcoming, you felt jealous at how natural and calm he’d been acting, “I already got us a table, wanna go sit?” His hand gestured towards the table and you nodded, leading the way to the table. He pulled out your chair, revealing his traditional gentlemanly tendencies. You thanked him as he found his seat across from yours.

“This is really fancy! I feel like we should talk about something sophisticated like the economy.” You joked, to which he laughed in response. You’d already started to love his laugh. It reminded you of beautiful music, which encouraged you to do or say things to provoke this laugh.

“Yeah, maybe we should order fancy wine too, except I have no what that would be.” He played along, “Can I have your most pretentiously expensive wine? Preferably something with a gentle, floral aftertaste.” He mocked the way those elitist folks would order their drinks. You, being a previous waitress, had to admit that his impression was accurate. You and he snickered at this, and you mind drifted away from the necklace and every worry you had before this date

“Anyone who swirls wine and sniffs it before drinking it makes me wanna vomit.” You spoke between giggles, “One time when I was working as a waitress, some guy demanded he had a crystal wine glass as if anyone can actually tell the difference.” Jimin laughed again, inspecting the glass that stood in front of his plate. He picked it up and held it in front of you.

“So, in your expertise, what would you say this is?” You then pretended to carefully analyze the contents of the glass, theatrically stroking your chin as if you were in deep thought.

“Well that is definitely…” You paused, “Empty, and what a waste to allow such a beautiful piece of crystal to not be filled with the finest, oldest, snootiest wine.” The two of you continued to laugh and joke until the waiter came to take your order.

You cleared your throat to compose yourself. Jimin covered his mouth attempting to stop laughing as the waiter pretended he didn’t see the way you guys had been joking.

“What can I get for you tonight?”

“You go first.” Jimin said, and you did.

This was easy; he was making this all too easy. You thought to yourself as you watched him slowly expose more and more of his true self. You too were beginning to reveal parts of yourself that weren’t usually shown. You wouldn’t describe yourself as a closed off person, but this was certainly much more open than you were on any other first date.

As the date went on, you found it growing more and more enjoyable than expected. You learned he had danced ever since he learned how to walk. And you told him how you’d spend hours and hours outside staring at the clouds for one art project that ended up not even being graded. You and him spoke about the big important details of your lives like your parents and where you lived and your dream careers, as well as the small things that gave you insight on each other’s personality like your favorite song to listen to when you were sad or if you preferred waffles or pancakes.

It was simple, and normal and sweet. You’d never imagined going on a date with anyone but your soulmate would feel this nice.

“So, what’s your thing?” He questioned in between bites of his food.

“My thing?” You paused in thought for a moment, “I really like drawing, obviously, since I help design art exhibits. But I have to say, I’ve got some dance moves up my sleeves.” You answered playfully, and he laughed. You smiled at his laugh as if you’d heard it a thousand times before and your fondness of it increased every time he did, especially if you were the reason for it.

“Oh, that’s intimidating. Are you trying to show me up, ___?” Jimin joined along with your jest.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing.” You responded flatly despite the wide grin still plastered across your face.

“Hm, I don’t know, I think I gotta see these dance moves. Dinner and entertainment sounds nice.” He suggested, reaching out to lightly grasp your hand that was resting on the table. You wanted to ignore the fluttering that erupted in your stomach and traveled up to your fingertips and down to your feet, but it was too strong to ignore. Your face grew hot and you could tell your cheeks turned a bit flushed.

Jimin smiled cavalierly upon noticing your reaction to this move.

“Maybe some other time. We can’t let all these people know that we’re secretly children.” You laughed, avoiding eye contact with him. His confidence was magnetizing and intimidating all at once; you couldn’t keep track of how many times your eyes wandered everywhere except for his eyes because of this.

“So, does that mean I’ll be seeing you again?” He construed from your comment to which you responded by snapping your focus to his eyes, finally. You were met with this affectionate glare, unable to prevent a nervous laugh to fall from your lips.

“And so if it was?” You responded and painted the best poker face you could manage, not wanting to give anything way quite yet. Part of you wanted him to confirm his interest in you, after all his ring was green, not black like yours. It was the giant elephant in the room, and you both were well aware you weren’t soulmates. However, neither of you dared to bring that up. You didn’t know how to interpret his soulmate ring, or the fact that he wore it tonight.

Was it just force of habit? Did he wear it in hopes you’d be the one? Is he put off by the fact that it’s still green and not white?

“Well, I’d be relieved to know you feel the same way as I do.” He said a bit hesitantly, “I definitely want to see you again.” Jimin tightened his grip on your hand, arousing even more butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

After dinner, you and Jimin decided that you didn’t want the date to end just yet. So, when Jimin suggested you two take a walk in the park across the street, you happily accepted the offer.

The night was warm, and when you looked up the clarity of the thousands of stars was overwhelming. Your eyes traced the silhouettes of the trees that towered over you and him, your stare fixed on how the stars danced between the spaces of the branches and leaves. The back of your hand would occasionally brush against his throughout your conversation and you didn’t mind. You didn’t mind it at all.

“Favorite movie to watch when it’s rainy?” Jimin asked.

“Princess Bride.” You replied.

“Magic Mike.” He said and you giggled, nudging him lightly with your arm. “I can appreciate attractive men.”

“What’s your pet peeve?” You interjected.

“When people wear flip flops in winter. No one needs to see that.”

“Ah, well then you’d be really annoyed with me.” He looked at you, puzzled and worried. You tried to keep a serious expression but a smile crept on your face. “Kidding.”

He nudged you this time. You didn’t notice that you had migrated closer, or perhaps he to you, and your shoulders bumped gently against each other.

“I hate when people make that gross noise with their mouth when they eat.”  

“Oh, like this?” Jimin leaned his head towards your ear to imitate that sound to which you dodged your head away. He laughed at your disgust. The way you scrunched your face at this sound made him forget about how his shirt itched against his neck, or how he had been a bit drowsy as it grew late into the night, or that he needed to pee, or anything else that would have made him want to go home. You were here, and it gave him every reason to stay.

As the conversation began to die down, he resourcefully brought up a subject that was commonly discussed on dates, “So, has your ring ever turned white?” His question, though heavy, had an innocent intent. Of course, you couldn’t blame him for asking. He had no idea.

“Um…” You cleared your throat for you were significantly caught off guard, “Actually, my ring is black.” Your reply was slow and bore such heartache that subsequently slashed into Jimin’s chest as well. Silence seeped in. You looked away from the sky, dragging your feet gently against the ground. “It happened two years ago.”

“Oh,” Jimin responded. He’d never met anyone personally with a black ring, and a sudden wave of guilt washed over him, “I’m so sorry for your loss, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay, Jimin. Don’t worry about it.” Your tone revealed to him that it meant more to you than it did to most people, and he felt even guiltier now that this topic was of discussion. He cursed to himself regrettably, realizing how well the date had been going up to this point.

“No, for real. It was kind of a personal question.” He attempted to console you; his eyes never left you. “I guess I never really cared about the ring that much.” To be fair, his was still green so there was nothing much to worry about.

“Yeah, I get that. I’ve been cursed with a hopelessly romantic heart ever since I could remember. I blame it all on my mom. I’m pretty sure it’s hereditary.” You smiled to yourself, reminiscing in the countless times you would tell your mom you swore your ring looked white just to make her happy. You knew it wasn’t white and so did she, but you hoped so hard that sometimes, it did look white. He hummed lightly in response to you. He didn’t want to speak because to him, hearing you talk, even if it was ridden with sadness, was unquestionably the most beautiful thing. More so than heavenly bells or calm tides that washed against the shore.

“I don’t think that’s a curse.” You looked at him when he said this, only to find he’d already been staring at you.

Why did he look at you like that, like he was reading every detail of your soul with such ease? And yet, for some reason, you didn’t mind that maybe you’d become entirely transparent to him. You were okay with being seen by him; and you liked the way he looked at you, warm and gentle and kind and caring.

“I beg to differ.”

“Well, like I said, I don’t think much of these rings.” He glanced down to his own, “I wear it because there’s no harm in it, but I’ve known people who end up miserable because they were never able to find their soulmate.” He looked back to you, noticing how your eyes were glazed with tears. Jimin chuckled softly, to which you, now, instinctively replied with a smile.

Please laugh. Laugh again and again and again for it seems to be the only think that makes the hurt not hurt as much. You spoke this prayer internally.

“You’re describing me to a tee.” You said quietly, feeling a bit ashamed of how many years of pining that amounted to such a heartbreaking end. He nodded with compassion.

“Exactly. I don’t want to invalidate your pain. I can’t say that I know what you’re going through, but I want you to know you have every right to be upset over this. People are so desensitized to these rings, it’s a shame how lowly they are considered nowadays.” It was refreshing to hear such kind words. Every so often, you wished to care as little as everyone else. You could only wish.

“What about you?” You asked tentatively, “I know you say you don’t care much about the ring, but it must mean something to you for you to say that, right?” You tried your best not to sound accusatory but rather curious.

“Yeah. I do and I don’t care. I want you to know that part of me doesn’t care because um, I really like you.” He spoke genuinely and those damn butterflies kept pervading into your stomach, “But I have to admit I do care about it. A part of me thinks it would be nice to find them.” He paused, “I’ve grown to realize, though, that if I spend my entire life only searching for them, then that’s robbing me of so many life experiences. So of course, finding them would be nice, but not necessarily ideal. Soulmate or not, you can love someone. Just because they aren’t necessarily ‘the one’ doesn’t minimize the amount of happiness they bring into your life. Every day I find more and more that love never really runs out. You fall in love with a lot of things. Your best friend, or your dog, or your favorite book, or the way someone’s skin glows so beautifully against the moonlit sky.” He was quite obviously referring to you, and you had caught this. “And no matter how many things get added to that list, love never runs out.”

As he spoke, you pictured Wheein and your mom and the feeling you got when you finished an art piece you’d been working on for hours. There was no denying how incredibly happy that made you. Everything he had said was right.

“Not only that, there are the people who lost their soulmate and still find someone to love. So, if this is all possible, what good would it do to close myself off like that? And you’d never know if your love for your soulmate would actually be better than your love for someone else, right?”

“You’re absolutely right.” You said, and it was all you could say without crying your eyes out. Hearing someone express their ideas of love like that expanded your perception about the soulmate ring. Maybe you had been too quick to ward off any other chance of love that didn’t come from your soulmate. You’ve heard the speech a million times before, but when he said it, it resonated so deeply.

Walking in the park with Jimin that night, you really believed there was a way to love again. You missed that hopeful feeling. “Thank you. I don’t know how you knew, but that was something I needed to hear for a long time.”

Jimin gazed at you; your eyes were soft and sad. He felt this overwhelming impulse to grab your hand and profess that he’d never let anything hurt you like that black ring did. He, too, was a hopeless romantic but he kept that piece of him hidden. You were the one to effortlessly draw that side out form where it was kept safe from the world. He prospected it ironic, almost laughable, that you had no clue.

Be careful with your heart. He’d been repeating this phrase throughout the night but he felt his guard surrendering to you. He didn’t stop it either.

Every bone in his body was urging for him to keep his distance, to not cross the line yet, but his heart craved to kiss you.

You halted when he stepped close to you. You predicted what was about to happen, and the timing of it was exactly perfect, and imperfect; and it felt like it was supposed to happen. So, you let it because you wanted to allow yourself the chance at love again, even if it wasn’t with your soulmate. He leaned in with caution, allowing you to brace yourself as his lips became close to yours. You could feel so much warmth radiating from him. The crickets chirped and the wind stilled.

You closed your eyes as he was about to kiss you until you felt an extremely apparent shock in your chest. It wasn’t painful per say, but livening. You felt as if the part of you that had been dull for two years was suddenly revived. Your mind dared to wonder if what happened meant the impossible. You flinched and jumped back from Jimin, and his face grew worried.

“I’m sorry!” He said immediately, “Did I just read that situation completely wrong?” Jimin’s hand rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“No! No it wasn’t you, I just” You tried to reassemble your thoughts to form a proper sentence but you couldn’t focus on anything other than what that feeling in your chest meant. You knew it was no ordinary sensation. Its feeling held remarkable resemblance of that pain the day your ring turned black, but this time it wasn’t a heartbreak.

It could only be properly described as a surge of rejuvenation that rasped throughout your soul.

“Is there something wrong? Do you need to go to the hospital?” He noticed you were clutching your chest tightly. He stepped towards you in a concerned manner.

“No, I’m okay, I just, I think I have to go.” You half-mindedly glanced at him, and then down to his ring which glowed green. Your longing to see that color shine from your own ring again had never felt stronger than right now. It was alarming how certain you were that something felt different.

He simply nodded, masking his disappointment with his kind smile. “Okay, I, uh, I hope to hear from you soon.” You returned a smile unable to respond to him with words, then walked away to your car. You felt awful for the way you ended things so abruptly with Jimin, but now was not the time to worry over that.

There was only one thing on your mind.

Before driving, you slowly reached to grab the ring and pull it out from beneath your dress. Your hand clamped tightly around it, hesitant to check its color. 

There’s no way.

You waited a few moments, gathering the courage to look and placating your mind which was overflowing with confusion and wonderment. Finally, your eyes slowly trailed down to your hand, you could feel the heat rising throughout your entire body. Your heart raced at a violent speed, just as it did two years ago. Every thought and feeling that ran through your mind and heart was painfully familiar.

Your eyes rested in suspense on your knuckles, turned white from how hard you were holding onto that ring.

You unfolded your hands.

And the ring glowed green.

You were certain you had blacked out on the ride home, being that the next moment you grounded yourself back to reality was when you were gracelessly running up to your apartment. Your hands shook as you fiddled with your key to unlock the door, which became an almost impossible task.

When you finally opened the door, Wheein was waiting restlessly on your couch. She stood up with a bright smile, “How was it?” She then noticed how out of breath you were which was confusing, “Why are you breathing so hard, did you run home or something?”

You walked up to her without saying a word and lifted the necklace. She shot you a look as if you had lost your mind, then looked down at the ring. Her eyes widened and her hand covered her mouth that hung open in awe.

“What. The. Fuck.” She uttered, her hand muffling her voice. You shook your head as you pulled the chain off then placed in her hand. She took it immediately and brought it close to her face. Wheein elongated her blinks to make sure her eyes were not deceiving her.

“Is that even possible?” She asked, her attention glued to the ring.

“I don’t know. At first, I thought maybe it was a glitch? But I felt this weird sensation in my chest. It felt like I was struck by lightening or something.” Your hand returned to where you felt the shock. Your memory of that feeling was strikingly vivid that you swore it’s aftershock still reverberated in your chest.

“___, I don’t think the universe or god, or whatever the fuck that conceived these rings, glitches.” Wheein laughed at your comment, “Thank god for the internet.” She said conclusively, as she motioned you to get your laptop.

You ran to your bedroom then returned with your laptop in hand. You then sat down at the table and Wheein quickly joined you. She placed the ring next to your laptop and leaned against the table with one hand while bending down until your computer screen was in eye-level. Suspense singed the air

Your fingers quickly typed into the search bar, ‘Can black rings turn green again?’

Wheein huffed as you scrolled through the extremely limited results, “It’s so annoying that you type actual questions into google.” You laughed at her impeccable ability to tease you.

“Is that so important right now? Of all times…” You shook your head, finding an article that seemed like a reliable source. “Okay, the Global Institute of Soulring Research says that there are extremely rare instances of blackened rings that returned to green. They’ve only received, uh,” You scrolled down the page, “14 reports of this occurrence?”

“Damn, 14? In the whole world?” Wheein commented with disbelief.

“These rare cases are exclusively due to heart transplants since it has been proven the rings are directly connected to the heart organ. However, there is no explanation as to why only a scarce 14 rings returned to green, while most rings remained black even after a successful heart transplant operation. Researchers theorized multiple explanations of this phenomenon, but none have shown sufficient data to prove why the color changed back. Studies are still being conducted by our laboratories stationed across the world, but scientists are unable to confirm the cause of these rare instances.”

“Holy shit. ___, does this mean that…” She hesitated, “You know.”

“My soulmate’s heart is in another person. That’s pretty much all we can assume at this point.” You said, your voice sounded deflated and unimpressed with the answer the article gave. You stood up and walked to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water.

Wheein took the chair when you left and read another few articles and data sites, most of which had minimal information on this predicament, “All these articles are saying pretty much the same thing.” She sounded just as disappointed as you did.

You returned, taking long sips of your water. “So, basically this means nothing? Just that my soulmate’s heart is in someone who isn’t my soulmate.”

Wheein was surprised at your lack of effort to formulate a theory that proved you had another soulmate, “No, not necessarily. Think about it!” She paused momentarily, and upon observing you weren’t in any mood to entertain her demands she continued, “There’s a reason most rings don’t turn green again! It may not be explained but I think the fact that it’s so rare means that your ring turning green again has some significance, right?” Her words grew desperate. You wanted to give in, but this whole situation didn’t feel real.

“And what if it means nothing?” You snapped, your words were abrasive.

There had been so much pent up anger that you had to lose your soulmate. You, one of the few people who never allowed their faith in the ring falter until your soulmates heart stopped beating, were the one that had to lose them. It was so unfair and you never forgave the world for taking that away from you.

“I’m sorry, it’s just” You felt instant remorse for snapping at Wheein. Your eyes grew wet, but this crying wasn’t sorrowful. It was frustrated and demanded retribution.

“I died that day. I lost something that already meant the world to me.” You took a deep breath attempting to calm yourself, “There’s no certainty that this new person would be anything close to my soulmate. I don’t think wouldn’t be the same even if I miraculously had another soulmate.” You rubbed your eyes to clear away the tears.

“I understand that but, it just doesn’t seem like a coincidence?” Wheein urged, her unwavering tenacity found its use now more than ever, “It’s almost like the universe gave you a second chance. A literal, second chance.” You smiled at her, agreeing whole-heartedly.

There was a long silence. She wasn’t saying anything you didn’t already believe; she was merely reminding that you could never stop chasing your soulmate. It wasn’t in your nature to give up like that.

“Maybe, I’m scared. But I know you’re right.” You sighed at your aggravating grit, “I could never be fully content knowing I didn’t try.” This brought a smile to Wheein’s face. “I made a promise to my mom years ago, I want to stay true to that.”

“That’s my girl!” She grabbed your ring and placed it back around your neck. You lowered your head to assist her and lifted it back up. It felt so light and warm, you’d almost forgotten that it wasn’t always cold and dark. Wheein picked up your phone and you rolled your eyes.

“What are you planning now, you evil mastermind.” You tried to see what she was doing but she quickly evaded this and shifted the phone away from your line of vision. You laughed lightly, “For real what are you doing?”

“Sh, I’m calling in sick to work for you.” She responded. You immediately reached out and snatched the phone from her hand before she could do anything of the sort.

“Um, absolutely not!” You held the phone behind your back and out of her reach. She instinctively pouted out her lip. “No! Don’t you use those puppy eyes at me!”

“But, this is a miracle! And that’s not even an exaggeration, this is a literal miracle! Mission: find ___’s soulmate is a-go!” You laughed loudly at this assertion, knowing it well-intentioned and wildly unrealistic.

“Now hold on, as tempting as that sounds, I can’t go rearranging my entire life for this soulmate. How about we save that for the weekends, deal?” Your eyebrows were raised hoping she would yield to your request.

“___, it’s like I don’t even know who you are anymore!” She claimed in a joking, dramatic way. “Certainly, you’re not the same girl who stood up on the cafeteria table and screaming ‘if anyone here is my soulmate you better show yourself right now!’” Her voice raised in pitch as she mimicked your younger self and her restlessness to find her soulmate. Your hand rubbed the inner corners of your eyes upon recalling that day in second grade, along with the years of teasing from almost everyone in your class. Wheein walked over to your kitchen and you figured it was impossible protest that what she said was wrong.

You did change. You had to.

“Well, I’m 20 now and have responsibilities like paying rent, utilities, and buying food because someone always eats me out of house and home! Look at you, you’ve already found your way to my pantry.” You laughed, this had become a sort of ritual when Wheein would come over. She just waved you off, proceeding to look through your stash of snacks.

You didn’t want to get into the real reason you had changed. At some point during the long period of grieving after your ring turned black, you lost that hope. You lost every sliver of hope because it was unreasonable. You missed it dearly, like an old friend.

It felt like that old friend suddenly walked back into your life with no warning. It never asked for your permission or waited for you prepare. It barged in without knocking and claimed its rightful place.

But you wondered if it was the ring that reunited you with this feeling. If not the green ring than what? Or more fitting to ask, Who?

Wheein was about to pass out on the couch before asking, “Oh, how did the date go by the way?”

That question twisted your insides. Your every thought prior to this halted. Your time with Jimin nearly slipped your mind but his laugh rang in your head.

You wished you could hear it again.

“It was good. Really good.” You smiled softly to yourself, knowing damn well what an understatement that was. Wheein was going to interrogate you about this tomorrow for sure but she was already half asleep.

As you were trying to fall asleep, two things seemed to be at war over which would take precedence in your mind.

One was who your soulmate is, and how you knew there was nothing in this world that could deter you from finding them.

Two was the fact that Jimin had single-handedly made you question everything you once believed about soulmates and love.

The next day you woke up to Wheein making some sort of racket in your kitchen. Before you were able to fully awaken, you began to wonder how big of a mess you’d have to clean up after Wheein was finished. This was followed by an incessant need to call Jimin and apologize profusely for abandoning him in the midst of your date. The only thing you could credit yourself with was handling things very, very wrong.

You stood up and sluggishly waddled to your bathroom. When you met with the mirror, you immediately noticed the green ring hanging from your neck reflecting to you. You’d almost forgotten. Your hand raised to touch it and make sure it wasn’t your imagination. This had been too surreal.

Next thing you knew, Wheein barged into your room, “Wakey Wak- wait where are you?” She searched your bed only to find you weren’t even in your room. Wheein turned around to discover you already out from the bathroom and sitting at the kitchen table.

“Oh! I made you breakfast! Even though you ruined the surprise and woke up before I could come get you.” Her passive-aggression made you smile. She joined you at the table where a plate of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and two baked potatoes with cheese were laid out neatly.

“I give your presentation an A, but the real test is how it tastes.” You said, then scooping a bite of the eggs into your mouth, “Mmm, B-, they’re runny.” You said jokingly. Wheein crumpled up her napkin and aimed it right at your forehead. “Hey!”

“I’ll take that as a thank you!” She laughed and began to eat the breakfast.

“So um…” You swallowed your food and took a long sip of your orange juice, trying to stall what you were about to say, “Can I have, uh, can you give me Jimin’s number?”

Wheein nearly spit out the giant bite of pancakes she just stuffed in her mouth, “Really?” She spoke with her mouth still full of food.

“I just want to apologize about last night!”

Last night.

“Oh my god, wait I didn’t even ask you what happened! Tell me every detail!” She demanded, still paying no mind to her mouth overflowing with pancake. You laughed and cleared your throat.

Those butterflies came again just thinking about the date. You wondered if that feeling was going to become habitual every time you thought of him.

“I will later, can I just have his number so I can explain to him I’m not a total bitch?” You held your phone waiting for her to read you the numbers.

After she gave you the number while whining that she didn’t like to be kept waiting, you shushed her as you dialed.

The phone rang about four times before he picked up, “Hello?”

“Hi!” Your voice came out louder than anticipated which startled Jimin into fully waking up, “Sorry! Were you still sleeping?” You lowered your voice to an appropriate level.

“Yeah I was, uh, who is this?” Jimin replied, his voice was low and raspy in the mornings. That trait was alluring to you, so much that your attention lingered on the sound of his voice. You then quickly snapped back to reality.

“It’s ___! Sorry to wake you but I just wanted to call and tell you how sorry I am for dipping last night. I swear it wasn’t anything you did. I had a great time.” Your hand nervously tapped against the side of your leg.

On the other side of the phone, you heard his laugh. You were lucky he was one to laugh a lot.

“Hey! Good morning, ___. Don’t worry about it. I’m not as fragile as I look!” He laughed again before continuing, “Are you all good? You had me kinda worried.”

“Yeah, I’m okay. It was probably just a panic attack or something.” You lied through your teeth. Your palm met your forehead in ridicule of that but you hoped it was believable enough to explain your actions.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you’re doing better today.” His concerned response was comforting. Jimin sat up on his bed now fully invested in this conversation.

“I’m definitely better, thank you. I feel so bad though.”

“If you really feel bad then I can think of a few ways you can make it up to me.” He said with a slight upturn in his voice.

He was flirting. You had no success with resistance. Jimin’s charm was enigmatic and had you not only reciprocating his energy, but willingly flirting back.

“Well, I usually charge big bucks for this, but yes, I’ll give you free dance lessons.” You playfully responded, feeling proud when he chuckled gingerly at your offer.

“You read my mind.” He paused. A momentary lapse of conversation occurred causing Jimin to frantically search for any lame, surface level question to ask you so you wouldn’t end the call.

“So, what are you up to today?”

“Well, I just woke up and I’m eating breakfast with Wheein. I think we’re planning on going to the mall later today. What about you?” Your fingers naturally started to twirl your hair. You felt like a giddy middle schooler when they would share a meaningless glance with their crush.

“I’ll probably go to the dance studio if it doesn’t rain today.”

“You should join us.” That response came a little too quickly and you swore you had no idea where or why you invited him.

All you were sure of was that you really wanted him to say yes.

“Are you sure? Last time I went shopping with Wheein she forced me to stop at the pet adoption and we stood there for an hour and a half while she swore to this one puppy she would come back and adopt it.” He recounted but was unable to explicitly say no to your offer.

“It’ll be fun!” You coerced, “Plus, we can eat delicious mall food.” You added with a sarcastic inflection.

“Alright, you convinced me. I’ll be there.” He never planned on saying no in the first place but utilized all the tricks in his book to prolong this conversation. “Only because that mall food sounds too good to pass up.”

You shook your fist excitedly in celebration and laughed at his repartee, “Okay, cool! Let’s meet up around two-ish, sound good?”

“Sounds great.” He said shortly prior to you ending the call.

Jimin held his phone against his chest and threw his head back onto his pillow. He chest heaved up and released a long sigh. Two o’clock couldn’t come sooner.

A month passed since your ring was green again. You continued to hang out with Jimin, however the romantic essence when you were together remained stagnant. He didn’t know what kept you at bay from ever moving things forward between you two, but he didn’t feel the need to ask. He always knew how to act around you even when there was something left unsaid. Your friendship did grow strong and quickly. Jimin felt like he knew you so well already, but yearned to learn more and more about you as the days came.

“Jimin, what’s that one piano guy that made the music for Swan Lake?” Wheein asked as she was scribbling some notes on her assignment.

“Piano guy? You mean Tchaikovsky?” He corrected.

“Oh yeah, great. Thanks!” She replied then mouthing the name Jimin had said while writing it down on the paper.

You returned from the kitchen with three sandwiches, “Here everyone! Gourmet pb and j’s made by yours truly.” You set them down one by one on the table where Jimin and Wheein were sitting.

The three of you had become somewhat of a team. Ever since the day at the mall, you guys made a habit of inviting Jimin along until it was a given that he would hang out with you. Wheein was already nicely acquainted with him and, now that his presence grew abundant in her life, she liked having him around. Not to mention that every time the three of you hung out it resulted in some of the fondest memories. Even though Wheein was just as close to Jimin as you were friendship wise, she was still a bit of a third wheel. She noticed how you two would exchange one too many glances and she’d constantly catch Jimin ogling at you while you were drawing or talking or doing pretty much anything.

Whenever you’d leave the room after a clear display of seemingly harmless flirting, Wheein would wiggle her eyebrows at Jimin and say, “You’ve got it bad.”

He wouldn’t say anything because there was no denying it was true.

“Do you have a band-aid I could use, Jimin? I accidentally cut myself with a knife.” You were looking down at your finger where a small cut resided. Wheein was confused but also quite amused with how that was even possible.

“___, you made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. How the hell did you cut yourself?” She asked with her eyebrows furrowed.

“Well, I wanted to cut off the crusts and cut them into little triangles! It’s cuter that way.” You gestured to the sandwiches which were in fact crustless and cut into triangles.

Jimin thought it was cute how proud you were of your PB and J presentation. Before you noticed how his eyes fondly laid on you, he nodded and said, “Yeah there should be some in my room, lemme show you where they are.”

“Thank you!” You followed him to his bedroom. As soon as you entered, you noticed it smelled exactly like him. This prompting you to inhale on instinct; it resembled what home would smell like if it had a scent. You then walked up behind him and waited for the band aid. Though you’d been in his room plenty of times before, you never stopped admiring how nice it looked. Most men have bland walls and bedsheets and desks but not Jimin.

Posters of his favorite bands, paintings, music scores, and pictures were hung along each wall. Your favorite being the photo of the dance team he’d coached for a junior league dance competition. Even though it was completely cliché, thinking about him interacting with children made you swoon. Something about his gentle positivity gave you an inkling that he was great with kids.

A variety of trinkets were placed neatly on his desk and bedside table. When you first asked them what they were, he excitedly explained the origin story of each and every one. Not once did you grow bored of him, though Wheein’s attention was entrapped in her phone not long after he began talking. If you were listening, he didn’t mind.

Jimin turned around and held up a small band aid, “Ah ha! I knew it was in here.” You peaked over his shoulder to discover his drawer was filled with various random, unorganized household items. You laughed at this, sometimes forgetting he was still a man after all.

“Jimin, how do you find anything ever?” You teased. He ignored your carp and replaced the tissue paper you held against your finger with the band aid.

“You’re very welcome.” It impressed you how he’d always know how to dismiss you when you would playfully criticize him. His hands were soft, and it became incredibly apparent that he was touching you. He finished positioning the band aid and seemed to realize your hands were touching too; his heart jumped and before anything got too tense, he pulled his hand away quickly. You nodded and thanked him. Your focus was pulled away from that moment when you noticed a new thing sitting on his bed side table.

It was a framed picture of what you guessed was a young Jimin and his mother. You walked over to it excitedly, leaning down to get a better look at it. “Oh my god, Jimin, this is adorable! Is that your mom?”

“Yeah,” He was giving you that same fond stare. Jimin came to realize you were the type to notice small things like that and expressed interest. These small gestures could easily be overlooked by anyone else, and usually people don’t care enough to make anything of these little details, but not you. You always noticed. Perhaps he was overthinking this trait of yours, but it made Jimin feel special in your eyes.

“Aw, lil’ baby Jimin! Look at your tiny little arms!” You squealed with eyes squinted from smiling. “What’s this one’s story?”

“My mom gave it to me for my birthday.” To this, you spun around and hit him with your uncut hand on his shoulder, “Ow!”

“You didn’t tell me it was your birthday? What the hell?” Your eyebrows were furrowed, positively astonished he would keep something like that from you.

“What? It’s not that big of a deal!” Jimin reasoned, rubbing the spot on his arm that you punched surprisingly hard.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re one of those ‘I hate my birthday’ people.” You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. If you had known it was his birthday, you and Wheein would have certainly plotted the best surprise party of Jimin’s life.

“Fine, then I won’t tell you.” He looked away from you coyly, and you laughed. Jimin looked to the ground trying not to get too embarrassed, “It’s true though. I don’t know why but birthdays are so weird and uncomfortable to me.”

“How is getting a bunch of presents, having people tell you how grateful they are to have you in their lives, and getting an entire day dedicated to your existence weird? How could you not like that? I love that!” You shook your head, unable to comprehend how any sane person wouldn’t enjoy a birthday.

“Well, you make a good point but that doesn’t cancel the fact that, one, I hate cake, two, I don’t like people feeling obligated to get me a present, and three, people singing happy birthday to you is so awkward! Like what do you even do, where do you look?” He spoke passionately, making you laugh even harder at how devoted he was to argue this point.

“Okay you’re right. Making eye contact with someone while they serenade happy birthday to you is wildly uncomfortable.” He nodded triumphantly to your response.

“See I-” Jimin was interrupted by Wheein walking into the room and slumping onto Jimin’s bed. You and Jimin turned to her.

“What’s taking you guys so long?” She complained, sinking comfortably into the bed, “Were you guys making out in here or what.” Jimin’s face turned red and you scoffed at her insolence. You knew she was trying to fluster you both in revenge for making her wait.

“Jimin’s just told me his birthday passed, and we missed it and he didn’t tell us on purpose.” You snitched on him to change the subject as quickly as possible. Wheein sat up and widened her eyes in exaggerated shock.

“How could you? I’ve never felt more hurt in my life than right now.” She insisted as you smugly looked to Jimin. He remorsefully bowed his head the same way a child would when he was caught doing something he knew wasn’t supposed to.

“I am at a loss for words. Ladies, my deepest apologies.” Wheein laughed and looked back at you.

“Wheein and I will let it slide this time. We’ll make up for it when you least expect it.” You winked at Wheein then looked at Jimin with a mischievous smile.

“She’s right.” Wheein affirmed.

You loved this. You loved the way you felt around him. You never wanted things to change despite the glaringly obvious mishap of your green ring. You wanted there to be no need to tarnish that. Sadly, you knew that could never be the case.

You and Wheein were impatient, to put it simply. When the two of you wanted to get something done, you both had this now or never mindset. There was nothing wrong with that in theory, however this meant Jimin’s birthday celebration would undergo planning as soon as possible. You suggested the idea of a fun trip to the beach late at night when the crowds had cleared. Wheein loved this idea and expounded upon that by requesting there would be food, but not cake, candles, balloons, confetti, and a decorative set up for the three of you to enjoy.

It was around 10:00 pm by the time you were finished laying out a large beach blanket and a basket of food, along with the balloons that were held down by rocks you had found along the shore, candles placed on tiny dishes so it wouldn’t cause a fire hazard, and a mini speaker to play music.

“I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he sees this.” You took a few paces back to admire the finished product. Everything was decorated with extra detail being that you were an artist who preferred things to look aesthetically pleasing.

“We really knocked it out of the part with this one. We gotta take pictures when he gets here to remember all our hard work.” She stood beside you and joined in your reverence of Jimin’s surprise birthday picnic.

You received a text from the group chat that Wheein had made of the three of you.

“Oh, shit he’s almost here! Let’s get in position.” You bounced over to the front of the blanket, as well as Wheein, to hide the surprise from Jimin and picked up handfuls of confetti to toss when he arrived.

You could see his figure in the distance, now growing clearer as he approached the area you had set up. He tried to peak behind you both, curious of what you were standing in front. Before he could figure it out on his own, you and Wheein stepped aside and quickly threw the confetti up in the air. The small pieces of tissue flitted down ornately which tied the presentation together nicely.

“Surprise!” You said in unison with Wheein. Jimin threw his head back giggling and his hands crossed over his heart when he saw what you two had planned.

“You guys! What is this?” He took a few steps forward, bundling the two of you in a hug with each arm.

“It’s just our way of saying happy belated birthday.” Wheein answered, pulling you and him in tighter to the group hug.

Jimin pulled away and inspected the blanket and the items placed neatly over it. His hands cupped both his cheeks and he was so grateful that he’d almost forgotten how much he hated birthdays.

“I absolutely love it. Thank you, guys so so much.”

“Before you start worrying, there is no cake, there will be no singing, and this picnic is kinda our ‘gift’ so technically, no gifts!” You added, walking over to the blanket and seating yourself. You motioned for the other two to join you and they joyfully obliged.

The rest of the night was filled with lots of laughter, long talks, two emptied wine bottles as well as a plate now cleared of all its food, Wheein daring you to run into the water to which you refused adamantly, and exactly one corny speech from Jimin about how much he appreciated you and Wheein.

“A few months ago, I was so stressed and overwhelmed with life. I had this huge fight with my dance teacher and my boss told me she had to cut back my hours because we were overstaffed so I was worried about rent and stuff. If I’m being honest I wasn’t all that great mentally. I don’t know it was rough for a while. Then I met ___, and we all started hanging out and it made me really happy.” He looked down at his wine glass, trying not to get too emotional, “Anyway, I really appreciate you guys for being in my life.” You leaned your head on his shoulder, giving him a partial hug from the side. Wheein pretended to be disgusted with this, but you caught her tearing up while Jimin was talking.

“And we really appreciate you were born and didn’t get scared off by us when we forced you to become our friend.” You said before pulling Wheein into the hug.  

“This is the absolute worst timing but I have to pee…” Wheein huffed as she stood up contemplating what to do.

“The ocean’s right there.” Jimin said, holding his hand out to point to the shore.

“Absolutely not! Not in front of you!” She kicked him lightly and he chuckled.

“I’ll turn away!”

“No, I read this story once about how a worm swam up into someone’s – thing – when they peed in the ocean. I’m not about to have a parasite living with me, I’ve already got you two!” You nodded as this claim was irrefutable. Jimin laughed, never getting tired of Wheein’s hilarious quips.

“We can go back to my place?” You suggested.

“No no no, I haven’t even gotten to force you two to get into the water yet. And its only,” She paused to check her phone, “Twelve. Also, I thought we were gonna stay and watch the sunset!” She tapped her foot against the sand. “Okay, ___, give me your keys. I’m going to quickly drive to the gas station I saw a few blocks down and pee there. I promise I won’t abandon you guys here.” Wheein held out her hand to you, waiting for you to give her the keys. You fumbled in your purse and pulled them out.

As she ran to your car, Jimin shook his head still humored at what Wheein said, “She’s something else.”

“Definitely one of a kind.” You concurred. “On another note, I’m glad you enjoyed this. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t worry you would feel uncomfortable.”

“No, ___, this was perfect.” He said reassuringly. Jimin gazed at you every chance he got. You were looking at the sky and admiring the way the stars shined so brightly. To you, they always seemed to glow significantly more when it was you and Jimin underneath them. He revered the way you looked so in love with the stars, or how you looked so in love with life in general even after what you had been through, and felt his heart race at the sight of your hair flowing gently in the breeze. “You nailed this one, ___.”

“Yeah, I know.” You said confidently as you brushed your shoulders to display your pride. Jimin chuckled at your action.

His laugh. His damn laugh. You thought to yourself and if you could, if you had any ounce of courage, you’d ask him to never stop laughing.

The song “Moon River” began to play on the speaker; Audrey Hepburn’s exquisite voice filled the air. Jimin was aware about how fitting this song with to the ambiance of the night that now only belonged to the two of you. When Wheein left to go to the restroom, the platonic atmosphere followed.

“I actually do want a birthday present.” He spoke quietly. “Dance with me?” Jimin’s nervous laughter trailed his question.

You looked at him unsure of how to interpret this painstakingly romantic request. But, how could you say no when he smiled like that? You nodded without saying a word.

He stood up eagerly and lowered his hand to you. Your hand held his as he pulled you up and stepped close to you. Jimin’s free hand traveled to the small of your back, sparking light tingles that cascaded down your spine. Your free hand met his shoulder; originally your muscles were stiff but the way he swayed you had naturally relaxed you. Eventually your head rested on his opposite shoulder and you felt his head rest gently on yours. As the music played, you felt as if not just this moment, but the whole world belonged only to you and Jimin.

He could have confessed his love for you, but instead he said, “You look beautiful tonight.”

Your heart raced.

“Thank you.” You said quietly after a short while. “You look beautiful too.”

“Thank you.” He whispered. You two swayed along for another three songs in silence, and you and jimin would have danced forever if that were an option.

“At this point, you should just quit dancing because I’m clearing running circles around you, Jimin.” You pulled your head back to look at him, and you noticed it looked as if he’d been crying. However, you didn’t say anything about it because you knew why. You were terrifyingly aware and at the same time in denial about how surely you knew why.

“Yeah, you still never gave me those free dance lessons. I’m not letting that go.” He smiled brightly causing his eyes to squint. You scrunched your nose at him and looked down.

“That’s right. Maybe I should show you some moves right now?” You offered.

Jimin raised his eyebrows then swiftly spun you around and wrapped his arm around your lower back to dip you. You gasped and laughed in shock, your head falling back slightly as he held you in this position. When he pulled you up, you were both unable to let the smiles you had subside. He reached his hand to gently remove a strand of hair from your face, curling it delicately behind your ear.

He was seven years old again. His love raged again. This time it was you who planted themselves in his life and he wanted to give you all the water and nutrients and sunlight to grow in his heart forever.

The boy stepped away slowly and gestured for you to, as he put it, show him your moves.

“Okay hold on.” You retrieved your phone and scrolled through your music playlist to find a song that best suited what you were about to do, “Perfect!” An upbeat 80s disco song began to play.

You then contorted your body in a way to resemble a robot, “Check this out.” You lifted your arm and swung it to imitate a machine-like movement. Jimin found this too good to let it go to waste and secretly filmed on his phone what you were doing.

“I can see you’re taking a video and I’m only letting you do that because it’s your birthday.” You then proceeded the switch to a different dance move, “I like to call this the wave. I’m sure a rookie like you hasn’t heard of it.” You raised both of your arms to shoulder level and rolled them back and forth.

“Wow, your technique is absolutely immaculate!” He commended while laughing so hard he gripped his stomach and bent over. He soon joined you in dancing around in the sand.

“What are you two weirdos doing?!” You both turned around to find Wheein running over from the car with her hands cupped around her mouth as she called out.

“Dance party!” You yelled which was overlapped by Jimin’s voice.

“We’re dancing!”

Wheein laughed as she neared the two of you. “Last one in the water has to clean up our stuff!” She said while passing you and Jimin and heading straight for the water.

Jimin was quicker to react and chased after Wheein, pushing her lightly to throw her off track, soon followed by you racing to catch up. Though you swore you wouldn’t go into the water, you ran towards it with no hesitance. You’d follow them anywhere.

“No fair, you got a head start!” Soon all three of you crashed into the water. The waves were tame, but they still had a slight force that pushed the water as high as your waist.

Wheein pulled you in deeper and Jimin splashed the water at you two. You both screamed and laughed and played like children.

You wished that night would never end.

The minute you decided to tell him your ring was green again; you knew things would have to change and you dreaded it. It grew increasingly difficult to keep that from him and a part of you felt like you were misleading him by not telling him the truth.

“I owe it to him. I don’t know exactly what’s going on between the two of us. I clearly think of him as more of than friend. I’m not denying that, but you know I can’t do anything about that, not with this.” You’d say as you held up your ring for reference.

“You don’t have you. You could just let things play out and hope for the best?” Wheein suggested knowing this wouldn’t suffice.

“I can tell he likes me more than a friend. I can see it every time he looks at me with those puppy eyes.” You gave her a disapproving look and she nodded.

“I know you’re right. I just don’t want Jimin to be too hurt, you know? The guy is a softie at heart.”

She was right. Jimin would act like nothing ever affected him, but out of the three of you, he was the most sensitive and experienced his feelings the most intensely. Just the idea of what his face would look like or how his smile would dwindle when you told him about your ring made your heart drop to your stomach. There was no way to avoid this, because like you said, you owe Jimin complete honesty and you refused to abstain anything less than what was best for him.

“I know, and I don’t know if I could ever forgive myself for doing this.”

“You didn’t let me finish. He’s a softie, but so are you. ___, I’m worried about you too. Are you sure letting this go is the right decision? I can tell you’re already starting to miss him and you haven’t even let him go yet.” She placed her hand on your back to comfort you. Wheein knew you well enough that she didn’t have to ask how you were feeling.

“I appreciate your concern, but I have to do this.” Anticipation began to seep through your veins. “Right? I mean my whole life I’ve been dedicated to ending up with my soulmate. I’ve ended things with so many guys before things got too serious. And I had no problem doing it then, but this time.” You began to tear up picturing Jimin, “It’s so much harder.”

“I’m not going to tell you what to do. That’s up for you to decide but I hope you know I will support your decision. Whichever it is.” Wheein pulled you into a hug, soft and reassuring. You propped your chin on her shoulder and ran your hands along her upper back.

“Thank you.” You said quietly.

As you pulled away, you looked down at your ring and for once, you didn’t feel that excitement upon seeing it green. Instead, it became burdensome that you felt this obligation to honor it. You were beginning to feel trapped. As if this decision wasn’t up to you anymore, but to this ring.

A few days later, you and Jimin were sitting out in the same park that you walked along on your first date together. The grass danced with the wind and the tree that loomed above the two of you provided the perfect amount of shade from the sun. Gentle rays of sunlight permeated among the leaves and their shadows danced along yours and Jimin’s bodies. The air felt clean and cool, giving perfect ambiance to spark inspiration for your artwork.

Jimin was laying down beside you, staring up at the sky while you two chatted nonsensically for hours.

“I’ll give you five bucks if you can guess what kind of bird just chirped.” He spoke lazily while his eyes trailed their way to you.

“Ostrich.” Your replied with a candid tone and your eyes transfixed on the page in front of you. Jimin chuckled lightly which diverted your attention to him as it always did.

“Just for that I’m eating the rest of your blueberries.” He shoved all of them in his mouth causing his cheeks to puff out. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find that adorable, and yet you played it off with a unimpressed glare.

“I was gonna eat those, butthead.”

These small exchanges would fill the silence every so often. But even when neither of you spoke, you felt no desire to say anything. Just sitting with him in that park was enough to delight you.

You stared at Jimin as his eyes traced the puffy clouds above. With your pencil in hand, inspiration struck. This scenery was so picturesque, it would be a crime to not capture every bit of joy it exuded.

You turned to a blank page in your sketchbook and started to outline the shape of Jimin’s face and body. Your pencil glided against the paper gently, that sound of charcoal running along the pages of your sketchbook grew fond to Jimin’s ears. He rarely looked at what you would draw because he knew your sketchbook functioned as your version of a diary; he simply loved that sound because it meant you were beside him.

You quickly sketched each curve of his body along with the bed of grass on which he lied and the tall tree behind him with as much precision as you could before he shifted positions. Then you began to add shading and small details that livened the drawing a bit more. Once you were finished, you held your finished work out to examine whether you were satisfied with it. You nodded to yourself then nudged Jimin.

He turned his head towards you and raised his eyebrows in substitution of a vocal acknowledgment.

“Look.” You gently tossed your book onto the grass near his head.

He quickly sat up and lifted the book with both hands. He rested it on his lap and gazed at it for quite a while. A smile slowly appeared on Jimin’s face and he thought to himself how beautifully accurate you were at being able to capture these moments in life. This moment was precious to him, along with every other moment he spent with you doing nothing.

And those nothing moments were everything to him. They were everything to you too.

“___, you never cease to blow me away.” Jimin spoke in a whisper because he only wanted you to hear. He wanted so desperately to kiss you.

Oh god, your conscious couldn’t handle keeping it in anymore. You had to tell him.

“So um, Jimin. I don’t know how to say this…” You laughed nervously due to how uncomfortable you were with this even before the conversation started.

Jimin’s eyebrows furrowed, and before he could realize what was about to be said was going to be serious, he said, “I know what you’re going to say. You lied and totally didn’t watch the movie I recommended to you!”, earning a soft chuckle from you. It substantially lighted the mood. He tied with Wheein for always knowing how to ease your nerves without even trying.

But your face returned blank when you finally gathered the courage to blurt it out, “My ring turned green again.”

His smile vanished and it was an absolute tragedy you were the reason for that.

“I’m so sorry, Jimin.” He knew what this meant. He knew what you were going to say before you even said it. He stood up and paced around the area, prompting you to get up and trail behind him. He had a habit of lacking the ability to sit still when he was facing something that troubled him.

He struggled to figure out what he felt about this. Every emotion blurred and converged into one unsettling mess.

“I’m not going to pretend like this is easy for me because its not. I like you and spending time with you has made me so so happy, please believe me when I say that.” Your voice began to shake. Jimin hated when your voice sounded anything but cheerful.

“I know it sounds like bullshit, but I’m being honest, god, I can’t convey how much you mean to me. I know we only met months ago but I feel like what we have isn’t some fling. Like, you’re already one of my best friends.” Those words, though consoling in theory, pained Jimin so deeply. He wanted to be more than that.

“I don’t think of you as some back up to keep me from being lonely if that’s what you’re thinking. I’d be damned before I let you believe that, but I can’t just ignore-” The hundreds of things you were practicing in your head had spilled out of your mouth in a jumbled mess. It was much more difficult to say these things to Jimin than your bathroom mirror or Wheein.

“Stop,” He spoke with such poise that you did nothing more but obey. His footsteps halted and You pressed your lips together in fear of what was about to be said. He was staring at the grass, the green color mocked him. Jimin hated green right now.

It pained you to see he couldn’t even bring himself to look at you.

He’s going to hate you forever. You thought to yourself and you tried to brace your heart for losing him forever. All because you lacked the backbone to be honest with him from the beginning.

He didn’t speak for a while, for what felt like an eternity. The wind that whipped against the leaves of the trees and blades of grass filling the silence you were once comfortable in.

Jimin suddenly turned around and wrapped his arms around you; your head was pressed tightly against his chest and his chin rested gently atop your head so perfectly. You could feel how hard his heart was beating, each tap synchronized with your heart.

“You idiot, why are you apologizing?” Your eyes closed to obstruct any tears that were about to form.

“You know why.” Your words were muffled, which Jimin found tortuously adorable. “You can hate me if you want.”

He laughed softly, that alone expressed more to you than any number of things he could say.

The sound of his laugh that you’d grown to miss on the days you hadn’t seen him never sounded so beautiful. When he laughed, he painted himself on a canvas for you to admire and with each stroke he added, you were able to learn every intricate detail of him.

Jimin’s laughter spoke to you, you swore it. You clearly heard it tell you that he could never and would never hate you. Comfort and ease. You never felt anything less than comfort and ease in his arms.

“___, I know how much this means to you.” He planted a soft kiss against your head which felt like a goodbye. Not to you, but to the hope that he could ever take the place of your soulmate. The smell of your hair exuding off so gently, and he thought you smelled like vanilla and stardust. Jimin did everything he could to sound strong. He wanted nothing but to be happy for you, and if this meant he had to let you chase after your soulmate there was no way in the world he’d let his feelings stop you from doing that. “I’m already planning a want ad that will be posted on every building within a hundred-mile radius!” His voice rose in enthusiasm. You could tell it was all a façade.

“You don’t have to act like you’re okay.” Your head nestled against his chest.

“I am.” He quickly replied then repeated, “I am.”

If only he could have made this easier on you. If he would have gotten mad or yelled at you or said he would never forgive you then doing this wouldn’t hurt as much as it did. But he did none of that. He was ever so kind and understanding and selfless.

You nuzzled your face deeper into his chest as a cross between a sigh and a laugh released from you. He acted like he didn’t care that you had just “broken up” with him. Jimin was nothing if not selfless.

Your ring was green. You had another chance to find your soulmate; it was everything you’d ever hoped for your whole life. So, why did you feel like you’d just made a mistake?

“Jimin, I know I hurt you. I was scared to tell you because I didn’t want to lose you. I just,” You huffed, “I just should have been honest. I’m sincerely sorry. You are the last person I want to hurt.” Jimin looked down at you and you stared up at him. He couldn’t stand when you frowned, which inclined him to use his thumbs to lift the sides of your mouth, so it looked like you were smiling. You laughed at this sweet gesture.

“This soulmate of yours better not be a dancer or we’ll have a problem.” He joked in attempt to evade how true what you said was. You threw your head back laughing again.

All Jimin really cared about was that you were always in his life. And even though it felt like you had ripped every root of yourself out of him, he knew he would keep that spot in his heart empty for you. 

For you, and every nothing moment. Nothing was everything with you,

You were completely drenched in sweat and jolted awake from your sleep. Your first instinct was to call Wheein, but you remembered she had an exam the next day.

You then picked up your phone and scrolled through your contacts until you found the name you were looking for. You pressed the call button with your thumb and brought the phone to your ear.

The phone rang shortly before being picked up, “Hello?”

“Hey, Mom.” You greeted her softly. Her voice was soothing and low.

“What’s wrong, honey?” She asked since it was late in the night and you calling her only meant it was fairly important.

“I just had this really weird dream.” You answered, still perplexed and trying to remember the details of it. You shut your eyes to picture the dream before it faded from your memory, “I was in art class and we were doing this activity where we had to close our eyes and draw something that made us happy. It was something to like exercise our skills of drawing with emotion rather than precision, something like that.” She hummed, listening intently to what you were describing.

“Okay, and so I did it and I wanted to draw what I imagined my soulmate would look like because duh, you know me.” You stood up and paced around your dark room.

“Yes, that sounds about right.” Your mother chuckled softly while she quipped back to you.

“Okay but when I opened my eyes you would not believe who I drew.” You stopped for a second envisioning the face that stared back to you. It made you tense just thinking about it.

“Who?”

“It was Jimin.”

“Jimin? That nice young man you’ve been hanging out with recently. I think you’re absolutely smitten, honey.” Your mom sounded so casual when saying this.

“But…” Your pacing began to speed up, “He’s not my soulmate. I- I don’t know what to think of this. Maybe it’s just my brain? It’s not like you can control what you dream.” You began to ramble in attempts to affirm this didn’t mean anything serious.

“I don’t know, ___. That is an oddly specific dream.” She sounded critical of your aversion to admit this. “Why not give him a chance?” She suggested hesitantly.

“What?” You scoffed in amazement, “I can’t believe you out of all people would say that.” You knew that she knew exactly where your confusion was coming from.

“I know.”

“So why would you say that? I mean, finding my soulmate was something both you and I wanted ever since I could remember?” You grew exhausted from your pacing and sat on the edge of your bed.

“Look. I wanted you to believe in your soulmate. You’re right in that, but it wasn’t just your soulmate I wanted you to believe in. All I wanted, all I’ve ever wanted, was for you to never give up love itself. This world has a way of breaking your heart countless times, and I’ve been around enough to see how empty people’s lives are if they live without love in it. I just wanted to teach you that living a loveless life was meaningless. I refused to allow you to live a meaningless life. I thought that your soulmate ring would act as a reminder that I loved you and I believe you deserved to be loved, but it grew into some dependence on finding your soulmate. ___, when your ring turned black, I realized my mistake. I shouldn’t have glorified the ring as much as I did because ring, or no ring, soulmate, or no soulmate, there is no denying that you have feelings Jimin. I can hear it in your voice every time you talk about him. You’d be insane or oblivious to not pick up on that and I know you’re neither of those things.” Your mother waited for you to respond.

You remained silent and still. Your eyes had spaced out to glare at the corner of your room. Coming from anyone else, you would have disregarded their opinion on what you felt for Jimin; your mom, however, was an entirely different story. Hearing it out loud triggered a domino effect in your mind. You realized that your perception of what your mother had been trying to teach you was warped by your obsession with this ring. That hit you and crumbled you like a bulldozer broke down a brick wall. This left you wondering how you’d reconstruct yourself from this. You’d always thought that you were better than those who don’t care about your ring, but now you worried that your intense dedication to it burdened you for your entire life.

It wasn’t your mother to be blamed. You fed the fire more than anyone else could and you see that now.

“Wow.” You were speechless, “I’m an idiot.” You said as if that were some monumental revelation. “He’s not my soulmate and he still has his soulmate out there too.”

“Yes, but you love him. That trumps all reason and resistance. Love will always trump all of that.” A blunt rebuttal spoken with such softness from your mother. “I think you should talk to Jimin.” Your mother said in that classic mother knows best tone.

“I think I agree.”

You and Wheein sat against the back wall of the small dance practice room. Each wall was covered with large mirrors and you’d grown acquaint to this environment. Jimin had been rehearsing a routine for his next show; it was in two weeks and despite him saying that it was one of his less important performances, you insisted you’d be there in the front row cheering a little too loudly.

Your eyes would waver between your sketch book, then to Jimin, then to your book, and back to him. You did your best to portray his dancing as graceful as it was to see in person, but you found it impossible. There was no way to recreate such beauty; this was the one thing that your art could never quite achieve, for every imitation of his movements were inferior, pathetic almost, to the real thing.

Wheein, on the other hand, was far from invested in Jimin’s practicing which didn’t come to a surprise.

She wasn’t utterly in love with him.

She peeked over to your drawing followed by rolled eyes. She grabbed her phone and texted you with a disapproving expression.

Wheein: so are u going to ask him to marry u now or later?

The text notification caught your attention. You looked at her as if to ask why she would text you when you were sitting right next to her. She only nudged you in response to coax you to look at the text. When you finally read it, you shot her another look, this time it exemplified your annoyance.

She sent another text.

Wheein: ???

You tried your best to make this exchange as inconspicuous as possible. You began typing aggressively to release some frustration.

y/n: u suck :p

Wheein laughed and responded.

Wheein: that doensn’t answer my question ;)

y/n: ya we’re planning on a destination wedding

Wheein: lol have you guys talked one on one since that day??

y/n: no and I’m on edge bc I have no idea what he’s been feeling these past few days

Wheein: damn ___ its been a week and y’all haven’t talked yet

y/n: i know :/

Wheein: well just talk to him tonight before everyone else comes

Wheein and Jackson had planned to have a kickback before the new semester came into session. She convinced you to host it on the condition she would provide the snacks and drinks. Jackson and his girlfriend, Seokjin, Sana, Yeji, all friends of you met in college, Dahyun, the girl Wheein had been dating for a few weeks, and Jimin were all going to your place later that night.

y/n: lol… you think talking about how I’m secretly in love with him right before getting drunk with our friends is a good idea???

Wheein looked up from her phone and responded with an aloof shrug. You let out a suppressed snicker and looked back down at your phone.

y/n: you’re so annoying

Wheein: at least im not a pussy!

You only replied with a middle finger emoji. You and Wheein were so invested in your virtual conversation, neither one of you had realized Jimin had finished practicing. He walked over to the two of you unsuspectingly and sat down on the other side of you. You fumbled to lock your phone before he could see your conversation while simultaneously trying not to seem like you were hiding something from him.

“You did a great job! I can’t wait to see you perform that.” You gave him an encouraging smile, slyly setting your phone on the floor.

“Thanks.” He said while panting lightly, “I kept messing up on a few steps though. I definitely need to polish up on that.” His hand ran through his hair. Your eyes watched this with the same concentration one would watch a football game coming to its last quarter. You couldn’t help how your gaze traveled down to the way his shirt clung against his chest.

Jimin pointed at your water bottle, “Do you mind?” This snapped you out of your trance.

You shook your head and stared at your sketchbook with such intensity, Jimin noticed how odd you were acting.

“What’s up?” His asked this casually but because you were hiding the fact that you were in literally love with him you felt like this was an interrogative question.

“I’m just,” You paused, beginning to touch up the sketches you had made of Jimin while he was dancing, “I’m not satisfied with how this turned out. Also, you danced well. I couldn’t even tell you messed up.” You did your best to sound distant and uncaring.

Jimin hid his smile by taking a sip of your water. “Thank you.”

Meanwhile, Wheein had witnessed all this occur right before her eyes. She was equally disgusted and embarrassed at how horridly tense that conversation had been. In a perfect world, she would have shoved both of your heads together to initiate a forced kiss because she knew damn well neither of you would ever be the first one to make that move, especially after everything that happened. All she could do was stand by and watch in agony.

“Whenever you two are finished, I’d like to shower before everyone comes over.” Wheein added a touch of retort in her words, hoping you would pick up on what she really wanted to say. “Jimin, you definitely need to shower too.”

You and Jimin laughed as you all stood up and began exiting the practice room. He threw his arm around Wheein in retaliation for her jab. “Oh, you don’t like my sweat?”

She cried out a loud ‘ew’ in disgust and forcefully shoved him away. You watched them bicker, and today was the first day since your ring turned green again that you hadn’t thought about your soulmate once.

Jackson and Nayeon arrived early to help set everything up. He also came to give a last-minute warning that he had invited a few of his friends from work over as well.

“I told him he shouldn’t, but when does he ever listen to me?” Nayeon scolded to which Jackson rolled his eyes. You laughed, appreciating her efforts in attempting to get Jackson not to do something he had his sights set on.

“It’s okay. You can just order something really expensive the next time he pays for dinner.” You said while grabbing an extra pack of red solo cups from your cabinet.

“I do that regardless.” She said with a loud laugh. Jackson nodded in admittance and kissed her cheek lovingly.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” You and Nayeon laughed at his sarcastic remark. She joined in helping you set up to compensate for the fact that Jackson didn’t apologize. You weren’t too upset, though; you knew him too well to believe him when he said he was only going to bring Nayeon tonight.

As the night went on and your apartment slowly filled with around thirteen people, some strangers and some friends, you were on the edge of being drunk to being really drunk. Everyone else was either at you level or a bit ahead of you. Wheein had already hopped on your couch to perform a ballad dedicated to how much she loved her friends.

“This one’s for YOU!” Her voiced boomed louder than the speaker and if you weren’t so intoxicated, you’d be worried about the neighbors filing a noise complaint. Wheein pointed at you then began pointing at everyone else in the room watching in amusement, “This ones for ALL of you! Even Jackson’s friends I don’t even know!”

This elicited a laugh from all of Jackson’s coworkers. One called out, “Do you remember my name?”

“Definitely not but I LOVE you!” She laughed turning red in the face then continuing with her heartfelt serenade to everyone in the apartment. “Dahyun, you’re the cutest girl in the whole wide world. It is very important that you know that! Hey! Everyone! I’m dating the cutest girl in the world!” Dahyun burst out bashfully in giggles, lifting her hands to shield her face.

Your eyes met with Jimin’s as you exchanged looks. He swayed his body from side to side with a bright smile as Wheein sang loudly off-key, and you lifted your shoulders and shook your head in astonishment at how hilarious and sappy Wheein was when she was drunk.

After Wheein’s display of affection, she plopped down on the couch and slouched while reaching for her drink to take a few sips. Things simmered down as the group began to drunkenly chat about something you didn’t pay any attention to. You walked over to Wheein, trying your best not to lose your balance, and sat down next to her.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink.” You said through fits of giggling and she groaned at your unrelenting responsibility even when you were drunk. You snatched the cup out of her hand and chugged the last of the drink, “But I definitely haven’t.”

“Heyyyyyyy!” She slurred, “That was mine!”

“I’m doing you a favor.” You patted her head. “Also, I approve of Dahyun. But she’s not the cutest girl in the world, that title is already taken by you.” You nudged her lovingly and her head tossed around as she laughed.

“Shh, I love you. You’re the best friend ever.” Her words had slurred even more.

Wheein stood up suddenly and marched sloppily over to your bedroom door, “Pssst, I’m going to pass out now and wake up with a hangover tomorrow, so I bid you all a goodnight!” Dahyun led her to the bedroom and kissed her goodnight. She saluted then disappeared into your room.

“Looks like I’ll have to take care of that tomorrow.” Yeji and Sana laughed at this comment, knowing how whiny Wheein would get even if she had the slightest headache.

You, Namjoon, and Nayeon were looking at pictures of her and Jackson’s trip to the mountains last weekend. Although sober you would have been genuinely excited to hear about it, you found yourself struggling to focus your eyes on the pictures, only offering witless answers. Luckily, Namjoon was much better at holding his liquor and Nayeon was an even bigger extrovert when she was drunk which explained why she didn’t even notice you were barely paying attention.

“So, Jimin, how did your date with that girl go?” You heard your friend Seokjin ask.

This sobered you instantly and you found it eerie how your attention focused on what Jimin was going to say. He looked down at his cup trying to find the words to properly describe it.

“It was okay. She was cute and laughed at all my jokes which boosted my ego.” He smiled softly, but it was merely a condolence to the fact that he couldn’t have admitted he didn’t have as much interest in her as he hoped.

“Damn, you’re not that funny so she must have really liked you.” He jabbed with suggestive implications. Jimin laughed at this and nodded in agreement but his smile slowly faded when he scanned the room only to find that you’d been listening to the conversation.

Your intoxication wore away your ability to hide exactly what you were feeling, as a disgruntled expression lingered on your face. The second he looked at you, your head snapped away from his in humiliation as if he hadn’t already seen you were eavesdropping. 

The night came to an end which was a relief to you. You didn’t know how much longer you could put up a happy, carefree attitude. Whenever your mind almost wandered away from Jimin’s date, it swarmed back into your thoughts and focus and provoked irritation with no restraint.

One by one, your friends left. Jackson cleaned up the last few empty cups, tossed them in the trash, and wiped down your table and counter before he left, hoping that would make up for how he had encumbered your plans. Jimin was laying on the couch so you didn’t bother kicking him out. You guessed he was going to spend the night since he was too drunk to drive anyway.

Your legs moved in a staggered manner and you floundered around the kitchen trying to find your cups. You leaned on the counters for support groaning softly to yourself. Thinking about Jimin on a date, flirting the way he’d flirt with you, or laughing for someone else that wasn’t you was enraging. You couldn’t tell whether it was the alcohol or the fuming envy that made you feel dizzy. It was realistically both those things.

You heard light footsteps approaching you, impeding on your pathetic sulking. You spun around quickly to see who it was which, in hindsight, was the worst possible thing you could do. Before you got the chance to give a face to the presence, your eyes began to see patches of black and your hand caressed your head to keep yourself from passing out on the floor.

“Woah.” You gasped trying to recollect your composure both mentally and physically. A few seconds later you felt two familiar arms wrap around your waist in assistance. The way those limbs delicately held you indicated exactly who it was.

“Hey, hey.” His voice was gentle as he was using his lower register, “You okay?” He was so close to you that you could feel his breath that smelled of liquor against your skin. Your hands wandered to rest against his chest, and you looked up at him. His cheeks tinted a soft pink color. Jimin grinned lightly when you made eye contact with him.

“I’m okay.” You mumbled under your breath, not wanting to speak too loudly because you felt your undigested food threaten to come back up your throat. You face inched dangerously close to his, and he didn’t stop you because of his drunken state. Your chest heaved erratically due to your nausea.

“I’m fine.” You sneered pushing him away with the little might that you had left.

“___, you’re still drunk.” He stumbled back and sounded disappointed which made you feel even angrier.

“Well you are too.” You accused feeling a bit demeaned by his tone. He didn’t say anything to this as his arms lazily returned to his side. “You went on a date? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why would I?”

“I don’t know?” You were annoyed at his resistance towards you. “I’m your friend. Friends tell each other things like that. What? Did you think I would be mad at you?” You stepped forward feeling bold and confrontational, as a result of your drunkenness. He crossed his arms, refusing to yield to you.

“I never said that.” He looked down at the floor, fueling your agitation even more. You wanted him to look at you. “You don’t seem so happy about it, that’s for sure.”

You let out a groan that dragged out for a bit, “What are you talking about, I’m absolutely ecstatic for you.” You jabbed pettily as you walked past him to continue your search for a water glass. He rolled his eyes at your abnormally aggressive and childish attitude.

“You have no right to be mad.” Jimin grumbled while watching you struggle to find a glass. He reached for the correct cabinet and held out a cup to you. You begrudgingly took the cup from his hand and stumbled over to the sink, briefly losing your balance before catching yourself against the counter. He reflexively reached his arm out to catch you in case you fell.

“You don’t think I know that?” You spat with your voice raised slightly, “You don’t think that I know you’re allowed to go on dates with other girls? You don’t think I want to be happy for you?” You started to get worked up and worried you would let something slip out that you would regret.

“Well it doesn’t seem like you’re trying at all.” Jimin walked to the other end of the kitchen and leaned back against the counter.

“What’s it to you?”

“Oh, I don’t know?” Jimin responded sarcastically, “I kind of have a problem with you being mad at me after you were the one who turned me down.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You stuttered over your words.

“I don’t know what I’m talking about.” He repeated what you said to confirm your audacious comment. “Oh, so, I imagined when you said you couldn’t be with me because of your soulmate ring?”

“Jimin, don’t.” You warned.

“No, I clearly remember that you said you weren’t interested. And as much as that hurt and I wanted to tell you that I wanted you to choose me I would never do that. At least I could be kind enough to not take that out on you. And now you’re mad at me for trying to get over you? I should have known not to fall for you. Fuck, I tried to tell myself I made up the connection we had to make me feel better about this. To make this,” He gestured to you and him, “whatever this was not real. I thought if I could convince myself our connection wasn’t real then maybe I could cope with the fact that I’d never get to be with you.”

You began to cry but your buzz was strong enough that all caution was thrown to the wind. You cried unconstrained.

“I’m mad because I know I have no reason to be mad but here I am!” You gestured vivaciously as your passion began to boil over. “I’m mad because-” You took a second to catch your breath, “I don’t know. I’m just mad and I’m sorry. Of course, it’s not your fault but I can’t help the way I feel.”

“Right.” He said coldly, unimpressed with this answer.

“What do you know? You don’t know anything! You don’t know me or what I’m thinking.” This attack was meant to hurt him as much as it hurt you to say. You stomped over to him, spilling a bit of water on your hand and the floor.

Jimin stood up and stepped forward to counter you, causing you to stumble back a bit. His face was so close to yours once more and he could now clearly see your dampened eyes and the way they looked at him with frustration. You regained grounding and tried not to seem intimidated. He could be so gentle and light when he danced, but right now he looked so indestructible that not even a tank could move him

“I don’t know you?” Your skin tingled from the bitterness that stained his voice. He scoffed, running his hand through his hair. Your eyes vigilantly watched him and your heart pumped at an unhuman rate. You prayed he couldn’t tell he had this power over you.

His eyes pierced back at you with such intensity that you wanted to cry harder. You wanted to tell him every bit of how you felt and how much you loved him. You wanted him to know that he’d changed you in the most unpredictable and drastic ways and it unhinged every bone in your body. You were scared because you once believed he would never satisfy you since he wasn’t your soulmate, but now you were scared that even a lifetime of efforts could never repay what he had given you. That all this time, you weren’t enough for him.

Jimin felt his urges get the best of him. Staring into your eyes absolved any resentment he held for you. He felt injected with life whenever he looked at you, even when you were staring daggers at him like you had been now. He didn’t know how long he could resist from kissing you, being that he was drunk and reckless.

You both stood there, silently. Jimin was waiting for you to shoot a drunken, unintelligible comment back and you were waiting for Jimin to rebuke you for lashing out at him. Neither of those things happened. You just remained speechless, as did he.

Eventually, you took a few steps away, breaking the longing stare that had transpired between you and Jimin for what felt like an hour.

“I’m going to bed.” That was the last thing you said before slumping out of the kitchen and entering into your bedroom. You were right in assuming Jimin would stay over since he was too drunk and emotional to drive himself home.

Jimin collapsed onto the couch and finally let himself cry. He hated the fact that things didn’t go back to how they were, and that they most likely never would. You were like water to him. He could experience you and feel you but whenever he tried to hold you in his hands no matter how tightly, you would slip through his fingers. He just wished he could have shared another one of those nothing-everything moments with you he’d foolishly taken for granted. When he closed his eyes, memories of you and him played in his mind until he dozed off to sleep.

You woke up the next morning to a pressure headache that resided in the back of your head. This however was nothing compared to the feeling you got when you checked your phone and saw Jimin had sent you a text.

Jimin: I think I need some space

Jimin: I’m sorry

Before the tears had the chance to well, you stood up and trudged out to the living room to only find that Jimin had already left and Wheein was sitting on the couch flipping through the stations on the television.

“Look at this.” You tossed your phone on the cushion next to Wheein and walked over to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

Wheein picked up your phone and read the texts, sighing with disappointment. “Fuck, I’m sorry, ___.”

“We kind of had a fight last night.” You muttered, the memories of everything that had happened flooding back into your head. You said so many things you wish you hadn’t and regretted how rude you had allowed yourself to act.

“Yeah, I know. I heard.” Her lips were pressed together as she walked over to you.

“I really know how to fuck things up, don’t I?” You scoffed in mockery of your misbehavior.

Two weeks passed since you and Jimin had fought.

That petty argument stained your mind. That moment was everything. And for once, you wanted it to mean nothing.

Every time your phone alerted you, you reached for it eagerly and immediately in the slim chance that it was Jimin who was texting you. It never was, though, and you only had yourself to blame.

It had been two weeks of self-reprimand and regret.

Fourteen days of missing him and pitifully scrolling through photos and videos that you took of him.

Three hundred and thirty-six hours since saw his smile or scolded him for skipping practice to hang out with you or received a casual compliment from him that never failed to boost your mood when you were upset.

Or heard his laugh.

Coincidentally, tonight was his dance recital he’d been practicing for. You’d been waffling between going and not going for the entirety of those two weeks. Wheein would always reassure you that you should go and that he would appreciate you cared enough to support him.

“You know I can’t make it, its my mom’s birthday weekend. If not for you, go for me.” She pleaded.

It took a few more minutes of Wheein’s persuasion for you to finally decide on going. And you told yourself it was exclusively for Wheein. You told yourself that, but she knew, and you knew you just missed his so much.

You arrived early so you could snag a decent seat. To your dismay, it was already crowded which made you remember Jimin always downplayed his dancing events due to his humbleness. You found a seat slightly askew to the center of the stage, but close enough to get an adequate view. The lights dimmed and you set down your purse and the bouquet of red roses on the floor in front of your legs.

There were a few performers that preceded Jimin, all were talented and passionate but nothing like the way Jimin danced. Maybe it was because you were in love with him, but there was something exceptionally unmatched about his dancing abilities.

He finally walked out on stage and his eyes met with yours almost immediately. Jimin paused and contained his excitement to the best of his abilities. You weren’t fooled though; you could see it in his eyes that he was relieved you attended and you nodded at him to express physically that you wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

Jimin looked down as the music started playing, then began his performance. The way his arms flowed so precisely with the rhythm and the elegance he exuded as he leaped across the stage had the audience collectively in awe of his raw talent. His legs moved so delicately that anyone could tell he was the type of dancer that practiced until he couldn’t stand up anymore.

Your breathing was rather heavily but you ignored everything else when Jimin would dance. The intense beating of your heart, the audience, the walls and even the stage had faded away; he was the only thing detectable in your eyes in this moment.

Your presence granted him the motivation to exert every ounce of effort into every single movement. You pitied the unlucky person who had to follow him. Their dance would surely be put to shame by this beautiful, raw, flawless, emotional masterpiece.

When the dance ended, your body crashed back to reality and you realized every muscle in your body had been contracted. You loosened yourself by leaning back into your chair.

He received a standing ovation which didn’t come to a surprise. You stood up, still. Jimin’s eyes were glued to you. You gave him a teary smile and he held his hand to his heart and bowed. The audience had no idea that was for you and only you.

Jimin prayed that you saw it. The longing, the pure dedication, the heartbreak, and the change. You changed him. He wanted you to know that he always thought he’d fall in love countless times, but from the moment he met you that desire had faded. Now, he knew he’d only ever want to love you. 

The remainder of the recital had been a blur. Nothing could prevail in capturing your attention from Jimin. His movements simply replayed in your head until the showcase ended. You stood up and applauded, growing restless to run backstage to congratulate him.

Before you got the chance to greet him, an entire crowd of people swarmed any path that lead to where the dancers were. You grunted and settled on texting him.

y/n: meet me outside on the bridge across the street

Jimin: I’ll be there in about 10 minutes

You thought your heart couldn’t have raced any faster than it did while you were watching Jimin dance, but your body had proved you wrong. You paced up and down the bridge all the while mumbling what you planned on saying to Jimin. You bit your fingernails and leaned against the wooden railing that scaled along the bridge.

“Hey.” Jimin walked up next to you, looking out to the streaming water below the bridge. It was quiet, warm, and serene. The lantern that stood on the end of the bridge radiating a warm tone that accentuated Jimin’s honey skin.

“You did amazing. Just,” You paused, there were no words to do his performance justice, “if I went blind tomorrow, I’d be satisfied.”

Jimin chuckled at your comment, knowing you meant well.

He laughed for you. That beautiful sound echoed in your heart loudly. You missed it so much.

“These are for you.” You handed him the flowers, turning your body towards him. He grinned and cradled them in his arm.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“I heard from Seokjin that you’re planning on making things official with the girl. What’s her name?” You said abruptly. Jimin visibly tensed when you said this.

“Nancy.” He replied.

“Nancy.” You repeated.

There was a long silence, and Jimin opened his mouth about to say something but you beat him to it.

“Don’t be her boyfriend.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because,” You looked back out into the water before continuing, “I know you could never fully dedicate yourself to her like you would to me.” A scoff escaped you when you said it out loud, “I don’t care if that sounds arrogant because I know it’s true. I know because that’s how I’d feel about everyone else too.” You paused, “Even my soulmate.”

“___, do you- that- where is this coming from?” His eyes planted firmly on yours.

“I love you, Jimin.” You blurted it out. The hundred of ways you imagined yourself confessing this to him ultimately resulted in you ineloquently spouting it out. There was no denying your vigor could never diminish when it came to love, it simply was redirected.

“You love me.” He repeated in a stunned state. He just tenderly stared at you, hope and bewilderment bursting through him; he was trying to take it all in.

“I love you. I’ve loved you from the minute I met you and every minute of every day that I’ve known you. And I could never stop myself from loving you, and I was stupid to think that was possible. I’d always been so determined to find my soulmate. I pictured exactly what to say and how we would fall in love, but with you,” You laughed lightly, holding a hand to your heart. Hearing you say these things to him was everything he’d ever wished for, for the months you’d known each other. Needless to say he was fighting back tears.

“I can’t imagine being with anyone else but you. You’ve ruined love for me because I know nothing will ever be as good as the way I love you.”

“You don’t have to say that.” These words struck you, hard. You didn’t know how to convince him, but dammit, you’d never give up trying.

“I couldn’t, though. I couldn’t let go of the way you laugh, you know I always go out of my way to make you laugh? because hearing it makes me so damn happy and I have no idea why. Or how when we look at each other and I can tell exactly what you’re thinking, and you can tell exactly what I’m thinking. Or how you always let me order my food first and pour water into my cup before you pour water into yours. Or the way you tease me for opening the banana on the ‘wrong side’. Or how your dancing is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And every moment you’re not dancing or laughing or teasing me I wish you were by my side doing all of those things.”

“I could never be him. I could never be that for you, you know this right?” He responded in short answers, unable to find the right words that would be a good enough just like when he was seven years old. But, Jimin was older now and held a firm belief nothing could ever express how strongly he feels.

“Good. I don’t want you to be him or anyone else other than you.”

“But what about-”

“No. There’s nothing else to consider. The point is I could never forgive myself if I gave you up for some theoretical opportunity of a soulmate. I found someone even better. I found you. I don’t care what the stars say, I don’t care that your ring is green and mine is green and that we’re technically not soulmates. I don’t care if I never meet my soulmate. What we have is real. Our connection was built by us. You’re real. And I love you so much that’s all I can say.” You stared intently at him becoming exhausted, yet alleviated from finally being able to tell him all this. “This ring had meant everything for me for all my life. When it was green it meant I had a soulmate, when it was black it meant I had no reason to believe in love. But with you, this ring means absolutely nothing. It’s green again and it has never felt so meaningless to me. Does that even make sense?”

“I love you.” He said after about five minutes of silence. He didn’t give you a second to respond because the next think you knew, he stepped towards you and pressed his lips firmly against yours.

It’s true what they say about seeing fireworks when you kiss someone you love. These fireworks covered every inch of the sky and flared brightly, blindingly so, and flew so high in the air that you swore they reached outer space.

Your arms slid around his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss. His cheeks softly brushed against yours and felt so warm. The softness of his lips could make you cry. Finally being able to kiss him and hold him and admit your love to him did make you cry. His hands caressed your face making you flush red, and his thumb glided against your cheeks to wipe away the hot tears he felt trickling from your eyes.

He pulled back but couldn’t pull too far because he felt some gravitational force drawing him to be near you. Your noses bumped against each other, “The minute you met me, huh?” You laughed, placing another chaste kiss on the side of his smile.

“I warned you I was a hopeless romantic.” You sniffed still recovering from that tearful, enchanting kiss.

He laced his hand with yours, intertwining your fingers, and strode slowly along the park path. You and he talked like you’d always had but now you loved him, and he knew that.

“Favorite cartoon as a kid?”

“Easy, Blue’s Clues.” Jimin said.

“Really? You think Blue’s Clues was the best when Sesame Street exists?”

“Big bird scared me! You just know he’s killed someone. you can see it in his cold, dead eyes.” Jimin argued.

“Oh yeah? Well, at least none of the characters had conversations with their furniture. Steve was one hundred percent insane.” You said, laughing.

“Steve is a legend, don’t say such things about him.” Jimin joined in your laughter, referring to the main character of Blue’s Clues. 

“Go to pick up line?” He asked.

You thought for a moment, “Aside from being sexy, what do you do for a living?”

“Wow, that was absolutely terrible I think we have to break up.” Jimin chuckled.

“Oh yeah, like you could do better.” You challenged.

“If nothing lasts forever, will you be my nothing?” He said with eyes so dreamy you almost ignored the fact that this pick up like was just as horrendous as yours.

“How was that better than mine?”

“Trust me, it was.”

“I will. I will be your nothing.” He looked to you and kissed your cheek. You closed your eyes at the sensation of his touch.

“And I’ll be yours?” Jimin whispered against your cheek as if he were asking permission to be the one you choose. You nodded. Of course, he was.

You and him and this moment were nothing. Nothing to the passing strangers, nothing to the waiter that took your order on your first date, nothing to the generations to come, nothing to the universe and trees and grass and stars that surrounded you. Nothing at all.

And yet, to you and Jimin, it was everything. This nothing and everything moment marked the beginning of a lifetime of nothing and everything moments.

Somewhere along these nothing and everything moments, green became just another color to you and your ring was just another piece of jewelry. And nothing more.

Exactly 10 months after that night, you and Jimin planned to return to that bridge. You stood against the railing and looked over to Jimin.

“Uh, move over like two inches to the left.” You giggled, finding that your need for accuracy rubbed off on him.

“Are you sure that’s where I was standing? I could swear it was right here!” You argued, simply to get a rise out of him; you thought it was adorable.

“No, you were definitely standing two inches to the left.” He held his phone and aimed it at you. “Move it!” He ordered with a smile on his face.

“Yes sir!” You stepped to the side then looked at him for approval. He held his thumb up and took a few pictures while you posed.

Afterwards, he walked up to you and placed a kiss on your cheek before showing you the photos. Most of them were blurry and you teased him for his shoddy camera skills. “Wheein’s gonna hate these pictures.” You commented. He laughed and threw his arm across your shoulder as the two of you stared out into the water flowing peacefully downstream. Being here with him brought the memory of that night as if it had happened just yesterday.

“A friend once said to me: ‘it’s crazy that out of all the years and decades and countries we could have been born, we were born in this one, together’.” Jimin’s eyes were fixated on the water in reminiscence of the first time he’d met you, “I thought of what my friend said often when we were together. And it’s as if we were meant to find each other. The universe seems coincidental when it comes to picking soulmates, doesn’t it? At least we got to choose. And I think it purposefully granted us that choice knowing exactly what it would bring us. As if we were meant to bring every bit of love, warmth, and even heartbreak into each other’s lives. It’s kind of like a lottery when you think about it. To me, it feels like fate plucked us out like numbers on a ticket and placed us together.” Jimin looked over to you now, and when you stared into his eyes every one of your questions about love had been answered.

“Numbers are infinite.” You said softly.

“Yeah, and yet, we were picked. I understand now I won the lottery.” He replied and wished time would stop so he could cherish this nothing moment forever.

“There isn’t a doubt in my mind about doing this.” You said with sentiment. “Ready?”

“Ready.” He responded, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

The two of you slipped the soulmate rings off your fingers and you gazed at it one last time.

“Count of three?”

Jimin nodded.

You started the countdown, “One.”

Jimin continued it, “Two.”

Three came in unison and you both threw your rings into the water which was now rushing rapidly.

When you felt the ring slip from your hand and watched as it dropped into the water, you wept. You wept out of pure relief and liberation; an enormous pressure had lifted from your chest and you were finally able to breathe. That ring could never cause you any more pain, nor did that ring replenish your hope you would find love. You didn’t need it anymore.

Because now, you had an endless supply of nothing moments.

and everything moments

and Jimin.

[babysizedfics]

Back at it again with a couple more HC prompts, which imma just dump in one, and you can pick which ones you want. Puddles with the kiddos, family baking sessions when both are regressed, Ro wanting attention whilst Logan is reading, so climbing all over his book, how their reactions to new stuffies differ, regressed versus non-regressed birthdays.... Etc... 👍

okokokokok buckle up everyone

Puddles:

this is the only one where i have to be like .. i don't think so :0 see virgil can get very nervous when it rains because he's so anxious about 'is it gonna storm? will there be thunder? will we be hit by lightning? will there be a flood? what if one of us slips and hurts our head??' that he just cannot relax enough to be able to jump around in puddles because 'WHAT IF I SLIP IM GONNA DIE' and the wetness on his skin sets off the wrong sensory feelings so jumping in muddy puddles is a no for him (as much as he loves peppa pig)

and roman is a fussy little thing, he may not care as much for his appearance when he's small but i think he will still be conscious enough to notice if he gets wet hair and muddy clothes - plus i feel like roman's mood is quite tied to the weather, on dark days he tends to fee a little more gloomy, ao again not sure about this especially if he wouldn't have his baby brother there with him

Baking:

OH BOY so roman is a great cook okay? like chef level he has honed his skills so that he can make romantic meals for handsome princes, but baking? nu uh, too technical, he ain't got time for that. Patton is the baker of the house and makes cookies and cupcakes way too often for Logan's liking (but secretly he loves them of course, he's just concerned for everybody's teeths) but both CGs will cook dinner when the boys are little

When the boys are regressed they're not allowed much in the kitchen anymore. after roman tried to make breakfast in bed for his CGs and started a very small but very real fire he has lost some kitchen rights (ficlet coming to you at some point perhaps) and is not allowed in the kitchen without at least one CG. even if he can switch so quickly between headspaces, he ends up either 1) too stubborn to come out of little space, or 2) a kittle bit clumsy when he comes out of it

but to make up for roman being upset by this slight loss of independence (he is a big kid after all) patton and he do weekly baking sessions! and there's always a theme. most recently they had animal crossing themed cupcakes, a little mermaid themed jello (not technically baking but roman wanted to but little fish gummies in the jelly), and... the next one is a secret because i might put it in chapter 7 (: in fact chapter 7 will feature the first instance of this tradition!!

virgil has pyrophobia (fear of fire) and so is never keen to be in the kitchen while there's food preparation going on (but he was allowed to help with the under the sea jello!!) so roman and pattons baking sessions are an excuse for mama and baby bonding time! the tradition didn't start until after virgil's separation anxiety from patton had eased up a little so luckily there's barely any tears

mama baby bonding time consists of but is not limited to: sitting on mama's lap, doing puzzles together, (vee trying to suck on a puzzle piece and crying when he's told not to), mama reading baby books to vee, vee touching all the textures and flaps in the baby books, snuggles

Ro wanting attention while Lo is reading:

this is 1000% canon!! later in the series logan will often be at work in his room and have the boys with him because patton is busy with something or another. they realise they really do need to keep working for thomas' sake but manage to integrate the boys' littlespaces into it. Eg. logan dangling baby plastic keys from one hand to amuse girgil while he's typing with the other

but when it's quiet time, when patton is in virgil's room because the baby is having a nap and papa wants to watch over him, when roman hasn't been little because he's been working or simply not in the mood earlier that day, when logan is just chilling, just reading a stephen hawking book in the living room, when he's literally just vibing, roman can and will launch himself into logan's lap sending the book flying and logan isn't allowed to tell him off because 'I'm little now! i want attention now!! hi mom!!!!'

New stuffies:

AHHHHHHHHH this this this is so so cute!!

roman never used to care much for soft toys before okay? before he was ever a little sure he appreciated disney action figures (he used them to block out scenes he wrote for theatre productions and screenplays and fanfiction) sure he always had a soft spot for Mrs Fluffybottom his childhood toy, but she always just sat on a shelf, he never fet the need to cuddle her or play with her

but when he realises he's little, when he starts playing with vee, when he sees how much vee cares about his soft animals, when patton and logan buy him a present to welcome him to the littlespace family and it's a golden teddy bear (soon to be named Aladdin) with big brown beady eyes and a satin crimson bow around its neck? yeah big kids love stuffies too

and now whenever roman is gifted a new toy (soft or otherwise) he essentially gets the zoomies!!! his brain is going a million miles a minute with all the game possibilities and with the excitement of NEW PRESENT!!! and with the happiness that his caregivers thought about him and he's been a good enough boy to deserve gifts?? yeah he's so so so excited he canNOT stand still he runs around the house for a whole hour flinging his new toy around (yeah he's a bit rough with them and there's been more than one torn limp or loose eye but he doesn't care it just shows how much they're loved!)

Now virgil: this boy is very very very emotionally attached to his stuffies. when he was a "dark side" he couldn't have much soft stuff because it just went against everything the household stood for and he couldn't risk the others finding out about how not-scary he really was, but he allowed himself a single stuffed rabbit that was easy to hide and that he loved with all of his being. it was his security blanket and his one item that could offer him comfort in a oanic attack and his only posession that he felt was true to him and not true to the scary facade he put up to scare thomas and the "light sides" into listening to him

without spoiling anything, that bunny was left in that house when he moved to the "light sides"

and in his new home virgil started collecting soft toys whenever he needed comfort. everytime he felt unwanted, every time he had an anxiety attack, everytime there was a thunderstorm predicted for the next week he would get himself a new soft toy because that was the only way he knew to comfort himself. needless to say he's got a pretty big collection now. you might think he became desensitized to new toys because of how many times he had gotten himself a new one, and you might be partly right.

that is until for the first time ever he is given a stuffie by someone else... when logan buys him a soft toy in apology for accidentally revealing his regression to everyone ((yes i am writing this fic!))

it wasn't really logan's fault, virgil should have been more aware he should have been more careful he should have hidden it all better but the logical side was guilt-ridden nonetheless. virgil hadn't expected much to be honest, the sincere apology was enough for him

but when logan blushed and shyly opened a box and handed him a black cat stuffie? virgil had to fight very very hard not to outright sob on the spot. he simply took it, thanked logan shakily, and prayed that logan didn't point out the fact that tears were falling onto the fluff of his new stuffed friend Jiji

now whenever he gets a new toy it's different than before - it's not because he's upset and needs comfort, it happens less often now but it's more special, it could be for a holiday or as a way of saying he's been very sweet or just because patton simply couldn't resist this one because look at its cute lil eyes! but each and everytime he knows when he is handed a new toy by one of his family members it really means 'i love you'

and he buries his face in its softness - it used to be to hide his tears, but now he just can't help but squeeze it tight and close and let the feeling of love wash over him

Birthdays:

yknow that episode of steven universe where steven wears a regal cape and a golden crown? yeah that's roman whether he's little or not

seriously this kid is very much the 'it's my birthweek!' type

lots of singing, lots of 'but i'm the birthday boy!!' to try to get thtings he really shouldn't be getting (like a third cookie) (and yes patton caves every single time) (patton is eventually banned from making decisions on romans behalf during his "birthweek")

there's not much difference at all between little romans birthday and big romans birthday, he's just an excitable boy whether he's a kiddo or not - this may or may not make the caregivers question whether maybe he actually was a little before virgil's regression was revealed

(irrelevant but patton definitely makes the pun 'you're a little? a little what? finish your sentences silly billy!')

virgil hates his birthday. hates it.

too much attention, too many things that could go wrong, too much pressure on it being a good day. what if his anxiety is bad that day? what if he doesn't want everyone watching him open presents? what if he's genuinely terrified that people think walking towards him with a big grin, singing at him, and carrying a cakeful of literal fire is a somehow a fun activity??

when he first moved into the house he made it very clear that he does not have a birthday so don't even try to throw him a party

naturally roman and patton were devastated, but after a failed attempt at getting virgil to enjoy his birthday they obeyed logan's request that they not try to push the idea on virgil any further

but the first birthday after they become a little family, it's a bit different

they don't push it, not at first, but virgil does wake up to patton already in his room and cooing at him adoringly , immediately sending him into his regressed headspace

then he's given a new soft toy. that wasn't so bad

then roman let him choose what disney film they watched. that wasnt bad either

then logan cuddled him for an hour and they might have fallen asleep together not noticing the smell of vanilla coming from the kitchen

then there was a new paci, a new rattle, another new soft toy, and cake cut up into tiny squares so he could nibble on it with his fingers

there was no loud singing no big surprises no bright lights or fire or anything else that he hated about birthdays

there was only love and toys and comfort. so virgil really didn't mind birthdays much after that

[riddleredcoats]

Prompt: Voldemort returns to his body after 13 years and finds out that Bellatrix died in Azkaban.

So, I didn’t write the scene where he finds her, because it always came out too melodramatic, but I did write the scene where he finds out. So here, have Voldemort full of feels. (Side appearances of Black Sisters, except Bella cause she’s dead. And a special guest.)

Hope you like it, @knightessofwalpurgis

A phantom pain

 The darkened room that had served as his hideout for the past… Only the Gods know how many months… was dirty, filthy and in utter disarray. The blinds which hadn’t been opened since he had moved in, the desk had long since run out of space for his papers, the sofa had the light imprint of his body – less for his actual weight but more for his continued use – for when he slept, and  the pile of clothes that were intermittently changed were all lying on the floor resting alongside the books and papers that had made the bulk of his research months ago; the only part of the room that wasn’t grimy was the sheets. He hadn’t used the bed for anything but put more papers and books when the desk ran out of space.

 With a hushed rage the book in his hands takes a perfect arch of a flight as another dead end is all he has to content himself with.

 It is the same as every other day.

 His days are spent in research. Books upon books, papers upon papers, rumour upon rumour are checked, verified, rejected and annotated, and the cycle repeats. So engrossed in study that rare are the days he remembers to eat, much less sleep.

 The cause of his research doesn’t help matters. Overcoming death? That is easy a task compared to overturning death. Once a deed is done, undoing it is a arduous task of near heroic exercise. And he had searched for such deeds, of people who had overturned death, no matter how fanciful the tale was.

 He still remembers the day when the news of her death – he could never truly say her name anymore, thinking it even could be likened to craving his fangs on the neck of a unicorn; life-giving, yes, if only because the pain and revolt made it known that no hell could compare to the agony of living moment – had capitulated this whole, dull exercise his life seemed to revolve around.

 He remembers the confusion of not seeing her with the rescued soldiers, the surprise in his face must have been evident but it hadn’t been Lucius – cowardly as he may be, he fancied himself useful – who had given him the news.

 Her sister, tears in cloudy blue eyes had gently – why, why, why was she being so with him? – led him from the hall, and had apparated with him to a familiar site – he remembers her, quietly sobbing in her sister’s arms, as her father’s coffin went to ground, the image of her set against the background he found himself seeing again – and he must have stumbled because her sister, now alone with tears unabashedly running down her eyes, had grabbed his arm to steady him and lead him to a grandiose tomb – how, how how had this happened?

 He had knelt before it and heard his companion gasp at the venerable act but paid it no mind, reading, instead, the inscription on the black marbled stone lined with golden veins. He traced the carved epitaph and date with a long, white finger. Arrived too late by a year. A mere year.

 “She got the kiss,” broken-sobbed sister interrupted quietly, “Some guard tried to grab her, she fought back and killed him. There was nothing I could-…” he was sure that sobs racked her body, if the sound was anything to go by.

 He remembers saying nothing, remembers watching it with muted eyes. He thought himself being able to rarely truly feel anymore but there was a dull pang in his chest that penetrated through his often-desensitized senses that seemed to reverberate through every part of his being.

 He also remembers kneeling there for a long time; even after her sister was long gone, he remembers staying. He remembers coming back to Malfoy Manor and being surprised to see the pitying looks, the knowing looks, the sympathetic looks. As if everyone had known how he would react except himself.

 If there had been rumours before, after that – after spending what turned out to be three days at her tomb stone –,  it became inevitable to avoid them.

 He had always known the rumours about them, would have to be blind, deaf and a squib to have never heard them, but that was all that there was to them… Rumours. A fact that would surprise enough people to make it a noteworthy gossip.

 Of course that every rumour has a sliver of truth and this time was no different, while there was no interaction between them that hadn’t passed in front of the eyes of someone – anyone would do, at some point they had wordlessly decided – else, a precaution for both of them and a way to keep up the appearances… While that was an ignorable truth, it didn’t mean that sentiment wasn’t there. That need, lust, care, devotion, admiration, respect, loyalty, friendship, love… didn’t penetrate the air between them, infusing tension into every single of their interactions even with a bloody chaperone.

 After learning of her death, first the pain had been dull, rarely striking at him even as he prepared his comeback. Then, as if his wall slowly crumbled, the pain began to harass at the back of his mind interrupting meetings, strategies, and sleep. The image of her, a thought that she might have, her voice…Oh, those were always breathtakingly painful when her voice echoed in his cold, unfeeling mind, and yet, it was only in those moments that he stopped feeling half-way real, when he heard her voice.

 And then, as was his wont, as was his nature and character… He became fixated with the idea of her, possessed by the idea of truly listening to her voice one last time.

 He knows, bitterly and with unbridled – yet still muted, as everything is these days – anger, that had they acted, had they indulged, and succumbed and allowed themselves to partake in adulterous and desired act – the consequences be thrice damned to hell – had they allowed themselves that reprieve from their stations, then he would not be so obsessed, so infatuated, so crippled by his need to listen to her again. To have her say the words they both knew to be true but had never put to lips, to hear her berate him, even, for having neglected his – their – cause in search of her, anything to hear her voice, her sentiment, her fondness and love for him in her quiet, even gentle if she so wished to make it so, voice.

 And he had.

 Neglected his cause, he meant. Almost bitter, but not entirely. A part of him glad to be rid of the of the conflict he had initiated when he had been too young to truly understand how tiring it was to be at the forefront of war faction, how war could tear at his brain until nothing remained but the ignorable need to survive. A war that he had never truly believed, not when the traditions the war had meant to preserve only resulted in leaving him and her utterly devastated and alone with their desires.  

 As his search for her became more and more time consuming, the war that had weighted on him for more years than he was comfortable with admitting, fell to the back burner to be abandoned to whoever wanted to take the mantle from him. Although, unsurprisingly, no one did. War, prison, and loss had ravaged the whole country, no one wanted to be at the vanguard of a war anymore.

 And so, along the way, the many meetings became few and then scarce, and finally, no one dared to enter his room; all having deserted him, most having left the continent all together to avoid capture, he knew from meetings with Lucius who had eventually also stopped coming into the wing of his own manor he had reserved for him. And he had, eventually, lost track of time, unknowing how many months – years, perhaps – had passed since his focus shifted from blood conflict to bloody sentimental search.

 And so the days repeated, books upon books, papers upon papers, rumour upon rumour. Again and again. Round and round it goes.

 Cycle as his life might have become, there are days, though, that his brain – bursting with information, brimming with immoral and immortal reasonings – begs for different setting, of which, in his current near-completely-shut-in state left the gardens where the sun’s bright light affected his eyes, or the solarium which presents the same problem only with no solace to the heat from the outside wind, or finally, the library with dark, dusty tomes that would help in his research.

 To act as if there is a decision to be made is always a moot point, really for that is where he always finds himself, at any rate, the library of the house of one of his – former – subordinates. Always with a hungry eye on the prize, the Malfoy ancestry would not allow Lucius to squander the possibility that he might return to his former glory. To say to the man that he might be hoping for an impossible result was hopeless and counterproductive, he is not that far gone to unrecognize the advantage of the luxury he finds himself at.  

 This day is no different as he leaves his bedroom and walks with scarcely used legs the few paces to the library, immersing himself in the smells of old books. Combing through severely lacking old spines of tomes older than the very building, and passing a section he rarely seeks, and something calls his eyes to it.

 Out the corner of his eye, he sees it. A faded picture hidden between rarely called upon tomes of three young women, heads thrown back in laughter in the setting of a seedy bar that they must have ran off to in spite of cherished parents advise.  

 Three Sisters Black.

 The oldest, strong, powerful, and warrior-like, none like her was he ever likely to find; having drawn her last breath, she was the one he was searching for despite wasteful death. The middle-one, princess, boulder-bound, saved from terrible fate by a boy’s clumsy hands; the one he always forgot no matter how much pain she wrought. The youngest, delicate, golden, prideful, family’s path did she follow; the one who shared his need and urged him to succeed.

 The Three Black Sisters.

 Sisters three.

 Lightning, painful and mottled, courses through veins as idea materialized in brain.

 Sisters three.

 Brothers three.

 The Deathly Hallows. Master of Death, the one to hold them all would be. Still, for a quick talk, the stone would do, all he had to do was find the one who had it. Plan cocked and ready to execute, he makes to leave the room when sound strikes him still, he had thought himself alone in the library.

 Fate is a curious thing, or perhaps, it merely enjoys making a mockery of him, for the sound he hears is intricately linked to the wonderous epiphany reached.

 He hears a snort, the rotten sister, he knows the voice well, so like hers, “Who would have thought… When we heard he came back everyone sprint to a frenzy, after ousting Fudge, naturally. But then… Nothing. For three-years. We thought that the Potter boy had lost his mind.”

 “If only.” The golden sister, now. He knows that voice too, much less like hers but still known to him. Though, barely, anymore.

 “Yeah, I know. And then Draco, last year, spills the beans and says he’s here. We call Lucius in to the Ministry and then he says the words…” a laugh now, loud and like hers too, but less vivid, less enticing, just less, “’He’s looking for a way to bring Bellatrix back’, all snide and everything as Lucius inclines to do. We thought to bring him in but decided against it when we realized that he was better off in his own desperate search of her. Gods, the shock that rippled through the Wizardry World.”

 “I know. I have the newspaper articles,” the other argues coldly, out of patience, now too sounding like her a bit, “Why are you telling me this? Did you come to mock? Did you come to tarnish the memory of our sister just that little bit more?”

 “Did you know,” the traitor continues as if she hadn’t been interrupted, but indeed ridiculing, “The Ministry almost wanted to give our sister a medal. For ending a war before it started. Only our illustrious sister could do that, long after she’s dead, too. And all that with her cunt. Incredible, really.”

 Before he can move, before he can even decipher the words, his addled brain too used to written texts and less to human interaction, before he can react to the obscene, immoral, lewd insult, before he can do any of that… It is the youngest’s voice, harsh and cold and insulted beyond measure, that rises in the room.  

 “How dare you?!”

 “How dare I, what?” Bound Princess Andromeda may be, but of wit sharp as the family and stone she was born and bound to, “We all know that this desperation could only come from one place. That this particular devotion that not even her husband shared is from some rotten place inside of him. That he wants her back, is indication enough that they-…”

 Before another foul insult can make its way past Black raised mouth, he speaks, finally loud enough to attract their attention.

 “We didn’t.”

 Tea-filled porcelain shatters on the floor, the sisters startled by his utterance. Startled gasps fill the silence of his wake and arrogance feigned he walks to them with the intent of walking by altogether.  

 But when the Princess-named sister looks at him, the urge to advert his eyes almost overwhelms him; family-bound she and her sister were, but it is unfairly unkind for her to look so much like the one he seeks, and although the colouring is all wrong – all far too dull, not vibrant black hair or grey iris – it hurt to look at the look-a-like. No, the golden-haired, blue-eyed sister was much safer bet.

 “Come, sit.”

 Fear as taken place to gentleness in the youngest of the sisters, either by shared misery or by nature of motherhood. He should care about lost station, but she does not pass any imaginary boundaries that may have existed what feels like centuries ago. He obeys, more out of need to organize his thoughts on his new idea than real obedience or want of small talk.

 “So you never…”

 Whatever plans he had to remain quiet are quickly broken by noisy-look-a-like-sister looking at him, suspiciously. As if he would lie. He might, to be frank, but not about this – not about her – and certainly not now, now that she’s… not here.

 “No.” He admits, unsure as to why he is compelled to do so, “We never. She was married, and even if it did not matter, which it did… She didn’t-…” the phrase hangs in the air, and he cannot unstick the words from his throat.

 “She didn’t…?” Prods the look-a-like, glutton for information. Either as gossip or as genuine care for her estranged sister, he does not know.

 “The risk for her was high, no denying that. But the risk for me,” He says still unbelieving that it is true, that the pain they bore was born out of mutual feeling and not one-sided apathy, “the risk was too high. It would make me seem even more hypocritical than my lineage already did. She did not want to risk it.”

 “Are you even sure she wanted..?” Meddling in the wound she had opened up. The cruelty of her sister would make Bell- her – proud.  

 “Yes!” Word he breathes forcefully. Too forcefully, perhaps, as the bookcase behind him trembles in tune with his magic, “She did want.”

 “How do you know?” Prodding further, Black brutality rearing its head again.

 “He knows.” Golden sister answers the question, iron in her voice, shield against brittle princess, unbending with the same certainty he feels, “He knows because she couldn’t hide it. Because looking at her as she looked at him was a masterclass in pain, deep and true and undoubtful. She loved him madly. Fervently. Gloriously … As was our sister’s wont.”

 “What a load of bullshit.” Mumbles in response of poetry invoked, but suspicious mist in eyes couldn’t hide the truth of affected sentiment, “Bellatrix would let everyone, and everything, go to hell if it suited her. She doesn’t… I mean, she never…”

 “She loves you.” Again comforting for some alien reason that he cannot bear – and does not want – to identify, “I saw her mind, over and over again. Letting you leave was unthinkable, unbearable, even. Not going after you… That was a kindness she seldom affords anyone.”

 The blood-bound duo quietens, and he with nothing more to say retreats to his space, his sanctuary, leaving behind two opposing sisters instead of the three harmonious ones it should have always been.

                                                 ////////////////////////

It takes him longer still to come by the stone he so feverishly searched. This time, he counted. Almost five-years to the day since he found her, dead and broken as she should never have been. He takes a moment, for he must, his heart beating far too fast to be trustworthy at the sight of her.

 Taking a deep breath, a complicated sigh of both anticipation and nerve, he grasps the cold black stone in his elegant, white hand. He closes his eyes, thinks of her, and for a second does not understand how some people’s image of their loved ones blur with time when he can see her so clearly, so quickly and so vividly that it must mean love; her black hair shiny and wavy swaying mid-battle, eyes grey and wide lusting after the next breathless moment, nose high strung and proud, neck long and elegant, and lips red and luscious and, deplorably, unkissed by him.

 He sees her in his mind’s eyes. And calls to her. And he opens his eyes, heart thundering at the image he expects. Yet when eyelids lift and eyes acclimate to light, the image he expects is not the one he encounters.

 Black hair does appear before him, not shiny or wavy but messy and dishevelled of bed-ridden quality as if of never brushed it spoke of. Eyes, not of a faded grey he had come to know better than his own, but of matte black that made a simile of his before blood-red iris replaced it. Nose brash and crooked spoke of no noble quality although known was that most pure ancestry ran in this person’s veins; same could be said of short and stocky neck burdened by inbreed defect. And lips, not red or luscious, but that had never shown him affection either.  

 A most undesirable picture does the woman in front of him paint.

 He speaks first. Not because he must, the ritual says nothing of the sort, but because the other seems to be enthralled by his every image, as if he was the dead one and not she. When he speaks, he does not address her, does not care to address her. He only wishes for the one he called.

 “You are not who I called.”

 “Hello, Tom.”

 The voice he had imagined a thousand times before as being gentle and quiet, sounded nothing like his imaginary folly. Coarse and broken, far too high and enough to grate on his brain. Another thing about this absent figure of his life that fell well below his standards.

 “Hello, Mother.”

 Title addressed not out of respect or affection, but of needling quality; poking at the wound that he could see in her black eyes.

 “My boy-…”

 Her sentiment does not interest him. She, does not interest him. The one he wants, the one he was certain he had been about to meet. That is what – who – interest him. So, manners out of the window and mother or not, he asks the question he hungers the answer for, all others having been lost in the wake of his search for her.

 “Where is she?” He says, interrupting wounded party, “Where is…Bellatrix?” If his mouth stammers out her name, the name he hadn’t spoken or heard in years it was merely out of rare habit, a lie he would tell anyone but himself. He knows now that the pain he feels precludes strong sentiment – love, even – no matter how wrapped it may be.

 The figure he had dreamed of in his childhood resigns to his demands, hurt and longing in her gaze. But mother, as loosely as the term can be applied, hungers to rid child of questions she knows the answers to. He listens, intently, son to her for the first time since their world began.

 “The soul sucking monsters, they took her soul. There is nothing to call over.” Gently, she illuminates the dark implications of her presence, “Tom, she is gone. There is no way for you to talk to her.”

 No.

 He refuses to believe so.

 When he was fifteen, he refused to let time expire on him. He found a way around death itself and had done it seven times. He lifted himself out of hellish existence, out of poverty, out of banality. He fought and struggled until his very name became so synonymous with power that eventually fear demanded no one utter it. This stumbling block of meandering quality was the challenge he had been working towards his whole life, he forged himself anew for this. He died and came back. He fought the inevitable and won.

 He would do so again.

 “Then the beast, who sucked the soul of her… It should have the answers.”

 “Child,” Mother, as mothers’ wont, ignores child’s angry scowl at never used term, “do not travel this road. You cannot find what you seek, you are bound to be disappointed.”

 “I must try,” Explanations fall on flat ears he knows, “She must be there, in the stomach of a monster who sucked the life of her, who used and abused of her, who does not know the precious cargo it carries. I must relieve her of it. I must end it. She would have done so for me.”

 Silence is the answer to his harangue, but not solitude, no. The image of his mother – hideous, broken, black of hair – was still there, looking at him longingly. Expectantly. He ignored her. What he was about to do would require time, it was fresh and impossible – things he excelled at – and he needed to start now.  He turns to black board of his room, his ever-faithful companion until he can succeed in findingher,

 But when ignored form coughs loudly, he turns from black board to look at her.

 “You have nothing more to say to me?” Asks the ghostly figure of his mother, deathly pale and transparent in her image and need.

 “No. I have everything I’ve ever needed from you.” He says realizing it to be so, the phantom pain of his mother’s abandonment had simply dissipated somewhere along the way as another took its place, “You can go. I have work to do.”

 “She does not deserve you.”

 “You don’t know that. Don’t know her.” Quiet rage fills the soul, of which he has an indisputable lack, yet not enough to refrain from his need, “And even if it was true, I merely wish to speak.”

 “Have you not spoken all you need? Is there no other act that you should perform?”

 Motherly ghost or not, she should not know of the details of his need of her.

 “Begone.” He says but this close to throwing the stone away from his grasp, “I have work to be done.”

 “And after you’ve spoken,” sly nature runs in blood, and he chafes at the purest part of him chastising him now, “What will you do?”

 Quiet permeates the sounds in the room, making the desolate space even more so. The stillness accentuates the icy walls and chaos ridden room, muted sounds barely seep in from the rich fauna and warm sun outside, silence dominates the room and the space in his head.  

 He knows not. He knows not what he would do.

 “I do not know.” He admits, unabashed, confusion settling in his brow, “But it matters not. I have a need, and a way to seize it. After…” he frowns, “When it comes, I will know.”

                                                 “Very well, boy.” Motherly figure starts to fade, as she always has, but not before parting goodbyes, “Immortal you may be, but the task you have you will not succeed. So, be shrewd, or you will never be free. And there will be no one at the end for you to greet.”

 Prophecy bound he seems to be, as his mother spun words with the knowledge from the beyond. He cares not, as he should not have before with the boy with thrice-defying parents that he could trace back as having put to motion this desolate exercise. There is work to be done and pain to correct, a lifetime meant nothing to him, not when he has tons to spare.   

END

///

Note; Not to be a self-promoting whore looking for views, but if you want a slightly better ending I have another fanfic in which he does end up talking to Bellatrix…(x)

[dreamerwithapen1]

multiples of 10 oc asks for esmerelda white? - wokenhardies

Of course! Thank you for the ask! ^.^

10) What does your oc keep in a special drawer?

At Hogwarts, in her nightstand, Ezzie keeps her worn copy of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, her wand, a journal that her mother gave her, and, occasionally, the Marauder’s Map.

20) What kind of mother/father would your oc be?

Pretty awful if I’m being honest. It’s not that Ezzie is bad with kids... she’s just terrified of them and for good reason. She’s gotten used to getting visions from people her age and adults, but getting a vision from a child is something else entirely. Because it means that someone so young and innocent will experience something so devastating and traumatic, and that scares her to no end. As a result, she tends to be very anxious around children and goes out of her way to avoid having any physical contact with them. Also, there’s the fact that by having a child herself, it means that there’s a chance that child will inherit her Seer abilities, and that’s the last thing she wants. She would never want her child to go through everything she has because of her abilities. (she and Remus are very similar in that regard)

30) Did your oc participate in extracurricular activities, and if so, what were they?

She’s never actually participated in any. Of course, that doesn’t mean she hasn’t tried. Over the years, both at Muggle school and Hogwarts, she’s tried out for many sports teams; however, she’s not particularly athletic, so she never made it past tryouts. She tried out for Quidditch but that turned out to be a disaster. It’s never dampened her spirits though. She keeps a good attitude and supports her teams and friends 100% from the sidelines.

40) How does your oc handle grief?

(I feel like every answer just circles back to her Seer abilities lol) This is kind of tricky because Ezzie definitely doesn’t handle it ‘normally’. Years of seeing people die and dealing with death has sort of desensitized her to it. She used to mourn every person lost in her visions, but that soon became far too draining and unhealthy for her. Now, she’s almost forced herself to be numb about death. There’s a bit of initial sadness there, but she no longer grieves, no longer lets herself care more than that. Of course, she’s never had anyone close to her die either. It’s easy to shut your emotions off when it’s about people you barely know or don’t know at all. But when it’s your loved ones facing death... she’ll find that she’s not so ‘immune’ to death as she thought. After graduating Hogwarts, the fear of any of her friends dying in the war threatens to overwhelm her. And then when Rose dies... her best friend and sister in every way but blood... it hits hard. She lives in shock and denial for quite some time, before slowly starting to let reality sink in. It takes her a long time to come to terms with Rose being gone, and she’s never the same after that.

50) What secrets does your oc have?

Other than hiding her Seer abilities from the boys, she doesn’t have any other big secrets. She has small ones, of course, like the fact that she and James were each other’s first kiss back in grade school (it was like kissing a sibling, they both hated and instantly regretted it, and have never told anyone about it and never will), she once cheated on a History of Magic test (it was her first year, she was horrible with dates, but she felt so guilty she never did it again)... things like that.

60) If your oc could change one thing about him/herself, what would it be?

She would get rid of her Seer abilities in a heartbeat. To not have to see death and the pain and grief of so many people, to not have to worry that by simply shaking hands with someone she’ll have a vision, to not feel bitter disappointment every time they fail to save someone... she would gladly give it all up if given the chance. (Of course, there’ll come a time when for once she’ll be incredibly grateful for her abilities... though even that will be short lived.)

70) What is your oc’s favorite book?

Since she’s a muggleborn, Ezzie has grown up around Muggle books, and hands down, her favorite book of all time is The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. She grew up having her parents read it to her and has since read it herself countless times. The whole idea of traveling from an ordinary world into one full of magic and adventure had always spoken to her in a way she never understood. Little did she know, that exact scenario would happen to her. She once forced James to read it just so she could have someone other than her parents to talk to about it, and he ended up quite enjoying it. She actually brings her well read and well loved copy of it with her to Hogwarts and has made every one of her friends read it at some point.

80) What is your oc’s favorite dinosaur?

She’s never paid much attention to dinosaurs but has always been partial to velociraptors. She appreciates that something so small (by dinosaur standards) could contain such strength and power.

[heart-forge]

The ROs and a "there's only one bed" situation pre-relationship!

Siruud

He’s more fine with it than you’d think. Like he’s so easily flustered and Maureen lives to torment him about the imagined relationship between the two of you, but honestly in a one bed situation he’s all right. He’s desensitized himself to a lot of things that he would consider inconvenient to be embarrassed about (ie sleeping arrangements). He would end up on you. It is his natural place.

Tahira

She overthinks it a lot, but ultimately her dedication to having somewhere comfortable to sleep for both of you wins her over. She’s tense for a lot of it and won’t end up nearly as on top of you as she could have, but I think there’s something tender about her starting on the other side of the bed and barely moving, to feeling her back pressed against yours.

Valerian

He’s like, classically embarrassed about the whole deal, in the flustered and apologetic sort of way. He’ll volunteer to sleep on the floor but is enough of an adult to understand that it really isn’t worth arguing about and generally more comfortable for everyone if he just shuts up and gets in bed. He’s very self conscious about where his body is in relation to you, but regardless it’s possible you’ll wake up with his arm around you.

Abeni

She’s a little giggly about it: she tries to face it with professionalism, but out of all the LIs she’s most likely to have a book under her bed where this exact situation leads to something a little (read: very) dirty. She also has a sister though, so she’s used to staying on her own side of the bed under threat of violence. You might wake up scandalously close to her, but she’s unfortunately pretty good at minding her limbs.

Gnarl

They’re both ultimate extremes of the spectrum. If you manage to convince them to share the bed and not just immediately drop to the floor with a cushion off the chair and a thin blanket, which is a chore in and of itself because they feel this weird sense of like, is it taking advantage of my homie to share the bed? Once they’re past that though you wake up with Gnarl wrapped around you like a starfish.

Trigger

It really depends at what point in the relationship yall are at because if it’s too early, he can and absolutely will flat out pigheadedly refuse to share. He would rather stay up literally all night than just share the bed. At a weirder point int he relationship, assuming the two of you are somewhere safe where he doesn’t feel the need to personally post guard, the fact that he’s willing to share is novel enough: that you’ll definitely wake up pressed against him, not actively being held but definitely back to back, is more intimacy than you expect from him.

Mantis

She plants herself down in the bed like she’s daring you to mention that it might be weird for the two of you to share, and takes up as much space as she likes: a little more than necessary, actually, just to flex on you. The thing about her is that she’s way more cuddly when she’s unconscious than she is while awake, so you might actually wake up holding her. Is she awake before you, realizing that you’re holding her and so paralyzed with Feelings about it that she can’t actually even begin to decide whether or not she wants to push you off? You’ll never know.

Crave

He tries to laugh it off, because it’s not strictly uncommon to come upon just one bed, or to not have a handy spare: he’s happy to loan you his, and gets more flustered when you suggest that he doesn’t have to sleep on the floor since it’d be inconveniencing him. He’s just… naturally cuddly, is the thing. Crave is warm and despite being a human scarecrow (metaphorically, game’s not that weird) unusually comfortable. You will wake up late with him wrapped around you, and it will be the best sleep you’ve had in your life.

[the-gay-cryptid]

On Religion

As some of you know, I attend a catholic school and have done so since I was the tender, gullible, impressionable age of 5. I was also, of course, raised catholic. Which, for those of you spared the experience, should know means “I grew up catholic but hated it and I’m still not comfortable outright saying I’m not anymore because I feel guilty.”

I don’t often talk about religion here, but I’ve been rereading The Poison Wood Bible for school (fantastic book by the way, easily one of my favorites I’ve ever read) and it’s really stirs up my emotions surrounding my own religious upbringing, so here we go.

Until I was in the fifth grade, I had no idea religions outside of Christian, Jewish, and Muslim existed. I was also taught that Muslims were savage, oppressive, violent people and the all Muslims wanted to kill everyone who wasn’t Muslim. So. Just to give you perspective. I was also led to believe that Jewish people weren’t as bad, but they were just misguided and stuck in the past.

Around seventh grade, I began to suspect I was gay. Thankfully I’d become somewhat desensitized to that good old catholic guilt by having it beat into my very being since before I comprehended object permanence. But I didn’t want God to hate me, so I decided I had a crush on this boy. He was nice to me and we liked the same shows and he had a smart ass sort of attitude towards the less mature boys that I appreciated. So obviously since I enjoyed this boy’s company I must’ve liked him.

But I was still curious about my sexuality in relation to my religion. So I took every opportunity to ask about it in “religion” class. Despite the name, we only talked about The One True Religion. I got different answers depending on which teacher I asked.

Senora Baskin, our Spanish teacher who spoke shitty Spanish and was obsessed with Mexican culture and said it saved her from getting an abortion, told me that the pope said being gay wasn’t a sin, just being in a gay relationship. So I could be gay, but I could never date, get married, or even kiss a girl.

Mrs. Shaver said that gays go to hell. She also told a kid whose dog had died that all dogs go to hell because animals don’t have souls. She also told me I’d go to hell for listening to music with cuss words in it. Imagine that: a class of kids going through their edgy phase, listening to MCR and other punk bands of varying quality being told they were going to hell. I didn’t much value Mrs. Shaver’s opinions anyway.

Mr. Miller sort of stuttered a moment, then told me that he wasn’t actually allowed to talk about that. That’s when I learned catholic schools usually don’t talk about the shit the church is against. We don’t get to debate gay marriage, abortions, or the death penalty. We are not supposed to think critically or form our own opinions, because the opinions of a higher organization should replace our own feelings.

I eventually asked my mom. She told me about a gay couple she was friends with. They were married, but not in the eyes of the church. So any time they had sex, they had to go to confession and apologize for sex outside of wedlock. I didn’t like that solution either.

In eighth grade i sort of just shrugged and said “well. Guess I’m gay then.” I made an effort to bring it up in class more. Gay rights, not being gay. I’d never tell anyone, that would be horrible! I did come out to a few of my close friends, mainly because i realized I really wanted to kiss my best friend.

Freshman year, my religion problem amped itself up. The rhetoric was all the same. I was hearing the same lessons over and over and over again. I’d heard the same things since I was five, just in increasingly complex terms. I finally admitted my serious issues with my religion. My mom told me I didn’t have to be Catholic. I could be Baptist, Presbyterian, Episcopalian, Jewish, even Muslim. I just couldn’t be polytheistic or Mormon. I decided that it wasn’t worth fighting about and didn’t bother telling her I wasn’t sure I believed in an anything. The only thing that would hurt her more than me not being christian, would be me being an atheist.

Religion had been important to her when she was little. She’d been bullied mercilessly, abused by her older brother, had a rocky relationship with her step father. On church retreats, she found camaraderie and comfort. It’s where she met her best friend. They’re still friends, and seeing them together they might as well still be stupid teenagers who don’t need anything but each other.

Sophomore year, I came out to my whole family as gay. It was good. I also met the best religion teacher ever: Mrs. Khouzam. She is, to this day, one of my favorite teachers I’ve ever had. There was Mrs. Rae, who lent me more mature books and encouraged my love of writing, and Mrs. Fava, who taught me that I was allowed to have any opinion I wanted, but it had to be backed by facts rather than a person’s skin or the opinions of my parents. Mrs. Khouzam loved God unconditionally. And she loved us.

She was the Mother Mary incarnate, and I loved her with my whole heart. She reminded me of the paintings of women who cradled ragged men like their children. She just exudes mother. Because of her, I began to love my religion again.

Then junior year that was ruined.

Mrs. Langomez was a short, stout woman from the Philippines who spoke too softly and disregarded our opinions with a quiet reminder of Jesus. We wrote journal reflections in her class, and I’d long since abandoned giving the vague “I love Jesus” shit for opinion questions on my work. I told her out right that I had serious issues with Catholicism and that I was gay. She only wrote on my paper that she glad my family accepted me.

Then it went to absolute shit. I sat in my desk on the front row and watched this woman I had only rolled my eyes at and joked about with my classmates give a 40 minute power point presentation on why homosexuality was a sin. She described how god designed men and women to love each other, and since gays couldn’t procreate in the normal way, they were incapable of real love. Being gay damaged one’s soul and relationship with god. She said there were special religious retreats for gay people to strengthen their relationship with god and overcome their gay urges. 

I was..horrified. Humiliated. Furious. Hurt. I just sat there, staring at the board with my fists and jaw clenched. I glared at her. I ignored her as I left. My classmates snickered at how stupid she was. I joked that I wanted to punch her and we laughed. It was their quiet way of saying they didn’t agree with her.

I shook the whole way to lunch and explained what had happened to the lower class men I ate with. And like a dam breaking, I felt that horrible weight in my chest. I grabbed a friend’s water bottle, trying to drown my crying before it could rise. I shook and shuddered and bit my lip and tried everything I could to stay steady. A few classmates sat with me and held my shoulders and told me Langomez was stupid. I admitted it was the first time I’d ever faced someone who so clearly hated me on the basis of my sexuality.

I couldn’t stand to stay there, so I left for the office with my backpack and told them I needed to go home. I’d already texted my dad. The principal saw me crying and asked if something had happened. Mrs. Langomez stood at the printer, half watching this. I told the principal I was fine and just needed to go.

I cried the whole way home. My mom called the principal and told her why I’d been so upset. I sent her an email later that night, explaining in better words than I’d be able to say, that it had been gut wrenching to sit somewhere I’d thought was safe, and be told in textbook language that I was a sinner and a perversion and incapable of love. I was promised an apology from Langomez that I never got.

It’s true that there are Catholics like Mrs. Khouzam. People who love unconditionally. But there are Langomez too. Hateful people. And they don’t all yell and scream. Sometimes they’re quiet and passive aggressive and pity you for being gay. And I couldn’t let that go. I was tired of the conflicting rhetoric. I was exhausted of grappling with god.

So senior year came. Langomez had moved to Japan with her husband in the military. My current teacher is a young woman who graduated from my high school in 2013. I don’t ever hide my sexuality. The whole school knows. We don’t talk about homosexuality in her class, because senior year theology is about vocations.

But I stopped taking communion. It felt horrible to cross my arms over my chest after so many years of cupping them in front of me. I nearly had an anxiety attack as I walked down the aisle. I imagined god striking me down then and there.

I only tell people I was raised catholic now. I once told my current theology teacher that my relationship with Catholicism felt like an abusive one. I was dragged up and down. I was shamed and ridiculed. I was dismissed and ignored. I don’t give a damn if not all Catholics are like that. I’m done having to take that gamble every time I meet one.

I’m not an atheist at least, which makes my mom happy. I believe in a Something. Maybe a polytheistic Something. I’ll figure it out when I’m somewhere I can learn it outside the context of catholic propaganda.

[fallsekings]

The Psychology of the Governor- So many people seem to assume that the Governor was a jerk from the start, when he wasn’t, and I will never portray his character as such. When I write a character, I never base my opinions on a character solely on their actions, but the reasons behind why they do the things that they do. The Governor is a villain, so I already expect him to do bad things, so the fact that he does bad things is boring. Why he does those bad things? Far more interesting. At least to me personally. That’s why I like digging into a villain’s psychology... and so I hope that this helps you guys understand him a little better, too.

The Governor’s childhood- For part of this character analysis, I will be using the novel written on Philip’s/Brian’s backstory, The Rise of the Governor, since they didn’t really go into his background much in the show. In the book, The Governor’s name is actually Brian Blake (but the show condensed everything) and Brian was the eldest of three siblings. He was also described as a sickly book nerd... or the “runt” of the liter. He was highly intelligent and even went to college! But his home life wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. His father, Ed Blake, was a violent drunk that frequently yelled and screamed and beat on his children... however, his younger brother, Philip, would always stand between him and his father and protect Brian from the beatings that they would receive and this is a fact that Brian also mentioned in the show:

Brian: “I remember the first smoke I ever had. Me and my brother huddled in the garage puffing on one of my dad's Lucky Strikes. He must have smelled the smoke, because he came barging in looking to beat up on us. But my brother got between us. Said he stole them. Wasn't true. It was me. But that was my brother. Hero. He got two black eyes and a broken rib for that. And I got beat anyway.” (S4E07)

(Since this post got a little long, the rest will be beneath the cut.)

I won’t go into Brian’s entire childhood history, but suffice it to say that, even though he was the older brother, he came to see Philip as his hero. He wanted to be just like him. He was everything he wanted to be and more. His brother was popular in school, had lots of friends, helped people, did ‘manly’ things like hunting, etc. etc. etc. Brian was the exact opposite. He was weak and could not take care of himself in hardly any setting. Philip honestly came to see Brian as a burden and he resented him for it... because Brian was the bigger brother and Brian should be the one that he could look up to, and not the other way around.

The Apocalypse- When everything went down, Philip (along with Bobby and Nick, two of Philip’s friends) found Brian hiding in their parent’s basement. Philip became the leader of their small group. They traveled from Waynesboro, where they originally lived, to Wiltshire Estates (where they lost Bobby), and then onto Atlanta, Georgia. Brian initially couldn’t kill a zombie. He just couldn’t bring himself to kill something that used to be a human being and he even broke down crying at the thought of it a few times, which would always piss his brother off. He would either push Brian out of the way, or kick him, and beat on him and try to drill it into his head that he NEEDED to be the bigger monster in order to survive.

Still, Brian didn’t mind the beatings so much. He actually tried to impress his brother a few times and do impossible (for Brian) things, just to prove to his hero that he could do what he needed him to do and be who he wanted him to be.

He still failed. Penny died. They were running away from crossfire and Penny was shot through the stomach and she bled to death in his arms. Later in the show he says:

Milton: “What would your daughter think about what you are?” Brian: “She'd be afraid of me. But if I had been like this from the start, she'd be alive today.” (3x16)

“If I had been like this from the start.” You see how he is blaming himself for her death? How he believes that if he was the bigger monster from the start, like his brother literally beat into him, that be believes that she would still be alive? This is what it’s all about. Not just Penny, though. Shortly after he lost her, he lost his brother, too, who at this point was starting to lose his own sanity. The stresses of leadership had gotten to him enough that Nick decided to kill him... and Brian of course defended his hero and told Nick that he believed that, if given the chance, he could fix himself... but Nick didn’t listen and shot Philip... and then Brian wrestled the gun out of Nick’s arms and shot Nick. Philip also bled out and died in Brian’s arms just as Penny did.

This is when they arrived at Woodbury. Before Brian was the leader of the small town. This is where it gets tricky, though.

Woodbury was, at the time, ran by Gene Gavin, who was a ruthless National Guardsman that held the town by force. Brian had gone into a dissociative state after his brother died... wondering how he would make it without him or if he even wanted to... and then one day Gene Gavin held a town meeting and when there was a disagreement, someone tried to leave and Gavin shot the man. Brian kept asking himself what his brother would do over and over again, and as if something else controlled his body, Brian stood up and walked up onto the stage and unloaded his gun into Gavin and encouraged the rest of the town to take their town back from the National Guardsmen. 

And so they did. Martinez was one of the first people on his side and when he asked Brian what his name was? Brian didn’t say Brian. No. Brian told Martinez that he was Philip Blake. Brian essentially develops a dissociative fugue, and took on the personality of his brother... which eventually morphs into the monster known as the Governor.

In General Psychology- So... Brian has always been weak. Always. He couldn’t survive, so he took on a personality that could survive. Something that was far more ruthless and monsterous. Brian tried to do right for a while, but he was thrust into the position of being a leader before he was ready. He was still mourning his brother and Penny and all he had to go on when it came to being the leader is what his brother beat into him. Be the bigger monster in order to survive. So he did try that. He even tried to desensitize himself by putting head in fish tanks and forcing himself to look at them... and to remind him that he was still alive and if he wasn’t careful, he would end up exactly like those guys. Dead.

Brian has a dual personality. Himself and that of his brother. He’s constantly waging a battle for dominance inside of his head... but the Governor eventually gets strong enough to overtake him.

Weakness is the trigger that brings this monster out. Because it was his own weakness that got everyone killed.

Why do people develop multiple personalities?

Dissociative identity disorder, previously called multiple personality disorder, is usually a reaction to trauma as a way to help a person avoid bad memories.

The definition: 

Dissociative identity disorder is characterized by the presence of two or more distinct personality identities. Each may have a unique name, personal history, and characteristics. 

This is Brian/Philip/The Governor and this describes him perfectly.

You can see the monster triggered by weakness when he kills Marinez, like a switch being flipped in his head, please pay attention to his eyes. You can tell he’s slipping into a dissociative state here:

Brian’s immediate reaction to Martinez admitting to no being able to defend the camp is “oh my god, you’re going to get my family killed. You can’t do what it takes in order to survive and I DON’T WANT IT. I don’t want to share the crown. I don’t want the crown at all, damn it.”

But the question is... why didn’t he want it? Brian didn’t want it because, when he killed all of his own people at the end of season 3... Brian came back out. It shocked him to see what he did... what he became... he knew he was a monster and he was afraid of what he was capable of... so he separated himself from everyone... because he knew that if he had a reason to care, he would have a reason to fight and that meant the monster would come back out... and he didn’t want that monster to surface again.

Except it did, after Martinez triggered the monster/the Governor to come out again by admitting that he was too weak to defend the camp... and then he tried to squash the monster down again.

The problem was... he was starting to realize that he was the only one that was there that could lead--- he shouldn’t lead, but he was the only one that was capable of it and he didn’t like it.

Brian: “We need to leave. It isn't safe here anymore.” Lily: “What are you talking about? We can't just run off. I'm the only nurse in camp. Tara's got Alicia. What about Megan?” Brian: “Look, things are about to go very wrong here. It's happened to me before. I can't put you and Megan through that. Can't lose you again.” (4x07)

“Can’t lose you again.” This whole conversation is about him and Penny and how everything circled back to that moment that he lost her (because he couldn’t lose Meghan a second time if he hadn’t lost her the first time). HE was what was about to go very wrong there. It had happened to him before... he was referring to the monster resurfacing again when he tried so hard to put it away in the box and forget about it... but it was bubbling to the surface once again and there was nothing he could do except try to run from himself... and as you know, he wasn’t capable of escaping it. 

So like I said before jsbkjbg the Governor is many things, but a sociopath isn’t one of them. He is very misunderstood. He is an abuse survivor and yes, he has done a lot of terrible things, but he is a product of nurture, not nature.

[thewhiskingpot]

for good, and for bad

💜 bangtan (bts)

💜 hoseok (bts) x reader

💜 oneshot

💜 hoseok finds you in the middle of a depressive episode

💜 depression; self-esteem issues; slice of life; hurt/comfort; lots of metaphors; angst with a happy ending

💜 a/n: many hugs to my beta for the invaluable input in polishing this piece. to my readers, don’t worry, the angst is really not that bad. lastly, the format is wonky on mobile so please read this on desktop if possible. 

You didn’t plan for it to happen this way. In fact, you didn’t plan this at all.

Hoseok was supposed to be away for a three-day dance camp, but there he was, real as can be, anxiously shaking you from the stupor that your episode had locked you in. The very same one that had you feeling spent from all that sobbing and gasping for air. Depression was a total bitch.

You never meant for him to catch you at your lowest. You made it a point to hide away whenever your episodes struck. It was easy even with the shared apartment, for Hoseok led a very busy social life. But somehow, you always seem to fuck up no matter how hard you try. You could never win.

As you watched Hoseok tenderly wipe your tear-stained blotchy cheeks and runny nose, something in you finally snapped. Even with you looking like a complete trainwreck, there was nothing but love and concern spilling out from him. Enough is enough. It was time to set the poor man free. He deserved so much more, and so much better than broken goods.

“Hobi, we need to break up,” you said, willing your voice to remain steady. “I’m breaking up with you.”

Hoseok stilled at once, his expression changing from concern to confusion to shock. “W-what?”

There was no way you were going to repeat that. Saying it twice would be akin to pouring salt on your gaping wound. You tried to shove him away, but Hoseok would not budge.

“What’s wrong? Why are you doing this?”

“We just got to. I’m your worst mistake, Hobi. You’ll come to your senses soon. You deserve better.”

“Don’t say that. You’re the best thing that happened to me, love.”

You scoffed. Best? Hoseok clearly hasn’t gotten his head around this whole thing. You were sitting in the bathtub with antidepressants spilled all over the bathroom floor, for Pete’s sake.

“Talk to me. Let me in. Please,” Hoseok pleaded, his sincerity bleeding through your fast crumbling wall.

You knew it would come to this. The moment Hoseok found you in this state, it was the end of it all. He’d ask, and you’d answer. You could never deny him of anything. He was your kryptonite.

“Fine. You want the truth? I feel fucked, 24/7. From bone to skin, mind to soul. There’s a howling storm within me that refuses to quieten down. It pulls me in every direction. It drowns me with relentless waves of hopelessness. It draws a dark veil over my sight. Everything is hazy around me. Despair is what they call it. This wretched feeling permeates every cell of my being, and I’m so tired of keeping up this front,” you spat out bitterly.

You didn’t have to look up to know Hoseok was crying. The man was an open book to you, his willingness to lay his soul bare for you always apparent, and you could sense his distress a mile away.

“You know, for the longest time before you, I was floating from one day to another. Life had no meaning other than to survive in flesh. To maintain the facade of a functional being. Everyday was a suffocating misery, but I’d become so desensitized that I grew to accept this was just how life was. And then, you happened.”

You smiled weakly, the fond memory of the first time you met Hoseok clear and vivid despite your troubled mind. He had chosen to crash his bike by swerving into a bush to avoid hitting you. The rest was history.

“You with your sunshine personality, you with your addictive warmth, you with your stupid million-dollar smile. For the first time in years, I felt hope. Being in your presence made me delusional, to think that I stood a chance to become whole again, to think that maybe, just maybe, a person shrouded in darkness like me could ever build a future with you. Thinking back now, I was simply turning my eyes away from the truth. The moon merely borrows light off the sun; it can never truly shine. Jimin once said we’re a perfect match, because opposites attract. But that can’t be right. We’re parallels in different directions, never meant to cross paths.”

You took a shaky breath. Now that you were on a roll, you found yourself unable to stop. It was liberating even, to finally confess it all. Breaking up with the love of your life sucked big time, but it had to be done. Hoseok deserved so much better.

“All you do is give, and all I do is take. I’m afraid, Hobi. Afraid that one day you’ll lose that glow, that I’ll inevitably drag you down to hell with me. I don’t want to wake up to find a zombie staring back at me. You deserve a whole person, not someone broken and jagged.”

You could see Hoseok struggling to digest and comprehend the bomb you just threw in his face. He was always easy to read.

Hoseok’s next few words came out as a faint whisper, but the harshness of his tone made you flinch in surprise. “How dare you? How fucking dare you?”

In the entirety of your relationship, Hoseok had never once swore at you. Caught off guard, you could only stare.

“You’re not me. You don’t get to decide what I want or don’t want,” Hoseok said, his voice raw and emotional. “You put me on a pedestal like I can do no wrong, but drag yourself through the mud. You don’t see how much you mean to me, how much joy and love and security you bring just by being mine. You’re so blinded to the fact that you’re priceless. I’m sad that you think so little of yourself. I’m ashamed it took me so long to realize you were in pain. I’m angry that you think so little of me.”

Hoseok reached out to cup your cheek, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. You were so fucking gone for him.

“Broken or not, you are perfect to me. I want you, and only you. Do you understand?”

Tears instantly sprang to your eyes. That was the most beautiful thing anyone had said to you. To want you, and only you. But that also made your point even more salient. Hoseok deserved better. So much better. You had to stand your ground. Not trusting yourself to speak just yet, you turned away from him in petulance.

Hoseok shook his head knowingly. “You can sulk all you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that your reason for wanting to break up is stupid. I’m not accepting that. I am, however, calling for a time-out. We’re both angry, and it’ll do us good to be away from each other.”

You lifted your head to meet his gaze, heart accelerating in anxiety despite yourself.

“Just for a bit, love. Like thirty minutes. I’ll be back soon,” Hoseok explained. “Promise me you’ll do nothing to harm yourself in the meantime?”

You weren’t even thinking about doing anything, to be honest. You just wanted to sit here and wallow in the sad prospect of your almost-breakup. But you were feeling rebellious, so you kept your mouth shut.

Unfortunately, Hoseok was not backing down. “Love, do you promise?”

You glared, but obediently nodded once.

Why can’t you ever say no to this man?

Oh right, because you were utterly in love with him.

Hoseok seemed to have knocked you right out of your funk. You weren’t sure how much time had lapsed since he left you sitting there, but you reckoned it was enough to warrant a search. The silence was telling. Hoseok must’ve left to god knows where. With a sigh, you picked yourself up. A quick check around the apartment confirmed your theory, and your worry increased tenfold. You wanted to give him space, to think about what just transpired, but you were pretty sure Hoseok left the house without an umbrella. Not that it would do much to combat the storm outside. But still. Better one than none.

With newfound determination, you grabbed an umbrella from the supply closet and ran out the door to chase him down. He shouldn’t have left. If anything, you were the one who should leave. Out of the apartment, out of his life. He deserved so much better. Caught up in your misery, you almost missed the blurry figure in your peripheral vision until you realized it was a familiar one. Doubling back, your jaw dropped in disbelief as you took in the sight before you.

Right there in the middle of the open field, Hoseok stood with his head thrown back as the rain pelted down hard. Even from a distance, he was visibly shivering in the cold. Flinching with every roar of the thunder. Muscles tensed in apprehension. But still, he persisted.

What in the name of all things unholy was he doing?

When your brain finally caught up, you found yourself already pulling Hoseok away by the wrist. All the way home, you simmered in your anger. Somewhere between the field and the apartment, Hoseok managed to interlock his fingers with yours, holding you tight in his grasp. You ignored that, though tears pricked your eyes.

After what seemed like forever, you finally barreled through the door with Hoseok in tow. Kicking it shut, you let your anger bubble over at last.

“Jung Hoseok, you could’ve died out there!” you yelled, yanking a towel and a set of clothes from the drying rack before stomping back to your very drenched boyfriend. Manhandling him out of his wet hoodie and jeans, you started to towel him dry, all while muttering curses at his stupidity.

Hoseok was compliant, but you could sense his attention was elsewhere. He kept his silence while you fussed over him, not even stealing a single glance in your direction.

Was he still mad? That didn’t seem like it. Hoseok rarely got angry with you, and even if the current situation called for it, you were confident you were already forgiven. Just like he was your soft spot, so were you to him.

No, it was more like he was brooding. Which made you eyed him warily. A brooding Hoseok was never a good sign.

After a prolonged pause, Hoseok spoke up. “At first, I was just mad, so I left. I needed to cool down.”

“And standing in the middle of a thunderstorm was your solution?” you injected in bewilderment, making him sit so you could drape the towel over his head to work on his hair.

Men and their ridiculous antics.

Ignoring your question, Hoseok continued. “Then I remembered you said there was a storm inside you. So I thought I’d give it a try. I mean, it’s not exactly the same, but that’s a pretty nasty storm out there.”

Rolling your eyes in exasperation, you took a deep breath and enunciated every word clearly. It was important that he understood this. “That. Was. A. Metaphor. Do you not understand the concept of metaphors? Were you not taught that? In all sixteen years of formal education?”

“I know what you’re trying to do. I’m not letting you act out the stupid noble K-drama trope. Not now, not ever. I’m here to stay for good, and for bad,” Hoseok cut off your mindless rant, challenge apparent in his eyes. “I won’t push you to open up any further if you don’t want to. But I’ll find my own ways to reach you, to understand your pain better. My methods might be stupid, but I’ll keep trying until I get it right. You can’t stop me from loving you.”

That was it.

Jung Hoseok was your undoing.

How could you even deny him anymore after that? Nothing could top it. You never realized the extent of his feelings for you ran this deep. For the longest time, one of your worst fears was that Hoseok would take off the second he found out about your depression. But he obliterated that fear tonight. I’m here to stay for good, and for bad. You can’t stop me from loving you. God, you were totally going to ink those words into you permanently. Namjoon was right; honest communication really could open up one’s eyes.

“Hobi, honestly, what do you expect me to say? No?” you mumbled reluctantly, the fight in you extinguished. “Do as you wish then. But let me just say, you don’t get to blame me if you end up needing therapy for dealing with my shit.”

Rubbing his face into your stomach, Hoseok inhaled your scent. “This is not a blaming game, love. And I’m already seeing a therapist. Mental health is important.”

You froze. That was new information.

“Stop overthinking,” Hoseok ordered as he tightened his hold around your waist. “It’s just an outlet for stress management.”  

Well then. Enough angst for today. That would certainly be a conversation for another day.

“I was just thinking, I’m pretty sure I didn’t agree to a polyamorous or open relationship, mister. But I can if the good doctor is hot. How hot we talkin’? Seriously, a doctor on the side? How did you even manage that?”

Chuckling, Hoseok said, “I am so in love with you, my spiritual soulmate.”

“Yoongi’s gonna be upset you said that.”

“He won’t, if you don’t tell.”

“Hobi, I’m serious about-”

“Hi Serious, I’m Hobi.”

“Dad jokes again? You’re spending too much time with Jin.”

“I’m telling Jin.”

“Whatever. You’re so fucking extra. I hate you.”

“Love you too.”  

[kbrown78]

Top 5 Wednesday

https://www.goodreads.com/group/show/118368-top-5-wednesday

Topic: Books Featuring Mental Health

This was a very difficult topic to discuss. Not only is it a sensitive topic because of how many people can struggle with their mental health but also because it's a topic that I think should be talked about but I'm not exactly qualified to do that. I also wasn't sure to what extent mental health needed to be featured, if it needed to be the focus of the story or if it just needed to be present. All of my entries feature protagonists that I think has mental health issues, and I will try my best to dissect the problems the protagonist must deal with and how this impacts the character and the story.  

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath: This one makes the top of the list for a few reasons. It is a book that entirely revolves around the protagonist, Esther, dealing with her depression, and it's also the one I can talk about best because depression is something I deal with myself. This is a book that really resonates with me and I think does a good job at capturing what it feels like to have depression. It's this heavy emptiness that weighs down on you and leaves you in an immobile state. No motivation to do anything because it's pointless. Having your whole life set before you only for it to be ripped away. Comparing yourself to others and coming to the conclusion you'll always be second best. Being overwhelmed by life itself and being unsure of what to do. These are all things that I've experience myself and do usually trigger my depression. I like this book because it understood me, but it also shows the effect that the lack of a care of mental health can have negative effects on people. Many professionals are dismissive because the character is a woman, but their only solution seems to be to subject her to electric shock therapy treatments, which just sounded terrifying and doesn't work because they aren't addressing the cause of the problem. By the end of the book, the protagonist doesn't seem to have improved at all, she's just become better at hiding her issues because that's the only way the rest of society will accept her. Granted she does seem to slightly improve by doing things she wasn't able to do before. There's also a connection between Esther's depression and the pressure to be a married and a mother, and while I can't connect to that part but it does make for good discussion material. Undoubtedly my interpretations of this novel are colored by my own personal experience, but it is a poignant novel about depression and conforming to society ideals.    

2. The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins:  It may be a little surprising that this book is on this list, but when it popped in my head I realized that it really fit. While the primary focus of this book is on the revolution, it also takes time to analyze and satirize many things about our current culture (something the movies forget to do entirely), including how damaging war is to a persons psyche. Katniss suffers from PTSD, even before the Hunger Games has actually started. She has nightmares about her Dad being blown up and because of this death had to grow up very quickly to ensure that her family didn't starve to death because her mother was in catatonic state. As a result she comes off as very cold, trusting very few people, and seems to be desensitized to the injustices of her world and only cares if it affects her family, but she's also very resilient and a capable survivor. Both during and after the Hunger Games, Katniss's PTSD only gets worse as the world around her becomes more unstable and now she must watch those she cares about actually get killed. It reaches a breaking point in the third book where the majority of the story has a very dazed, depressing tone because Katniss has basically checked out of life, suffers frequent episodes of depression, and keeps herself on morphine. She's even seeing a therapist, because it's that bad. Let's not forget that she's just a teenager being thrust into a war that she didn't want to be a part of, which is guaranteed to screw up any kid. The trauma is so severe that even years after the war, when Katniss has kids, she still suffers from nightmares. Her recovery is an active process that takes years, but Katniss does little thing to remind herself that there is good in the world, like making the memorial book. Plus she has a good husband who understands what she's been through. War and trauma are serious things that have long reaching consequences and takes effort to recover from, and the way that The Hunger Games series demonstrates this is part of the reason it's become something of a modern classic.  

3. Love Letters to the Dead by Ava Dellaira: Much like the entry above,  this one is also about overcoming trauma. Unlike The Hunger Games though, it's on a much more personal level and the story focuses more on the trauma and grief and even guilt that the protagonist, Laurel, has suffered. The source of her suffering stems from her relationship with her older sister, who has recently perished. Laurel idolized her older sister, so much so that she tries to emulate her at the start of the book and it comes off as cringe worthy. This idolization was unhealthy and unrealistic but also didn't give the complete picture. Laurel's relationship with her sister both before and after her death was, complicated to say the least, and this has a strong impact on who Laurel is, but Laurel eventually comes to terms with the fact that both she and her sister are flawed and that isn't a bad thing. Also smothering your suffering doesn't make it better, or go away, and it's good to get help from people you know and trust. This book is similar to Perks of Being a Wallflower but I picked this one because it has a more positive and hopeful ending with recovering from trauma, which I felt Perks of Being a Wallflower lacked.          

4. Eliza and Her Monsters by Francesca Zappia: The protagonist in this book, Eliza, appears to suffer from social anxiety. As a result she struggles with relationships in the real world but seems to do well with internet relationships. After a new boy arrives at her school and starts to open up more to him. So there are thing I like about this one and there are things I don't like about this one. I don't like the fact that it was this new boy who's obviously going to be the love interest and only him that Eliza opens up to because it makes her growth feel more artificial. I like that the online friendships were treated as genuine ones because that's something that is both topical and can be a good way for people with social anxiety to interact. I don't feel that Eliza really grew as a person. Yes she starts going to therapy which I think could be helpful, but she still doesn't open up even to her own family and this is after her brothers confronted their parents about the big mistake they made and how it's going to negatively impact Eliza's online experience, which does lead into the other thing I liked about this book. Eliza can be selfish at times. She's put herself in bubble so that her entire world revolves around her, which is a very human thing to do, but even when the people she is closest with are clearly struggling all she wants to focus on is her own issues. This happened several times throughout the narrative, and  I appreciate for being there because it highlights the fact that the world doesn't revolve around you and part of being a better person is striking that balance between caring for yourself and caring for others close to you. Unfortunately this still made Eliza an unlikable character because she never realizes that she's at fault. This is definitely a decent book for talking about social anxiety or internet culture, but I can't say it's great because of the protagonist and romance.    

5. Ceremony by Leslie Marmon Silko: I actually forgot about this one because it was a required reading that I did in college, but it was actually one of two reads I enjoyed that semester. Like most of the other entries on this list, the protagonist suffers from PTSD during a time when PTSD wasn't really a thing (he's a recently returned WWII veteran). He's also half Caucasian and half Native American, which has made him an outsider his entire life, even among his own family. This was a beautifully written novel that also focuses on recovery, but in a very spiritual way where the protagonist learns to be accepting of himself and cutting out the toxic aspects of his life, like violence.

Thank You Everyone

Keep Calm and Keep Reading

[beautwin-blog]

Have you seen DARIUS around camp? Wait, you don’t know DARIUS TOBIAS ECHOLS?? He is a GREEK demigod, from CABIN TEN. You know, the APHRODITE Cabin? He is TWENTY-ONE, and arrived at camp SIX YEARS ago, and gets mistaken for BRANDON FLYNN most of the time. He is usually pretty ERUDITE and SELF-SUFFICIENT, but can be ALOOF and ENIGMATIC.

Biography: 

Darius Tobias led a life filled with trials and tribulations: abandonment, loss, and even isolation. And yet, in spite of all the theatrical melancholy that dominated his earlier years, he was never alone. He had a forever-companion. His twin sister experienced all of the same troubles that he did, and they probably kept each other sane. They were the constants in each other’s lives. No matter where they were sent, how much money they had, or what school kicked them out, they persisted in life together. Growing up, Darius wasn’t afforded much of a childhood. His years of playing with dolls and running around barefoot in the streets morphed into one of having to lock up the house every night because his father would go to bed early. In brief, he had to grow up quite fast. He didn’t get along with his father, but not because he misbehaved. Quite the opposite, Darius was extremely well behaved in the home, while his father was rambunctious and irresponsible. Situated comfortably in a large home in the United Kingdom, the Echols had a dynamic which everyone on the street gossiped about. The twins had odd behavior. They were secretive, exclusive, and inseparable. The father was odd, too, but in a different sense. He was squirrely, loud, and could be a little bit frightening when he burst into periods of ranting about the world, his business, or how awful the twins were at home up-keep. There was one reason, then, that his business was successful (and why Aphrodite was drawn to him, aside from the success). He was handsome beyond a worldly scope. He had a high-level position in an advertising company, and on the side sold counterfeit purses, wallets, and other things. he twins had knowledge of the counterfeit business, but when it came time for their father to go to jail and they were questioned, they claimed no knowledge of the activity. They didn’t see the harm in it; they had never taken part in the illegal trade, and had no desire to be punished by the law. As it turns out, they were quite punished enough in the years to come. They moved in with their Aunt for a bit, further into the country side and went to a small school. Both of them, though intelligent, failed their classes and gave their teacher a difficult time when he tried assisting them personally. What was even weirder, despite their indifference to the world, they attracted a great town. The Echols were who everyone wanted to know. In the 7th grade, a fight had disrupted in the middle of class over who was to be Darius’s lab partner for the year. Indeed, it wasn’t a matter of bickering, but rather a physical altercation. This had landed Darius in detention for several weeks, because some of the students were under the impression that Darius instigated it on purpose. At their aunt’s house, they had abandoned their old habit of being responsible and opted for a style of living that closely resembled that of a turtle. They were never seen except for at meals. What this meant, and Darius took great pride in never letting on, was that he was shut in his room reading and writing. He had written probably three novels before they were shipped to boarding school for their aloof disobedience. There were a few more school changes before the final straw had been drawn, and they moved in with a more distant relative, their father’s step-cousin, Jack, in America.  Their time with Jack was short but equally as traumatic as the events of their past. Not long after moving in and taking a liking to their new guardian were the twins displaced again to Camp Halfblood at the age of fifteen.

As they had been desensitized to most things, so too did they become relatively bored with Camp Halfblood. Upon entering, Darius’s imagination ran wild as he experienced things that he had never seen before. Edith Hamilton’s Mythology had sprung off the pages before his eyes. He trained hard but found he wasn’t much of a fighter. He rode in chariots, on the backs of winged horses, made friends with nymphs and satyrs alike. It was nice to see Darius enjoying life, and anyone who knew him well enough would agree that his first few weeks in camp were probably the best of his whole life. He made an abundance of friends, though it wasn’t clear why. He wasn’t very engaging to those he didn’t care for. In fact, he was a bit diabolical in that he could so easily manipulate people using sheer willpower, though mainly he simply asked them to help with his studies. It was as though his ‘friends’ were mere tools, just like books, or his type-writer. He would ask someone to spend the afternoon with him, only to have them recite poems from a small collection as he closed his eyes to absorb the beauty of the language. It only took a year of this manipulation before Chiron theorized what was happening. He didn’t have charm-speak, as a few talented Aphrodite campers had, but he did have undue influence over the behavior of others. He concluded wisely that Darius had inherited an aura of sorts from his mother– almost as though he were emitting pheromones that drew people in, or made them see him on a higher pedestal. Of course, this power wasn’t all-encompassing. People were conscious of their decisions and could still say no if he asked them to do something for him, but the catch was that they didn’t want to say no.

Sadly, spending about six years in a single place because of the lack of alternatives can make one feel hopeless again. Darius saw the trees fade to grey, campers disappear from death or departure. He and his sister remained, and so again became reclusive. Their popularity, as it had thrived in primary and secondary schools, as well as the first few years they had been at camp, waned as people realized that they were not all they appeared to be. Darius didn’t try to keep up appearances either, as time went on. He became odd, again, as though the campers and the people back on his street in the UK were the same souls, gossiping about his reserved manner, his closeness to his twin, and why he always acted twenty years older than he was. If one sighted him outside of training or eating, it was considered a talking-point. Finally, it is important to note that Darius and his sister had a brief stint where they left camp. They had most of their father’s money, and they had decided that they could make it out in the world. With no credit, life was difficult. Darius had to use persuasion merely to rent a run-down apartment in New York City. He began to try to find a publicist for his novels while his sister worked odd jobs, quitting each of them in turn because of various reasons. Still, they had a lot of money, so working wasn’t a pressing issue. However, when their lives were threatened by a monster attack when the two of them were twenty, after only a month of living outside of camp, they returned, Darius with a fractured hand. Since, Darius has been his same old self, or, if anything, even more cautious than usual.

[warmbeebosoftbeebo]

I totally agree about being more vanilla and certain asks being a hell to the no. I’ve been with the same man for 4 years so we’ve tried almost everything but nothing gets me off more than a man (/idea of) worshipping you with his words while you enjoy each other’s bodies. I feel like people in these types of relationships are seen as boring by society because time together doesn’t involve hurting your partner ect. I CAN confirm that those in vanilla relationships can/still do have great sex

Also same anon as previous, but a PS that your style of writing and the way you write about B x reader (the way he behaves / talks to/ treats the reader is exACTLY my style. Nothing is hotter than a man who knows how to use his words in all the right ways. You fuck ya girl into next week but if you don’t know how to work me up with your words mixed with a super loving/ caressing touch it’s not gonna happen. You know what IT is ;)

i’m often confused as to whether i’d be considered vanilla or not, or at least if my fic would be considered vanilla or not. i remember an ask from a while ago saying i was into some kinky shit n i was like “bwuh?” n figured i’d be considered hopelessly vanilla  by most (as if vanilla is bad/isn’t fucking delicious: the smell, the taste…fucking lovely. plus it got b sniffing ryan’s armpit haha n telling him he smelled good :P). are things like vibes n other toys, pegging/anal/prostate stumulation, diff kinds of tribadism/frottage, b in panties, b being pretty arguably “submissive,” etc vanilla or “kink”? 

dasfljgf i love yr wording of “worshipping you with his words while you enjoy each other’s bodies.” i think there’s a major desensitization going on, and it’s starting by 10-11 years old. people with little masturbatory experience (or none), and no partnered experience beyond curious more than sexual exploration when quite young (that they may not even remember) or none at all, getting fucking whammied with brutal porn right off the bat. and that being most to all of what they see in sexually explicit media for years on end, seeing it in unprecedented levels with the internet both re age of first exposure, how often/how long they view it, how girls as well as boys are growing up on it. seeing brutal contacts for years, mixing arousal, masturbation and orgasm with fear, pain, cruelty, faked arousal and orgasms, violence, harm, etc and often feeling rough touch (eg overt obvious sexual assaults, sexual situations that are assented to but not wanted, sexual situations that start out wanted and become painful, scary, thinking you want and will like something only to have it feel scary, painful, unarousing, feeling broken because you didn’t like it, etc) before feeling a consistently soft touch, hearing sexy words that are kind, having all these mythologies about sex esp piv told to you in n out of porn and romanticized outside of porn (eg that all women come during it, that it’s the best sex ever, that sex=piv=sex), that that is simply what sex is and what men and women do together, erasing so much of what can happen heterosexually to the point you don’t even think it possible or thinkable, etc. 

porn is about the visual too, how things look (and sound) on camera in specific ways (eg focus on repetitive penile thrusting into an orifice, make up, heels, faked porn moans), not how things *feel* emotionally or physically. how your skin rubbing on someone else’s feels. how a kiss, lick, caress, suck, squeeze, feels and how these feelings change depending on firmness n skill, emotional connection (including friendship), level of arousal, etc. how it feels to touch someone else. how it feels to stroke over their genitals. how it feels to feel intensely aroused, or to let arousal build slowly, or have it wash over you in waves. to need someone at that moment, to wrap your limbs around them and squish them to you. how it feels to feel safe and loved and comfortable and horny and full of want vs scared, detested, uncomfortable, in pain, whether or not this is mixed with arousal. you don’t get into how the people in porn feel–what is really going on in their heads? what are they feeling emotionally? how does what’s happening actually feel to them? why for all the theatrics, performing, acrobatics, etc is there so little feeling?

within a generation we’ve gone from knowing men could go months and even years without looking at porn, and having many men who did just that, and most boys and some girls furtively sneaking peaks at their dad’s or a friend’s dad’s playboy or even penthouse, maybe a softcore vhs (rip soft core porn; it isn’t made anymore by pornographers, now it’s mainstream media, eg ads, game of thrones. not that soft core was fine and dandy, but much of it is quaint in comparison to what we have now), or pornographic or smutty books to thinking that if one doesn’t look at porn regularly they’re either asexual or lying or inhibited n need to free their mind n get on that porn, and that porn and masturbation are synonymous (eg that one can’t masturbate without porn). 

i remember reading one guy writing about how the sight of a girl’s pubic hair peeking out of her bathing suit would get him hard quick as a boy; now pubic hair is disgusting, and men and boys generally only find hairless vulva appealing. that’s a less extreme example of what i’m talking about, but you can imagine (and come across) the spike in interest in daddy kink, men strangling and choking women, the hetero male obsession with pia with females (and it’s connection to sadism/injury in both the advertising of it, what happens to women in porn and women and girls in relationships), etc. 

and the view that porn just let’s us find out what we naturally, truly like?!? that we’re only turned on by it if it represents our True Sexuality? ha. you really mean to tell me that millions upon millions of girls were champing at the bit to call their boyfriends, husbands, male community members/mentors/teachers, celeb crushes, etc daddy throughout the millennia? that millions upon millions of women have lain awake at night, over the millennia, mourning the fact that their husbands would not strangle them and call them worthless whores and fantasizing about it endlessly, craving it? 

do we really think human males as a class (as a whole) are born wanting, or needing, or truly longing to strangle, choke, shove, engage in piledriving thrusting, slap, beat, namecall, control, possess others, have sexuality centred around them and their sadism, and females as a class are born wanting/needing/longing to have that done to them, service whatever desire men have, no matter how cruel or violent, and indeed, we want it, or at least deserve it, no matter how cruel or violent? that males are born sadists and females masochists, and that is what it means to be male or female? (and if you don’t fit that mold, you’re not a real man/woman?) that all those sweet boys and willful girls are really longing to hurt and be hurt respectively (maybe with the caveat that if they are the rare exception that they are really the other sex inside)? 

this is not denying psychopathy in a small per centage of males, which is largely inborn and more likely in males than females due to genetics and usually expressed more extremely (physical and sexual harm to others, rape, serial murder) in males due to greater physical strength from testosterone and gender socialization, but i hardly think most males are born psychopaths, and honestly, psychopathy and sociopathy, and serial killers, come to mind when looking at mainstream internet porn. i’ve been meaning to make a list of quotes by bdsmers and pornographers alongside serial killers without sources, asking “top/dom/sadist/porn or serial killer?” then revealing who said what, if it doesn’t already exist (been meaning to look). i do not think we, either sex, are born like this as a whole. and this is leaving aside the fact that “nature” neither means right nor inevitable. we decide how we want to live, act, treat others, can counteract how our sexuality is being shaped. 

i consumed porn directed at straight men from 8-12, and it absolutely shaped my sexuality then, although since we’re talking about 1995-99, it mostly revolved around and got my sexual thoughts revolving around piv (eg thinking that’s how all women came, how i would come even though i masturbated clitorally/by humping my blanket or sweater or my hand between my thighs) with some more varied sexuality between women on the side. a couple friends of my dad had magazines–one of which had a magazine that claimed to be child porn of a 15 year old btw–that i would sneak peaks at n quickly/furtively masturbate, and i’d stay up late at night watching the ppv porn that we had one of those descrambler boxes to watch for free. i honestly don’t even remember seeing pia in any of those. now, you can’t escape it. 

so back on track: i’m glad my writing hits your sweet spots in more ways than one wink wonk :P i’m digging the compliments folks :D i know what IT is with a capital I and a capital T, eh?

[thedefinitionofbts]

If You Knew

Pairings: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Doctor Au

Words: 7K

Description: Requested by anon

Dr. Min Yoongi is the most skilled neurosurgeon in the country. He has successfully faced a number of challenges in his career and is under the assumption that he can professionally handle anything at this point, that is, until he was put in charge of treating the girl he has harbored a secret crush on since college.  

Or, in which you lose your eyesight in a car accident and fall in love with the neurosurgeon treating your condition.

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anon who sent in a request for a doctor au!

Min Yoongi has treated a lot of people in his life.

As a world-renowned neurosurgeon, he wasn’t the least bit surprised when he got a request to treat a victim of a brutal car crash. He’s always the first doctor to be recommended because of his reputation, and nine times out of ten, he is, without a doubt, the best person for the job. But the moment he saw your name on the patient form that was handed to him as he walked down the squeaky clean hallway of the hospital, he knew this was going to be that one out of ten time that he was fucked.

Rewind back to when his best friend and closest colleague, Kim Namjoon, had told him that the hardest part about being a doctor isn’t actually acquiring an extensive amount of knowledge on the practice of medicine, performing long surgeries, or dealing with being overloaded with work on the daily. For geniuses like them, it was never about not being smart enough or skilled enough. Instead, Namjoon had brought to Yoongi’s attention long ago that the most difficult part of being a doctor was dealing with being the courier of bad news.  

Of course, being forced to play that role doesn’t happen often. It shouldn’t because doctors are supposed to save people, to heal them. But they aren’t divine entities. They can’t fix everything, and with the existence of things they are powerless to do anything about comes the need to perform error handling, to figure out how to let people down without allowing those feelings of guilt and remorse consume you.

And so, being the overachieving perfectionist that he is, Yoongi took the liberty of conditioning himself in a way that he would never have to run into that issue. He figured if he detached himself from his patients to the point where his relationship with them lied solely on a professional level, he would never have to meddle with emotional attachments.

Up until now, his solution of desensitization has been working smoothly. He’s faced the task of notifying family members of the death of their loved ones and informed people they are in the later stages of cancer or some untreatable disease. He’s told mothers that their babies were born impaired and will die before the age of 5, and athletes that they may never walk again. He’s seen the worst of it and has come out more or less unfazed.

He thinks he has it down to an art form, one that he has spent the majority of his career crafting to the utmost perfection, which comes back to the one thing he had never thought in a million years he would have to do, and that was to be in charge of treating you.

 …

 To say that Yoongi was inept at comforting people would be an understatement. Don’t get him wrong, he comes off kind and considerate to everyone around him, and he’s highly, highly respected by everyone in his field of work. He has good relationships with his patients (professionally), and he always delivers treatment to the best of his ability.

But it’s safe to say; he’s never offered anything deeper than surface level care. Surface level care as in, treat physical condition and get out before getting too deep into consolatory territory. He’s not a therapist. He shouldn’t be expected to treat psychological ailments or provide a shoulder to cry on.

Of course, that’s under the assumption that he’s treating a stranger or at most an acquaintance.

And that’s where you come in.

You, as in, the girl he fell head over heals for the first time he saw you reading under a willow tree on a warm spring day. The same girl he never had the guts to approach properly because you were always surrounded by hotter guys, and Yoongi being the classic nerd who had his head buried in textbooks 24/7, was nowhere near your league.  

“Dr. Min, she’s in room 227” The nurse next to him reminds as she watches Yoongi almost open the door to the wrong room. 

He looks up at the room number of the door his hand is already gripping around the knob of:

226

“Aish” He curses under his breath. He needs to stop drowning in his thoughts before he makes a fool of himself. He quickly glances back at the group of residents and assistants, making sure they don’t suspect he’s unfocused due to fatigue, which he’s proud to say he has never been, before continuing to the next room over. 

There’s no background noise in the room. Other than the familiar beep of the heart monitor, it was almost disturbingly quite. Yoongi’s gaze lands on your sleeping form, head and arms wrapped in gauze after going through emergency treatment right after the accident and breathing through tubes for the time being.

“She was transferred here this morning.” The nurse informs, cutting through his mental observations. “Her left arm and ribcage have sustained minor fractures. Her spinal cord was not severely damaged, but we are still uncertain about how much the cranial trauma has effected her eyes.”

“Her eyes?” Yoongi echoes, partially unsure of why his own voice sounds so distant and hollow.

“It is inconclusive whether her vision loss is dude to nerve damage or just corneal lacerations. We will need to run more tests when she wakes up.”

 ….

 Past

 Yoongi was in his second year of undergrad when he first came to the realization that he hadn’t experienced as many youth related “joys” as his fellow peers. He had never dated a girl, never felt the recklessness of partying until dawn, wasn’t a club goer or drinker, and steered clear from recreational drugs all together. He always used the “too busy focusing on my future” excuse for virtually everything that came crashing his way.

It was a classic case of being determined to succeed, and he was pretty sure his future self would be proud of his strong will at such a ripe young age.

Everyone around him knew that he wasn’t the type to get distracted easily; in fact, it was a labor-intensive struggle just to get Yoongi to do anything non-school related. His attention was rarely, if ever, drawn away from his goal-oriented mindset, but you somehow managed to make him do a double take the moment he looked out the window of the library he had been rooted in all afternoon.

“Whatcha looking at?” Namjoon’s voice from across the table snaps him out of his momentary trance.

“H-huh?” Yoongi turns back towards Namjoon, still unaware of the chemical change that had occurred in his brain due to a certain heart-fluttering stimulus. “Oh uh, nothing, just…enjoying how green the grass is.” He fabricates; eyes quickly shooting down to his textbook in hopes that the other male will treat this occurrence as nothing out of the ordinary.

But of course, he doesn’t.

“Enjoying how green the grass is?” Namjoon cocks a brow obviously unconvinced, pupils shifting towards the direction Yoongi had been staring at for a good two minutes- that likely would have turned to five or even longer had he not interrupted.  

And there you are, sitting peacefully under a willow tree with your flowing hair partly fluttering in zephyr, partly tucked behind one ear, and eyes fixated on a book resting gently in your lap.

It was almost too cliché, but Namjoon wasn’t about to judge.

His lips curve upwards, sighing fondly as he turns to face Yoongi, who is now not so subtly trying to avoid direct eye contact with the all-knowing male.

“Are you going to go out there and talk to her?” Namjoon inquires without a single hint of hesitation.

“What are you even talking about?” Yoongi retorts, trying to sound like Namjoon was being completely absurd and didn’t just witness the signs of love at first sight displayed on Yoongi’s habitually apathetic face.

Namjoon exhales and shakes his head. “If you’re going to deny your infatuation, you should’ve tried to be less obvious.”

“Again, I have no idea-”

“Oh come on, Yoongi. Are you really going to play this game with me?”

Yoongi tsks in mild annoyance, expression turning sour. “I don’t have time for this. Let’s get back to studying.”

Yoongi is definitely a stubborn one. He was like that with his goals and dreams, his resolve to succeed in the medical field, and personal desires, as he soon came to learn. Perhaps that is also why he never moved on from you.

 …

 Even after that little incident at the library with Namjoon, where he pretended like he had been unaffected by the first stages of a growing crush, the thought of you had constantly been on his mind. It was like that image of your elegant form had been imprinted in his memory, and it wasn’t going away. Although he would never admit it verbally, he would catch himself thinking about you at the most random times, while he was eating, walking between classes, listening to music, and even during exams! It was a nightmare, and further to his dismay, such thoughts had been increasing in frequency to the point where he couldn’t stop himself from hoping he could see you again, even if it’s just a distant glimpse. Which is precisely why he found himself frequenting that same spot in the library more often than not.

It’s a bit creepy to say he went there to observe you from afar, but when it all boils down to the crux, that is all he had the courage to do. And it’s not like he was just staring at you the whole time, thankfully he’s not that creepy. It was more like the intermittent glance outside when his eyes got tired of the same old human anatomy flashcards scattered in front of him or the occasional tilt of his head when he caught you lifting an arm to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He would sometimes imagine what it would be like to invite you to study with him, to sum up the guts to actually talk to you because it was definitely a more natural way to handle the state he was in.  

Surprisingly it wasn’t that hard. And by “that hard”, he means that one day it unexpectedly started pouring rain, and somehow turned into the first time you met him, or in other words, “found out about his existence”. Yoongi himself was actually immersed in his own reading when it happened. He was occupying the exact same seat in the corner when he heard light tapping on the window, only to recognize they were pellets of water hitting the glass.

He jolts up at the realization, and his eyes immediately shoot to the spot you were sitting outside, gathering your belongings in your backpack in preparation to escape the downpour. He doesn’t even take the time to think about what he’s doing, diving into action without a game plan as he hastily grabs his umbrella and sprints out the door. Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever ran faster in his life, heck, he didn’t even know his scrawny legs could carry him so swiftly. But he makes it to the tree in time, just as you were zipping up the last compartment of your bag.

“Here” He says briskly, handing you the umbrella gripped between his hands before considering how bizarre the situation was from your perspective, to see a stranger handing you an umbrella while he was getting soaked under the rain himself.

You look up at his out of breath state, his clothes drenched from the water still falling from the sky. “Ummm, thanks?” You hesitantly take the item he’s presenting you, eyes still trained on him, waiting for him to explain what was going on, where he had magically appeared from, and why he was not using the umbrella to shield himself but rather offering it to you. “So…” You open the parasol and hold it above both of your heads, biting your lip when you realize you have no idea what to say.

“S-sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Yoongi scratches the back of his neck, silently cursing himself for not thinking this through. His wet bangs were now clinging to his forehead, and he’s 99.9% sure he looks like a complete idiot. “H-here, I can hold that.” He awkwardly reaches out and takes the umbrella from you, hands brushing against yours momentarily before you let go of the handle. “Sorry.” He mutters again.

You shake your head. “No, I should be thanking you for saving me out here.” You smile brightly, and Yoongi swears he’s never seen anything so beautiful. “I don’t think we’ve been acquainted, I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N…” Yoongi spends a little too long savoring the way the syllables roll off his tongue. Even your name was beautiful. Nothing like any of the names he had conjured from the guessing games he had played in his head for the past few weeks. Y/N…it was perfect. “Uhh..my name is Y-Yoongi. Min Yoongi.” He adds, fortunately catching himself before he fell into another daydream.

You giggle at his display of nervousness. “Did you just happen to be out here on a walk?” You query, tilting your head in the cutest way possible (according to Yoongi).

“Oh, no. I was studying in there.”

Your eyes follow the direction his finger had raised to point towards. “So how come…?” You wanted to ask why he had ran out here.

“But then I got tired of reading and came out for a break.” He lies, praying that you won’t be suspicious of the impossible coincidence that he just happened to be outside with an umbrella within your vicinity right before it started raining.  

“I guess it’s my lucky day then.” You grin, putting your pearly whites on display this time. Yoongi’s heart is pounding so hard he feels like he’s going to pass out.

The two of you slowly make your way back towards the library. Half of Yoongi’s body remains exposed to the rain because he tries to leave enough room for you, even though you insisted he should scoot closer to you. You assume he’s just being polite, seeing as though the two of you just met.

“So what’s your major?” You ask, directing the conversation casually in an attempt to dispel the tension.

“I’m, uh, pre-med.” He answers.

“Impressive.” You nod. 

“What about you?”

“Literature. Not as practical.” You shrug, remembering how your parents were against your decision to study something that would not provide very many career opportunities, but you loved it too much to give it up in exchange for something else.   

“No, no. That’s really interesting.” Yoongi quickly butts in, regretting his choice of words the moment he hears what he had just voiced. He clears his throat, taking a deep breath before trying again. “It’s a study that is irreplaceable, and central to us as human beings. It helps us expand our horizons and express ourselves in unique ways.” He pauses for a second before continuing. “It’s really cool that your passions lie within something so important to humanity.”

Your lips curve upward at his heartwarming words.

The rain lets up not long after you reach the library, and you end up thanking Yoongi again before parting ways. He doesn’t know it then, but you were grateful for several things he did for you on that fateful day. Although he probably didn’t mean for his encouraging words to make such a huge impact on your mindset, to you it was unforgettable because it was exactly what you needed, not only on that day but also for many years to come.

 …

 Present

 He stands at the doorway staring at your limp form lying on the patient bed. His heart feels like someone is tying ropes around it, and he feels like the air in the room is too thin.

“She will be blind until we find a donor.”

The words keep repeating in his mind, and he doesn’t know why they are affecting him this much. He’s not supposed to be attached to patients. He’s not supposed to be concerned past an acceptable professional level. He’s not supposed to be too weak to inform them of bad news, and yet he had forced a resident to break the crippling news to you earlier this morning. 

At least it’s not permanent. At least it wasn’t nerve damage and can be fixed with ocular surgery. But even so, it doesn’t quell any of his concerns because compatible cornea donors can take months to find. 

“H-how are you feeling?” Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut the moment the words leave his mouth in a not so smooth manner. Why the fuck was he getting nervous? This is not how a world-renowned neurosurgeon should be acting. Min Yoongi, fucking stay professional.

Yoongi swallows thickly through gritted teeth, hoping that the sound isn’t loud enough to make it to your ears.

You continue to lie stiffly on the cot, not turning your head in the direction of his voice or giving any other indication that you had even heard what your doctor had just asked. The bandages around your head had been removed, but your eyes were kept closed for obvious reasons.

“Better” You softly answer after a painfully long silence that Yoongi spent mentally scolding himself.

He instantly relaxes the moment your voice, which is just as beautiful as he remembers might he add, fills the quiet room.

“That’s good. If you feel any discomfort or need anything, don’t hesitate to let us know.”

“Ok” You respond with a slight upturn of your lip that almost resembles a half smile.

“I’m going to perform some simple tests to make sure your nervous system is still functioning properly.” He informs as he prepares his equipment.

“Ok” You answer again, shifting a little this time to show that you are ready.

Yoongi takes a deep breath before reaching over to take your uninjured arm. He proceeds to give instructions for you to move your fingers, elbow, and shoulder, before moving on to make sure you haven’t lost sensation in any of your other limbs. You stay quiet for the majority of the time, only obediently doing as he says. You take note of how soothing his voice is and how delicately he handles you, and you can’t help but wonder if all doctors were this gentle, this kind, because you hadn’t quite experienced the same tenderness with the previous nurse and assistant who had performed initial tests on you.

“Now I’m going to quickly assess your lungs.” He notifies before reaching over to grab his stethoscope, shoving it in his ears and trying to ignore the fact that he’ll be seeing your partially bare body. The exact thing that he’s shameful to admit he could not refrain from fantasizing about when he was lying alone in his dorm room so many years ago. He swallows again, harshly reminding himself to stop being so ridiculous. That was the past. That was natural for a male in his sexual prime, but he’s older now, more mature, a respectable doctor-

Fuck.

All thoughts of reason flew out the window the moment his fingers brushed against the smooth and soft skin of your chest. His heartbeat is quickening, and he clenches his jaw to prevent his hand from trembling even in the slightest bit. Thank god years of surgical training has gifted him steady hands, because he’d be shaking uncontrollably if he had not practiced the art of calming himself when his own nervous system is on overdrive.

“Inhale. Exahale.” Yoongi instructs, for your sake and his own.

You follow his commands, taking in a deep inhale and long exhale, but you manage to squeeze in a quick question, one that you had been curious about for the past half hour. “Since I can’t see your name tag, can you tell me how I should address you?” Yoongi’s hand freezes, still placed above your exposed chest.

“You can call me Dr. Min.” He answers, eyes fluttering up to trace over your facial features but finding it difficult to read your emotions without your eyes to give anything away.

Lucky for him, you smile at his response, and it’s so reminiscent of the first time he saw your lips stretch into such a beautiful form that his heart almost skips a beat.

The rest of the testing goes efficiently, mostly because it’s filled with some light conversation. Now that you know his name, you somehow feel closer to him for some inexplicable reason. He’s not that nameless, faceless medical practitioner that’s pinching and probing you like you are some lab specimen, but rather a doctor by the name of Dr. Min, who handles you like a porcelain doll and speaks with a kind of rhythm that takes you to a place as familiar as home.

“Well, that’s all for now.” Yoongi announces as he cleans up. You can hear him packing away up his equipment, metal against metal, and the sound of him pushing the cart back into the corner.  

“Will you be back?” You ask as he walks back to your bedside.

“Of course.” He answers, letting his face relax into a smile. “I’ll come as much as you need me to.”

“I would like that.” You say, as he helps you lie back down to rest.

Yoongi doesn’t know what you mean by that statement, but he assumes you just want to be reassured that you’ll be properly taken care of. He jots down a few notes on his notepad and prepares to leave, but just as he was about to leave the room you call for him one last time.

“Dr. Min?”

Yoongi halts mid-step. “Yes?” He turns back to look at you, even though he’s fully aware that you can’t see him anyways.

“Thank you.”

 …

 Past

 Yoongi didn’t lack appeal in the traditional sense of the word, but he wasn’t exactly good at being a ladies magnet. He knew he wasn’t physically alluring, but he had brains, and there were plenty of girls who could appreciate a smart man. Like take Kim Namjoon for example, a man with the IQ of a genius, constantly spewing quotes as deep as the Pacific Ocean. But unlike Yoongi who gave off the aura of someone who hated everything about life, Namjoon made his nerdiness come off as charming and irresistible.

Yoongi, on the other hand, rarely expressed emotion on his face, and even when he did, it was always solely around his closest friends.

“So you’ve moved on from spying on her from the library?” Namjoon leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, contemplating the next steps he can suggests the hopeless male take.

“Joon, I told you, I stopped engaging in that shit a long time ago.” Yoongi huffs. “It was creepy, I know.”

Namjoon chuckles wholeheartedly. “And yet you managed to do that for what, 2 months?”

“Shut up”

“You’ve spoken to her before. Why not ask her out?” He proceeds to push the topic, despite knowing that the older male never wants to talk about it.

“Because I’m over her.”

“Lies.”  

Yoongi hates it when Namjoon is right because Namjoon is always right. He’s not over you. Hell, he’s never going to be over you. And just because he doesn’t see you anymore, doesn’t mean you’ve stopped haunting his dreams or daytime musings or every crevice of his cerebral cortex.  He even applied to be a TA for an introductory Bio course this semester, hoping that it’ll take his mind off of things that should not be specified.

He had thought it was the perfect plan, that is, until he saw you walk into the lecture hall on the first day of class.

What kind of fuckery-

“Yoongi, right?” He looks up to find you standing in front of his desk, apparently keeping his head down and eyes trained on the professor’s stack of handouts was not going to help him turn invisible.

“Y-Yes” He clears his throat.

“I know we don’t really know each other yet, but you don’t know how glad I am to see you.” You admit, looking around at the other students whose faces you’re even less familiar with. This is what happens when a liberal arts student decides to take a science class for fun, just to see what it was like.  

“You are?” Yoongi’s jaw slackens at your unexpected revelation. You can’t seriously be glad to see him for the reason he thinks… can you? He’s not misinterpreting your words… is he?

You nod while beaming at him so brightly it’s almost painful for his frail heart. “Yeah, I don’t know anyone here.” You clarify.

Yup. He misinterpreted. “Oh, right. Lit major.” Yoongi pretends to casually recall, not that he even came close to forgetting any detail about you.

Throughout that entire semester, Yoongi learns more about you than he had ever dreamed he would have the opportunity to. Because of your nonexistent science background, you always show up to his tutoring hours and stay longer than any other student. At first it made him a bit uncomfortable, knowing that there was no way he would even stand a chance at getting over his feelings for you at this rate, but interacting with you soon settled into a comfortable routine, one in which he almost gained enough confidence to be less nervous around you.  

“I’m sorry, you probably have other things to do.” You apologize as you look up at the clock hanging on the wall and see that it’s past the end of his tutoring hours.

“It’s fine. I was planning on staying here to study anyways.” He smiles at you, pulling out his own textbooks to show that he wasn’t leaving any time soon.

He hates himself for unleashing this type of self-torture on himself, for falling into this vicious cycle of not being able to resist caring about you past what is expected, or even reasonable for a mere TA. He didn’t have to stay past his tutoring hours for your sake. He didn’t have to make customized study guides just for you, and go out of his way to hide the fact that he did all of these extra things.

So you never knew about the countless occasions, Yoongi spent all evening helping you study class material, even when he had projects and lab reports due the next day. You never knew about how he didn’t mind losing a few hours of sleep, if it meant spending those hours with you.

 …

 Present

 “Y/N? The Y/N that still plagues your conscience to this day?” Namjoon almost spits out the bite of food he was chewing on. He and Yoongi were eating lunch in the hospital cafeteria when the older male decided to break the news to him. He knew Namjoon would find out eventually, so there was no need to hide it.

“You’re over exaggerating” Yoongi mutters, looking down at his lunch tray and picking at his food absentmindedly.

Namjoon sighs. “Am I? I told you the guilt wouldn’t go away that easily.”

By guilt, Namjoon means the terms in which Yoongi left for medical school without saying goodbye to you or even leaving you a way to contact him. 

“It was four years ago.” Yoongi reminds, as if time would really allow him to accept the decision he made.

But he’s never stopped regretting it. He’ll never forget how long he spent waiting by that bench, pacing back and forth while formulating a way to tell you how he truly felt about you, only to run away when he saw you walking down the sidewalk with someone else. That other guy was probably just a friend of yours, but the scene of you laughing to your hearts content as you linked your arms with him shattered any bit of confidence he had managed to assemble.

In retrospect, it was pretty stupid of him to let something so trivial prevent him from doing what he should’ve done at the time, which was confess in the face of potential rejection. He also didn’t know it would be the closest he ever got to telling you how much he liked you, nor did he anticipate it being the last chance he ever got to see you before he went off to medical school. He often wonders what would’ve happened if he had just sucked it up and confessed. Would you have given him a chance? Would he be less regretful? Even in the event that he was rejected, he was certain at the very least he wouldn’t feel so pathetic for chickening out even to this day.  

He still lingering over those thoughts of the past as he lightly knocks on the doorframe of your recovery room.

At the sound of the familiar tap, your head jerks towards the entrance and your lips curve into a gentle smile when you hear the distinct footsteps of the doctor who never fails to brighten your day.

“How are you feeling?”

It’s always the first thing that glides past his lips, the tangible serenade that makes the dull room come alive. 

“So much better now” You hum, exhaling blissfully.

Yoongi furrows his brows, not quite understanding what you are referring. “Did the nurse up your dosage?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It has nothing to do with any of my medications, Dr. Min.”

Yoongi takes a seat on the chair by your bedside, still oblivious to what you mean.

“I heard you’re a writer now.” He says as casually as he can while simultaneously gripping the book he has brought and is planning on reading to you- if you wanted, that is. He was actually on a break from work, but decided to pay you a visit because he figured you would be bored, or at least that’s the excuse he kept repeating to himself. Truthfully, he’s feeling very uncertain of his actions and whether or not this is even an acceptable thing to do as your primary doctor. It’s probably not, but when has Yoongi ever been able to resist going the extra mile when it came to you?

“Now?” You pause at his peculiar statement. Were you being overly sensitive to his choice of words or did he actually sound like he was someone who knew you in the past? Maybe it was just a misunderstanding on your part.

“I mean, it says you are a writer on the patient information forms.” Yoongi corrects, quickly clearing his throat awkwardly.

“I am” You nod. “I’ve always been passionate about literature, but sadly, I can’t read or write in this condition.” Your expression falls, and Yoongi feels a tiny pang in his heart.

Yoongi looks down at the book clutched between his fingers. “Well, I can read to you if you would like.” He is trying really hard to make this a smooth transition to why he came to visit you today and not give away the fact that he actually planned this whole “read to you” thing. “I just happen to have this book here with me right now, and I’ve got some time to kill.”

You remain silent as you let his words sink in. It crosses your mind as being a little strange for a doctor to just have random books on hand while working. “Do you always carry books around?”

Yoongi swallows nervously. “I-I….yes” He stutters.

You giggle. “So you’re an avid reader?”

“You can put it that way.” He responds before flipping over the cover.

When he begins reading, you immediately recognize the title of the piece he had conveniently chosen. Was it too much of a coincidence that he just happened to have picked up one of your favorite books? Surely the patient forms would not contain such personal and medically unrelated information.

“You’re a fan of Murakami?”

He glances up from the page. “A friend of mine is.” He replies, recalling how Namjoon had shoved so many of the Japanese author’s works in his face over the years. He eventually grew fond of them for reasons he normally elected to not acknowledge, but deep down he knew it was because they always reminded him so much of you and your own literary tastes.

“I’m glad it rubbed off on you.” You comment, smiling once more.

Yoongi takes your peaceful reactions as a sign that you enjoyed his uncustomary visits, so he comes whenever he’s on break. Of course, he always hides those details and pretends that he’s just stopping by as he’s making his hospital rounds, but that was beside the point. Sometimes he even comes with a journal to write for you, becoming your pen and paper. You share all of your ideas with him, the deepest layers of your thoughts that your surprised became something that was so easy to do. It’s not every day that you feel comfortable enough to be in someone else’s company when you are writing. You typically wouldn’t even allow your closest of friends to walk in on you brainstorming fantastical ideas for new stories.

It was all going well for Yoongi until the day he didn’t time his visit right and almost fell out of his chair when the nurse walked in on him as he was reading to you.

Her expression is of mild astonishment as she stares at the neurosurgeon dressed in casual attire. “Dr. Min, I thought you were off work today?” Her question echoes loud and clear throughout the room, making Yoongi wince at the revelation of the secret he had kept so well up until now.

“I-I…” He completely at loss for words, eyes shifting over to you who has no idea what is going on.

The nurse proceeds to check up on you, clearly oblivious of Yoongi’s stupefied state.

He remains standing awkwardly against the wall as she finishes her assigned duties, not making a sound or clarifying why he was still there. Luckily the nurse doesn’t think much of it, and leaves as soon as she is finished.

“Dr. Min?” You voice as you hear him sit back down.

“Yes?” Yoongi murmurs timidly.

You smile knowingly. “Thank you”

 …

 It was exactly four months later that Yoongi was informed of a potential corneal donor for you. Admittedly, the moment was a bit bittersweet for him because it meant that you would be leaving the hospital with new eyes as soon as you recover from surgery, which means he would probably never see you again.

“I can’t believe you haven’t told her.” Namjoon is tempted to tear his hair out at this point.

“Of course I told her!” Yoongi defends, taken aback by the fact that his closest friend would think so lowly of him.

“I’m not talking about the donor stuff. I’m talking about the fact that she doesn’t know you’re the Min Yoongi from her undergrad days. 

Yoongi sighs. He should’ve known that Namjoon was still caught up in that. “Eh, she’s probably long forgotten about me.” Yoongi brushes it off, despite the little voice in his head that’s furiously trying to agree with the younger male. “It’ll just be weird if she finds out now because I’ve stepped over my boundaries as a doctor.” It was the truth, more or less. He’s definitely way past distant professional relationship at this point, and he thinks he’s certain that you’d be creeped out if you knew everything he’s done or has been doing for you.  

Namjoon rubs his temples in utter frustration, completely speechless at this point. “I don’t know what else to say.”

The surgery is successful. Of course, since it’s Min Yoongi and he’s just that skilled of a neurosurgeon. He doesn’t visit you on the day your bandages are removed and you can finally see the world in all of its glory once again, the brilliant sunlight surging into the small room, the vase of vibrantly colored flowers on the table by the window, the light blue and white bed sheets that you are seeing for the first time in four months. It was an exhilarating feeling; one that you’ll probably remember for the rest of your life, and it would’ve been a perfect moment, if only the first person you saw was the Dr. Min who gifted you the honor of being able to experience such a wonderful sensation again. 

You couldn’t hide the disappointment in your expression when all you saw was the nurse staring at you apathetically, and checking to make sure everything was functioning properly.

Maybe he was busy. You console yourself.

 …

 Yoongi was just getting off of his overnight shift a week after you checked out of the hospital, when he noticed that the flowers around the hospital grounds were beginning to bloom again. Leaving the hospital in the morning wasn’t that odd of an occurrence, but it was the first time in a long time he was taking a moment to enjoy the heartwarming signs of spring in the air. The sky was clear and the wind was twirling in enchanting ways.

He kind of wishes you were here to enjoy this with him.

But he only chuckles at the silly thought. Allowing you to actually see him was completely absurd. He even made sure some other patient was occupying your room before making a trip back to the place he had frequented for the past four months, basking in some of the old memories of the conversations the two of you had. He can’t deny the fact that he misses you, but he convinces himself that leaving you oblivious was for the best. Just as his mind was flooded with a few remaining thoughts of you, he closes his eyes and imagines he can almost hear the sound of your voice.

“Yoongi!”

The echo of his name being called by such a lovely and familiar melody makes him wonder if his lack of sleep or ungodly sleeping habit due to his job is finally taking a toll on his body.

“Dr. Min Yoongi!”

This time it’s louder and clearer than the first, and it makes his tired heart begin to race.

No fucking way.  

He whips his head around in a daze, only to see you standing a measly few feet away from him. He blinks a few times; still unable to comprehend that this isn’t one of his drowsy hallucinations.

You continue to stare at him with fond eyes, tracing over his aged yet soft features. He honestly hasn’t changed much, other than the dark bags under his eyes which you know will disappear after he gets some much needed rest. The disbelief that he’s drowning in is evident in his wide pupils and slightly parted lips.

“You were going to leave me hanging again, weren’t you?” You playfully accuse, taking long strides forward to close the gape between the two of you.

“I-I-…” He’s dumbfounded, unable to believe that this isn’t one of his illusory dreams of you, and that you are in fact standing before him right now, tangible and real, and looking at him with eyes that are seemingly verging on joyful tears. “You knew it was me?” He manages to inquire amidst his incredulity.  

“Eventually.” You admit, smiling at the way he drops his gaze. You gently reach up and cup his cheek. “At first I was a bit hurt that you didn’t tell me, but then I realized that it gave me a chance to fall in love with you…again.”

Yoongi’s jaw drops at your confession, and he feels like his breathing has stopped all together. “Y-You…m-me…again?” He’s lost the ability to form coherent sentences. This can’t be happening. Did you really just? To him?

You nod, chuckling at how embarrassing this all was, but you couldn’t lose him again, not after you regretted never telling him how much he meant to you four years ago and how much he still means to you now. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pour all of this on you all of a sudden.” You exhale in an attempt to calm your pounding heart.

There’s a long moment of nerve-wracking silence before Yoongi finally speaks.

“Y/N…” He takes a deep breath, organizing his frenzied thoughts as best as he can. There’s so much he wants to say, but he doesn’t know where to begin. He wishes he could just transfer everything he wanted you to know without having to come up with a way to eloquently convey his feelings. From that heart fluttering moment he first laid eyes on you to this unforgettable exchange that is making him feel like the happiest man alive, he doesn’t know how to get it all across in one statement, so he settles for something simple. “Y/N, I love you.” He ends up spilling the words he’s always wanted to say but never thought in a million years he would have the chance to.

Your face heats up at his direct confession, but that doesn’t stop you from taking it as a green light to jump into his arms, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. “I’m not dreaming, am I? This is real, right?”

Yoongi closes his eyes and soaks in the scent of your hair, arms squeezing you just a tad bit tighter as if to show that this, indeed, is not a dream. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this to be real.”

...

[fyp-psychology]

The Unmistakable Link Between Unhealed Trauma & Illness

Most of us experience trauma at some level, not just war veterans who witness and experience horrific terror, but simply by growing up as vulnerable children in a world where many parents are themselves traumatized and can’t always hold that vulnerability safe for a child. 

You might mistakenly think that you must experience incest, child abuse, parental abandonment, or living in a war zone in order to be traumatized, but trauma can be much more subtle. Psychologist Dawson Church, PhD defines a traumatizing event as something that is:

Perceived as a threat to the person’s physical survival

Overwhelms their coping capacity, producing a sense of powerlessness

Produces a feeling of isolation and aloneness

Violates their expectations

In his book Psychological Trauma, Dawson gives the example of Martie’s traumatizing event, which could have lasting consequences but might be easily overlooked if you were not attuned to the kinds of events that can traumatize a child.

When I was growing up, I idolized my older brother Gary. But he was pretty rough with me. He was six years older than I was. One day when I was three and he was nine, he wanted to have a “wrestling match.” He “won” by lying on top of me. I couldn’t breathe and I began to panic. Gary just laughed when he saw me struggling. I almost passed out. When he rolled off me, I began to cry uncontrollably. My mother came in, and I tried to explain what happened. He told her it was nothing. I was just being a crybaby. Mom told me, “Big girls don’t cry.”

While it might be easily dismissed as just children tussling, this example meets all four criteria for a traumatizing event. Martie thought she was going to die when Gary lay on top of her, so she perceived a threat to her survival. She tried to cope by pushing him off, but he was too big so her coping attempt failed and she felt powerless. Being smothered by her brother violated her expectation that her family would keep her safe. When her mother failed to support and comfort her by dismissing her emotions with “Big girls don’t cry,” she was left feeling isolated and alone.

By this definition of trauma, almost all of us have experienced multiple traumatizing events in our lifetimes. In my case, I had a fairly benevolent childhood, but 12 years of medical training caused me to experience multiple events that meet this criteria for trauma. I also was held up at gunpoint by two masked gunmen in my twenties and had full on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder afterward. Most recently, I was attacked by a pit bull and started having PTSD-like flashbacks right afterward. Knowing what I know about the link between unresolved trauma and physical illness, I wanted to be proactive about healing the trauma right away. I am lucky to have at my fingertips a variety of gifted and ethical healers who treat trauma. I reached out right away and asked for help. The flashbacks stopped and haven’t come back.

Unhealed Trauma Predisposes to Disease

As I wrote about in Mind Over Medicine, there is a substantial amount of data linking mental health issues with physical disease. This is not to suggest “it’s all in your head.” It’s absolutely in your body! It’s simply that the physiological changes that occur in the body as the result of unhealed trauma and its associated stress, anxiety, and depression translates into conditions in the body that make you susceptible to physical ailments. In a landmark 1990 study of 17,421 patients, Kaiser Permanente and the U.S. Centers for Disease Control (CDC) collaborated on the Adverse Childhood Experiences Study, which has resulted in over 50 peer-reviewed scientific articles. Patients were interviewed to determine whether they had experienced any of ten traumatizing events in childhood:

Physical abuse

Sexual abuse

Emotional abuse

Physical neglect

Emotional neglect

Mother treated violently

Household substance abuse

Household mental illness

Parental separation or divorce

Incarcerated household member

The study revealed that traumatizing childhood events are commonplace. Two-thirds of individuals reported at least one traumatizing childhood event. 40% of the patients reported two or more traumatizing childhood events, and 12.5% reported four or more. These results were then correlated with the physical health of the interviewed patients, and researchers discovered a dose-response. Traumatizing events in childhood were linked to adult disease in all categories—cancer, heart disease, chronic pain, autoimmune diseases, bone fractures, high blood pressure, obesity, diabetes, depression, smoking, and suicide. The average age of patients in this study was 57 years old, which means that childhood trauma can have a delayed effect on the body, making it entirely possible that something that happened 50 years ago may be predisposing someone to illness in the here and now. The more Adverse Childhood Events an individual reported, the sicker and more resistant to treatment they were.

The Good News: Trauma Can Be Healed

If you’re someone who checks “yes” to these and many other traumatizing events, you might be feeling anxious right about now. Does this mean that if you’ve experienced trauma in your life, you’re now a ticking time bomb just waiting to get sick? Does it mean that you won’t be healed from your chronic illness? Does it mean the damage is done and it’s too late to undo it?

No no no. That’s not what I’m suggesting at all. The good news is that we now understand that unresolved trauma, whether from childhood or adulthood, can be treated and cured. Such treatment may also have direct effects on physical health.

Psychologists didn’t always know this. They used to believe that children who experienced severe trauma were sort of damaged goods, at risk for many other challenges in adulthood—such as physical and mental illness, addiction, criminal behavior, domestic violence, obesity, and suicide. Such trauma was believed to be largely untreatable. Now, thanks to evolving methodologies for treating trauma successfully, such as Eye Movement Desensitization & Reprocessing (EMDR), Emotional Freedom Technique (EFT), Advanced Integrative Therapy (AIT).

Somatic Experiencing, and Psych-K, we know better. Trauma can be treated, and if you’ve experienced trauma, treatment can be not only preventive medicine but also treatment of disease.

These cutting edge treatments for trauma recognize that talk therapy is inadequate to treat trauma. In fact, it can actually be harmful and retraumatizing, not to mention ineffective. When traumatized people are asked to replay the trauma through talk therapy, they often dissociate from their bodies, escaping into a safe witness consciousness, where they discuss the trauma from this disembodied, numbed out witness position, since that’s what they had to do to cope during the initial trauma. The newer trauma treatments make use of the understanding that trauma can only be truly healed when you stay in your body while addressing the often overwhelming emotions that accompany trauma, titrating your exposure to the trauma in small doses so as not to disembody and dissociate. Newer techniques for treating trauma often require very little talking, are careful to avoid retraumatizing, and can be very effective, quick, and permanent—with surprising and exciting effects not just on mental health, but on physical health, especially for those recalcitrant conditions that fail to respond to even the best Western or alternative medical treatment.

To Treat Disease, We Must Normalize and Treat Trauma

We know from copious data studying war veterans with PTSD in VA hospitals that, without any doubt, trauma and illness are linked. Yet in spite of all the solid scientific data linking trauma and disease, conventional Western medicine still tends to turn a blind eye to this strong correlation, and many patients are also resistant to considering treatment of trauma as part of a prescription for a healthy body. When was the last time your doctor told you to get treatment for your trauma as part of your cancer therapy, autoimmune disease, or heart disease? If you were asked to get trauma treatment as part of comprehensive, integrative medical therapy, how would you react? In my experience, even very progressive integrative medicine doctors rarely bring this up. Instead of focusing on drugs or surgery, they point you to a healthier diet, an herbal supplement, or a whole bunch of expensive functional medicine laboratory tests that aren’t usually covered by insurance.

But what if no drug, surgery, diet, supplement, or fancy lab test can cover up the ongoing, toxic effects of unhealed trauma on the body?

What if everything else is merely a Band-Aid, perhaps providing temporary relief but never fully healing the root cause that makes you vulnerable to illness over and over?

What if trauma is at the root of many illnesses in many patients, and until we treat it, even the most cutting edge medical technologies may fail to fully work?

Perhaps the block around treating trauma as part of a comprehensive medical treatment plan lies in the stigma many attach to trauma, as if it’s some sort of weakness to have survived a traumatizing event. I suspect that much of the resistance stems from shame about the traumatizing events, which is why the work sociologist Brené Brown, PhD is doing around shame and vulnerability is so important. If shame causes us to bury our trauma in a trauma capsule that we never touch, that trauma can turn into cancer. But if we cultivate shame resilience and we’re brave enough to be vulnerable and get help entering the trauma capsule, miraculous effects are possible. After all, there is absolutely no rational reason to be ashamed if you were sexually abused or abandoned or beaten or neglected. There need not be any shame around getting attacked or bullied or shamed or surrounded by war. Yet shame spirals are common, especially among children who are traumatized. Young psyches somehow translate the trauma into a story that we’re not good enough, or we are weak or unlovable.

Yet children are innocent, as are most adults who are traumatized. At the most basic level, it is our innocence that suffers the brunt of the wound, which means that our innocence needs our compassion and our nurturing, not our inner bullying, shaming, or self-violation. Human life is hard. We have to feel our pain and own up to it in order to heal it and alchemize it into soul growth. But even the most awakened people cannot typically bear to enter into the trauma capsule without loving, supportive, masterful help.

What If Science Can’t Keep up with the Cutting Edge of Sacred Medicine

When I keynoted at the Association for Comprehensive Energy Psychology (ACEP) conference last month, I met a handful of cutting edge Energy Psychology practitioners, and after a series of synchronicities made it clear we were supposed to get to know each other better, I spent eight hours talking to one of these Energy Psychology practitioners in depth as part of my research for Sacred Medicine. Like many of the individuals I’ve interviewed for my upcoming Sacred Medicine book, Asha Clinton, PhD is a Jungian psychologist, mystic healer, and longtime spiritual practitioner of first Buddhism and then the Sufi tradition. Asha created Advanced Integrative Therapy (AIT) and has trained over 2000 practitioners in this Energy Psychology technique. What drew me to Asha and AIT was not only the vastness of her presence, but the fact that she is using AIT to treat cancer. Although the methodologies used in AIT appear to be quite cognitive, left brain, and rational, it was clear to me right away that something mystical was underlying this treatment. While most of the other Energy Psychology techniques are being used to treat trauma as it applies to mental health conditions, Asha created protocols that she and other health practitioners are using as part of the prescription for people with cancer—and the great news is that, for those who are ready for this kind of deep psycho-spiritual work, results are promising.

Part of what drew me to Asha was that she wasn’t trying to sell me with pseudo-science or earn my validation with muddy data. Although many people at this conference used a lot of scientific language to try to explain what happens when patients are treated with energy healing and energy psychology techniques, I often start to glaze over when people talk about quantum physics and use language that sounds like “pseudo-science” to try to gain acceptance in the world of science. Frankly, I am concluding that science is simply not advanced enough to keep up with the cutting edge of medicine, and no amount of trying to fit spiritual healing into a science box is going to satisfy the scientist in me. Perhaps science will catch up, and it’s important that we continue to try to study that which can be studied in order to protect us from the charlatans of the world. But to dismiss a particular phenomenology something simply because science can’t fully explain it seems irresponsibly ignorant. Holding this paradox of my desire for scientific proof and my openness to that which cannot yet be proven is a challenging edge for me, but one I am holding with greater fluidity as I continue this Sacred Medicine journey. From what I can garner, there is not yet scientific verification that AIT works to treat cancer, but there are a number of very compelling anecdotes, enough to hopefully attract the attention of scientists who might be able to track outcomes, much as Dawson Church and his colleagues are doing to validate the more mainstream Energy Psychology technique EFT.

The Healing Comes from the Divine

Part of my resistance around “energy healers” who try to use the language of energy to explain how their treatments work is that it feels almost disrespectful to that which is doing the healing. Is it really just yet another rational, scientific treatment? Or is it God? (Not that science-based, technologic treatments aren’t also God, but that’s a whole other blog post.) The reason I’m calling my book Sacred Medicine is because I don’t think it’s possible to separate energy healing modalities or traditional healing practices like shamanism from spirituality. I would even go so far as to say that Love Itself lies at the root of the healing.

Asha’s work felt like a good fit for this book because right from the get-go, Asha was blatant about saying that AIT is Divine work, that the protocols she has been mystically given in order to create AIT are a gift from God. She is fittingly humble in the way she gives credit where credit is due. The technique she has midwived into the world strikes me as very similar to the way some of the mystical healers who I’ve interviewed operate, but what attracts me to AIT is that Asha has learned how to teach this.

One of the challenges I’ve faced in researching my Sacred Medicine book is that many of these Sacred Medicine practitioners cultivate dependency. They don’t teach the patient how to heal themselves. Instead, they often leave the patient feeling like they need yet another hands on healing or yet another trip to John of God or yet another boost of Divine love as it flows through the healer. And often, the effects of the healing treatment don’t seem to last. What interests me is whether we can learn something from these healers that we can practice on ourselves when we are sick, such as the techniques I described here and used on myself when I was bitten by the pit bull.

After all, if the message is always, “You need to find something outside of yourself in order to heal,” I have to pause and wonder. Other than having fewer side effects, how is dependency on a mystical healer any different than depending on drugs and surgeries, or supplements and magic potions? I am more interested in learning from the healers who have reverse engineered what they do enough to teach others how to reproduce their results and ideally even teach the patient how to employ these methods at home. Is this possible? I don’t know. So far, I think it’s a paradox. The body is physiologically equipped to heal itself, but perhaps it can’t do it alone. Maybe this deep inner work is just too scary and painful to navigate alone. Maybe we are dependent, at least for a short while, on the loving presence of someone who can channel Divine Love, while facilitating and holding space so that the body can heal itself.What is Advanced Integrative Therapy?You can read the details about AIT here, but to summarize in my understanding, the technique Asha developed uses the scientifically controversial “muscle testing” (kinesiology) to run through very detailed protocols that help the practitioner assess which damaging beliefs and unhealed traumas the client has experienced, and which beliefs and traumas need to be treated in which order in order to optimize outcomes. The technique screens not only for Adverse Childhood Events or traumatizing events in adulthood, but also for generational trauma, such as the trauma descendants of Nazi Germans or Holocaust Jews might experience, which can alter DNA in offspring. Based on the premise that all upsetting events are types of trauma, and that if left untreated, they become stored within the body, mind and spirit/soul, the intention of AIT is to quickly remove the after effects of such traumatic events and clear the residue of the trauma, as it shows up as disturbing emotions, limiting beliefs, self-sabotaging behaviors, compulsions, obsessions, dissociation, spiritual blockage, and yes . . . (She had me at hello) . . . physical illnesses like cancer.

To make the claim that a psychological and spiritual treatment could be used to treat cancer treads on dangerous legal territory, and Asha is careful with her words when she talks about it. The governing medical boards are very fussy about protecting patient safety—and their turf—by going after anyone they might deem to be “practicing medicine without a license.” If a nutritionist claims that her green juice cleanse can help treat cancer, or if a psychologist or spiritual healer claims that his can, they’re at risk of getting shut down by the Powers That Be. While I’m grateful we have governing boards to protect patient safety and to hold medical practitioners to high levels of ethics, integrity, and mastery of skills, I also find it shocking that we’ve forgotten what healers have known for millennia—that psycho-spiritual healing is probably the most effective, lasting, and restorative treatment of the majority of physical diseases. To suggest that a trained and licensed psychotherapist might be practicing medicine without a license if they suggest that psycho-spiritual treatment might help treat disease seems like blasphemy to me! After all, the CDC estimates that 75% of all doctor’s visits are induced by emotional stress, and Occupational Health and Safety bumps that number up to 90%. Sure, there are some illnesses that need highly effective physical treatments, such as antibiotics or surgery. But it is often psychological issues that weaken the immune system and predispose to infection or surgical issues in the first place! (Read Mind Over Medicine if you want to nerd out on the science behind all this.)

The Link Between Psycho-Spiritual Wounds & Physical Illness

As part of my research for Sacred Medicine, I’m traveling the globe to work with shamans in Peru, Qigong masters from China, Hawaiian kahunas, Yogi Swamis, and other kinds of traditional healers, and they all know that psycho-spiritual trauma rides shotgun with physical illness. It’s only Westerners, in our Cartesian arrogance, who have split body, mind, and spirit/soul. Yet we are waking up again and remembering what traditional healers have known all along, that body, mind, and spirit/soul cannot be separated. If we treat the body without also treating the root cause of what predisposed the body to illness, the patient will likely get another illness, or the cancer will recur, or the disease will fail to respond to even the most aggressive treatment.

If You’ve Experienced Trauma, What Can You Do to Heal It?

If you’re looking to optimize your physical health by getting help for any unresolved traumas, there are a number of ways to get help. Start by checking in with yourself. What modality resonates with your intuition? Is it AIT? EFT? EMDR? Somatic Experiencing? Shamanic healing? Faith healing? A Native American Medicine Man?

I recommend doing your homework and tuning into your intuition before you choose a practitioner. If your practitioner is a licensed health care provider, like a medical doctor or psychotherapist, they are beholden to their respective medical board with regard to ethics, education, mastery, and continuing medical education. But the minute you go outside the system into the realm of traditional healers and energy medicine practitioners who don’t also have licensed degrees, you open yourself to two kinds of risks. Some practitioners have mastery but no ethic, while others have ethic but no mastery. In other words, you may bump into some highly gifted healers, but they may not follow even the most basic medical ethics, such as confidentiality, informed consent, and restraint from having sexual relations with clients. Even more common are the people who are kind, well-intentioned people trying to be of service, people who are basically ethical and mean well, but they’re simply not good at what they do and cannot reproduce trustworthy results. In my research into Sacred Medicine, I have concluded that just because someone has spiritual power doesn’t mean they have spiritual ethic. And just because someone has spiritual ethic doesn’t mean they have spiritual power. (I talked about this for 3 ½ hours in The Shadow Of Spirituality Uncensored class I taught. You can listen to the class here to dive deeper into the topic of spiritual discernment).

I don’t say this to scare you or cause you to hesitate to get help if you’ve been traumatized. I’m just advising that you activate your discernment, ask for referrals, and be ready to sniff out those who are trying to hook you with big claims they can’t follow through on or those who might be full on black magicians dressed up in white angel robes.

If you feel drawn to modalities like AIT, EFT, EMDR, or Somatic Experiencing, there are resources online to guide you to psychotherapists who have been trained to practice these techniques.

Imagine If Doctors Were Trained to Treat Trauma Alongside Disease

Doctors and other health care providers have been exploring exactly these kinds of issues in the Whole Health Medicine Institute that I founded. Those who have been certified to facilitate the 6 Steps to Healing Yourselfas outlined in Mind Over Medicine have gone through the 6 Steps themselves and have been trained to help facilitate patients who are exploring these kind of psycho-spiritual root causes of illness. (You can find a list of graduates here). But we’ve never overtly included into the training how to treat trauma directly. Asha and I are putting our noodles together to feel into whether there’s a potential for collaboration so that the doctors in my network might be trained to not only have awareness of these new treatments for trauma so that they can refer out to licensed practitioners. Perhaps they might also get certified to treat trauma directly. This bypasses the issue of “practicing medicine without a license” and opens up the potential for a whole new approach to disease treatment and prevention within our medical systems. Of course, there are other obstacles to this potential merging of worlds, including how little time doctors have to spend with patients. But as Tosha Silver would say, “It’s impossible that doctors could be trained to help treat unhealed trauma in sick people . . . without God.”

If You’ve Been Traumatized, Please Get Help

Let me just close by saying that if you’ve experienced trauma in your life and you sense that it might be predisposing you to illness or interfering with medical treatment, please know that you are not alone and that there is no shame in having experienced trauma. Most of us have trauma in our bodies, minds, and spirit/souls. We are not alone in our traumas, and we need not hide our pain or resist treating it. Trauma can be cured, and you can have your radiant, vital life back, if only you have the courage to enter the trauma capsule—with expert guidance—and begin to let the trauma dissolve its grip on your life and your body.

Everyone is entitled to their own journey, so it’s also OK if you’re not ready yet. As my mentor Rachel Naomi Remen, MD says, “You can’t force a rosebud to blossom by beating it with a hammer.” Maybe all you can handle today is admitting, “I have trauma.” That is enough for now. Be kind to yourself. As Karen Drucker sings in her song”Gentle With Myself,” “I will only go as fast as the slowest part of me is free to go.” But perhaps by gently loving the slowest part, some day you will be ready to heal. Maybe that day begins right now.

With love and wishes for your optimal health,

Lissa Rankin, MD, New York Times bestselling author of Mind Over Medicine, The Fear Cure, andThe Anatomy of a Calling is a physician, speaker, founder of the Whole Health Medicine Institute, and mystic. Passionate about what makes people optimally healthy and what predisposes them to illness, she is on a mission to merge science and spirituality in a way that not only facilitates the health of the individual, but also uplifts the health of the collective. Bridging between seemingly disparate worlds, Lissa is a connector, collaborator, curator, and amplifier, broadcasting not only her unique visionary ideas, but also those of cutting edge visionaries she discerns and trusts, especially in the field of her latest research into “Sacred Medicine.” Lissa has starred in two National Public Television specials and also leads workshops, both online and at retreat centers like Esalen and Kripalu. She lives in the San Francisco Bay area with her daughter. She blogs at LissaRankin.comand posts regularly on Facebook.

Source – LissaRankin.com

[THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY WRITTEN BY THE MINDSJOURNAL]