#'your content helped me/encouraged me to make changes/helped me realize i have this disorder/made me feel less alone'

[babystrcandy]

the lucky one (pt. 5) | jjk

summary: Growing up you only had one goal: beat Jeon Jungkook. Sometimes you'd win, other times you'd lose. Sometimes he'd lose, other times he'd win. But you'd both walk away from the match thinking the other was the lucky one.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | sports au, e2l/r2l, angst, fluff, smut word count: 27.7K chapter summary: You and Jungkook had always endured your lives, watching everyone else live theirs. It was time you helped each other learn how to finally breathe like real people. warnings/notes: typos probably, explicit language, jk and oc are the sun and moon 100%, hoseok i’m going to kiss you, karaoke..., yoonmin (i don’t ship them irl, don’t worry; all fictional and for plot purposes), panic attacks, poem referenced: mock orange by louise gluck a barbie dream house but all the dolls are kitchen knives by cassandra de alba, oc and jk are like so in love it’s not even funny anymore, oc in her mid-2521 na heedo era, she’s not doing too good, reporters are vultures, mention of king lear, i’m telling you they’re embarrassingly in love, unprotected soft sex like...soft-soft extra soft, mention of icarus/the fall of icarus, i think that’s it but if i missed anything please let me know, i hope you enjoy, my loves <3

chapter five: violet, roses are red, not blue ( ← previous | next → )  

FIVE WAYS YOU CAN Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

OK . . .

You blinked once. Twice. Then once more, trying to make sense of the words before your eyes.

The thing was: you’d dealt with anxiety before. Hell, you’d been taking to biting your nails until they bled for a while now. You knew how it felt to peel over the edge of a toilet and empty your stomach’s contents just before a game. But . . . you never knew how to handle it or how to deal with it in such abundant measures.

Why were you looking into it now one may ask? Easy. You didn’t care much about how much you could endure, because truth be told: you knew you could handle it. You knew it would pass and while it sucked, you knew it was something you could deal with. And besides, you could deal with a lot, so . . . 

But . . . 

There were certain things that made sense to you. While you knew you could deal with everything on your plate . . . and while . . . while you knew Jungkook could handle himself . . . for some reason, you just didn’t want him to have to. 

It was an odd thing: realizing you’d rather deal with both your problems and his than let him suffer. You supposed that was what it meant to be friends, though . . . and well . . . you’d never really had any, so this was all new territory for you.

So ever since a few months ago when Jungkook told you about what happened to him just last year, you’d taken to the internet. You spent countless hours researching anxiety disorders, how to help, what to say, what to do, and on the off chance he had a panic attack near you, you’d taken to researching what to do then, too.

It made you feel a little stupid, yes, but you didn’t know how else to help. You didn’t want to make him feel . . . different for telling you, but you also . . . you didn’t want him to feel so alone anymore. (You’d even bought a book on it all (it only made you feel more clueless). 

Now . . . you didn’t know much, but you hoped the research would do something. And perhaps it wasn’t too far off either. After all, you’d been helping Jungkook stay away from booze as much as possible, even deciding to stay sober with him and you thought it was helping some. But you knew the late night talks were what helped more. You didn’t know how to say this without sounding full of yourself, but you liked to think you were helping him. 

That was what you truly wanted. To help him in ways you couldn’t help yourself. You could handle everything as long as he didn’t have to. That . . . that was what felt right to you.

So . . . five ways you can help someone with an anxiety disorder, you read again. You felt a little more than clueless. Still.

“Hey, Sunshine—“ Jungkook called for you, snapping you out of your own mind— “come look. It’s done.”

Blinking quickly, you clicked off your phone out of habit, realizing where you were. A tattoo parlor.

Yeah . . . 

It was the weekend of the final tournaments. The win or lose all, and Yunis was up there right next to the big leagues. How? All because of Jungkook. These past few months you and him had been unbeatable. Sure, you’d lost a few, but . . . more often than not, the two of you would end a match with grins on your faces moments before you jumped into his arms and just let yourself . . . celebrate with him.

That was how it had been. You and Jungkook against the world. And to be honest, you quite liked it that way. (Granted, after your little outburst, your teammates had stopped talking about Jungkook altogether and started to . . . almost but not really but also kind of . . . respect him more (except Wooshik, but whatever). That made things a whole lot better, but it was still just you and him and you were sure it would be for the rest of the season.)

Anyway . . . you were getting off-topic. 

The point was: it was almost the weekend of the final tournaments and Yunis was staying at some hotel somewhere in Ulsan. And well, while you and Jungkook were watching some movie in his hotel room, he got an idea. He wanted a new tattoo. For good luck, he’d claimed, and you . . . you hadn’t gotten a tattoo since that one mistake of one. But somehow, someway, Jungkook had managed to drag you out of the hotel and into the nearest tattoo shop he could find on the GPS. 

Which landed you there: sitting in the waiting area while Jungkook went first. (He wanted it to be a surprise. That was what he told you, which you thought was a little silly, but whatever.)

And then it would be your turn. 

Actually . . . 

You turned to face Jungkook, taking in the dopey grin he had spread across his face while he peeked at you through the door leading to the tattooing room. It was your turn.

“Hmm?” you hummed in questioning.

Jungkook shook his head. “Come look,” he repeated as he gestured for you to follow him. “And then I’ve got a couple ideas for yours. Don’t let me forget. And don’t pretend to forget. Got it?”

You rolled your eyes with a huff, but nevertheless, followed after him, shutting the door behind you. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of the artist, but, well, you had never been good at greeting people, so what should’ve been a small greeting wave, turned into you just staring at him with some kind of . . . smile on your face. And when you realized that was so not the way to go, you turned your attention back to Jungkook, grabbing onto the loop of his jeans as he led you to the mirror on the other side of the room.

Jungkook glanced to where you clung onto him, raising his brows as he looked between your face and your hand. “Good?”

You blinked. Then realized what you were doing. Then well . . . you cleared your throat and attempted to tear your hand from his body, but before you could, his fingers curled around your wrist. And without a second glance, Jungkook guided your hand back to him, allowing it to slip into his back pocket. 

All you could do was stare at the back of his head in shock. His dark hair was long now. Longer than it had ever been, to the point it could only be tied back with a hair tie or it’d be in his face all day, which was his go-to most days considering the days were long and hot. And somehow, he looked more like himself like that. He seemed to smile more, too, and you always managed to smile back even when you least expected it.

But you couldn’t help it. He was just . . . well . . .

(Sometimes he made you wonder if you should really find your friend this attractive but you ignored that most days.)

Whatever . . . the point was: you had trouble wrapping your head around his touch; around the fact that while he wasn’t exactly yours, he didn’t mind your hands on him at any time. No one had ever liked your touch this much. You had always been too cold; too harsh; too rough, but around him, you felt like your touch was almost . . . soft.

And that was what always shocked you.

“Are you drooling?” Jungkook asked, snapping you out of your own head.

Only then did you realize you had been staring at him for quite a while now, and well, he would always tease you about that. Because he was . . . Jungkook.

Your brows scrunched together. “What?”

But he didn’t bother to repeat his question. No, instead, he took his thumb and swiped at your bottom lip, inspecting it in thought. “Yep, just as I thought—“ he jutted his thumb toward you— “drool.”

Glaring, you stepped closer. “I don’t drool,” you nearly huffed.

“Mmm, that’s not what the evidence says.”

“It’s chapstick.”

“Really?”

“Really.” You glared a little harder. “Will you just show the tattoo?”

Jungkook only grinned.

And then, he turned his attention to his tattooed arm, slowly pulling up the sleeve of his shirt. Your eyes stayed trained on his arm the entire time, expecting some sort of skull or something stupid, but instead . . . no . . . as he pulled up his sleeve, he revealed a vine of some sort of blue flowers traveling from the empty space left on his lower forearm to his hand, covered by a saniderm wrap.

“What flower’s that?” you questioned, eyes still trained on the fresh tattoo as you carefully brought your hand to his arm. 

“Morning glories,” he hummed while he watched you slowly turn his arm to get the full view. “My mom says they’re a pain. They grow everywhere like weeds. Once you plant one, that’s it, she says. They grow like wildfire. A nuisance.” He laughed softly. “Figured it fit.”

“It’s pretty,” you murmured with a small smile. “Fits the rest.” You tilted your head to the side a little. “Kinda looks like the snake is wrapping around it.”

Jungkook nodded. “Cool, right?”

It was. It actually really was. 

“It’s nice,” you settled with instead, feigning disinterest. 

But Jungkook knew you well. “Admit it,” he pushed on, leaning toward you. “Admit you’re impressed.”

Nearly rolling your eyes, you finally huffed, “Yes, fine, it’s actually cool, Kook.”

“So I’ve impressed you?”

“Well, considering I thought you were going to get a dick, yes, I suppose I’m impressed,” you muttered with a small shrug. 

Jungkook snorted. “Well.”

Oh god. No, he didn’t.

Furrowing your brows, you pegged the question, “Please tell me you did not get a dick and balls tattooed on you.”

His face screwed up as he tilted his head to the side in thought.  “Well . . . “

“Kook.”

Pursing his lips into a cute pout, he offered you his other hand, showing off his fingers. And there on his ring finger was the number three, and on his middle was a sideways U. Meaning, yes, Jeon Jungkook did, in fact, get a small yet visible yet inconspicuous yet not that inconspicuous at all, penis tattooed on his fingers. And no, no, you were not surprised.

“Really?” you deadpanned.

Jungkook shrugged. “Whoops.”

“As long as you don’t think this is a matching tattoo kind of thing,” you started off with your finger pointing directly into his chest. “Because, I’m telling you right now, Jungkook, I am not getting a dick tattooed on my body.”

And Jungkook only snorted, shaking his head. “No, god, I’m stupid, not an idiot. I have my designs in my bag.”

Designs? Your brows twitched. He spent that much time on this? But—

But Jungkook was already one step ahead of you, walking from you toward where his bag lay on the ground beside the tattoo chair. He rummaged through its contents until he clasped his hand around a small sketchbook before he took it out and reapproached you, already flipping through it.

Flip, flip, flip . . . and flip, until . . . he paused on a page and slowly offered it toward you with an almost shy (?) look on his face. Jungkook, shy? You almost didn’t believe it, but still, you took the sketchbook from him without another word, letting your eyes take in the sketch before your eyes.

It was another flower. Well, a stem with a few flowers. Yellow this time. And a little different from Jungkook’s. Perhaps it was a little more peculiar. 

“It’s an evening primrose,” Jungkook began while your eyes stayed trained on the sketch, still analyzing it. “My mom used to have them in our garden back home. They, uh, only bloom at night. I remember every night we’d watch them. They’d do this little shake and—“ he laughed, softly at first, then a little louder— “my mom would say it was like they were yawning.”

You traced your fingertips over the sketch, remembering your own little memories of the silly flowers. That was why you remembered them. They were your mom’s favorite. She used to plant like five batches each spring and force you to come outside and watch them with her, and yes, you said force because you had always been a disagreeable child. But still, every night, you watched them.

“They’re my mom’s favorite,” you voiced aloud with a small smile playing on your lips.

“Yeah,” he hummed under his breath. “My mom said she gives her a bundle every year for her birthday.”

Glancing up, you nearly beamed. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

“I guess they’d be proud of us, hmm?” you murmured, searching his face. When you realized what you’d said, you quickly cleared your throat. “For becoming chummy, you know?”

His brows twitched. “Yeah . . . I guess they would.”

A beat of silence.

Then . . . Jungkook cleared his throat, shaking his head of his thoughts as his eyes turned back to the sketch. “Anyway, uh, they remind me of home, so I thought maybe they’d do the same for you,” he allowed himself to say in a hushed tone. “But, I mean, there’s others. The drawing’s kinda shit, so—“

“I like it,” you cut him off as you held the sketchbook closer to you. “I’ll—“ you shrugged— “I’ll get it.”

Jungkook’s brows nearly shot up to his hairline. “Really?”

You only nodded. “Why not? It’s cool. It means something I think, so yeah, fuck it, I’ll get it. Besides—“ you flicked his nose— “the sketch is not half bad. You didn’t tell me you could draw.”

“That’s because I can’t.”

“Bullshit.”

“OK—“ he agreed with a shrug— “hand me the tattoo gun. I can give you a Jungkook original.”

Narrowing your eyes, you couldn’t help but purse your lips into an unamused grimace. “No, thanks, I’ll end up walking out with testicles drawn on my forehead,” you muttered with just a little bite in your words.

And that got him. Jungkook laughed, his eyes crinkling first before a grin broke out onto his face. All the while, he playfully ruffled your hair, gesturing for you to sit down in the chair a second later. And you let it happen, a small dopey smile on your face.

(And you almost realized that while Jungkook had been smiling more lately, you, too, had never smiled so much in your life. You supposed you had him to thank for that . . . 

Supposedly.)

It wasn’t your reflection which caught your attention in the mirror. No, rather, what your eyes had landed on was the fresh tattoo of an evening primrose placed in the center of your sternum. It was almost similar to Jungkook’s, yet different just like the two of you, and the funny thing about it was . . . it kept managing to bring a small, almost unnoticeable smile to your face. 

“What’s got you smiling?” you heard from behind you as Jungkook appeared in the doorway of the hotel room’s bathroom (completely shirtless, might you add).

“Oh, nothing—“ you shrugged as you reached for a comb (totally not just pretending to untangle the ends of your hair), while maintaining eye contact with him in the mirror— “just the fact you whined and whined about how much pain your arm was in for like, what? An hour after?” Turning slowly to face him, you puffed out your bottom lip into a pout. “Such a pussy.”

His brows raised—a look of challenge. “Yeah?”

A beat of silence.

Another shrug was your only response.

Jungkook fought off a grin, crossing his arms. “I’m a . . . pussy?” Pushing off the doorway, he took a step toward you, head cocked to the side slightly. “Hmm?”

Mirroring him, you crossed your arms over your chest. “That’s what I said.”

“Oh, is that what you said?” he mused, mocking your voice. 

And before you could even protest or drop your jaw in shock, he was in front of you. He caged you in, leaning his hands on the counter behind you. One more inch and his nose would be touching yours, but you didn’t dare close that gap.

“You’re such a child,” you hissed in a hushed tone as if his proximity had made the room that much smaller and you that much more exposed.

“Mmm, am I?” he mused, his eyes trailing over your features with such languid strokes, you wondered how you ever handled his gaze before.

You raised your head ever so slightly.

To which, obviously, Jungkook found amusing. With that small, toothy, almost endearing smile on his face, he closed the gap, his nose brushing yours. “Kiss me then,” he murmured, pressing closer, just enough to brush his lips against yours in a feathering touch.

And you began to wonder how on earth you ended up becoming putty in his hands. “What if I bite you instead?” you murmured, but despite your words, you leaned into his touch.

Resting his forehead against yours, he hummed, “Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to that either.”

You felt yourself grin. “Good.”

The only response you received was his lips pressing against yours. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as a grin tipped onto his face. His hands tickled your sides, lightly dancing across your skin before settling on your rib cage just below the crescents of your breasts. 

(Perhaps you forgot to mention that you were entirely topless . . . 

What? It was uncomfortable with the fresh tattoo.

Whatever.)

And well honestly, you couldn’t resist not having him close. So what if it bothered your tattoo? He felt better than any pain relief. 

Quickly, you found yourself tangling your hands in his dark, grown-out hair as you pulled him close enough to have your bare chest pressed against his. It made you feel close . . . closer than you had ever felt with anyone . . . closer than you had ever let yourself. His grip tightened on you instantly, his hands squeezing your sides once more before he gently sucked your bottom lip under the grasp of his teeth.

It only deepened from there. You melted into him, allowing him to meld his tongue against yours. The act squeezed a soft sigh out of you, to which Jungkook couldn’t contain himself. He smiled widely against your lips, and then his arms were around your thighs, lifting you up onto the sink counter. And once you were supported by the countertop, he stepped in between your parted legs as his hands found your face, gently caressing your jaw while he all but sucked on your tongue like he had done so many times before.

“Stop trying to eat my face,” you chuckled against his lips, still kissing him back while your arms wrapped around his neck.

He shook his head, but the small grin you felt against your lips gave him away. “Stop turning me on then,” he murmured back. “It’s just not fair, Daisy baby.”

Daisy baby. That was a new one.

Your brows twitched without your permission as your eyes traced his features. More specifically, your gaze fixed on his lips, watching as he tongued his lip ring—a habit he had accumulated over the years you supposed. 

It made it harder to focus on anything except him. And for the second time that night, you wondered how on earth you ended up being at his mercy time and time again. 

It just felt so unlike you. So different. So new. So . . . unfamiliar. 

Did you like it? 

You questioned yourself over and over again these past months. It felt like something you shouldn’t be able to feel. Really . . . it just made you wonder and wonder and wonder.

Until . . . Yes, you decided. Oddly enough, yes, you did like it. You quite liked feeling like this.

But what exactly was this?

. . . Your eyes met his, and your gaze softened instantly. You had no idea what this was. No idea . . .

Jungkook caught onto the look which crossed your face and leaned forward, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “What’s got you lookin’ like that?” he sighed against your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses anywhere he could.

And your eyes fluttered shut as you melted into his touch. “Nothing,” you hummed, angling your neck to give him more access to your body. “I just—“ 

But a knock at the door halted the words from leaving your tongue.

The two of you paused.

A beat of silence.

Another knock came.

Jungkook pulled back and your eyes met, confusion passing between the two of you. 

Who could be knocking at the door at this hour? Especially Jungkook’s? (Because, really, after the whole meltdown you had at dinner after the first tournament . . . everyone had steered clear of the two of you. So you wondered once more . . . who could be at the door?)

No words were exchanged between the two of you, Jungkook only took the step into the hall, and peered through the peephole on the door. You watched in silence as he stared a second too long, his posture stiff before he sighed and disappeared back into the room. And well, in utter confusion, you hopped down from the counter, following after him only to find he had put on a tee and grabbed another, moments before he handed that very shirt to you with a tight-lipped smile.

“Who is it?” you whispered, your voice hushed as you put on the shirt he’d handed you, covering your bare chest.

Jungkook tongued his inner cheek, but before you could even press the question, his face softened. A small, stiff smile met his lips as he reached out and caressed your chin with his pointer, while his thumb brushed your bottom lip. “Keep your claws in,” he murmured, that small smile still on his face as if he thought that alone would be enough to ease your wandering mind.

“What—“ 

But he was already gone. 

His touch left you and you watched as he approached the door, while you followed slowly behind. The door was swinging open the next second, revealing—

Oh. You blinked in shock.

In the doorway stood Hoseok, whose back was facing you at that very moment while he talked to . . . Seulki?

Huh?

Tilting your head in confusion, you caught Seulki’s wide dark eyes. Her eyes widened further at the sight of you two as she quickly smacked Hoseok’s shoulder and pointed behind him. The action caused Hoseok to immediately shut his mouth as he slowly turned around, his lips down-turned into an awkward expression as his gaze darted between you and Jungkook.

Furrowing your brows, you sent him a look. 

Hoseok blinked back in response. Seulki nervously waved before trying to pass it off as her attempting to scratch the back of her head. And Jungkook . . . well . . . he was the one to clear his throat, putting an end to the silence. (You, however, caught onto the fact that his eyes remained glued to his feet the entire time.)

That . . . that made you step forward, until you stood beside Jungkook, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the door frame. “Something wrong?” you questioned the two of them, keeping a close eye.

Hoseok opened his mouth, hesitating slightly. “Uh—“

“We were looking for you guys,” Seulki cut in with a wide smile on her face. “So it’s good that you’re both—“ she glanced at Hoseok, starting to fidget with her hands as she cleared her throat— “here. Hoseok?”

Hoseok eyed her, a tad startled before he nodded in agreement. “Right, yeah,” he hummed with a clap of his hands. “We were gonna meet up with some friends from college in Busan for karaoke. They’re just . . . they’re coming to the final tournaments and we thought ‘why not, let’s go out’.” He laughed . . . awkwardly if you might add. “Anyway . . . We’ve got two extra train tickets. Could be yours . . . ?”

Quirking a brow, you glanced between them. “How much?”

A perplexed look crossed both their faces. But it was Seulki who spoke up first. “What?” she mumbled, slightly puffing out her bottom lip into a small pout—something she happened to do a lot that you’d caught onto. “Nothing. We just . . . “

As her words trailed off, Hoseok picked up where she left off. In fact, he took it a step further. “We . . . “ He quickly shut his mouth, shaking his head at his thoughts before he raised his head once more, eyes now locked on Jungkook rather than hiding from him. It didn’t matter if Jungkook didn’t look him in the eye, it seemed Hoseok had something to get off his chest as he took a literal instead of metaphorical step toward him. “I . . . I feel bad . . . for how we treated you. I assumed things. I never asked you. I never thought to. I should’ve gotten to know you before listening to anything Wooshik had to say. I misjudged you. For that, and everything else . . . I’m—“ he touched a hand to his chest before he gestured toward Seulki— “we are sorry.”

And while his words lingered in the air, you hadn’t realized that the stiffness in your muscles had slowly loosened and your gaze was now set solely on Jungkook. How could it not be? 

With a careful glance, you took in Jungkook’s demeanor. It was clear he, too, was taking in Hoseok’s words. His head was still lowered, his eyes trained on his feet, but they kept moving in rapid motions as if he were fighting with himself to not look up. And all you could think was: look up . . . please, please look up.

You hadn’t expected it when you first saw them in the doorway, but you weren’t an idiot. Hoseok and Seulki had come here to make amends. They had come here to admit their wrongs. You couldn’t be angry with that . . . not when you had seen just how happy Jungkook had been the first time he’d been able to . . . see someone.

If he looked up . . . then that would mean he would be OK. If he looked up . . . then maybe he could breathe a little easier. And truly . . . as odd as it sounded . . . all you wanted was for him to be . . . happy.

If Jungkook looked up . . . all of that could be possible.

“Look—“ Hoseok began again, nearly reaching out to pat Jungkook on the shoulder, but he stopped himself before he made contact— “Uh . . . you don’t seem like a bad guy . . . so I was wondering if we could all hang out like teams are supposed to, you know? Not just to apologize . . . but to . . . be friends, I suppose, is what I mean . . . “

You swallowed hard, fighting with yourself not to speak for him. Look up, Jungkook, you repeated over and over again in your head, watching him with careful eyes. Look up. Please . . . please . . .

Another beat of silence, more painful than the last.

Then . . . 

. . . Jungkook raised his head, and his eyes met Hoseok’s, and you knew what his answer would be.

In no way, shape, or form could you comprehend how you managed to make it to some random karaoke bar in the middle of Busan around, like, two in the morning. Hell, you didn’t even remember hopping onto the midnight train to get to the city in the first place, but there you were, dressed in whatever the fuck you could find in your suitcase that wasn’t a badminton uniform, and you were sitting next to one of Hoseok’s friends (Namjoon, you thought his name was.)

And while Namjoon managed to impress you with his choice in cologne, he had been talking your ear off for the past half hour and you couldn’t think straight for the entirety of the time he’d been telling you about well . . . you honestly had no idea what he was talking about. In truth, you couldn’t really hear much . . . because your mind was elsewhere. Because, because, because for the last half hour that Namjoon had been at your side, your eyes had been on Jungkook.

Now . . . you knew how that sounded, but you had a reason. You see, Jungkook wasn’t alone either. He had been sat next to another one of Hoseok’s friends (let’s call him Yoongi and hope you got that right) . . . and he was like . . . looking at him. No, no, like . . . he was looking him in the eyes . . . that is why you couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop trying to eavesdrop, couldn’t stop just . . . just . . . just whatever!

Was it embarrassing to say you were proud of him?

But . . . you were . . .

As much as you hadn’t wanted to admit it, he’d become the only person you’d ever been this close to in your life. He’d once told you you were the only one he could see . . . the only one he wasn’t afraid of to look in the eyes, and now . . . in just a few hours, he’d allowed himself to hear people, see them, interact with them beyond the restrictions he’d put on himself the entirety of his contract with Yunis.

And the little thing that made you feel all that more warm, was the attentive, genuine smile on his face as he nodded along to whatever Yoongi was saying. That . . . that made a smile of your own touch your lips as you took in the scene.

“You agree?” you heard from beside you, Namjoon’s voice startling only slightly enough to have you abruptly whipping your head in his direction with a confused expression on your face.

You blinked, furrowing your brows. “Hmm?” you hummed in a questioning tone as you snuck a glance back at Jungkook, only to find . . . oh . . . only to find him lazily shifting his gaze from Yoongi to you with an amused smirk on his face. (Great, so he had seen you looking at him. Great. That he’ll really get you later on with.) “Do I agree—what?”

Slowly, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from Jungkook and finally face Namjoon, who seemed to be oblivious to everything else. You weren’t even really sure if he had heard your question or if he were too busy inside his own head, questioning himself. But it didn’t matter either way, because . . . the music cut out, Hoseok and Seulki’s voices died down, followed by their out of breath laughter, and then:

“Alright, who’s next?” Hoseok called out, offering up the microphone.

Immediately, Yoongi shook his head, leaning back to indulge in his drink rather than the question at hand. And no one else could get another word in before, Seulki and Hoseok had caught onto this little act, only they didn’t exactly . . . go for him. No, rather, Seulki, specifically, all but jumped toward Jungkook. “I vote Jungkookie goes!” she declared as she leaned forward to dangle the microphone in front of his face.

“Agreed! Jungkook-ah, onstage now!” Hoseok exclaimed, closing the distance to Jungkook before he wrapped a hand around his arm, urging him to stand to his feet and take over the spotlight. 

(Clearly . . . something you hadn’t mentioned . . . everyone but you and Jungkook were . . . perhaps maybe a little bit or a lot or yeah, yeah, yeah . . . they were drunk. (So you could see how . . . this had happened.))

And Jungkook all but turned cherry-cheeked. “No, no, I can’t,” he laughed it off, trying to wave them away. “I’m a horrible singer, really.”

Lie.

He once sang for your elementary school’s talent show . . . you know . . .

But the others persisted, whining and whining and blah blah blah—

. . . Five minutes later, no doubt, Jungkook finally gave in with a playful groan. He took the microphone from Seulki, slowly making his way to the center of the room you guys had booked, and then you noticed something . . . his eyes had only been on you the entire time. And suddenly, you began to wonder what that meant, wrapping your arms around yourself as your brows raised in question.

Until:

“Listen,” Jungkook began, a half-grin sliding onto his face as he maintained eye-contact with you, “I’ll sing . . . but I need my sidekick.”

Raising your brows, you knew you’d kill him for that later. But still you didn’t move. All you could do was shake your head, because no, no, no you did not want to sing in front of anyone. 

“OK. OK,” Jungkook nodded slowly to himself, but you knew him better than that. He had something planned. And you could just tell by the way he began to walk toward the system in order to plug in the song that was somehow someway on his mind. Then, he turned back around, both microphones in his hands, his eyes solely on you with a mischievous glint in them as the first seconds of the song began to blast through the speakers.

Squinting your eyes in skepticism, you watched him. 

He only sent you a knowing grin.

And you suddenly had a feeling you knew exactly what he had put on.

“ . . . She ain’t got no money,” Jungkook began, trying his best to sing, but his grin kept growing and growing just as your face fell and fell and fell. “Her clothes are kind of funny. Her hair is kinda wild and free. Oh, but—”

You nearly smacked a hand to your face.

“—Love grows where my Rosemary goes,” he continued, beginning to bob his head now to the music. “And nobody knows but me.” Clearing his throat over the music, you knew you were in for it. “Come on, Rosemary, on your feet. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go, because! Love grows where my Rosemary goes! And nobody knows like—Come on!—me!”

And finally . . . finally after being hounded and hounded, you unstuck yourself from your seat, your eyes solely on him as if it were just the two of you against everything, and then you took the microphone from his hand, and you knew you’d sealed your fate. Shaking your head at him, you playfully rolled your eyes moments before you glanced at the screen, checking where you were in the song.

Great, you thought. Fuck . . . OK. Clearing your throat again, this was your Hell. “I’m a lucky fella,” you began, your voice nearly tone-deaf, and certainly agony to the ears. “And I’ve just got to tell her that I love her endlessly.”

“Oh, because!” Jungkook jumped in, bumping you with his elbow. “Love grows where my Rosemary goes, and nobody knows like me!”

Snorting once, you continued for him, “There's something about her hand holding mine. It's a feeling that's fine,” you hummed along, realizing that perhaps . . . this . . . was . . . fun. And slowly, so slowly, you didn’t even realize you were doing it . . . you had begun to dance along, following Jungkook’s lead. “And I just gotta say—”

“Hey! She’s really got a magical spell and it's working so well that I can't get away,” he drawled out, perhaps carrying out his words a tad too much, but there was something about the smile on his face while he did it that you didn’t care. 

That was when you really lost it. Perhaps lost it was the wrong word, but that was when you really stopped caring if there were other people in the room, about keeping up your image or whatever. It just felt like it was you and Jungkook and the music.

And before you knew it, the song had ended, cheers came from Hoseok’s friends, but your eyes were solely on Jungkook. They had never really left him, because this was the song you’d sang at the talent show in elementary. It was also the song you had been too afraid to sing alone . . . because you were perhaps maybe not a shy child, but an antisocial one. And Jungkook . . . Jungkook had offered to sing with you. He’d never wanted to be in the talent show, but you . . . you always wanted the spotlight, and so, it was because of him that you were able to have it that day. Otherwise you probably would’ve spent the entire night crying in the school’s bathroom because you couldn’t force yourself on stage. And he . . . he had saved you back then. 

It seemed he always was . . . 

That made a smile slowly grow on your face, but before it could form into a toothy grin, cheers erupted throughout the room. Eyes widening, you glanced toward the noise, realizing it was not just the two of you but rather the two of you and . . . them.

But this them didn’t feel malicious as it had in the past. No, in fact, before you could even blink, Seulki was already jumping toward you, jumping up and down while she beamed about how that had to be one of her all time favorite songs. And Jungkook . . . well . . . Hoseok had reached him in seconds, clasping a hand on his shoulder as he went on and on about how he had no idea he had such a voice, asking if he’s taken lessons, and blah blah blah . . . all the while everyone else shouted requests at the two of you, hooting for an encore.

It . . . well . . . to say the least, it managed to bring that smile back onto your face, and finally you let yourself look away from Jungkook, knowing you could trust the others with him, and suddenly all you could see was Seulki. You’d never had many friends. Perhaps competition or surface people, but a little part of you saw Yurim, your college doubles partner and probably the closest you’d ever had to a friend, in Seulki. 

Except unlike all those years ago . . . this time you embraced Seulki with a hand on her shoulder and a warm smile touching your face as you finally let yourself tell her the little story of how the song came to be for you. Now, yes, she was drunk out of her mind and would probably forget about all of this tomorrow, but you didn’t care. 

It felt . . . nice . . . to talk to people like . . . this. And—And this feeling when you did . . . Oh what was that feeling called? Like, like warmth but better, perhaps innocent? 

Were you . . . happy?

And then . . . you began to wonder . . . was this what it felt like to have . . . friends? Were you allowed to feel like this? Like . . . like you were happy?

In that moment, you glanced back at Jungkook for a brief second just as he did the same. Your eyes met, and you knew he felt the same. And then: relief, relief, relief . . . 

A beat of silence. 

In it more relief. 

Beat.

Beat.

Beat . . .

But . . . like all things . . . balance. A knock on the door ripped that blissful beat of relief from your grasp. Brows furrowing, you slowly turned to see a blurry shadow just behind the door, indicating that someone was . . . asking for permission to come in? But . . . who? As far as you knew everyone who was there was supposed to be there.

You wondered and wondered, trying to tilt your head to see if you could make it out. And then you heard them call his name, but you didn’t believe it at first. You didn’t quite hear it. Seulki was jumping beside you, and you could have sworn you heard Yoongi announce that it was probably his partner at the door.

And then as Yoongi slowly walked toward the door, opening it to greet the man with this adoring look in his eyes, your heart plummeted to your stomach. Instantly, your eyes snapped to Jungkook, and you saw the entire world crumble before you. You tried to reach him but Seulki was still holding onto you, and you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move, you couldn’t do anything but stare and watch as the world fell and fell and fell, leaving you with no way to put it back together.

Amongst the chaos, your eyes fluttered back toward the door and you heard his name once more. Jimin, you could have sworn Hoseok had called out, and you knew this was reality. 

Like an old ghost, Jimin had appeared at the door, almost unrecognizable from the boy you remembered in college. His hair now honey blonde, his cheeks full and almost rosy, with this way about him that just screamed he was different now. It made you wonder how different he was now than a year ago when Jungkook left his past behind him. 

Breathing carefully, everyone’s attention was on Jimin, but you caught sight of it first. Jimin’s eyes scanned the room and then . . . then they met yours. Your heart stopped again and you could have sworn his mirrored yours. His eyes widened only slightly, until they shifted just to the right of you, and you watched in silence as his lips parted, his brows twitching upward.

That was weird.

You would have expected him to meet the sight of Jungkook with anger . . . but the only expression on Jimin’s face was that of pain . . . perhaps . . . yearning . . . ? For something . . . ?

And finally, you allowed yourself to glance back at Jungkook, and you began to wonder if it truly were possible to die of a broken heart.

Jungkook stood stagnant, unmoving without even a single rise and fall of his chest. No, instead, his hand was clasped over his chest as if he were in physical pain, but he still didn’t move. Until he did.

Before you could reach him, Jungkook was off. He made a B-line for the door, pushing past everyone while they were distracted by Jimin’s appearance.

And you were a step behind him.

“Kook, where you going?” you briefly heard Hoseok call to Jungkook. “Jimin’s got to show you his vocals, man. He’ll give you a run for your money.”

But Jungkook wasn’t reachable. “I—um—restroom,” he barely strained out and then he was gone, slipping out the door and out of your sight.

You tried to keep up, desperately pushing past the others as you reached the door as well, but a hand on your upper arm stopped you in your tracks. Your eyes flicked from the hand on your arm to the face of the person it belonged to. 

Jimin . . . he was the one who had stopped you. Of course.

But you had never been easily swayed. You quickly ripped your arm out of his grasp, and left without a look back. But it was no use. The hallway was empty. Jungkook was gone.

So what? You’d find him. You had to.

Without another thought, you didn’t even wait to hear the door close behind you as you began to stalk down the hall, but a voice called out to you. 

“Hey, hey, wait,” the voice pleaded.

But you knew this voice well. You knew Jimin well, and you didn’t care what he had to say, not when Jungkook was missing.

Attempting to make another run for it, you put one foot in front of the other, only to be pulled back. Jimin wrapped a hand around your upper arm, pulling you into him and turning you to face him all at once. And you saw that hurt expression once again, but you didn’t care, you didn’t care, you didn’t care! Jungkook was out there and he was alone and you needed him to know you were never leaving his side again.

So fuck it, fuck it, fuck it. You didn’t care!

Desperately, you tried to peel his hand from your arm, but his words halted you in your tracks.

“Is he OK?” Jimin quietly asked, his voice barely above a whisper, almost as if he were ashamed of his own words. 

Taking a step back, you could only shake your head at him. “Are you fucking serious?” you all but hissed, the words burning on your tongue as you finally ripped your arm out of his grasp. “Now you care? Now you want to act like—“ Your words were ripped from your lips, unable to finish the sentence. Instead, another shake of your head came. “You’re fucking unbelievable . . . Of course he’s not OK. He hasn’t been for a while, and you would know that if you hadn’t—“ 

The words died on your tongue, and Jimin watched. While your eyes betrayed you, watering slightly, Jimin looked as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes. His gaze darted across your face, his brows raised in concern (?) while he watched as you fought against the floodgates, trying to bite back the tears in your eyes and the lump in your throat. 

And finally, you were able to force out the words: “He’s not OK. He’s really—“ you quickly exhaled— “really not.”

A beat of silence.

You swallowed that lump in your throat while a look of realization crossed Jimin’s face. It was funny . . . he looked completely different now than he did years ago . . . or maybe it was the look he wore. It was something you had never seen on him before. 

But you really didn’t care.

Sucking in a breath, you cleared your throat and began to back away. “And he needs me so I have to—“

But Jimin cut you off. “So he told you?” he asked almost a little too hesitantly as he took a step toward you.

Nodding, you swallowed hard. “Yes.”

His brows raised. “You guys are . . . good?”

“Yes,” you muttered, nodding again. “He’s—We’re friends.”

Jimin blinked. “Oh.”

“What?”

“I just . . . I didn’t see that coming . . . “

“Well—“ you bit your inner cheek— “it did.”

Another beat of silence.

Then: Jimin took a step back. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, almost too under his breath to even hear. “I didn’t expect that he’d be here. I haven’t seen him in . . .  in a year. I didn’t even think he was . . . I didn’t think he was like that.”

Oh . . .

Don’t say it.

Don’t say—

Don’t—

But you couldn’t help but bite out, “No thanks to you.”

Jimin pinched his brows together. “What? What do you mean?”

You just had to say it . . . 

“Nothing—“ clearing your throat, you realized just where your loud mouth had landed you— “just . . . I have to go, alright?”

With one final look at the man before you—a man you once knew that now barely resembled the one you’d known—you walked past him, eyes trained solely on what was before you. Jungkook was the only thing on your mind. Finding him was the only thing you cared about. Leaving the past behind was easy when you knew he was waiting for you somewhere up ahead.

But a hand wrapped around your forearm, halting you in your tracks. Your eyes widened as you heard Jimin speak, but you couldn’t quite make out what he was saying until you glanced over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his words head-on.

“Look . . . look, I know,” he had said, an almost desperate expression plaguing his face. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly before he sucked in a sharp breath. “I know. Trust me. I do.” Exhale.

Slowly, your brows scrunched together as you pried his hand off your arm. “Know what?” you questioned, your voice a slightly accusatory tone while you cocked your head to the side, eyeing him with skepticism. 

A moment’s silence passed before he searched your eyes. What he was searching for, you couldn’t quite make out, but he kept searching and searching and searching until his brows twitched upward, an almost pained expression fueling his face. And then: “I know it wasn’t Kook’s fault,” he confessed, his voice soft and quiet as if he were ashamed of his own words. “What happened between him and Tae. I knew it wasn’t his fault.”

Instantly, your heart dropped. 

He knew. He knew and he still let this happen.

You wanted to scream. At him. At everything. At nothing. 

But you stayed frozen, your mind spiraling and spiraling.

“I tried to get them to see that, too, but . . . Kook had always been our glue, not me,” he nearly whispered, harshly pointing at his chest almost as if he were trying to punish or rather condemn himself. “Tae and I would get into arguments over stupid shit all the time, and Kook would always be there to get us to see eye-to-eye. I didn’t know how to help them. I’m not good at that; he was.”

And then you saw it: you saw the past in his eyes. Slowly, it unraveled, and you watched as the three of them practiced day in and day out while you glared at them across the field back in college. You remembered being angry, but you hadn’t known why, and now . . . now you realized you had been envious of the fact that they were . . . friends. While you had none, they had each other. 

To see the three of them in completely separate places now . . . made your head spin and spin and spin. Never once did you think they’d do anything without each other, and now . . . now you were watching the past crumble through Jimin’s sad eyes.

It was almost as if you could see the moment they went their separate ways. Kook alone. Jimin and Taehyung together . . . but . . . distant . . . 

The distance was clear on Jimin’s face, and when he spoke, he spoke with a certain type of nostalgia that you knew all too well. “I knew what I had to do,” he continued, those sad eyes of his not leaving yours. “I chose Tae. I would’ve chosen them both, but I couldn’t . . . so I stayed by Tae’s side. I knew how they both felt. I knew that I could play neutral all I wanted, but Kook was gonna leave and I had to either go with him or stay with Tae.” He shook his head as he chewed on his inner cheek. “And I couldn’t let Tae go through this alone . . . and—and there wasn’t enough time to fix what happened between them, but I thought Kook would be OK. I would’ve fought harder if I knew—”

His words cut off, getting tangled around his tongue as the lump in his throat rose higher and higher. There was no way to tell when it’d finally choke him. What would happen then?

“He was just always so . . . fine,” Jimin whispered more to himself than to you, shrugging his shoulders as if he couldn’t believe it. “I thought he’d be OK. I thought he’d ignore all of this and win that medal we all dreamed of . . . but then he left the team and Wooshik . . he told me where he ended up.” He shook his head once more, his eyes now trained on the wall behind you, tears still glossing over and threatening to spill. “I didn’t think he was . . . struggling. I just thought he was hiding. I didn’t realize he was . . . “

“Well . . . I guess we all have our own ways of dealing with . . . guilt,” you heard yourself spit out before you could stop the words from flowing. You didn’t know why, you just . . . you just . . . you were just so angry. But at him? That you weren’t sure or.

It seemed Jimin was as shocked by your words as you were. His eyes met yours once again, blinking quickly, causing a few tears to slip down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away, shaking his head in the process. “Don’t do this,” he muttered under his breath.

But you almost couldn’t control it. You were more parts anger than anything else, and there he was, the perfect subject to take it out on. Putting up a fight was useless, your mind was on autopilot. “Tae’s at home bedridden I assume and you’re here? On a date?” you hissed out through gritted teeth. “Mmm, I don’t know . . . sounds—”

“Don’t,” Jimin quickly cut you off, mirroring your anger. “You of all people don’t get to judge me.”

You raised your brows. “Why not?”

“You—“ he shoved an accusatory finger your way— “left him too once.”

And just like that, his words pierced your chest, making the anger spread into your bloodstream. “That’s different,” you bit out, eyes now shamefully trained on the ground.

“Is it?”

Scoffing, you shook your head. “Don’t turn this around. You—”

But Jimin wasn’t having it. “He loved you, you know?” he spat like the words had burned his throat.

The world stopped.

A beat of silence. 

Two beats.

Another.

. . . You could have sworn your heart thud in your chest. But . . . but that could’ve been your breath catching in your throat. 

And then you heard it: your own shocked voice. “What?” you all but gasped out, taking a subconscious step back.

Jimin furrowed his brows as if . . . confused (?) by your reaction. “He loved you,” he went on, keeping a watchful eye on your face. “I don’t know why or how considering you were such a horrible person the entirety of college . . . but he stuck by you. I’ve never seen anyone love somebody that much. Hell, I didn’t think it was real, and I couldn’t understand why . . . but he loved you, and when you pulled that shit on him; when you left, me and Tae saw it. He didn’t talk to anyone for months.” 

He loved you? He . . .

“He slowly came back, and a year later I thought he was fine. I thought he was finally over you, but . . . “ Jimin wet his lips— “I guess some old habits never die.”

Jungkook loved . . . you? In college he—But, no! He thought you guys had been friends. You were the one who had hated him, and he had thought of you as a friend. There was no love there. No, no there couldn’t be. He did not love you. He couldn’t have. No. No . . . No!

“And now you’re here . . . defending him . . . and I just can’t wrap my head around it,” Jimin finished off, his words more stable now. Then, slowly but surely, he nodded as if he had made peace with his thoughts. “But I get it. We all make our own choices. You made yours, but you . . . you don’t get to stand here now after everything and judge me when you left him in the dark for years. I made my choices, and I regret them most days, but it is what it is. You of all people should know that.”

But if he had loved you, then . . . had you broken his heart? 

You knew you’d done quite a lot of damage on him, but you hadn’t considered that you’d broken . . . the very thing you’d come to grow so fond of. Because truly, over the past months, you’d come to know him more than you knew yourself, and you realized he’d always had this softness about him. He’d always had a good heart. That was what you had come to admire most about him. And if Jimin was right, that meant you had hurt that very part of him.

If he was telling the truth, you had done so much more damage to Jungkook than you had thought. Perhaps it had been you who had ruined him.

That . . . that made your rage boil. “I do,” you ended up biting out, your voice harsher than it had ever been as your rage boiled and boiled, nearly bubbling and spilling everywhere. “I regret every mistake I’ve ever made and I know hurting him is at the top of the list, but you knew that, too, and you still repeated what I did wrong. Why didn’t you go back for him? Why didn’t you, I don’t fucking know, try?! Why didn’t you fucking try?! Huh?!”

Those words left your lips and before you knew it, you were face to face with Jimin, not even two inches apart. Your breathing was ragged and you could feel your rage burning through your bloodstream, turning it to rot, surely burning through your skin. 

Had it reached your heart?

“Why didn’t you try?” Jimin mumbled, the anger gone from his eyes as he took in your expression. And his words . . . this wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking why you hadn’t tried to help Jungkook back then, no . . . he was reminding you that you hadn’t tried for a reason. 

Admit it or not, you hadn’t let him in because you hated yourself. And making yourself hate him, blame him, was easier than admitting you didn’t want to live with the person you had become. 

That was why you hadn’t tried—you were exhausted with yourself, with everything. 

And only then did it hit you. As those final words left your lips, you realized why you were so fueled with anger. You realized why you had chosen Jimin as your punching bag, and you realized what you had done. 

Because, really, you weren’t angry with him. No, you were angry with yourself. It was like he had said . . . you had left Jungkook once, too. 

Looking at Jimin was like looking in the mirror. What he had done to Jungkook was nothing close to what you had done to him. So being angry at him . . . hurting him was an excuse to ignore who you were really angry with: . . . yourself.

And finally, Jimin spoke for the both of you. “Because . . . I was exhausted,” he mumbled through a heavy exhale. “You don’t get it . . . I’ve stayed by Tae’s side for a year, and I’d do it again and again, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a part of me that doesn’t blame him, too.”

Wetting your lips, you took a step back, your anger slowly turning to guilt. This wasn’t his fault. Why did you blow up on him like that? Fuck.

Hating him wouldn’t make you hate yourself less . . .

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“After the incident, it was like he just disappeared,” Jimin went on, his voice equal parts solemn and guilty. “Badminton was his dream. I think Tae loved it the most out of all of us, and just like that, it was gone. And without it, he just faded away. I don’t even think he blames Kook. He’s just . . . gone. It’s like he’s been on autopilot for the better half of a year.”

Fuck. Jimin wasn’t to blame. Just like Jungkook, this entire situation was just one big mess. No one was to blame. Fuck, no one was to blame, and yet . . . you were sure they all blamed themselves. 

How could you have been so blinded by rage you hadn’t noticed this before?

“And I . . . I have had to live for the both of us,” he confessed, finally raising his head to meet your watchful gaze. “I knew what I was getting into, and I did it because I care for him, but I didn’t realize . . . I didn’t realize that . . . you can be there for someone as much as you want but there comes a time when caring for someone makes you stop caring about yourself.” His brows twitched only once, but the action carried a world of pain. “Tae is my best friend. They both were, and I . . . I didn’t just lose Jungkook that day. I had to live for Tae, and in doing so, I stopped living for myself.”

I stopped living for myself. Closing your eyes, you were only reminded how wrong you had been. The three of them were all in pain, refusing to admit it. They all blamed themselves, you were sure of it. 

But no one was to blame.

No one.

Still, you stayed silent, keeping these thoughts to yourself. Your eyes fluttered back open, and it was as if you were staring the past in the face once again. And god, did it have such a guilty conscience.

“I know it’s wrong, but there will always be a part of me that resents him for it,” Jimin went on, sighing as his words left his lips. “And he—” he gestured back to the karaoke room; back to where Yoongi still resided— “is the only reason I didn’t lose myself. He is the only reason I can fucking breathe just for a second . . . so that is why I’m here. I don’t care if it’s selfish. He’s my sliver of happiness, which is why . . . “ he wet his lips, staring at you as if you were a reflection of his own past “ . . . which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then. So . . . I don’t blame you either but . . . but I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . I know what I did. I will always regret it and I will always wish I could turn back time and make it all go away, but I can’t.”

Which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then, you repeated in your head once more. Was Jimin right? Had Jungkook truly loved you? 

And then, one more final question popped into your head: Did he still?

“Min?” 

The singular name brought you and Jimin out of your little bubble. The two of you turned your heads in the direction of the sound, finding Yoongi had peeked his head out of the karaoke room. His dark eyes shifted between you and his boyfriend, a skeptical look plastered across his face. 

“Everything’s fine,” Jimin replied with a tight smile.

That was when you saw it—the way Yoongi’s face softened instantly with just a couple of words from Jimin. You recognized that look. You’d seen that very expression reach Jungkook’s face time after time again in the past months you’d spent getting to know each other more and more and . . . 

Wait . . . 

Wait, wait . . . you recognized that look, but in a deeper way, in a visceral way. Yes, you’d seen Jungkook wear it many times, but . . . you could have sworn you’d seen it somewhere else, too. You could have sworn you’d catch glimpses of it on your own face when you’d walk past a mirror or catch your reflection in a puddle. And you’d always catch sight of it when . . . Jungkook was up ahead or behind or near. 

Yes, that was it. You’d seen that expression on your own face when Jungkook was involved. But . . . did that mean? 

No, no . . . no. Stop it. You couldn’t think about what this meant or that meant or this or that and those and them or whatever! No. 

Right now . . . right now you had to focus. Jungkook had run off and you . . . you needed to find him, but—

Your gaze fixated on Jimin once again. What happened back then . . . He wasn’t to blame. No one was. They, all three of them, were in pain, blaming themselves and yet too scared to face it. None of them would dare to either. But it was so clear that Jungkook missed Taehyung and Jimin as well. And now . . . now it was clear just how much Jimin missed the both of them . . . 

And well, you could do something about that. Perhaps then this guilt would leave you alone. Perhaps then things could be set right. Maybe then things could be the way they were supposed to be before life got in the way.

The answer was clear, and you couldn’t stop yourself. “Jimin,” you began, clearing your throat and interrupting the conversation between him and his boyfriend. Once his eyes were on you, with a clearing of your throat, you continued. “I’m sorry . . . for blowing up on you. I didn’t realize that—nevermind—just . . . Jungkook . . . he misses you . . . and Tae. I can see that. He’s . . . He doesn’t hate you, you know? He blames himself, yes, but he’s not angry with either of you. I think he just wants you guys back . . . so . . . if there’s any way . . . ask Hoseok for my number.” You paused for only a second to swallow. “You shouldn’t have to live with regrets.”

A beat of silence followed your words once again, almost as if it were mocking you. But instead of turning your words to shit, Jimin welcomed the silence. He embraced it as a small smile lifted onto his lips. And then . . . then he nodded.

It was a silent agreement, but it was good enough for you. 

This could be it.

A new leaf.

For him.

For Jungkook.

For Jungkook, you affirmed, and with that thought, you nodded back. “It was nice to meet you, Yoongi,” you mumbled genuinely, before your eyes shifted back to Jimin once again. Another nod from you. “Jimin. Tell Hoseok that Kook and I went to eat, yeah? We’ll see him at practice tomorrow.”

“Hey—“ Jimin piped up before you could leave— “remember to live for yourself, too, yeah?”

And you nodded back with a smile.

The world fell away piece by piece as you turned from them, their faces still glued to the back of your mind, but you couldn’t waste any more time. As it was, your anger had already bubbled over and burned enough bridges that night to waste a lifetime. You should’ve kept your cool. You should’ve tried to see everything from a bigger picture, but this rage trapped inside you seemed to be bigger than you knew how to control. Sure, it had subsided now . . . but only because . . . because that was what was right.

You didn’t know how to explain it, but . . . Jungkook had become someone important to you, perhaps the most important in your life. You’d never felt that before. You never thought you’d be able to care about someone this much before, but . . . you did, and that was enough to put away that anger boiling deep inside you just enough to do right . . . for him.

Did that make you crazy? Maybe . . . maybe it did, but there wasn’t much in you to care about things like that. All you wanted was to find him. If you found him, everything would be alright. It would. You swore it would. 

Your feet didn’t feel like your own as you raced down the halls of the karaoke bar. The lights had begun to blur together in your vision, creating mixes of blue and purple racing in your peripheral. You’d even looked into room after room, disturbing group after group, solely searching for him.

Until . . . with your heart pounding in your chest, your breathing uneven, and a relentless shiver shaking throughout your body, through the muted colorful lights, you caught sight of a man’s figure crouched down in a corner of the building. His hands were covering his ears, his face hidden in his knees as he breathed heavily, but he was there. You’d found him. Instantly, your muscles relaxed. Exhale.

You’d found him. “Ju—” but you quickly cut yourself off before you could draw any attention to yourself.

Think. You had to think. You couldn’t approach him like you normally would. You couldn’t go in all thorns and nails on a chalkboard. This was different. This was what you had read about. What you realized you had never been good at—comfort.

How could you comfort? You had never been nurturing. Hell, you’d read something once that told you some women just weren’t meant to be mothers, and you knew you were one of them. You knew you couldn’t didn’t know how to be . . . soft.

But you had to try. For him . . .

And then you remembered:

Five Ways You Can Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

But . . . but . . . fuck! How was that supposed to help you now? Let them know it’s OK not to be OK. OK . . . You swallowed hard. You could do that. Focus on things they can change. OK, OK. You could do that, too.

Hesitantly, you took a step forward.

But shit! You paused, halting in your movements. What if that didn’t work? What if you didn’t do it right? What if it only made it worse? What if you only made him worse?

Just . . . just . . . fuck, OK! Just— 

“Kookie,” you heard yourself say clearly before you knew you had even opened your mouth.

In response, his breathing stopped but he didn’t raise his head to meet your gaze. Instead . . . “It’s OK. Just go back . . . “ he muttered out, just loud enough for you to hear, but he still wouldn’t meet your eyes. “I’m OK.”

I’m OK. You swallowed hard. No . . . no, he wasn’t, and unlike all those years ago, you were not going to leave him behind. Not now. Never again.

It didn’t take another second for you to cross the distance to him before you sank to your knees right in front of him, reminding yourself not to startle him. “I’m here,” was all you said, fighting against everything harsh and rough in you, trying desperately to be soft.

The thing was: people could tell you countless amounts of things on how to help someone, but . . . you’d never get it. You weren’t good at it. You couldn’t do that, be that. You knew him, too. He wasn’t textbook like all the things you’d read up on. You assumed no one was . . . so . . . you’d like to add one more to the list: ask him how you could help.

“What—” you inhaled sharply— “What do you need me to do?”

Still, Jungkook would not meet your eyes, but he didn’t need to. You saw his body shift. You saw him process your words. And you knew he wasn’t going to hide from you. “Just—” he all but choked out— “ground me. Put your arms. Squeeze . . . hard.”

And just like that, you acted quickly. You didn’t waste any time as you scooted behind him, wrapping your arms around his figure, locking him into your body, and squeezing as he’d instructed. Resting your cheek on his back, you continued hugging his body to yours, listening to his heartbeat as you did so. Squeezing your eyes shut, you begged for this to help him, but the beat of his racing heart met your ears like a drum.

It wasn’t enough. You had to keep going. 

“OK, OK, what else?” you asked him, your voice clear and calm . . . and soft.

But the beat of his heart was the only thing you heard.

Ground him. You squeezed harder. “You’re here with me. I’ve got you. You’re safe. Speak to me, Koo,” you all but begged.

“Tell me something,” he mumbled, and you nearly exhaled in relief. “Please, say anything.”

Nodding quickly, you tried to scrounge up something, anything. “OK, um, um,” you stuttered out, racking your brain over and over again, until finally . . . “Do you remember when we were kids and my parents rented that cabin for the summer? You had this fake tattoo of a dragon that you really really wanted to put on your arm right—“ you grabbed his forearm, pressing your thumb into a spot— “here, but I wanted everything you had so I just had to have the tattoo. I whined and whined until you finally let me have it. And yet, in the end, my mom forgot to take off the plastic so neither of us ended up with the damn tattoo and we were both pissed.” Smiling against his back, you readjusted your grip on him, holding him closer than before, perhaps so close your souls could almost touch. “Your mom made us hold hands until we got over it.”

And with a small smile on your face, you heard it . . . 

His heart rate had started to slow, his breathing becoming more controlled as he tried his hardest to breathe in deep and exhale long. Was it? Was it working? OK. OK. Speak more. Speak—

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t stop crying, meanwhile, I won that thing in a raffle,” he interrupted before you could rack your brain for another memory. 

Wetting your lips, you replied, “But it worked, didn’t it?” Your eyes danced around the room, the memory almost as clear as day. The smile on your face grew. “We were sitting by the fire, getting way too messy with those s’mores you swore you knew how to make.”

“We camped outside the entire night,” Jungkook mumbled under his breath, his shoulders shaking slightly as a small laugh escaped him.

“Yeah, until you almost pissed your pants because you thought you heard a bear,” you remarked, the smile on your face too wide to contain.

“Hey!” he quipped back as his hand fell to your arm. “I was like nine.”

In shock, you watched as Jungkook slowly raised his hands to cover your arms, hugging them to his chest. Then, you rested your ear against his chest, and you realized his heartbeat had returned almost to normal . . . and . . . and . . . his breathing had calmed. And then you saw it, a drop of . . . something had wet his shirt where your cheek laid . . . and you realized . . . you were crying.

Was this softness that you felt? Or weakness?

The truth was: you didn’t care. Not now. 

Quickly, you wiped your damp cheeks on your shoulder and sniffled. “Scaredy cat,” you mumbled with a soft laugh.

Jungkook breathed out a laugh through his nose. “Brat,” he hummed as he squeezed your forearm.

A beat of silence met the two of you then. You nestled closer, holding him until he finally gave you the go-ahead that he was alright. You’d stay there all night if you had to. And he welcomed this with open arms, holding you as close as he could in his position, and just letting things . . . be, it seemed. 

Until, finally, after what seemed like hours, he whispered against your forearm, “I’m sorry.”

And you couldn’t help yourself. Your brows pinched together, confusion revisiting you as you asked, “For what?”

“You don’t need this,” was his only answer.

Another beat of silence.

And then: “You’ll always be unhappy when it comes to me.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, your only response was to hug him tighter. Fuck.

It is not the moon, I tell you. It is these flowers lighting the yard.

As the night droned on, writings upon writings popped into your head as you tried to make sense of this, of tonight, of everything; one, in particular, visited you too frequently to be ignored; one that you had held onto for years now. You supposed it was a silly thing—realizing just how many poems you had trapped in your head, but you had three years of isolation, three years of loneliness, three years where you only read and read and read. Those three years . . . poems had been all you had.

You supposed it would always end this way.

I hate them. I hate them as I hate sex, the man’s mouth sealing my mouth, the man’s paralyzing body—

And like the poem stated, these words remained true to you. You hated many things, perhaps too much. In those three years, you had grown to hate another’s touch, perhaps because you craved it so viscerally. But . . . the scent of mock orange wasn’t in the form of a man for you. To you . . . the scent of mock orange smelled a lot like a badminton racket.

and the cry that always escapes, the low, humiliating premise of union—

Perhaps you had grown to hate badminton. You hadn’t even realized it, but . . . looking back at it now . . . you had done everything to be someone . . . to be the best, and you had wanted that. You had really wanted that. Sometimes you thought it was the only thing that would ever make you happy, but . . . 

But . . . 

In my mind tonight I hear the question and pursuing answer fused in one sound that mounts and mounts and then is split into the old selves, the tired antagonisms. Do you see? We were made fools of. And the scent of mock orange drifts through the window.

But perhaps . . . like growing pains . . . a part of you had outgrown badminton. Could this be real? Could you really have outgrown the one thing you had ever loved? And if you truly had . . . what did that mean for you now?

How can I rest? How can I be content when there is still that odor in the world?

That odor.

That damned odor of mock orange blossoms.

. . . You had smelt them the day of the incident. The stench had followed you to the hospital, crawling under your skin and resting there for the months to follow. They hadn't even bloomed then, yet you still smelt them every time you breathed. When your heart felt less heavy and your mind was clearer than the day before, when it became month after month after month, the scent finally rid itself from your senses. And you thought you might have actually been allowed to rest without that odor in the world.

But as another month melted into the next, and you tried to get back onto your feet again, the scent of mock orange drifted back into your life. You, of course, ignored this, eager to get back on your feet. You’d been able to take a few steps, which eased the ache you had been carrying around for the past few months. You knew it was stupid to imagine you could actually be healed after a few months, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to walk again . . . maybe run . . . maybe play again with a racket in your hand.

It was nice—being able to dream for a few minutes.

But it did only last for a short time. Soon you being you had gotten too cocky in your progress. You wanted to try longer walks. You wanted to see if you could run.

Then as you ignored the warning signs from your parents, from your doctors, from your nurses, the second they allowed you out on the hospital courtyard, you took off, attempting to run. But . . . before you knew it, something snapped and . . . you were tumbling to the ground, crying in pain.

And just like that . . . the scent of mock orange drifted in and remained in the air.

You remembered just laying there after that, contemplating just how much this would set you back as the nurses hurried you back to your room to be examined. You wondered if you had fucked yourself entirely. You wondered if this was it and you would never be able to play or even walk again. You wondered what that made you now. You might as well have not even been a person anymore, because back then . . . badminton had been all that you had. Back then, if you weren’t the best; if you weren’t someone great, then you were nothing. 

And yes, you knew you had never been particularly interesting, but you never thought you were . . . nothing. The scent of mock orange tainting the air reminded you of the truth—without badminton, you might as well have been no one.

As you were escorted back to your room, examined, and left to rest, you laid there, the scent of mock orange being your sole company, and you realized you hated them. You hated those stupid, putrid flowers as you hated feeling . . . less. You hated them as you hated yourself.

Guilt might have been your ghost, but the scent of mock orange was your shadow.

How could you rest? How could you be content when there was still that odor in the world?

You were sure you never would.

And truly . . . how could you rest? If you were constantly trying to be better and better? When would you finally be the best? Could you be? No . . . no, you knew you couldn’t, but then who were you?

Who were you without . . . badminton?

That was the question on your mind as you flicked at your ramyeon with your chopsticks. You supposed like the mock orange blossoms, your coming-of-age escapades did not deliver the fruits of its promise. Becoming someone was all you had ever wanted out of life. You wanted glory. You wanted greatness. And yet . . . why did the thought of badminton slowly and slowly start to turn into this . . . dark thing? Why was it that when badminton was involved . . . bad things happened?

Now, you didn’t believe in signs and you surely wouldn’t start now . . . but it became evident that you had been made a fool of, wishing on a shooting star that was on its last breath. The scent of mock orange would drift in every time, reminding you that you would never reach that greatness again no matter how many times you tried. 

And that should’ve filled you with rage . . . jealousy . . . pain . . . but . . . you didn’t feel any of that. What you felt, at its core, was a gentle ache in your chest; the same kind of ache which came with nostalgia. 

You just couldn’t stop thinking of it. Actually . . . you hadn’t stopped thinking about that scent of mock orange since you saw Jimin earlier that night. He’d told you Taehyung had loved badminton the most . . . he told you he was a ghost of himself now because of what he lost. And then you began to think of what had happened to you . . . 

Those three years . . .

All you had ever thought about was getting back to the person you used to be. That was all you had cared about, and when you finally won that first game all those months ago . . . you had felt that same joy that you had always felt after a win. Except . . . this was different, you realized.

Remembering the win now, the image of you smashing the birdie down onto the court wasn’t what came to mind first. No, you remembered that day; you remembered the thrill of the win, but the image that came to mind first was Jungkook smiling down at you moments before you sprung into his arms.

Jungkook was what you remembered that day, not the look on the other team’s faces when you took home that winning title. And then you realized what you had been trying to ignore ever since you let your walls come down layer by layer: perhaps . . . perhaps there was more to life than badminton.

In the months you had let Jungkook in, you’d lived more than you had in your entire life. You’d laughed more, smiled more, felt more. You’d felt yourself be more. 

The scent of mock orange never visited you when he was around. It was like he was the real thing. You weren’t even sure if that made any sense. But . . . but . . . if you couldn’t smell those damned phony flowers, then perhaps Jungkook had taken their place. By chance . . . did he smell like an orange blossom? Without mocking, without malice, without trickery? Was he . . . real?

There was just something about the world that Jungkook had shown you that had a way of making everything just . . . mute. It was like before he’d shown you life through his eyes, everything had been loud, intense, brutal. And then . . . there he was, a bright smile on his face and the words ‘trust me’ leaving his lips as he held out his hand for you to take.

And you took it every time.

The scent of mock orange blossoms was left behind. And you began to wonder if just as you had outgrown your hatred for Jungkook . . . had you outgrown this visceral urge to hold a racket in your calloused hand?

Glancing down, you took in the image of your hand. The calluses were still there, the small cuts from accidental injuries, the bitten nails . . . they were all still there. Did they still fit around the base of a racket as they had three years ago?

You blinked, flexing your hand. Whatever, you decided. It would be tomorrow’s problem. (But we all know how good you were about . . . not . . . getting in over your head (so like, give yourself five minutes and you’d be thinking about it again).)

Whatever. Whatever. Whatever.

Anyway.

Focus on the present.

Yes, that was the plan. You nodded at your thoughts as you blinked, forcing yourself back to the present.

The scent of mock orange blossoms still lingered in the air as you tried grounding yourself to reality. Ignoring them was the best you could do. Because right now, you were supposed to be present, aware, and solid. You were supposed to be Jungkook’s shoulder to lean on after what he had endured at the karaoke bar. You were supposed to know what to do . . . but you didn’t know anything. You just . . . you just wanted him to be alright . . . 

And all you could focus on was the fact that the two of you hadn’t spoken since you held him about—

You checked your phone.

—an hour and a half ago.

It had been quiet between the two of you ever since. It had been even quieter the second you stepped inside the nearest convenience store. (Who knew how long ago that was.)

The convenience store was perhaps too quiet now. The two of you had bought some instant ramyeon—one spicy, one mild and sat at the nearest tables outlooking the streets of Busan. Many people had walked back and forth, going about their night (well . . . now early morning), but not once had either of you decided to make little guesses about their lives as you had done many times before. No instead . . . Jungkook was silent. And you were too. 

But . . . you didn’t like the silence; not like . . . this. Slowly, with that thought plaguing your mind, you turned your head toward him.

Jungkook sat beside you, his head lowered slightly as he stared blankly out the window. He hadn’t touched his ramyeon once, which was evident as his chopsticks were all too clean without any stain or color. He just kept staring out the window, following those who walked by with his eyes all the while his tongue toyed with his lip ring. 

It was obvious why he was stuck in this limbo. Sure, of course it was all too obvious, but that didn’t make it any easier. Knowing why he was stuck like this wouldn’t do anything to . . . help.

And suddenly you were reminded of what Jimin had told you that night. Remember to live for yourself, too, he’d said before you left him. He’d told you it was impossible to live for two, but . . . why? Why couldn’t you? Why couldn’t you at least . . . help? You supposed the problem in that was the fact that you had no idea how to help, and that scared you more than you’d liked to admit.

You just . . . you just wanted him to be OK . . .

“You gonna eat that?” you heard yourself ask him before you knew what you were even saying.

Jungkook turned to you instantly with an almost shocked expression on his face as if he couldn’t remember where he was or who he was, but his eyes still shined with recognition as if he could still recognize you despite it all. He blinked slowly, eyes drifting over your face, and then . . . then he slowly started to relax. His shoulders slumped slightly as the stiff muscles in his face loosened. And once he returned to the present, his eyes drifted from your questioning expression to the ramyeon in front of him . . . and then he was shoving a huge bite into his mouth all the while maintaining eye contact with you while he chewed.

You shot him a blank look, because you knew what he was doing—avoiding the inevitable by trying to make light of the situation. “I wasn’t going to force-feed it to you, you know?” you ended up mumbling as you continued to watch him chew, half making sure he ate all of it and half not sure where to rest your gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that then,” Jungkook muttered, his words muffled from the food in his mouth.

“Like what?” you questioned as you leaned closer to him, analyzing the crease between his furrowed brows.

His eyes shifted to the ground ever so slightly before he turned back to meet your gaze. “Like you pity me or something,” he huffed, jutting out his bottom lip into a pout as he averted his gaze to his bowl of ramyeon.

And you couldn’t help but let the corners of your mouth perk up into a small smile. He was still the boy you remembered when you were kids. He hadn’t changed too much. He was still . . . him. Only now, you had grown to appreciate how he was unlike in the past. Now . . . when he flashed you that pout, you wasted no time in waving him off with a small sigh. 

“Oh, Jungkookie,” you all but mused as you grabbed a napkin from the table, “sometimes it’s like you’re still that whiny little kid I grew up with.” You brought the napkin to his lips, gently dabbing. “You really haven’t changed at all, you know?”

With his eyes flicking from the napkin to your face, he timidly licked his lips and mumbled, “I was not whiny.”

You breathed a small, barely audible laugh. “Mmm, if it helps you sleep at night,” you hummed with a small shrug as your hand, now discarding the napkin, reached his face once again, except this time, you barely thought about your next move. Instead, you let your hand drift to his hair gently curling the long, dark strands behind his ear. 

And he just stared at you, his dark eyes warm and gentle as they always had been. His brows twitched as you alternated between playing with his earrings and toying with the longest strands of his hair. He almost seemed . . . at peace, and you wondered if this could be considered a moment of happiness?

Perhaps . . . 

It was moments like this that you wondered how the sick smell of mock orange blossoms had ever ruined your life. 

But like the poem described . . . the smell wasn’t something to be forgotten. It eventually seeped back in. And just as Jungkook had almost allowed himself to sink into your touch, his eyes turned back to the window where he caught a glimpse of his reflection.

It was almost soul-crushing how fast his face fell.

Jungkook took one last look at his reflection, shaking his head slightly as he averted his gaze to the table and clenched his jaw. "Fuck,” he whispered out, his voice hoarse, “this is so fucking annoying. Everything feels so off. I just . . . “ His words tangled around his tongue as he dropped his head to his hands. “Everyone always looks at me like I'm some fucking problem. Like if they get to my core, they can fix me. But I can't be fucking fixed. I fucked up. I ruined my best friend’s life. I don't deserve to be fixed."

And suddenly it was as if you were twelve years old again, seeing your mother cry for the first time and not knowing what to do or what to say. You had grown up that way—not being able to comfort. It had always been who you were. You’d never known what to do to . . . help. 

Yes, you could follow the directions of some online article and you could ask and ask and ask how to help him, but would it ever be enough? And what if he said he was fine when he was so clearly not? What then? How were you supposed to help then?

God, you wished you knew the answers. 

“You’re not broken, Koo,” you started with, your voice just as small as how you felt in that moment.

“What if I am?” he mumbled into his hands. Slowly, he raised his head, and for another time that night, you faced that crushed look on his face. For another time that night, you saw the things he had been dealing with all on his own. You saw him. “What if I . . . ?”

And then you realized: you didn’t know how to comfort, but you did know how to bear things well. You knew how to crumble up the pain of not being good enough. You knew how to deal with a dream being crushed. You knew how to just . . . deal, and if Jungkook needed help, you could carry the load for him.

So, swallowing your own emotions bubbling up in your throat, you began slowly, "I know I can’t say . . . anything. I know that no matter what I do it's not gonna' make you feel better, because shit doesn't work that way. I'm not some fuckin' hero. I know that. You just need to know that I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm never leaving your side." Nodding your head, you could feel your eyes burning again. But you didn’t care. The world could see you cry for him and only him and you’d accept it with a heavy heart.

A beat of silence followed your confession.

The world exhaled.

You inhaled as you rested your hand on top of his moments before you began again, "You're—I care about you. . . and—and that means that no matter what time it is, if you feel like you're gonna do something to yourself, then you call me. We can go throw shit off a bridge or—or punch dummies. You need to scream? Then we can go scream until our lungs bleed, okay? Whatever. It doesn't matter. Just—" you squeezed his hand as your heart pulsed in pain in your chest— "You're not alone."

Though the expression on his face didn’t lift, Jungkook accepted your hand, taking it within his grasp to intertwine your fingers together with his. “It’s been months . . . and I still feel like this . . . “ he trailed off, gently shaking his head as he turned back to his reflection in the window.

Instantly, your free hand found his cheek, slowly turning his head so his eyes would only face yours. “I don’t think healing is . . . linear,” you admitted softly. “If I think about it . . . it took me years to be able to play again. Mental shit has to be like that too, right?”

His eyes fluttered shut under your touch. “I don’t know,” he softly sighed as his other hand reached to rest over the one you had caressing his cheek. “I’m just tired of feeling like this.” He swallowed thickly. “I just . . . it’s like . . . I watch everyone else live their lives while I endure mine. And—And I don't know what to do. Sometimes everything just gets so intense, and it just happens. It's like it's some fucked up kind of instinct. Trust me, I wish I could feel something other than this, but I don't feel anything. It's all fucking numb." He nearly dropped your hand, but you clung on tighter, refusing to let him slip through your fingers. "I don't fucking know what I feel. I just . . . I feel like a fucking ghost."

And for the second time that night, you watched the once never-bothered Jungkook reveal another layer of himself to you. 

I feel like a fucking ghost, rang in your ears again.

Jungkook squeezed his eyes tight and slowly . . . a single tear trickled from the corner of his eye down the side of his nose. 

I feel like a fucking ghost, once more, and you knew the words which would leave your lips before you even had the chance to think.

"Haunt me, then," you found yourself breathing out in a hushed whisper as your thumb caught his fallen tear, wiping it away with ease.

His eyes cracked open, a shocked expression crawling onto his face. "What?” he barely got out as he searched your eyes for anything that would tell him you hadn’t meant to say . . . that.

But you had.

Haunt me, you’d told him, and you knew you’d meant it. The words didn’t have to cross your mind for you to know what you spoke was the truth.

Haunt me.

Haunt me.

Haunt me.

Give it to me, and breathe.

That is what you had wanted to say. That is what you had meant. You could only hope he knew you were telling the truth.

Tilting your head to the side, you breathed out the air in your lungs. "I told you before, and I meant it,” you began in a gentle tone. “I'll carry the weight for you. All of the pain, the anger, the hatred . . . all of it . . . I will carry it all. Give it all to me, and I will find a way to deal with it." Squeezing his hand once again, you offered up a small smile. "You're not alone anymore, Kook. You do not have to deal with all your shit on your own. You've got me, and you can hate me, you can push me away, you can leave me stranded with no way home . . . but I promise you, I'm not going anywhere."

His brows twitched. “I can’t do that. You’ve got too much to think about.”

You shrugged with a roll of your eyes as you dropped your hand to your intertwined ones. “Like what? I’ve never thought a day in my life. Barely passed college with a 2.7,” you hummed, your voice a little more chipper now as you tried to keep his eyes on you and coax a smile out of him. “I’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“The games,” he muttered with a small sniffle. “You’re shit at multitasking.”

That time, you did smile wider. There he was. “I can manage,” you mused as you leaned into him, nudging him with your elbow. “How about let’s go feed the fish by our hotel after practice tomorrow, hmm? To relax? Yeah?”

And then . . . you could have sworn he nodded. Maybe it was to himself or maybe it was to you, but you knew what it meant. You would accept a nod.

“You gonna eat that?” he asked a second later, gesturing to the half-eaten bowl of ramyeon in front of you.

And you knew he would be OK by your side. You would make sure of it. (You were the older one after all.)

So with a small smile still on your face, you detached your hands from his and reached for your bowl, scooting it toward him. Quietly, he took it from you and began to devour what you had left.

Yeah . . . he was still the same kid you knew growing up. And that . . . that was enough to make your heart feel warm.

It made you wonder if you could ever be . . . warm . . . like him. Unlike this cold, hollow shell you were so used to. Was that even written in your books? 

Wetting your lips, your eyes fell to your lap, only to be met with the image of Jungkook��s hand resting on your thigh, secured under the holes in your ripped jeans. It seemed without you noticing, Jungkook had absentmindedly reached for you, toying with the strings adorning the rips in your jeans, only to end up nestled underneath in an attempt to feel your skin against his.

It was sweet. Innocent. 

It made you feel warm, yet again, yes. But it also made you feel . . . fuck . . . what was that word?

And that was when you realized something . . .

“You’re wrong, you know?” you ended up muttering out before your brain could catch up with your impulse.

Jungkook hummed, eyeing you. His eyes were still slightly puffy, causing your heart to swell in your chest.

How could he ever think he deserved this?

Wetting your lips, you confessed, “I’m a better person because of you. How could I ever be unhappy with that?”

Jungkook blinked, clearly shocked. Then, he began to toy with his lip ring before he sucked in a sharp inhale and nearly whispered, “All I want . . . is for you to be happy.”

And you couldn’t help but smile. It was warm. It was innocent. It was because of him. “Would you look at that?” you mused in a quiet voice. “Looks like we just came to an agreement.”

The corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly as he nodded once before the two of you resumed your late-night slash early-morning meal. He finished your food for you, and you watched, making sure he ate it all, all the while, the words, I’m a better person because of you rang throughout the air.

I’m a better person because of you.

How could I ever be unhappy with that?

And you knew you meant every word.

The scent of mock orange blossoms couldn’t reach you now. 

Not here. 

Not with him.

When you were a kid, every Barbie doll your mother ever bought you would end up scalped and decapitated. Now . . . morbid . . . you knew. You weren’t exactly sure why you resorted to . . . that, but playing with dolls just always meant ripping their heads off. You supposed it was kind of symbolic now. 

Maybe you were jealous that their lives were perfect and yours was . . . meh. Or maybe you really just really hated dolls.

You supposed there had always been a certain sickness to you; a certain uneasiness that came with being a preteen girl. You were told sweet sixteen was when the claws came out, but you began to question if yours had grown in long before then. Maybe you had been born like . . . this or maybe everyone just felt this way and spent most of their lives hiding it, because if not . . . 

. . . it felt like life was just some sick joke that you hadn’t clued in on yet.

Perhaps that was why you had become so keen on poetry: it said what you feared only you felt. 

Because really, you used to use pages out of books to fasten a joint in a pinch, too, and now it physically hurt to imagine ever even tearing a page. 

But words felt more comforting now. Sure, a racket felt like it fit into you like a hook in an eye, but now . . . now it felt just a tad more awkward than it had in the past. Words . . . words could never disappoint you, you decided long ago when they had been all that you had had.

There’s something soft in me—

You remembered reading long ago.

—we killed it and it’s rotting.

And maybe it was silly. Maybe it was dramatic, but words made things feel better. It made the world less scary. It made looking at Jungkook and wondering what this feeling in your chest was . . . not so scary. It made things . . . better.

So, you’d read, and you’d overanalyze, and you’d spend your time too wrapped up in words because it made everything that much bearable. Because it made the fact that your claws didn’t come in at sixteen so much easier to swallow; it made the fact that there was nothing soft about you alright.

Because maybe there had been something soft about you long ago. Or maybe you had killed it; maybe you had taken the softness and traded it for survival, only to discover all the rot inside of you that you had been trying to ignore for years now. 

Had the fire gotten a hold of you even back then? 

Is that why you no longer feared it? Because there was nothing left to fear? Did all this rot mean you were no different from a hit deer off the highway? 

. . . 

Whatever. 

It didn’t mean much, right? 

There were no birds coming to feast on your rotting corpse like the deer you wondered if you resembled. Nothing had come to consume your body as the world had consumed your soul. You were just there . . . 

With a sigh, you clicked off your phone, disregarding the poem as you shoved it all away into the back of the pocket of your athletic shorts. And as you stood there, you slowly glanced up only to meet the image of Jungkook walking toward you, a half-smile on his tired face with a duffel bag over his shoulder and a racket in his hand. You hadn’t seen him since you woke up that morning, quickly dressed and told him you’d meet him at the center after your run. And there he was, his hair in a small ponytail with a grin on his face at the sight of you. (You tried to ignore the urge to meet him halfway. (Also ignoring this . . . weird feeling blooming in your chest the second you saw him.))

“Well, it seems the sun’s decided to come out after all,” were the first words out of his mouth as he drew closer. And only then did you realize the day was dreary, filled with dark clouds and humid spring air. 

Tearing your eyes from the clouds above, your gaze landed on Jungkook just as he stopped before you, setting his duffel bag on the pavement beside you. He wasted no time either, poking your abdomen with his racket. “Bad day already?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side in thought.

Sighing, you shook your head. “No, just . . . thinking.”

“Well, stop, it’s aging you,” he lightly scolded.

You squinted your eyes into a glare. “You’re on one today.”

And well . . . all he did was wink. Of course.

Now . . . you knew how this looked. Just last night you and him were up into the early morning nursing each other’s wounds and now it seemed like it hadn’t even happened, but there was a reason for that. The two of you knew each other. He appreciated that you didn’t make it a big thing. You were always going to be there for him; that much was obvious by now given your history with each other. But if there was one thing the two of you both hated, it was being treated as if you were as fragile as glass. So for now . . . last night was a little secret between the two of you, and right now . . . right now you both had to get your heads in the game for the finals tomorrow.

So there . . . that was that. At least that was how it was for you. You were sure it was the same for him, but it wasn’t like you could think about that right now either. Right now you had to think of the tournament as draining as it felt to even acknowledge it.

But just as you were about to move past it all and grab your own duffle bag from the ground, Jungkook halted you with a hand on your wrist. Your eyes immediately snapped to his.

“You sure you’re good?” he questioned once more, his eyes wider now, more concerned than before.

(There’s something soft in me—

But you couldn’t burden him now. Not after what he went through last night. Because you knew him, and you knew he’d do anything to make things right for you . . . even if it meant ignoring his own troubles. And well, despite what you liked to claim, you couldn’t bear to do that to him.

—we killed it and it’s rotting.)

So instead, you blurted out: “Just stressed, you know?”

His brows pinched together slightly, but he didn’t press it further. “Right . . . “

And that was that. You didn’t let another word pass between the two of you as you picked up both your duffel bag and his and began to walk toward the training center. Jungkook, of course, fought you the entire way, trying to grab the duffel bags from your hands, but you insisted, tsking at him as he tried to outsmart you (as if he ever could).

While he repeatedly tried to snatch at least one bag from your grasp, your eyes were training on the scene in front of you. And it was only when the two of you turned the corner, now facing the center head-on, that you realized maybe the dark clouds had been a sign telling you to turn back; to stay inside; to practice somewhere else. Jungkook, on the other hand, was preoccupied, as, in your shock, he managed to snatch both duffel bags from your grasp. And he was mighty proud of himself too until he heard what you had seen . . . and slowly the grin fell from his lips as he turned to face the scene.

Because before the two of you, crowding in front of the training center were reporters on top of reporters with their big flashy cameras and notepads, and . . . behind them, spray painted across the building was your name . . . with the words ‘is a traitor’ too big not to notice.

There’s something soft in me—

we killed it and it’s rotting.

It happened in slow motion. The reporters caught sight of the two of you, and that was it. They were racing toward you in seconds, all screaming this and that, trying to get a story, and all you could do was stare in a state of confusion and shock as if you were waiting for a car to pop out of nowhere and hit you.

Off the highway like another deer.

You’d never seen something like it. Sure, you’d seen this stuff in movies, but never in real life, never because of . . . you. There had been articles published when you fell out of the badminton scene three years ago, but never something like this. Never something like this. Fuck, even the interview you’d done as a team were never like . . . this.

Off the highway like another girl.

What was . . . this?

It was bad. You knew it was bad, but you couldn’t hear anything. You could see Jungkook growing angry beside you, pushing the reporters back as he said . . . something . . . but you couldn’t quite make out what it was. You couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything.

You should have known better. You should've known there was a chance something bad would happen. Because like always, when you got that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, when the dark clouds came out and the air felt wet but chilly but humid . . . something bad always happened. But you hadn't thought that the world would be so cruel, especially the day before the end.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to—

You felt the world caving in on you. You felt small. Small and disgusting. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to run, but you couldn't. Your mind had been the only thing to stay alert. Just run, you thought. Run. Run. Fucking run.

But you couldn't. You wanted to but the camera kept flashing and the reporters kept yelling and yelling and yelling and all you could make out was that everyone hated you. Suddenly, it was three years ago and everyone was pretending to be nice to you, then bitching about you behind your back. Suddenly, you were falling. Your hip was hurting. You were screaming and nobody cared. Nobody cared. Nobody—and then you were pushing everyone away again. Suddenly, you were alone again. And then you felt it. You felt it all, and then . . . then you couldn't breathe.

I can't breathe. You tried gasping for air, but it never stuck in your lungs. I can't breathe. You could have sworn this was what drowning felt like as your breaths came out quicker and quicker. Oh, my God, I can't fucking breathe.

You needed air. You needed to run.

Your eyes darted to the training center, and you knew what you had to do. You forced your legs to move as you tried to make it to the center. You’d be inside in a minute; you just needed a second. One second and you could breathe again.

But before you could even really move to make it, a hand was on your shoulder, and it wasn’t who you thought it’d be. No, it wasn’t a comforting touch; it was the touch of a reporter trying to make you stay in place just for you to answer their question. There was no making it out of this.

Glancing up, your eyes met the reporter’s and then you finally heard the words you’d been drowning out all morning: “Are the bribing rumors true?”

All air escaped your lungs. Bribing? You? “What?” you weakly asked (you’d never sounded like this before in your life, and yet . . . ).

But before anything else could escalate, Jungkook was stepping in front of you. His body blocked yours from the reporters, his hand carefully resting on your hip as he tucked you behind him while he mumbled, “Don’t bother—”

“What—” you blurted out before you could stop yourself— “What rumors?” 

You just . . . you wanted to know. Bribing? All you’d ever done in your career was try to be the best. You’d put blood and tears and sweat and everything into badminton, and this . . . this was how it repaid you. You’d fucked up your leg for it; fucked up your life; fucked up everything just to hold a fucking racket in your hand and now they wanted to say that you bribed your way into . . . into what? Success? You wanted to know the truth. You wanted to know.

But no one bothered giving you an answer. It was just question after question, confusing you more and more, and all you could come to the conclusion was the fact that the whole world must have thought you were as horrible as a person as you feared you were.

So, the final person asked, “Do you have anything to say?”

And all you could fathom was: “I—” you swallowed hard— “I . . . don’t care.”

That was it.

I don’t care, you’d said even though you did, because you always had. You cared too much. Too fucking much. And you were too much. And this was too much. And just . . . just . . . 

You didn’t bother thinking further. Your mind went blank as you tore yourself from the scene. Dropping your racket to the ground, you took a step backward. 

. . . And then you were gone.

Run, you’d told yourself, and finally, you listened.

And as you ran, you realized, things were easy for you when you could ignore them. If you spent your time worrying about everyone else, then there would be no more time left to worry about yourself. You supposed that was an issue on its own, but that was how you survived. 

A burnt child loves the fire. Yes, and you did. You loved it because it meant you’d have one more reason to survive. Survive enough and you wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath. Just keep surviving the fire. That . . . that was what you were good at.

But you didn’t know how to deal with . . . this.

This wasn’t a fire. Far from it. 

It was almost as if you were stuck at the bottom of a lake, your foot trapped under a rock, unable to get to the surface. And no matter how hard you fought to unsheath yourself, you stayed trapped at the bottom, water threatening to clog your air pipes.

And the thing they don’t tell you about drowning: it only takes forty seconds.

Forty seconds turned into minutes then an hour, and you began to wonder how long you had been left at the bottom of that lake. How long until the water finally reached your lungs?

It was about half an hour ago when you’d finally found the pond just outside the hotel your team was staying in, that you’d finally searched up whatever the fuck had gotten you in so much shit.

Yunis Doubles Player Accused of Bribing Referee to Make Nationals, was the headline. Apparently, an anonymous inside source had come forward and claimed that you’d not only bribed your way into winning each tournament for your team, but on top of that, you were also taking whatever drug to help with your fucked leg.

And get this . . . apparently it was because once you won finals, you’d go on to sign for Russia, leaving Korea behind, essentially making yourself a traitor. So there it was. In less than a day, you were a traitor, a drug abuser, and a cheat. Because apparently, that was true. 

Whatever . . .  it didn’t matter anyway. Even though it wasn’t true, the media had made it so, so it was by default. And as if badminton hadn’t already been feeling like a chore, your love for it lessened and lessened into . . . this hate.

That was what you felt: hate. Had you become hatred now?

Had you become a ghost, too? . . . Had you always been? . . . 

“Don’t do it. You’ve got so much to live for,” you heard a voice say in a joking manner behind you just as you tossed another rock into the large pond below your dangling feet. (The voice had startled you all the same, nearing skyrocketing the rock out of your grasp, but we don’t dwell on that.)

Still . . . 

. . . you didn’t jump. There was no need to. Startled or not, there was no need to fear. You knew that voice, and it only ever filled you with comfort, nothing else.

So instead of answering, you dropped your head in shame, eyes on the koi fish swimming idly through the water below you as your hands tightened around the edge of the rickety bridge. 

Jungkook had found you. Somehow he always managed to make his way back to you, no matter how many times you pushed him away.

(It used to be annoying. Now it was just . . . well . . . it was something else now. It had grown into something . . . more . . .)

His footsteps grew closer. He was behind you now. Close, yet still so very distant.

Silence for only a beat more.

And then, he spoke.

“I was trying to find an excuse to come find you,” he murmured, his words unexpecting of a response as he sat down beside you, dangling his feet over the edge of the bridge.

And you . . . you stayed still, peeking at him through the corner of your eye. Sure enough, he was real, and he was sitting there dressed in his athletic clothes, some of his hair pulled back into a ponytail, while he held in his hands two pieces of . . . bread (?). 

Your brows scrunched in confusion. “Bread was your excuse?” you questioned, your voice quiet.

Jungkook glanced between you and the bread, then back at you until he settled on the bread, tapping a finger to the loaves. “Ah . . . right . . . well . . . buy one, get one free,” he curtly explained. His eyes drifted back to you, then, as he wet his lips and sighed. “You talked about wanting to feed the fish.” Add in a shrug. “Thought this might be where I’d find you . . . so—“ a clearing of his throat— “Just—Are you OK?”

And you couldn’t help it. You took him up on his offer, silently grabbing a loaf of bread from his hands and resting it on your lap. Your eyes followed it the entire way, watching as your hand began to rip a small piece from the corner. “I think,” you finally replied to his question just as you tossed the piece of bread into the water. “I can’t force people to believe me. So—” pausing for a second, you watched as two koi fought over the piece of bread— “whatever, right?”

Jungkook plucked a piece of the bread off, but instead of throwing it to the fish, he plopped it into his mouth, chewing in contemplation. “You were always the best player,” he mumbled through the mouthful. Plucking off another piece, he waved it in your direction, gesturing to you. “They can’t take that away.”

Maybe it was the sentiment or maybe it was how he’d begun to eat the bread he brought solely to feed the fish, but you couldn’t help but fight off a smile. Because when times were like this, you felt fine; you felt . . . almost good, but when you were out there neck-and-neck, trying to hit the birdie again and again, you felt . . . off.

It made you realize that one: badminton didn’t feel like it used to and two: you weren’t entirely sure that the accusation itself was the reason behind your anger. Because maybe it was easier to be angry or sad. It always had been. 

But as you ripped off another piece of bread to throw to the fish, it hit you. You weren’t exactly hard to figure out you’d like to think, so really, put two and two together and you get one burnt-out badminton player looking for an excuse to quit.

Fuck.

It really was that, wasn’t it?

You didn’t want it to be. You didn’t want to believe it either because badminton was your life. There was no without. Like a hook in an eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. You couldn’t escape it. 

But now . . . after years and years of trying to get back to that same person you were before the accident, you’d ignored just how draining it had begun to feel to practice and practice and try and try and . . . try. You mistook it for physical fatigue; for healing from your injury. You didn’t once think that your disinterest may have been because you had grown further and further apart from a racket in your hand and the sound of the court squeaking under your shoes. And when that reporter asked you if you’d cheated to get back in the game . . . you’d taken that chance to run away; to ruin it for yourself once more . . . and this time not for the sake of self-sabotage but perhaps . . . conservation.

So you began to ask yourself the same question that had been haunting you for a while now: how well did badminton still fit into you? You’d thought about it last night. You thought about it a million times before, refusing to acknowledge it, and now . . .

Then you found yourself turning to Jungkook. “What—” you sucked in a quick breath— “What made you want to play badminton? . . . In the beginning . . . “

Setting the bread aside, he leaned forward, resting his forearm against the lower part of the railing. “I’m not really sure,” he mumbled as he rested his cheek against his forearm. “It was just . . . easy for me. I liked being good at things.”

“But . . . “ (you had begun to toy with the bread instead of tossing it to the fish) “ . . . why did you love it?”

A few beats of silence.

Beat.

Beat.

Beat.

Then, Jungkook spoke: “The people, I think,” he finally said in a calm, collected tone, adding in a shrug at the end of his sentence. “I never really cared about being someone special; I just when I played, I always played with friends. It was fun. I think when I look back on it, it wasn’t badminton that I loved, it was the people. My friends . . . coaches . . . “ his eyes flashed to meet yours, “. . . you.” And he maintained eye contact. “It was the only time I ever felt happy, and when I grew up . . . when badminton felt more like a game of loss . . . it lost its magic. I wasn’t a kid anymore. Everyone had grown up and I was still there, on that court. . . . It wasn’t fun anymore . . . “

Oh.

Because, truly, you’d felt the same. Well . . . perhaps a tad different. Badminton had been fun for you because you always won. It was the only time you felt . . . special, good . . . worth . . . something. And when you lost it all, you felt like nothing upon nothing upon shit. So when you finally gained it all back, it was almost as if with each win, that magic Jungkook spoke up washed away bit by bit. Winning wasn’t fun anymore; it was being with him that made it worth . . . something.

But could winning itself ever have the same effect as it did years ago? Would you ever crave it so violently again?

“Do you think it could ever be fun again?” you voiced your thoughts aloud, hesitant as if admitting this aloud was some kind of sin.

“Maybe,” Jungkook muttered with another shrug. His attention was drawn on the fish now, his round, brown eyes following them as they swam to and fro. “But—” he breathed in heavily— “if I had it my way . . . I’d go back home and help run my parents’ shop.” There was that smile creeping up on his face again at the mention of home. “And if I really had it my way, I’d be thirteen again and I’d never grow up. I’d be small and happy and I’d never have to leave home again. That is what I truly want; to be that kid again . . . but for right now . . . I think I’d settle with just going home, knowing my mom’s special dish is waiting for me.”

Home.

He spoke of it so fondly, and you began to wonder if you’d ever loved it as much as he did. Now, you knew you did. Your parents were good, kind people. They were good parents. You loved them, missed them, but home had never been something that you’d acknowledged if that made any sense. You were just always looking forward to the future and who you’d become. You supposed you never stopped to take in the lines drawn onto the bathroom wall labeling your height year after year. You supposed you never stopped to catch sight of the way your mom would shave off the skin of the apple because she knew you didn’t like getting it in your teeth. You supposed you never thought of home as home because you always knew it’d be there, and now . . . now it was far far away and you were so so small, no longer great and big, and looking forward to the future. 

It made you wonder if this feeling deep inside you had something to do with missing this home Jungkook spoke of. And then you began to agree that, yes, yes you would very much like to be small again, coming home from badminton practice to the smell of your mother’s cooking and your father’s tunes playing on the CD player.

Perhaps . . . perhaps you wished you were little again, too. And perhaps you wished you could start over, this time with badminton as more of a love than a state of survival . . . and maybe then you’d know more of this . . . home.

“Kook . . . “ you began, eyes darting from fish to fish as your thoughts raced, “if I admit something . . . do you promise not to judge?”

Jungkook hummed moments before he reached out to tuck your hair behind your ear. “What’s on your mind, hmm?” he mused, nudging you with his elbow as if telling you to go on.

Another few beats of silence. (It was odd how it kept lurking over your shoulder like a vice.)

And then: wetting your lips, you swallowed the weird feeling in your throat, finding it hard to get these words out for some reason. And then . . . when you were sure the silence had begun to eat at your flesh, you opened your mouth to voice your thoughts. “What if . . . what if I don’t love badminton anymore?” you mumbled, your voice nearly inaudible as you heard your words echo in your head again and again. But just like Pandora’s box, once they were spoken, you couldn’t shove them back down. Your words just kept flowing. “I mean . . . I’m—I’m twenty-five years old. All I’ve ever known is badminton. I ruined my life for it. I wasted three years trying to get it back and . . . and . . . and what if I did it for nothing? I wasted my entire life trying to be the best at something that I don’t even like anymore. What am I supposed to do if—if I don’t want it anymore?”

There.

Right there.

There was the truth you’d been hiding from for so long, and it was laid out in front of you, staring back at you.

What if you had wasted your entire life trying to be the best at something you didn’t even like anymore?

It wasn’t even like you wanted an answer from him either. You just needed to say it. You just needed to admit that perhaps you and Jungkook were more similar than either of you had ever thought. 

And did that . . . did that give you relief? To be understood in this way?

“I just—“ you blurted out, still trapped inside your head— “It’s like you said. I just . . . maybe I just want to go home. I don’t . . . I don’t want to go to the Olympics or—or anything. I don’t want to be who I was. I just . . . I don’t know if I care to be . . . that anymore.”

A beat of—wait—no, unlike you thought, no silence entered your space. No, instead, Jungkook didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, baby—” he sighed, his voice like honey moments before you felt a warm hand cup your cheek— “you haven’t changed one bit either. Don’t you know? Violet, roses are red, not blue.” Your eyes met. His filled with understanding, while yours stained in shock. And then . . . then he tapped his thumb against the corner of your mouth, and offered up a small smile. “Where’s your smile? Hmm?”

Instantly, you sucked in a sharp breath as your eyes fluttered ever so slightly, taken off guard by his words. You wet your lips, trying to form any kind of sentence, but nothing ever came. Until you realized something . . . this feeling . . . it wasn’t something you were used to . . . but it was something you’d heard of . . . and it was . . . soft.

You’d never held something like that. You’d never owned something like that either. You’d never been it. You’d always just been machine parts and badminton plays. Strategies upon strategies. Always thinking and thinking and thinking and never just . . . being . . . feeling . . .

Until . . . 

. . . until him.

And you had no idea how to handle that.

“I’m so scared,” you heard yourself whisper before you realized it was you who was speaking.

Jungkook furrowed his brows as his eyes trailed across your face before he wiped his thumb across your cheek, then dropped his hand to yours. Only then did you realize you had been crying. Not sobbing or anything close, but a few tears had slipped past, and there he was again wiping them away like it was normal; like it was OK.

“Why are you scared?” he questioned softly as he squeezed your hand.

“Because,” you muttered out with a confused shrug. Hell, you didn’t even really know. You just knew . . . you just knew that: “I’m only still here . . . on this team . . . because of you. I think . . . I think what I like about badminton is . . . you. You’ve made it worth something when it’d lost all meaning to me. And . . . and . . . I think what scares me the most is that . . . is that you’ve made me . . . soft . . . and I can’t tell if I hate that or if I . . . if I’m grateful.” Quickly, you wet your chapped lips. “I’ve had good things in my life. I’ve had success and victory and fame . . . but it all felt like it came with a price. You know? Win a competition and you feel great but what about the next one? It was always just a constant race . . . but being around you . . . it doesn’t feel like I have to win anything. I feel softer and—and it doesn’t even come with a catch. It’s free.” Your eyes searched his. “Am I even allowed to have something like that when I should be obsessing over winning this championship?”

Jungkook leaned closer, taking your hand into both of his as he held it close to his chest similar to how you’d hold a teddy when you were a child. And then . . . he spoke, and you couldn’t believe your ears, wondering if this was the same man you knew when you were young. “Have all of me,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours as if he wanted you to know he meant this within his soul. “Take my bones and build yourself a home. They’re worn, sure, but I like to think they’re pretty sturdy . . . so . . . take them.” His eyes searched yours deeper. “Take all of me if you have to. Take all of me . . . ”

Blinking slowly, you shot him a look, a small, shocked smile creeping onto your face as you let a sliver of a laugh out before you knew it. “That’s disgusting,” you scolded him, shaking your head at his words, but you couldn’t help but find some sentiment in them. Maybe it was the morbidity to you, but no one had ever said such things to you . . . and you found yourself holding these words close to your chest just as Jungkook held your hand close to his.

He smiled back, too. “Good. I knew it’d make you laugh,” he murmured softly, and you knew this, too. It was him after all. He’d do anything to get a laugh out of you, and you began to realize that it had always been that way. (Perhaps you should’ve spent your childhood laughing more than scowling at him.) But it seemed he didn’t mind as he began to rub his thumb back and forth against your knuckles, his smile slowly fading into a solemn expression. And then: “You asked me to haunt you, but you’re the one who haunts me.”

You swallowed hard.

You’re the one who haunts me.

Oh . . . 

And then you began to wonder: was Jimin right? He loved you, he had told you. And suddenly, you realized that if this were still true . . . it didn’t bother you. You’d accept it even. But what did that mean for you?

You swallowed hard once again.

“You said I make you feel real again,” he continued on, making you forget your own thoughts as you watched his head tilt to the side in thought, ever so slightly. “I’ve thought about it. I don’t want to haunt you. I don’t want to poison your softness. I want to make you keep feeling real and soft and . . . you. And . . . and well . . . you make me want to be real again. You–you make me want to be a person, to be something, to make something of the person I am. I don’t want to end up like your King Weir—”

“Lear,” you felt yourself whisper so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. All you could do was stare at him and stare and stare and . . . 

“I don’t want to be him,” Jungkook restated. A small pause followed as those warm brown eyes you’d come to be fond of searched yours like you were the only two people left on the planet. “I don’t want to be nothing . . . and you’ve reminded me of that.” Wetting his lips, he reached for your other hand, now holding both your hands in his, his thumbs running across your knuckles.  “So I was wondering—” he maintained eye contact, while he gave a quick squeeze to your hands— “if maybe instead . . . well . . . I want you to help me live . . . no haunting necessary.”

I want you to help me live.

It echoed in your ears.

I want you to help me live.

I want you to help me live.

I want you to—

Did he know that he’d given you a whole new reason to keep living? Did he know that when you thought of him, you realized you had another reason to live? Didn’t he realize that it was him? That caring for him had made you a better person?

But Jungkook took your silence as a sign of rejection, so before you could slap yourself up the side of the head, he nearly retreated, quickly muttering out an apology for being . . . weird. Only, this was now and not then, and you were you, and well, you quickly reached for his hands, pulling them into your lap. His eyes followed your movements, clearly taken off guard, but you didn’t let him dwell on it too long.

“How about—” you began, running your thumb across the tattoos dotting his fingers— “let’s take care of each other?”

Jungkook blinked once. Then twice. Then . . . then his brows twitched in longing? Understanding? Or . . . oh what was that word?

Whatever.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was his answer. And you already knew it before you’d spoken those words. 

OK, he nodded. 

OK, he smiled. 

OK, your eyes seemed to glisten back.

OK.

There was a time in your life, where every night you’d have the same nightmare. Over and over again, you’d be trapped in this room with no windows, no doors, just darkness. And in the middle of the room would be you, or rather a version of you, strapped to a chair, with flames slowly licking up your legs, scorching your skin. But you wouldn’t feel any pain, because it wasn’t actually you. Sure, it looked like you, but . . . you were on the other side of the room, watching with wide eyes as you heard yourself scream and beg to be released from the shackles. 

The flames wouldn’t touch you there. They were around, yes. They were burning holes into your clothes, yes, but you couldn’t feel it. All you could do was sit and watch as this variant of yourself burned alive right before your eyes.

And as if watching yourself be scorched alive wasn’t bad enough, there would be this point in the dream where you, no, she, no . . . it . . . would speak to you. Through the flames, it would hiss and whisper that it was your fault. 

It was your fault, and you’d know what it meant. 

But, No! you’d scream back. Because, no, no, no, this couldn’t be your fault. You couldn’t have been the one to ruin yourself. That would just be so, so, so . . . well . . . it would be too much.

(You knew now that it was just one big accident. Sure, trying not to blame yourself for it now was hard, but you’d learned in the past few months. It hadn’t been your fault. It hadn’t been his either.)

But back then . . . back then the incident loomed over your shoulder like a ghost.

You were getting ahead of yourself again, but . . . but the dream, no . . . the nightmare always started and ended the same. You stuck in a burning room, left to watch yourself burn and burn and burn as you, she, it, whatever (!) screamed and screamed, its voice growing louder with each, it was your fault!

And with the last shift of blame, the fire would finally set in. The red, hot flames that had left blisters and boils on your skin would begin to itch, then sting, and then consume you until all you felt was pain, pain, pain.

Then it would be your screams which filled the room.

Only when the pain would begin to shift, your back ripping with agony as this pair of . . . wings (?) split from the wounds, would you think you’d been saved. Because just as those wings had appeared, on the other side of the room, so had a door. And perhaps, perhaps then you could escape the burning room; fly out of there and save yourself. 

That was always your first thought: survive, and you would always head for the door without a second thought. It was only when you’d hear the other you’s screams that this immense amount of guilt would hit you, because there you were, able to save yourself but not without leaving a piece of you behind to burn to ash. 

. . . You never turned around to give yourself one last glance either. Instead, you always counted to three before you stepped off from the ledge, trusting that what was behind the bright light coming from the door would surely save you. And every time as you realized you were falling and falling, the heat would leave your senses and all you’d be able to feel was wind in your hair and the smell of salt water. You were no longer in the burning room. You were free.

With the opening of your eyes, you would be in the sky, your wings carrying you. And for a moment, you would believe that you truly were free; free from the incident, free from your guilt, free from everything.

Until the wind no longer felt refreshing and the vague smell of burning wood could be sensed; until you finally glanced back at what you had left behind, only to realize the wings you had been gifted were not made of feathers and bone at all, but rather wax, and under the Sun’s embrace . . . they had begun to melt . . . 

You’d spare yourself the details of stating what happened next, but the story was simple. Think Icarus. Just like Icarus, every time, your wings would melt and you’d hit the sea below you, shortly drowning but never dying. No, every time you’d get a bit closer to death . . . but you’d wake up just before you succumbed to it.

And every time you’d wake in a fright, sweat coating your body as you panted and panted, trying to figure out if you could still feel the fire on your skin or the water in your lungs. And every time you’d wake wondering if that was why you craved the fire so viscerally; if that was why you felt like you were drowning from time to time.

But . . . that dream, that nightmare . . . well . . . you hadn’t had it for a couple weeks or maybe months (?) now. It used to be something that you just considered part of your routine; something that you just had to deal with. But ever since you and Jungkook had begun this little thing you guys had going on where you’d sleep next to each other almost every night, you hadn’t been having any dreams. 

You didn’t quite understand it. You just knew that the nightmares had stopped . . . and maybe you had him to thank for that (just a little bit).

Slowly, you brought yourself out of your mind, planting yourself in reality once again as you were reminded that you and Jungkook had gone back to his hotel room after you got in a few hours practice after well . . . after your little . . . mishap. You’d showered and washed your hair, brushed your teeth, and blah blah blah. You were already tucked into bed, waiting for Jungkook to finish up brushing his teeth so the two of you could watch something to fall asleep to. (He was slow . . . of course (brushing his teeth while listening to a playlist at max volume)). And you, you were beginning to doze off, lost in your mind as you thought of the peaceful sleep you had awaiting you (partially thanks to him yeah (!) you knew . . . whatever).

Still, you couldn’t help but roll over in bed, your eyes quickly catching a glimpse of him in the mirror just outside the bathroom. And well, you couldn’t help but laugh just a little as you watched him dance to the music playing from his phone, haphazardly brushing his teeth along to the beat. (You couldn’t wait until he hopped into bed next to you and you could finally get close enough to feel his heartbeat against your cheek (not that you would admit that out loud. . . right?)).

“I can see your asscrack,” you called out across the room, laughing slightly because duh you were lying but you couldn’t help but tease him. (Plus . . . maybe a part of you missed him being beside you (you wanted him to hurry up, could you blame yourself?!).)

“Nuh-uh—” he gurgled out through the copious amount of toothpaste in his mouth— “not falling for that again. You’re full of shit.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, falling back against the bed, the back of your head now laying in the center of the pillow. One, two, three, you counted the swirls in the ceiling. It was literally like watching paint dry having to entertain yourself until he was done. It was an odd thing, wasn’t it? Liking someone’s company that much?

God . . . what had you turned into?

“Do you sleep with your eyes open?” you heard Jungkook ask from beside you just as the bed dipped and he crawled under the covers, no shirt and only in his boxers (as usual).

Ignoring the pitter-patter of your heart, you turned to face him, your eyes immediately trailing across his features. “You tell me,” you hummed, quickly rolling onto your side so your entire body was facing him.

“Probably,” he mumbled as he settled into the bed, propping up the pillow to support his head. “Dunno though. I try not to look at you too much.”

Your jaw dropped. Then a scoff. And you didn’t waste any time, reaching forward to twist his nipple . . . hard.

Instantly, he caved in on himself, clutching his chest as he whined, “Ow. Not cool, baby.”

You threatened to do it again, your hand outstretched.

But he waved a metaphorical white flag in surrender. “OK. OK. I’m kidding. I’m kidding,” he all but begged, twisting away from you.

Falling back against the bed once again, you avoided his eyes. “That’s what I thought,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you faked your displeasure with him. 

Jungkook only found this amusing, soothing a hand over his chest before he shifted closer to you, his tattooed arm thrown over your waist as he pulled you into him. It took him no time to bury his face into the crook of your neck, nuzzling his nose just under your sweet spot. “Mmm, don’t be mad,” he mumbled against your skin, slowly kissing his way up to your ear. “You really are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” A kiss to your cheek. Then a squeeze to your side as he brought you closer and closer and closer until you were sure the two of you were intertwined. “You always have been, you know?”

Slowly, as confusion and shock twisted onto your features, you turned your head so you were nose to nose. “Don’t be silly,” you whispered as one of your hands found its way into his long hair. “I know you were kidding, you don’t have to overkill it.”

Listen, listen, listen . . . you knew you weren’t god awful, but every girl feels like they’re not good enough. It’s built into us, so sometimes it comes as a shock when someone is so . . . so forward. It wasn’t like people just went around saying ‘oh, you’re the prettiest girl ever duh!’ like duh! Obviously! So . . . 

But Jungkook always managed to surprise you. Always.

And just as you were about to close your eyes, thinking this was over and the two of you were going to actually get some sleep, he surprised you once more. “You know . . . “ he began, his voice low and quiet, almost as if he were fighting with himself to say his next words . . . “I spent the entirety of the sixth grade learning every flower I could just so I’d have something to tease you about,.”

“What?” you all but snorted as you threw your leg over his hip. “That’s insane.”

“Well, I had to get your attention somehow,” he mused, while his hand had begun to trace letters or random doodles on your back.

Scrunching your brows together, you asked, “What are you talking about?”

“You’re so dense. Pretty, but—” he tapped a finger to your forehead— “hollow.”

Instantly, you shot him a look. “You wanna talk?”

He only laughed.

A beat of warm silence. You traced his bottom lip with your thumb, toying with the piercing. He nipped at your thumb. Another beat. He pressed a kiss to your thumb. One more beat, then . . . 

“I had a crush on you, idiot,” he confessed against your thumb in the dead of night.

This time you actually did snort, moving your thumb to rest on his chin. “What? I was all braces and forehead acne,” you went on, remembering who you were and how you were and all the little things that you wished had been different about yourself back then. “A crush, JK? Be serious.”

“Hey, hey, I’m not a liar,” he quickly rushed over, humorously defending his honor. “I had a crush on you. Seriously. Why do you think I tried to impress you all the time.”

Your smile nearly faded. (And Jimin’s words revisited you (you pushed them away).)

He wasn’t kidding.

But . . . 

“Impress me? You spent our entire childhood showing off how much better you were at everything than I was,” you said, confusion and everything in between laced in your words. Because, truly, what? “That was like our . . . thing as much as it disgusts me to admit.”

His brows raised ever so slightly. “What?”

Oh no.

No, he wasn’t kidding. He actually did have a crush on you. But that meant . . . that meant the whole reason you had hated him growing up was over . . . nothing. He had never meant to start anything. He was just . . . he was trying to impress you and not . . . one-up you. 

He wanted you to like him back . . .

So then you had—oh, no!

“Wait,” you cut your own thoughts off with a gasp. “Oh my fucking god, are you serious? Kook, I thought you were just trying to be an asshole.”

Jungkook pulled back. “No, what the—” his words died on his tongue as it all dawned on him. “Is that why you thought I hated you?”

“Yes! Obviously!”

“Oh, shit . . . “

And then . . . as if this couldn’t get any more on-brand for the two of you, Jungkook had begun to laugh. Quietly at first, then his hand was slapping against his face as he cackled, his shoulders even so much as shaking. He was full-on laughing. Laughing.

“Why are you laughing?” you exclaimed, squeezing his shoulder

“Because! You hated my guts for like fifteen years and it’s all because you took my sixth-grade flirting as an insult!” he bursted out through small laughs. “You—” he embraced you, his hand cupping your cheek as his eyes searched yours— “are something else.”

“Well . . . it’s technically your fault,” you responded with a quick click of your tongue.

His brows twitched upward. “Oh, is it technically my fault?” he asked while trying to fight the half-grin tipping onto his lips.

“Obviously.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, thinking for only a second before: “At least you’re pretty.”

In response, your mouth fell open slightly. “I will bite the tip of your penis off.”

“Mmm, kinky,” he remarked as he nudged your nose with his.

Scrunching your nose, you tsked, “Ew.”

“Come on, baby,” Jungkook mockingly whined, pouting as much as he possibly could. “No cold shoulder. Gives me the chills.��

But you were having too much fun with this to give it up now. “You had a crush on me,” you all but gagged as you turned your nose up (once again ignoring Jimin’s words . . . ). “Disgusting.”

“Is it?” he questioned in amusement, moments before his lips were on your exposed jaw.

“Mmm.”

Jungkook gently bit your cheek. “I think you’re the one with the crush,” he mused, his lips trailing down to your neck again, this time hovering just over your sweet spot.

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, trying your absolute hardest not to show how affected you were by just his lips grazing your skin. But one gentle kiss to your sweet spot, and you could feel your heart skyrocket to your throat as you all but choked in a breath. It was just that . . . he had this effect on you. (Fuck, did he ever . . . )

“Begging now, are you?” he remarked before leaving another kiss here and then there and the oh, you guessed it, just on the corner of your mouth but not on your lips, of course.

And all you could do was admit you were weak when it came to him, and just give in. Which was, of course, what you did as a soft groan escaped your lips and you turned your head to face him once again. “Would you get over your ego and kiss me?” you deadpanned, all but pouting at him.

That almost got him immediately. His eyes flicked to your lips, then your eyes, then to your lips once again before one of those cocky grins plastered across his face. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, his voice like silk.

That was the last response you received before his lips grazed yours. Gentle at first was his touch, like a feather on skin, but as he nudged your nose with his, he finally closed the space between you two, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as you nipped at his bottom lip. A grin tipped onto his face before he dipped in for more, running his tongue along the crease of your lips. You complied quickly, hands tangling in his long, dark hair as you pulled him closer and melded his tongue with yours. He inhaled sharply through his nose as his grip tightened on you instantly, his hand sliding up your thigh, squeezing your hip before it snuck under the hem of your shirt (or rather his old college badminton tee that he had grown out of by now (which meant it was yours by default . . . duh).

A soft mix between a gasp and a quiet moan escaped your lips when you felt the coolness of his hand graze the swell of your breast, palming it. He grinned into the kiss, circling his thumb around your nipple, knowing damn well that it would get to you and have your skin blazing in seconds. 

That was just the thing—he knew how your body worked. More . . . he knew how you worked and perhaps that was why he had figured out how to pleasure you.

Still, you tugged on his hair in annoyance, huffing slightly and pouting perhaps just a tad, which you knew he found endearing. That was the thing, too . . . you knew how he worked as well. He snickered against your lips, proving your thoughts to yourself just moments before he pulled you closer and began sucking on your bottom lip as his thumb pressed down on your puckered nipple, tweaking the bud. You hummed softly in response, grinding your underwear-clothed core against his muscular thigh.

He stilled under your touch for a mere second before his hands gripped your waist as he pulled you down onto his thigh, moving with you while you grinded against him. “Making a mess, pretty girl,” he murmured against your lips as he moved to lightly kiss your neck. His hand was at your shirt again in an instant, fisting it and pulling it up over your breasts.

“You’re such a guy,” you nearly moaned out, your hands now on his shoulders as his head dipped to your breasts, catching a nipple in his mouth all the while he flexed his thigh against your core. He didn’t stop there either. He softly hummed against your skin as he released your nipple long enough to kiss it just moments before taking it into his mouth again, swirling his tongue around the bud and sucking hard. And you couldn't help it, you jerked against him, throwing your head into the pillow as a loud moan sounded from the back of your throat.

“So you agree—” he mumbled as he still flicked his tongue over and over again over the abused bud— “you like that about me?”

Before you could even answer, his hand had gone from your waist and now tangled in your hair, holding the back of your neck. That was moments before his lips detached from your puckered bud and reattached to your lips. His other hand worked quickly, too, as he slid his thigh out from underneath you and swung your leg over his hip, his hardened length now pressed against your aching core.

“Maybe I do a little,” you whispered with a small grin playing on your puffy lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer.

He grinned back. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured back, kissing you quickly before you could respond.

And his comment was long forgotten as he grinded his bulge into your heat, stimulating both you and him. It was intoxicating. No, he . . . he was.

He was so intoxicating, you couldn’t help but whine out, “Take them off, please.” Your fingers were at his boxers, tracing the elastic band as you all but whimpered against his lips. You just wanted him, him, him. All of him.

“Eager?” he mused as his thumb dug into your hip. (You knew this was eating at him just as much as it was eating at you. It always did.)

“Please, Kookie. Can’t take it,” you whined further, all but straight-up riding him to scratch the ache inside you. “Need it so bad. Killin’ me.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, and he didn’t waste another second either. “Love you like this.” His own whines filled the air as the two of you struggled to tear off his boxers, your underwear quickly following after as both the undergarments eventually became lost under the covers. But neither of you cared.

It was a quick descent after that. You couldn’t help but grind your core over his hard length, the sound of your wet arousal evident even over the hum of the air conditioner. The two of you never did this. You’d always done foreplay after foreplay after foreplay, finding it thrilling to tease each other, but right now . . . right now all you wanted was him inside you. You wanted him as close as possible, and it seemed he wanted the same, the both of you unable to think or do anything other than grind against each other. 

Only then when you couldn’t take the throb between your legs anymore did he press a single kiss to the corner of your mouth before you felt him slowly enter you, inch by inch sinking into your cunt. Your eyes fluttered closed as your mouth parted and your head tilted back while you basked in the fullness which came along with his cock sliding snugly against your tight walls. Your breath hitched in your throat just as you felt him bottom out, your core taking him all the way until the hilt.

The next second, you were wrapping your legs around him, locking them together in an attempt to get him even deeper. Your eyes fluttered open next, meeting his gaze instantly as he stared down at you with his brows pinched in pleasure and those big, round eyes of his blown out . . . but was this lust that he gazed at you with? His gaze appeared different, almost warmer, almost softer, almost too soft to touch . . . to have . . . to hold. He looked too pretty like this. Definitely too pretty for you to handle.

It didn’t help when the following words out of his mouth were: "You're always so fucking tight.”

And then he began to move, not breaking eye contact once. No, his eyes watched yours as his cock pumped in and out of your wet heat. His breath hit your face, and you could almost feel his heartbeat against your chest, syncing with yours as the two of you stared into what you could only describe as each other’s souls.

It was odd, too, because while whatever this feeling was blooming in your chest scared you, you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t turn from him. You just wanted him, him, him. Always him. You feared that if you did turn away, when you glanced back he wouldn’t be there anymore. And that perhaps scared you more than anything: losing him.

But there he was. He was always right there . . . 

Almost as if he could hear your thoughts, his grasp on you tightened, his cock sinking deliciously deeper if it were even possible. The pressure in your lower stomach was becoming too much as it bloomed and bloomed, twisting and turning in a pleasurable ache. You bit your bottom lip, turning your head to the side as your breathing became more uneven by the second, but not once did you dare look away. No, you watched each and every twitch of his brow, every shaky breath, every flutter of his eyelashes, and you relished in it, soaking it all in. 

It became clear to you that you couldn’t look away even if you tried.

And it seemed neither could he . . . 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you rasped out, trying to swallow your spit.

Jungkook nudged your nose with his. "Like what?"

You swallowed, this time harder (Jimin’s words revisited you once again). “I can’t say . . . “

His brows twitched this time. “How could I not?”

How could I not? And you knew what he meant, just as he had known what was playing on your mind. How could I not?

And then he was kissing you again, taking you by utter surprise. Sure, the two of you had had sex over and over again and each time felt a little different from the other, but this . . . this was like the beginning yet the present all at once. It was like you could feel all of him in just this kiss; like you could see his past and he could see yours and neither of you had thought about running once. 

It was soft. So was his hand as he brushed through your hair as he kissed you, tracing your hairline, your cheek, your jaw, then your neck as if he were trying to map out your features. 

(You couldn’t help but melt under his touch.)

Why was his kiss always the softest thing you had ever known?

Then . . . amidst your soft moans and carnal sounds, he pulled back, his eyes finding yours again. He glanced between the two of you where your bodies met, brows rising in marvel as he released a small sigh before rolling his hips against yours again and again. And then . . . then, he grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers together as his gaze met yours once again and he whispered so quietly, almost too quiet you wouldn’t have heard it if you hadn’t been so close, “I don’t even know where you end and I begin.”

And you knew instantly he didn’t just mean where your body met his. No, this was deeper, and you realized he could feel that this time was different, too.

Swallowing hard, you fluttered your eyes in almost a state of shock as you stayed silent. But you didn’t need to speak. No, you took his words, and you held them close, and then you were holding him. Take my bones and build yourself a home, he’d told you, but no, no, you wouldn’t put him through that. He could take yours. He could take all of you. You would give yourself to him.

Fuck, you would give all of yourself to him. Only him. Him, him, him.

“Wanna see your face, baby,” he murmured as he brushed your hair out of your flushed face. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. My pretty girl.”

And you knew that was it.

With one final kiss, you let him know all this, allowing him to take the lead once more. Everything pulsed as he picked up a sensual pace, hitting your sweet spot over and over again as his thumb snuck between your legs, skillfully working against your swollen clit while you chased the coil. It tightened and tightened, rings of pleasure hissing in your ears. His thumb quickened its pace, and then the coil snapped, your release crashing over you. All you could do was surrender to it, tilting your head back into the pillow as your hips raised while your hands squeezed his toned arms. All the while, Jungkook continued the long drags of his cock against your walls, dragging out your orgasm for as long as he could.

“Wanna stay like this,” he confessed, his thrusts growing slower and slower, unsteadier and unsteadier as he nearly whimpered into your neck. “Love this so fuckin’ much. Being with you—fuck. You make me feel so good, baby. So good.”

“I’d let you,” you mumbled against the shell of his ear, your voice a little too hoarse as you were still coming down from your high. “I’d let you do . . . all the time . . . I want—” you were delirious at this point and you knew it, too— “Want you always.”

Your words barely even registered in your brain as pleasure and that blooming feeling in your chest consumed you. It wasn’t long before you found yourself lifting his head so your lips could slot against his. And he graciously accepted your offer, consuming you just as the feeling had done.

The two of you wasted no time in escalating from gentle kissing, allowing you to further calm down from your high before your cunt was throbbing once more. And . . . before his cock had begun to feel too fucking hard inside you, nearly twitching for release as it begged for your addictive touch. 

You let yourself get wrapped up in him for a little longer, too, never wanting to stop. Your hands were on him again as you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled. This time a loud, deep groan came from his lips, and you knew you had him. He gave another groan of submission when you tugged again, his thrusts barely cohesive now. He was close, and you reveled in this, wishing to bring him to ecstasy. With that thought on your mind, you devilishly reached over his muscular ass, fingers quickly finding his perineum and pressing into it, massaging the sensitive spot.

He was sheathed deeper inside you before either of you could breathe, the two of you too wrapped up in each other to move positions. You just wanted to feel each other again and again and again, because for some reason . . . this time was different.

Different and yet all the same. That was how it had always been with Jungkook.

And you couldn’t quite put a word to the feeling, until . . . 

“Will you cum inside me?” you whispered, your voice hoarse as you omitted a soft moan under your breath. “Please. I need more.” Swallowing hard, you finally met his gaze, and instantly, you couldn’t look away. There was just . . . something . . . there. “I need you.” Your brows furrowed as you soaked in your own words while you searched his eyes. 

Slowly, with another roll of his hips, he sank lower, his abdomen grazing against yours so he could be close enough to brush his lips with yours but not that close to kiss you. But you . . . you couldn’t be without his touch, and found yourself tilting your head to press your lips against his, finally finding that something you had been searching for in his eyes. 

And then . . . then it hit you.

“I need you,” you heard yourself whisper before you knew the words had left your mouth. “I need you, Koo.”

I need you, you’d whispered, and you began to realize . . . you knew what you felt for him wasn’t what you’d feel for a friend. Because you did need him . . . in more ways than you’d like to admit.

And that scared the shit out of you.

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#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook #jungkook au #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario #jeon jungkook #bts #bts au #bts smut #jungkook series #bts fic #bts x reader #kpop #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jeon jungkook x y/n #bts jungkook

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

very gentle reminder that mental health bloggers aren't your therapists. 

there are so many helpful people & resources on this site and I encourage you to use that. read our posts, ask questions, submit asks (just read the guidelines first). we post this stuff to be helpful! but at the end of the day most of us are not professionals, we probably don't know you personally, and we get overwhelmed too. 

use mental health tumblr as the resource it is, bc it is an enormously valuable resource! my goodness i have learned so much on here. but don't use it as a replacement for professional help, especially in emergencies. it's not fair to us or to you. (there are very very few situations where a tumblr blogger should be your go-to in a personal crisis. i cannot overemphasize how unhealthy and dangerous that trend is for all parties involved. please call a crisis hotline first.)

If you are struggling in any way, I highly encourage you to speak to someone qualified. I am asking people to share links to resources in the notes (online therapy resources, counselling hotlines & chat services, and especially any helpful lists that have already been compiled.)

#not a shitpost #serious post #mental health #a common experience for me as a popular blogger who talks about mental health #is that i will occasionally get contacted by someone I don't really know who is panicked and overwhelmed #and not knowing who else to turn to decides to use my inbox or DMs to overshare really personal and stressful information #that most of the time I'm not qualified to help with #it's not the only reason i rarely read my messages anymore (executive dysfunction and targetted harassment being big reasons themselves) #but there have been some traumatic and stressful incidents that cemented that decision #please know that i am real and sincere in my desire that everyone in this little community we've built #will experience recovery and will recieve the support and resources they need to do so #but the job I have chosen to myself is to promote weird positivity & make people laugh #and yes to encourage people to take the next step and seek help. be it through therapy or medication management or a help program etc #i really really encourage that! #but please know i am not the person you need to be talking to about that #i can point you in the right direction with my blog content #but i'm not a professional and i am also in the middle of my own recovery #it means...holy shit i cannot emphasize how much it means to recieve comments along the lines of #'your content helped me/encouraged me to make changes/helped me realize i have this disorder/made me feel less alone' #i love those messages and I show a lot of them to my mom and save them in a little folder i can look at when i need positivity #thank you so much for those! #and also the messages along the lines of 'i'm going through some shit right now but you made me smile on a shitty day' #i love those bc i have had many dark days of my own & i remember my gratitude and love for the things that added bright spots to dark times #the majority of the messages & comments you guys send are lovely! #but please know I'm not in the position where i can offer advice about specific situations #and yes i wish i had the time and energy to offer individual comfort and conversation to anyone who needs it #but i don't. so i am focusing on what i CAN do. #which is i think to build an online space that feels safe and funny and weird and inclusive #and to sprinkle in liberal helpings of things i wish i had known earlier in regards to mental health and wellness #long post

[rpmemesbyarat]

Hello Tumblr people. I’m 31 years old and I’ve been on Tumblr since 2014. That’s not really old, and that’s not really a long time, but I know it’s older and longer than a lot of other folks. Tumblr is a space mainly populated by teens and twenties, and I know when I was in that age group, I thought 31 was a Real Adult (TM) Which, shit, it’s not, it’s really not, especially not for me, but nonetheless, I have learned some things in my time that I wish I could impart to my younger self, and instead will impart to y’all. Take what you like and what works for you and leave the rest, I’m no expert or guru or authority on anything, I’m just trying to be helpful. Being nice costs nothing. I once was standoffish to someone who came and chatted to me in IMs. That guy later died. True story. I feel terrible about it to this day. I was wary and kind of snotty in those days and I regret that. It’s one thing to be careful about strangers approaching but that wasn’t what I did here. It costs nothing to be nice. It costs nothing to be friendly. To do stuff like show interest in others, care about what they have to say, comment when they share things about their day. These are tiny things that cost nothing but give so much. Don’t pass the opportunity by. And definitely don’t snub someone for no reason. If you don’t want to interact, you don’t have to, but don’t be cold about it unless it’s legitimately because you’re uncomfy with this person and want them to go away. Your safety and comfort do come before any obligation to be nice, but I hope it’s clear that’s not what I’m talking about here. Be a candle that lights other candles. You know what else costs nothing? Encouragement. There’s nothing stopping you from telling others what you like about their content, what they post, what they create, what thoughts they have, the things they say, or just how passionate they are about something. There’s nothing stopping you from saying you hope the best for someone going through a rough time, or how cute their pets are, or how you’re glad they got themselves a treat today. You don’t need to be someone’s therapist ---I know I sure don’t have the emotional energy for that--or have solutions for them, you don’t need to force yourself to say anything insincere or that you don’t have the spoons for, but when you can, say something positive to others. First impressions can be wrong but gut feelings are often right. Like I said, being nice should NEVER trump your own comfort or safety. If you get weird vibes from someone, book it. Sure, you could be wrong. I’ve been wrong about a lot of people. I’ve also been right about others, and should have left when I had the chance before they could prove to me how right I was. Technically, there was nothing stopping me. It was online, after all. I could have just vanished and they’d probably never have tracked me down or made contact again. But I was lonely, and socially awkward, and like many people, most of my human contact was online, and I thought that this was worth it. It’s not. Whatever kind of friendship or therapeutic RP or free art or support or compliments or advice you’re getting from someone online. . . it’s not worth it if they’re mean or creepy too. Whatever you are getting, you can find it somewhere else, in someone else, who won’t make you have to put up with that kind of crap for it. If something feels wrong, don’t wait around for it to get worse. Yes, you may be incorrectly judging a situation and running from nothing, but it’s better you run from nothing than NOT run from SOMETHING. And I know that things like anxiety disorders, trauma, and just different communication styles can make it hard to judge these things (I’ve thought people didn’t like me before just because they were far less effusive in their typing style than I am, and I was wrong) but if you really feel uncomfortable, like this person has said mean or sexual things to you, it’s not just the brain weasels telling you lies. If you’re truly in doubt, get another person’s opinion, but also don’t let them convince you “it’s nothing” if it feels like something. Trust yourself. Creeps, like children, will test your boundaries. Kids will do shit just to see what they can get away and how far they can push you before you put your foot down. Creeps are the same. They’ll start with stuff that you can easily ignore, brush off, and put up with without feeling it’s worth ditching the whole friendship over. But they’ll rarely let it stay there. They’ll typically escalate it if they’re not rebuked. Rebuke them. It can be scary. It can be hard. I know this. I know it firsthand. But feel no sympathy. Feel no fear. Tell them off and pack your bags. They want to know how much you’ll put up with? Show them----nothing at all, that’s what. Don’t be afraid to change your views but don’t feel the need to broadcast it. I’m never getting a personal Tumblr. Because I’m glad they weren’t around when I was a teen. I would have posted things I don’t believe now. Same for when I’m in my 20s. And I bet that will the be the case in my 40s, 50s, and 60s too. Our lives are journeys of changing, learning, and unlearning. And that’s great. But if you post every step of your journey for the world to see, there are those who will use it against you, even if it was stuff from years ago that you should be applauded for growing from, not derided for having ever believed in. Not to mention that what’s the most up-to-date woke terminology and politics changes very rapidly, and what was acceptable when I was a teen is not the preferred lingo now, and it’s likely going to keep changing, and there will be people who find your posts and don’t care about that either. I realize Tumblr gives us a format to metaphorically scream our present beliefs and show how right what you believe is, and the urge to reblog when you see something you agree with wholeheartedly is strong. And if you’ve got a blog that doesn’t easily connect back with you, or you don’t plan to have for the next five years, or whatever, go ahead. But if your blog can be easily connected to you, and therefore could be connected to you again in the future, it wouldn’t hurt to be a bit judicious. I’m not saying “don’t take a stand on anything ever because you might change your mind and/or someone might drag you”, I am saying that in the age of cancel culture and people deep digging for ancient receipts, young people are no longer getting to have their journeys, with all their rooms for fuckups and re-thinkings, that I and those before me got to have, and I think that sucks. By all means, take a stand on what you believe in now, fight for it with all your heart, just also don’t make it too easy for other people to use it against you should you ever change your mind---and don’t be afraid to change your mind either, even when it’s against the grain of what’s presently popular opinion. Find things out for yourself when possible You know how when they taught you things in school about history and America and whatnot and now you’ve found out that there’s so much they DIDN’T tell you, and at least half of what they did is a very edited sack of hooey? Well, the same is true of Tumblr, Facebook, and other online spaces as well as real life. We all laugh at our Boomer parents and grandparents who share clearly false stories on Facebook because they can’t tell that it was clearly crafted to incite their anger or endorsement based on how it’s tailored to validate their beliefs, but I see the same thing happen here. Loads of tale gets touted as “true” on Tumblr because they have been made to appeal to us emotionally by validating our beliefs. But just because our beliefs may be good or progressive or what have you, does not mean that everything that appeals to them is going to be true. When you see a post circulating that claims something really cool about history or such is true, I suggest fact-checking it. This will help halt the spread of misinformation---even if it’s harmless---and help you build your critical thinking and research skills. This does not mean “you must change your views” it means “be skeptical even when something validates your views” People on our own side can lie, and that’s not harmless even if it seems so---contributing to a culture of misinformation is NOT harmless, and we’re less likely to be skeptical of claims that validate what we already believe. Don’t fall for this. That’s all. I hope something in here was valuable to you. If not, thank you for reading and I hope you have a great day!

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 29: Prinxiety/Loceit (pt 4)

Aaaand, part 4, the finale! 

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 29:  You have a telepathic link with your soulmate until the two of you meet.

Content warnings: discussion of conversion therapy/after effects, PTSD, food mentions, anxiety/panic attacks, internalized homophobia, mentions of the foster system/abuse (mental, emotional, neglect, past eating disorder), minor self harm/blood, mentions of dissociating.

Word count: 5.1k

Despite Roman’s claims that being around other people would only distract him, and he didn’t want to have to walk to the library every time he had homework, Patton’s constant pleading eventually broke him down. Now, much to his roommate’s delight, they spent every night in the middle of the study floor in the library, and Roman found that he actually looked forward to it. Sometimes someone he knew would walk by, and give him a valid reason to take a short break, and having other people around somehow motivated him to work harder. He was starting to understand the appeal of the place. 

Now, Patton and him were spending their afternoon there between classes, both working on their own projects and sharing a bag of popcorn twists. It was the only oil soaked snack that didn’t leave much residue on their fingers. Roman was deep in thought, struggling to remember an especially flowery Shakespeare monologue for a mock audition next week, when Patton kicked his leg under the table.

“What, Pat?” He took another moment to finish the sentence before he tore his eyes away from the book, surprised at his roommate’s barely contained excitement. 

“You’ve been humming for half an hour!” 

He hadn’t even noticed. He tended to do it a lot without realizing; humming along to his soulmate’s music. Ever since he’d come back almost a year ago, an occurrence he’d never had explained but held onto with fondness, Roman’s heart jumped every time his music played. It was just like old times, their old system immediately reinstated, and more than once he’d found himself singing along to the melodies in his head. Patton knew this, and could probably tell by the genre whether Roman was listening to his soulmate’s songs, or just had his own earworm.

“No, no, no, I like your humming! That’s not the point!”

“Then what’s the-”

“The guy behind you has his earbuds loud enough to hear!”

Roman strained his ears, and yes, he could barely hear the music coming from behind him. He definitely hadn’t noticed before, too deep in thought to notice something so trivial. But Patton was always on high alert, never able to keep his mind on one thing at a time. 

“Okay, but what does that ha-”

“You’ve been humming the same songs as he’s been listening to for half an hour, Ro! I think he’s your soulmate!”

Roman’s eyes widened and he spun around, effectively dropping his book onto the ground. Yeah, if he concentrated, he could tell that the song in his head was the same as the one just audible through the other’s earbuds.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive!” 

That’s all the convincing Roman needed. He jumped to his feet and rounded the other table so he was face to face with the stranger and knocked on the table a couple times. When he made eye contact, he thought he saw fear in the other’s face, but that couldn’t be right. Roman was not intimidating. The man at the table reached up to pop out one of his earbuds. 

“Hello lovely, I have a question for you,” Roman purred, dropping onto his elbows on the table. 

“I- I don’t-”

Apparently that counted as a meeting, because in that moment, the music in Roman’s head faded into nothingness. And he could tell it wasn’t just the music being paused. He was left with a neutral emptiness he hadn’t felt in a long time, a silence that was rare, and an innate knowledge that it had happened: their link was no longer necessary and had dissipated. Roman grinned wide, barely concealing a squeal. 

“You’re my soulmate!”

He didn’t know what reaction he was expecting, but he sure as hell hadn’t expected the man at the table to get up and sprint out of the building at full speed. 

“Stay here, Ro,” Patton was suddenly at his side, laying a hand on his bicep, “I’ll go after him. I don’t know what just happened but I don’t want it to happen again.”

Patton scooped up the other man’s things from the table and jogged out the library door.

-----

Virgil didn’t know where he was going; he hadn’t planned on running out of the library. Dammit, he hadn’t planned to run into his soulmate. And he knew that was his soulmate, and not just some weird coincidence. Because the moment they’d locked eyes, it was as if something in his mind had snapped, like a rubber band that had always been there but the pressure was so constant he didn’t notice it there until it was gone. Their bond had snapped; it was no longer necessary, because he’d met his soulmate. 

He recognized the guy, just barely. They were in the same first year math class, a course often taken by upperclassmen (probably like his soulmate) because they’d put off getting a math credit until their final years. Logan had warned Virgil of that when he was choosing his first year courses, and so he was safely getting it out of the way so he could focus on his major in the coming years. 

His breathing was choppy and strained as he tried to calm down his panic attack, dropping onto the ground under a large tree. He couldn’t keep running lest he collapse and draw more attention to himself, and that was far worse than anything he could imagine. Fighting the urge to scratch at his skin, he buried his head in his hoodie clad arms, fumbling with one hand to free his phone from his pocket. 

It’s actually a guy, it’s a guy, he’s gay, wrong wrong wrong-

No, not wrong. It’s not wrong.   

Yes it is, it’s going to hurt, you’re going to hurt, wrong wrONG WRONG!

His hands were shaking far too hard to text but he tried anyways, begging Janus to come pick him up early. Logan wouldn’t be done work for another couple hours, and usually Virgil would be fine just doing homework until his dad was ready to drive them home, but he didn’t think he’d be able to handle being on campus much longer. 

“Hey, kiddo?”

Virgil’s head jerked up just as he clicked send, fighting every urge in his body to bolt again. It wasn’t the guy… his soulmate… but someone else he hadn’t met before, panting. 

“Heya, my name’s Patton! You ran out without your stuff, so I brought it!”

Oh, he was holding his backpack, and his folder under one arm. Virgil was just trying to encourage his legs to move, to stand so he could take his things, when the stranger dropped into the grass in front of him. He flinched. 

“Here ya go,” He pushed it towards him like a child trying to coax out a scared cat, “I’m so sorry me and Ro scared you. He just gets over excited sometimes. I promise he’s actually very gentle.”

Virgil stared, pulling in a halting breath. 

“The guy who ran up to you, that’s Roman. I’m his roommate, by the way. I’m Patton. Did I introduce myself? Doesn’t matter. I’m a third year psychology major. Roman’s in third year too, music and theatre major.”

He should probably introduce himself too, but his hands were frozen, clamped around his phone, and he found his voice wasn’t cooperating. That didn’t deter the other dude, though.

“Here, I wrote out both of our numbers. Roman feels super bad for scaring you, so you can take your time, if you want.” He delicately placed a ripped piece of notebook paper on the backpack between them, “His is the first one. But I put mine in there too, so you can text me if you want to talk. The more friends, the better.”

Virgil’s phone buzzed, alerting him of Janus’ response.

“I’ll let you be, okay? Remember to text!” With an exuberant wave, he dashed back to the library. Virgil read Janus’ panicked message, asking what had happened, in a bit of a daze. His dad agreed to come get him, so he stuffed the paper into his pocket and slung his backpack over his shoulder.

-----

Janus had asked him not to go into his room when he was so worked up, instead giving him free reign of the living room while the older restarted the dinner he’d abandoned in favor of picking his son up. He’d turned on the TV for Virgil, changing the channel to a nature documentary, given Virgil his favorite weighted blanket, and left him with strict orders to call him if he started spiraling or needed a hug. 

The distraction had worked for a while, the soothing voice of the narrator almost lulling him to sleep, until his racing brain had come to the conclusion that this was the worst thing to ever happen in the history of ever and that he was going to die alone. He’d been a little hopeful that his soulmate would be a girl, to somewhat appease his trauma, but life was never that easy. A part of him had also been a little miffed about that hope, because as much as he liked to pretend, he had a preference for boys. A big preference. And his soulmate was cute. 

“Everything okay, Virgil?” Janus called through the pass through window into the kitchen, taking his eyes off his food preparation to watch his son’s pacing. 

“Yup!” He lied, picking and scratching at the skin of his hands out of his dad’s view. The pain settled him a little, giving him something he could control, but he knew he’d get a figurative slap on the wrist for it later. A concerned slap, not an angry one. Maybe more of ‘a cuddle on the couch and wrap the little patches of broken skin and an update with his counsellor’. So not really a slap. At all. As it usually went. 

Everything was wrong. What kind of shit first impression had he given his soulmate? Getting up and running away like an actual child? And that was only part of it. He was damaged goods, a broken person, who needed more help and reassurance than any other person. How could he explain to his soulmate that he was the cause of his problems without making him feel guilty? That wasn’t the life the man had signed up for, wasn’t the soulmate burden he’d wanted. He would want someone easy, someone who wouldn’t have panic attacks when they got shocked by a door knob, who didn’t stop eating when they were scared, who pressed pause on life when he woke up in a dissociating headspace. He couldn’t say that to him. He’d lost everything, that vague musical connection to an invisible soulmate, that had given him a subtle hope. It had been a quiet illusion, a promise that he’d be fine if it were never fulfilled. Knowing there was someone out there, providing him music, had been enough. But now…

“Virgil, hold these for me.”

When had Logan gotten home? He put his hands out obediently, clenching the fingers over the ice cubes placed in each palm. The sensation startled him and sent a shiver up his spine.

“Four, seven, eight. Ready?”

He followed the breathing pattern eagerly, feeling the curls of anxiety in his stomach slowly settle into butterflies. When he was breathing normally, an overwhelming sense of dizziness almost knocked him over. Logan took his arm and led him to the couch.

The next moment, Janus was kneeling in front of him, rubbing disinfectant into his few bloody scratches, the melting water dripping through his fingers and onto the carpet. 

“I should have noticed,” he murmured as he stuck a couple bandaids onto each hand, refusing to meet Virgil’s eyes.

“Don’t blame yourself, Janus. I don’t think it was happening for too long,” Logan assured, running a hand down Virgil’s spine. “Did this have to do with the reason you left school early today?”

Virgil nodded.

“Are you nonverbal?”

“No,” he choked, clearing his throat, “Just dry throat.”

“I got it,” Janus leapt to his feet and hurried to the kitchen.

With a heavy sigh, Virgil leaned into Logan’s side, the hand on his back traveling to wrap around his shoulder comfortingly. The last drops of the ice cube hit the carpet, and he dried his hands off on his jeans. “I met my soulmate today.”

“I see,” Logan said. For the umpteenth time, Virgil was beyond grateful that Logan was an expert at masking reactions. It made difficult conversations easier.

“It’s a guy.”

“How did that go?”

“I ran out of the library and had a panic attack. His roommate brought me my stuff and gave me their numbers. I made an idiot out of myself.”

Logan was quiet, giving Virgil a little squeeze. A water glass was pressed into his hands and Virgil downed the whole thing, passing it back to Janus, who placed it on the coffee table. 

“I think… I think I’m magnifying. Maybe.” He described his thoughts that led to his spiral as quickly as possible, feeling slightly pleased when Logan agreed with his hypothesis. 

“You are definitely magnifying. Good job for recognizing that, Virgil. You don’t even know him, much less what he thought of your interaction.”

“What’s our next step?” Janus spoke up, resting a hand on Virgil’s knee and rubbing it with his thumb.

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Can you sleep on it, and message him tomorrow?”

Virgil thought about for a second before shaking his head even harder, “No. I have class with him tomorrow, and we’re getting a study guide for a test. I can not miss it. But what if he comes up to me, or wants to talk, and I embarrass myself again, and-”

His dads both hushed him at the same time and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes against Logan’s side. “What do I do?”

“You could message him tonight,” Janus drawled.

“Are you crazy?” He shrieked, “No! What would I even say? ‘Hey, you freaked me out today, sorry for running like a lunatic’?!”

“Why not explain the cause for your hasty escape?” Logan piped in.

“That’s way too much to load onto him as a first conversation.”

“Not all the gory details, just a vague explanation. That’s how I started talking to Logan,” Janus stated, adjusting his position on the floor. “If he’s your soulmate, Virge, he’ll be okay to deal with this. It’ll come out eventually, and if something else happens, it will be nice for him to have some context.”

Virgil groaned. “I hate when you make sense.”

“We can help you construct an adequate message.” Logan squeezed him again, meeting Janus’ eyes with a small smile.

“Fine.” Virgil snarled, pulling out his phone and the two numbers, typing the first one into his ‘new contact’ list. “Okay, what do I say?”

-----

V: Hey, I’m Virgil. We met earlier today. In a manner of speaking.

R: OMG, hi! I’m Roman. I am SO sorry for startling you!

V: It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. 

R: I still feel bad DX

“He feels bad, what do I do?!”

“I would suggest explaining the reason you ran off to ease his concerns.”

“Me too. But ask first, and don’t give more details than you’re comfortable with.”

V: Can I be brutally honest for just a second?

R: Should I be nervous? Haha go ahead!

V: I was forced into conversion therapy about a year back, and I still carry a lot of the trauma with me. That’s why I ran. It was just gut instinct.

“He’s not responding, oh god, he’s going to block me, why isn’t he responding?!”

“I assume this news would take a moment to process. Focus on your breathing, Virgil. Don’t magnify.”

“You also sent it, like, ten seconds ago.”

R: Holy shit, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry. 

“...That’s not what I expected.”

“This is a regular reaction from a human being with even a lick of common sense, Virgil.”

“Seconded.”

V: It’s okay, I have a really great support system now. 

R: That’s good. I’ve never experienced anything like that, so I can only imagine how hard that was. 

R: I don’t expect you to answer if you don’t want to or don’t know, so please don’t feel pressured, but do you know what kind of soulbond we have? Is it platonic?

“Shit, fuck, who do I answer that?”

“With the truth, I’d imagine. Do you have an answer to his question?”

“Remember what I told you, kid. Your own pace.”

“Logan, if I explain it, can you put it into words? Please?”

V: I’m not averse to a possible romantic relationship in the future, but at the moment I am still learning to become comfortable with myself, as I have negative connections to that part of my identity that can become problematic if not properly worked through at my own pace.

R: Give me a couple seconds to decode that

V: My dad wrote it, he’s a prof. I have both of them helping me not freak out right now. 

R: You might want to date one day, but you need to take it slow because of your trauma. 

V: Uhm… yeah. I could have said it like that. 

R: Is talking to me upsetting you? We can always talk another time.

V: No, I’m okay. 

R: Okay, then as far as I’m concerned, we move at your pace. That’s not an issue for me at all. 

“I… oh. He’s… wow.”

“I agree with your sentiment.”

“I like this boy already.”

“DAD!”

R: Your dad’s a prof? 

V: One of them is. He teaches at our school, Prof Sanders. 4th year chemistry?

R: Oh shit. I’m in his class.

V: Lol he thinks he knows you

R: You have two dads?

V: Yep

R: That’s so cool. I’d really love to meet them.

V: Wow, we met today and you’re already wanting to meet my parents?

R: Heeey, I want to meet them as a FRIEND. 

V: My dad says after the semester’s over, you’re free to come by

One at a time, Virgil’s dads left him on the couch with an ear to ear grin, Janus to reheat dinner and Logan following him just so he could cling to his husband's waist as he moved around the kitchen. Neither of them wanted to disturb the little bubble their son was in. 

-----

In the weeks following, they’d started to sit together in the one class they shared. Virgil had begun to join him and Patton on their nightly library study sessions, and after some more gentle convincing, had given in to sitting with their whole friend group during meals at the cafeteria. He was growing more comfortable with Roman, no doubt about that.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t fighting off an anxiety attack as he waited by the door to get picked up for their first outing alone.

He kept checking his phone and glancing out the peephole as Janus ran calming fingers through his hair. Virgil leaned into the touch instinctively, consciously slowing his breathing as Janus hummed. Logan was watching him from the entrance to the hall, leaning on the kitchen door frame. There wasn’t much he could do, but dammit if he wasn’t going to watch his son go off on the most anxiety inducing situation of all of their lives.

“You’ll be okay, kid,” Janus muttered, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “You’ve been friends with him for a while now, and he said there were no expectations. You’re in total control here.”

“What if I have a flashback, or a panic attack, or go nonverbal or something? He’s going to freak the fuck out and then all the work will be for noth-”

Logan spoke up. “You’re worried about things that may not even happen. And besides, haven’t you spoken to Roman about these things already?”

“A bit. Not in detail,” he whispered.

“I would suggest you do so, today if possible. It will make any possible situations that arise easier and less jarring to deal with.”

Virgil looked up at Janus, a pleading look in his eyes.

“He’s right, kid. The sooner you get it out of the way, the better.”

There was a knock at the door and Virgil nearly jumped out of his skin. To his disdain, Janus backed away until he was next to Logan, gesturing at the door with a small smile. Virgil growled out a curse and opened the door, the scowl on his face melting into a sickeningly authentic smile.

“How’s my favorite emo? Hi Mr. Sanders, hey Prof.”

“Hello.”

“Salutations.”

“Your favorite emo?” Virgil snarked, pulling on his jacket. It wasn’t cold, not in the slightest, but he’d rather have the extra layer.

“You’re the only emo I know, so the choice is easy.”

“By process of elimination, doesn’t that also imply I’m your least favorite emo too?”

“Don’t start this again, Mr. Son-of-a-professor.”

“I’ll start it if I want to!”

The door closed behind them with one final wave to his parents, and the house was quiet. Janus leaned into Logan’s waiting arms, resting his head on the other’s collar bone. 

“He’s all grown up.”

“That he is, my love.”

-----

Virgil smirked as Roman set out a large cliche picnic blanket, gesturing for him to sit. He did, crossing his legs and leaning on his knees as the other began to unload the basket. 

“Okay, so for sandwiches, I have turkey, peanut butter and jelly, and ham. Patton made me bring apple slices because he’s a dad, but I’m sure we can convince the ducks to eat them.”

To prove his point, a group of ducks paddled out from under a weeping willow half submerged in the creek.

“I like apples,” Virgil defended, grabbing a slice from the open container and shoving the whole thing in his mouth. “How many people were you intending to feed with that much food?”

Roman pouted from behind a container of potato salad. “I had to show off my food skills, duh.”

“You made that?” Virgil asked with raised eyebrows as Roman set out a tin of mini quiches and a smaller one stacked with brownies and cookies. 

“The cookies were Patton’s, but he insisted I take some. And I would have bought more, but…” He tipped the basket towards Virgil, revealing the bottom absolutely filled with different canned drinks and water bottles. “I didn’t know what you wanted to drink.”

Virgil actually did laugh as he stretched forward to snag a Doctor Pepper, taking another apple slice as he sat back. 

“Do you have a sandwich preference?” Roman asked, choosing a Sprite for himself. 

“Turkey looks good.” Virgil said before his choice paralysis could come into play, breathing a sigh of relief as Roman handed one of the sandwiches to him. The less stress he added to his own life, the better. 

Roman had been right to bring an assortment of food, because dammit, he was a really good chef. Virgil was nervous to try a quiche, since he’d never had them before and the texture was odd to him, but Roman assured that if he didn’t like it, he’d eat it instead. Apparently he wasn’t eeked out by germs. After a nibble though, Virgil ate almost half the tin. Who knew cold eggs could be good? Roman took the ham sandwich, and they split the PB&J. The ducks were more than pleased to be given Roman’s half of the apple slices but Virgil refused to share, since fresh fruits were still a treat after a life of preserves. The younger wasn’t a huge fan of the potato salad, so Roman eagerly finished it, seemingly more excited to move onto the desserts but not wanting to leave any leftovers. 

They were just finishing up the frankly absurd amount of cookies and brownies when Roman broke their casual bickering, chasing a chocolate chip bite with a long swig of Sprite and tossing another apple to their swarm of awaiting ducks.

“So, tell me a bit about yourself, Virge.”

“What do you want to know?” Virgil replied, leaning back on his hands. 

“Anything, really. Childhood, siblings, favorite color, darkest fear.”

“Quite a spectrum, there.” There was a lot he could talk about, but he felt it might be better to get the bigger things out of the way. Janus was sort of the leading expert on this kind of thing, so his advice had probably been sound. He brushed his hands together to get the crumbs off them as he spoke, “Okay, so I grew up in the foster system.”

Roman tried to hide his wince. “Ouch. I’ve heard a lot of bad things.”

“It’s fucked,” Virgil drawled, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn, “I spent most of my time in a group home, though, because I was called ‘difficult’. No one wanted to deal with my ass.”

“Why?”

“Mmm, ran away, didn’t listen, talked back, antagonized any biological kids.”

“So like, a normal teenager?” The last apple slice was sacrificed to the feathered hoard. 

Virgil snorted, “Yeah, but I came with a receipt. And I kind of liked the group home more.”

“How many kids were in the home?”

“Never more than fifteen. It was a big home. But they circulated, and I was like a housecat. Never gone for more than a month.”

“Jeez,” Roman sighed, taking a sip of his soda. 

“My foster homes weren’t better.”

“Oh?” It was a subtle encouragement to keep talking, but now it was getting into territory that Virgil liked to avoid. 

“One of my foster houses was really neglectful, forgot to give us food, didn’t let us do laundry, that kind of stuff. Gave me a wicked ED. I was twelve.”

Roman grimaced.

“My next one was more emotionally and mentally manipulative. I was kind of made into a babysitter for their younger bio kids. I had to get them ready for school, make them dinner, just basically be a parent. After I ran away from them, they started having trouble placing me. I was older, had a shitty record, kind of a left over. I mean, I deserved it. I was a dick.”

“You were a kid, Virgil.”

“A kid who chose to make his own life harder.” He shrugged, “That’s why I was placed into… that home. They were a last resort place for other ‘trouble kids’.”

Virgil took a deep breath and, with Janus’ words in his mind, began to explain his attempted conversion; the slip of tongue that led to the placement, the verbal abuse, food deprivation, electroshock therapy, the snuck antipsychotics, forced isolation, ending with the day the wife had called the police behind her husband’s back out of guilt and he was rescued. 

Roman was quiet for a long minute after he finished talking, staring entranced at the can in his hands. The ducks had dispersed during Virgil’s story, upset at the lack of food. 

“I…”

Virgil waited for him to get up and leave, to say with false apologies that he didn’t think they would work out, that the connection was wrong. Because who would want to deal with him, his stupid trauma? But the man next to him didn’t move except to breathe, and Virgil took that as an invitation to continue, his tone quieter.

“I was super out of it for a while. Honestly, I don’t remember the rescue, or like a solid month after that, except for snippets here and there. The drugs were fucky. And then my social worker, god bless her heart, found Janus and Logan. Janus was in CT too for a while when he was younger, so they took me in. Took a long time, but I opened up to them, but by then I was eighteen. They still insisted on adopting me, though, and there’s absolutely no convincing Logan once he’s made his mind up, so… they did.” He waved his hands around a little. 

“Three months,” Roman blurted out of nowhere, making Virgil flinch.

“What?”

“Were you in ther-... CT for three months?”

“Two and a bit, why?” The moment it was out of his mouth, he realized the implications, and his heart froze.

“You were gone for three months. I thought you died, or… I don’t even know.” Roman looked like he was about to cry, watching Virgil imploringly. Him going MIA must have affected his soulmate more than he’d thought. 

“Two months of CT, and then another one before I got a new phone. I’m…” All the guilt he’d felt at the time came rushing back, the reminder of his soulmate’s music dwindling to almost nothing and him being helpless, “I’m sorry. Shit, I’m so sorry. That must have been…” 

“No, Virgil, you don’t get to apologize. That was not your fault.” He reached out a hand as if to grab Virgil’s and immediately pulled back, wringing his fingers instead. “Sorry, my choice of comforting is physical. But I won’t.”

“Thank you,” Virgil choked out, running his hands through his hair.

“Can you look at me?”

He did, taking a shuddering breath. He was moments away from a panic attack and he was not looking forward to that disaster. 

“You were being- quite literally- tortured for months. You were abused in ways that shouldn’t be legal, and you came out the other side stronger. Frankly, I’m amazed at your perseverance. You’re amazing.”

Simultaneously, Virgil felt a hot blush rise to his ears, and a sharp jolt run through his arms into his chest. He jerked violently, tipping over his own soda onto the grass. 

“Shit, did I say something wrong?” Roman gasped, reaching over to pluck up the can before it could spill more. It was already half empty, thank goodness. 

“No, I just… do that. Sometimes. From… CT. Kind of like ghost shocks, I guess.” Why couldn’t the ground just open up and swallow him whole, he wondered. He hadn’t done that jerk thing in front of anyone in so long. The last time had been in front of his now-parents, and they’d quickly grown used to it. He’d grown used to their own contact very soon and his twitches had stopped after he was accustomed to it, but it had never been directed towards him, and he had a feeling he’d need time to stop his impulse reactions. 

“And me calling you amazing…”

“Triggered them. It’s an exposure thing though, so I’ll just need to get used to it. Don’t blame yourself.” He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until bright white flashes of light burst into his vision. Suddenly, he was exhausted. 

“Do you want me to drive you home?” Roman asked, already packing up their picnic basket. Virgil nodded, his social meter drained, and all ability to be a civil person was quickly deteriorating. His therapist said that would also begin to heal after a while. 

Roman was an absolute angel though, letting the silence linger so Virgil could cradle his slowly growing headache, even opening the door of his car like a perfect gentleman. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Virgil rested his head against the seat and let a tiny smile tug at his lips. It would be a long process to retrain his brain (in theory, he was okay with being in a relationship with a man, but actually doing it? Infinitely harder), but for once, he was actually looking forward to the process. 

Would you guys like a collection of one shots surrounding Virgil’s gradual warming up to his new family, a decent mix of angst and fluff? I have some ideas. 

Thanks for reading! Now, a taglist. 

@sapphic-satan

@anxious-logic

@wigsnatchedhoteltrivago

@extraintrovertedalien

@punk-academian-witch

@ray-does-stuff

@chimneychimney

@i-cant-find-a-good-username

@falsemood

@wtf-casper

@cpmansion

@killjoyjay

@fandomfan315

@anxious-darkwolf

@eternalmoonlight19

@winterwynd

@espepspes

@ironwoman359

@willowaudreykeyes

@mycatshuman

@weweregoddesses

@im-an-anxious-wreck

@imknittingahat

@surohsopsisofclouds

@korsaromantic66

@astraheart04

@quartz-z

@mikalya12

@koalas-in-coffee

@isabelle-stars

@a-ghostlight-for-roman

@existentialeggdogg

@pumpkinminette

@coffeeflavoredtears525600

@wyvern-tales

@heyhalloween

@grayson-22

@bullet-tothefeels

@mostlikelytokillyouwithaspoon

@lovelivingmydreams

@sarcasmremovedsoul

@crofterskinnie

@blissbiscuit

@baka-monarch

@lostspacecat

@green-call

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #loceit #logan sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #sanderssides #sanderssidesau #sanderssidesfanfiction #sanders sides #sanders sides au #sanders sides fanfiction #ts soulmate au

[highstwildflower]

Skinny Skinny

TW: eating disorder/ Anorexia. You are very beautiful just the way you are and worthy of love. Have a good day precious <3

The warm rays from the sun tingled the fragile skin on your leg as you laid in your bed. Slowly your body woke you up, already when your eyes open for the first time your heart ached. As if all sadness of the world rested in your heart. It had been like this for a long time, every single day. Your life so unbearable that sleeping was the only escape, so you slept. A lot. In your sleep you had it all, the perfect body, the perfect education, the perfect job, the perfect home and most importantly the perfect man. Him. But than you woke up to real life. Your life was empty and meaningless you thought to yourself. Slowly realizing that you weren't able to fall back asleep you got out of the bed. Bare feet making their way to the bathroom to relive yourself. Steady gaze upon the floor, ensuring that you avoided the mirror, your own reflection the biggest enemy. Picking at the strong band around your wrists you did your business before making your way to your kitchen. All you needed was some what. That was all the body really needed. Eagerly you gulped down the big glass of water, feeling the familiar feeling of content take over your body. Reaching for your phone you groaned as your realized today's date. Your anniversary. A little more pain felt your body, the idea of more pain filling your body felt impossible. The only thing you wanted to do was sleep, but you couldn't so the next best thing was the gym. Moving back to the bedroom you picked out black yoga pants and a black hoodie. Ensuring you were as hidden as possible. The last thing you wanted was attentive. You spent hours at the gym, everyday. Today was no different, the girl at the front desk offering you a polite nod as you entered the gym. Cardio being you go to, you went for a run. The wheezing feeling as air left your lungs faster than your heart could work the oxygen back was everything to you. You could run forever, or at least until the black dots began to dance infront of your eyes. Today it was extra hard for you to leave, the image of Ashton leaving you hunted you. "y/n we can't do this no more, you need help. You cannot give me what you don't have. Because you get so tired of you try to do that. When you forget about you and stop taking care of you. You become empty. With nothing to share. I can't do that to you" his words were printed into your brain. A broken record playing again and again. You had always been a thin girl, and one to take care of what you are as well as staying fit. But when Ashton had left you alone because of tour it had went downhill. You stepped on the scale the day after he left. A gasp had left your lips as the number had risen with 13 pounds. You mind played back all the beers you had shared, all the junk food sitting at you hips now. So you had gotten into the habit of weighting yourself everyday, and progress was made. You lost more than 13 pounds tho. Leaving you sickly skin. Ashton has left a beautiful curvy girl at home and came home to a boney fragile shadow of the woman he loved. Black in-sunken eyes had stared back at him as he told about tour life, no life left as your mind slowly was calculating how much running it would take for the cold beer to be out of your body again. He had tried for about a year, slowly encouraging you to eat some more. For a moment you saw it, you wanted to eat but you wanted to be thin. So you allowed your second face to win, the one who always told you how disgusting you were and how fat you were. The ridicules insane thing being that you adored larger body, found the beautiful. Naturally you had just always been thin, but you also enjoyed filling your body with healthy nutrients. He had left you when he felt as if he was doing more harm to you than good. He made sure that the other boys cheeked up on you, the weekly messages being like salt in your wounds slowly you had stopped answering. Wanting to break from everything. Ashton wasn't to blame for any of this. Maybe you heartbreak but you weren't even sure that he was to blame for that. You were both two halo trying to make a whole, both

observed with your self image. Both haunted by being nothing and everything at the same time. You missed him, you really did. But maybe he was right, that is what you had chosen to believe at least. Breaking yourself from your thoughts you were confused as you saw a black Range Rover in your driveway. You weren't expecting any guest and you sure as hell did not want any guests. Slowly making your way to the house, you saw his brown curls before anything else. You didn't stand a change as his eyes meet yours. The ground grumbled beneath you, crying you felt to your knees. How embarrassing but you just couldn't stand it, not today. "y/n honey! Are you ok?" His voice was concerned but you put out a hand, indicating you need time and space but that you were ok. Surely you gained composure over yourself again and stood to meet him again. "Hi what's up" it was way to casual for the welcomest you just had offered him. Way to sluggish for the man whom you lived with every fiber in your body. Pushing beside him to unlock the door you left him plenty of time to answer, his strong voice breaking you apart slowly "I just wanted to swing by, make sure you were good" mentally you were figuring out how to make him run away, but you were also contemplating how to make him stay forever. "I can see that you aren't doing to well y/n. I'm worried" he words were like a slap. You were doing excellent, loosing more weight than ever before while feeling heavier that every before- everybody dream right? "You lack of response isn't going to push me away y/n. I thought about it a lot before I came today, and I still standby what I said." You looked dumbfounded at him, did he really come all this way just to rub it in? The anger began to boil inside you along side the strong overwhelming feeling of sadness "what the fuck do you mean Ashton!?" Your anger took him back, his eyes a little more alert now" I'm here for you no matter what. I'm here as a friend until you are ready to be lovers again" his words hit you like a truck, failing at standing tall you collapsed into his strong arms as uncontrollable sobs left your mouth. He tried to collect his beautiful broken girl in his arms, so desperately wanting to put her back together. But this was beyond him, as it was beyond you. In agreement you went to treatment, as you had almost finished Ashton admitted himself to another treatment center. Both of you struggling with the balance of love and mental health. But as of right now you as individuals were more important, and every day the strong vow of friendship healed your both as you tried to break the mean cycle of skinny skinny thoughts.

#calum hood #5sos calm #calum 5 seconds of summer #5sos fandom #5sosfic #fanfiction #oneshot #imagines #preference #michael clifford #mikey #he is so cute #ashton irwin #Ashy #He is perfect #drummer

[airi-p4]

Perfect asymmetry: Epilogue

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

It’s finished!!! YAY! Thank you if you read this until the end <3

Read on AO3

_________________________

Chapter 4: epilogue

The day it marked Luka and Marinette's 1 year anniversary arrived. "Time sure flies" Luka commented, and Marinette giggled in agreement while feeding him some raspberry ice-cream with her spoon. She missed his mouth on purpose so she could clean his lips with her tongue and he assured she didn't need any excuse to claim him anytime she wished.

It was at that moment when Luka offered Marinette a little present box. Marinette gasped when she saw its contents.

"I finally got an apartment for myself. I want you to have a key too. You can move in with me or not- but I'll be happy to see you there as much as possible"

"Luka I- Oh my God! Thank you so much! I'm so happy!" She jumped to hug him with moved tears in her eyes. "I didn't know you managed to get the money"

"Thanks to my stupid bandmates. How ironic" he shrugged and she giggled.

"Luka-" she kissed him. "Can I see the apartment now? I would love to see it. And maybe check how comfortable our new bed is…" she suggestively kissed his ear.

"Well. I'm also looking forward to finding out…" he smiled, kissing her neck while she laughed.

"Stop being gross and get a room!" Juleka groaned from afar, approaching hand in hand with Rose.

"What a way to ruin the mood…" Luka groaned, and Juleka smiled triumphant.

"You're here to get ice cream too?" Marinette asked.

"Yes. Sweethearts ice cream" Juleka smiled looking at Rose, who smiled back at her before giving her a quick kiss on her lips.

"Wait- what does this mean? Are you two together now?" Luka asked, and the new couple nodded. "It was about time!"

"That's fantastic! Congratulations! I'm so happy for you!" Marinette jumped to hug her friends.

"It's all thanks to you, Marinette," Rose said.

"Me?"

"You were right that day during our sleepover at the Liberty. I wasn't in love with prince Ali. I can't believe it took me so long to realize how I felt about Juleka… Thank you, Marinette"

"No need to thank me. I'm happy to see you so happy together now"

"So Marinette was your cupid and Juleka was ours, huh?" Luka shrugged.

"How is that?" Rose asked, and Juleka urged Luka to shush, but he ignored his sister's warning.

"Juleka was having a hard time because of her body complex. She was crying over how her breasts were asymmetrical in size and how she would never be a model because of that. And look at her now! She has already made it to magazines and commercials!" He teased. "Anyway- I told her how Marinette's breasts were also slightly different and she cheered up. Then she encouraged us to get together" Luka explained.

"Wait- Is this true? Are my breasts different in size? And you knew all this time? This is so embarrassing!" Marinette panicked.

Luka laughed at her reaction. "You know what? I would say it's a perfect asymmetry: while one breast is more sensitive to touch, the other one seems to prefer kisses. Doesn't it make it perfect?"

"Luka!" Marinette punched him in embarrassment.

"What?" He shrugged. "Look at Rose. She seems thrilled to try it out now. For me, you're perfect as you are, Marinette. I wouldn't change anything about you"

"Luka… I- Me neither" she widely smiled. “I love you”

"I love you, too” he kissed her. “So- let's go see that apartment now?"

"With pleasure!" She winked.

It wasn't in their plans to have Juleka and Rose come along, but what was a little sacrifice when they would soon have the apartment everyday all by themselves?

___________________________________________________

As the years passed everything turned to the right direction for the Couffaines at complete: Juleka was a popular model who encouraged girls to keep healthy body types and to be happy with their bodies, remarking how imperfections are part of beauty too. She and her wife Rose created a foundation to fight against eating disorders and lack of nutrition, Rose directing it and getting financial support from prince Ali to help, too, those who couldn't afford any food at all. They married and lived happily together with their daughter.

Anarka decided to tour around the world with her boat and some friends she used to have a band with before when her children left to live on their own. She wanted to become an authentic pirate, bringing music to every harbor the boat stopped at. She always made sure she was there for important events: her children's weddings, her grandchildren being born and all of their birthdays. Her grandkids loved her.

Luka Couffaine lived the happiest life he could ever dream of. He managed to rent a centric apartment in Paris and invited Marinette to move in with him while she was at University. His band with his stupid members became very popular, internationally known, going on world tours from time to time… never long tours because he couldn't bear it to be apart from his dear girlfriend.

When Marinette finished her university studies, Luka proposed to her. She said yes, of course, but asked him to wait until she had her own brand established before getting married. Luka didn't care much about tags: girlfriend, fiance, wife...- he just wanted her to stay by his side forever, so he didn't mind waiting. But the unplanned arrival of their first son made Marinette's plans turn and rushed their marriage (only because it would have been too much for Marinette's grandfather, Roland, to accept her having children before marriage). He changed his job to music teacher at the University while selling his composed tracks to music and television companies.

From then on, their family grew. They had 4 children in total: 1 boy and 3 girls. Marinette conquered the most prestigious fashion shows in the world, becoming one of the most well-known designers and fashion brands of the century. And the couple's children grew up to like both music and designing, ready to take over their parents name's when they grow up.

FIN

#fic: perfect asymmetry #my fic #airipyon #airip4 #lukanette fic #Yay! I've finished! #Thank you if you read this until the end ;v; #lukanette endgame #endgame lukanette

[samshogwarts]

My review of 2020

Or: I say thank you.

First of all, sorry for the long post 😅. You guys know I don'tike long posts without a "read more under the line". But I nade the post with my mobile phone.... Aaaaaaaanyway. Also sorry for all the tags. I hope I don't annoyed someone with it <~<. So let's continue:

I think this year has been a particularly difficult year for everyone. As 2020 is drawing to a close, I mentally let the year pass again.

The bottom line is that I have to say that 2020 was turbulent for me, but not necessarily bad. Much good, but also bad, has happened. And I want to start with the bad things right away.

At the beginning of the year, my depression and eating disorder relapsed. I've always had trouble talking about it because I know my friends can't handle this issue. I felt pressured because they wanted to do things with me, but I couldn't. So I withdrew completely, hiding my emotions and wearing a mask.

At that time I created this blog. At first I didn't want to create my own content, just follow the content of @ladycibia, @hogwartsmystory and @kyril-hphm. Incidentally, that is also the reason why I call these 3 blogs the Big Three. So it's their fault that I'm here. Lol.

And then the first Hyops message came at the end of March. A very good friend of mine got Corvid-19 and lost the battle against the disease a few days later. I still remember how the news pulled the floor from under my feet. It feels like I completely lost faith in everything and I started to realize how dangerous this year could be. 

But life goes on and so I visited a friend and her family in early July. It was the anniversary of her husband's death, who was also a very good friend of mine. He died of cancer last year and I couldn't go to his funeral. So I wanted to stop by on the day he died. I actually thought I could do it. But when you read a friend's name on a tombstone for the first time.. Guys, that's a punch in the stomach like no other and I can't really describe how it feels. I had made up my mind not to cry in front of his wife or children because it was hard enough for them. Didn't work.

And of course this year meant to go one better.

Another friend of mine died of the virus in mid-August, leaving behind a wife and a child. Again, I was unable to attend the funeral. And to be honest, it still bothers me way more I want to admit. In two years I lost three wonderful people who meant a lot to me and I couldn't say goodbye to any of them. When I see the three of them again after my death, you can be sure I'll kick their butts for it.

But August was the worst month for me in many ways. In addition to the death of my buddy, my father's family also volunteered. And that means only one thing - trouble.  And properly. I haven't had contact with this family for over 12 years for good reason. Now one person from this family has passed away. And first of all, I don't really care if anyone of them would die. I don't even know the person who passed away. But I wasn't told either by my grandmother or my father. So my deadline to cancel the inheritance has expired. Of course it was debts. You have to know that the inheritance rights of my country are very complicated. The reason my father or grandmother didn't tell me about it was because they didn't want to bother with the paperwork. They always had the opportunity to contact me via Facebook or my half-sister. But that would mean work for them. And while I was walking from lawyer to lawyer to court to court, I was allowed to hear sayings from my grandmother that I apparently have achieved nothing in my life. Nice to know that some people never change. I'm still struggling with this matter to this day and will probably not be able to fully clarify this until the beginning of 2021.

At the end of October everything seemed to be taking its revenge and I passed out at a friend's house. Nobody knows exactly what happened until today, but my friend took me to the hospital where I had to stay one night. That was Halloween. And I'm such a big fan of hospitals hahahaha hahahaha. After that I was allowed to wear an ECG for 2 weeks and it turned out that my heart values ​​had deteriorated. Why not. Let's just take everything with us this year!

Rounding out the negatives this year was my (as a teenager) best friend's suicide. I have to say that I haven't had any contact with this person for 9 years. However, it is the one who cut herself in her youth and then called me afterwards because she didn't know what to do. It was also the one I tried to get into therapy for 2 years. But her mother was always against it. And it was exactly this mother who was standing in my mother's shop, telling her about her daughter's suicide and that I was probably in the farewell letter. I don't know exactly what it said, but the mother now blames me for her daughter's suicide. And do you know what's craziest about the whole thing? I agreed with her! I really thought it was my fault because I knew how sick my former friend was. Yet I was the one who ended the friendship (for many reasons that had nothing to do with her depression). And I still wonder what would have happened if I had acted differently.

But enough of the negative things! A lot of nice things happened this year too. Among other things, I have found a new job within my group, earn more money and have pleasant working hours. I've renovated my apartment and I've started saving money on a new one. My two nieces are now going to school and I am a proud aunt. My male best friend and his girlfriend (my best harry potter friend) are pregnant and are expecting their first child soon and my mother's health is better.

But one of the best things that happened to me this year is this blog.

I already mentioned that I actually only created this blog to stalk the Big Three. I didn't want my own content at all. But I discovered more and more blogs and these incredibly great MCs that I thought I wanted to do whole too. And so Samantha O'Connell was born.

I received so much great support and encouragement on this platform. I don't think many people even realize how much that means to me. Especially this year.

I have also found great and lovable people here, some of whom I also call my friends. Even if we come from other countries, speak other languages ​​and may never see each other in real life, you are my friends and I am grateful to know you.

@annabelle-tanaka-official : I'll start with you of course! XD on tumblr you are just my best friend. I don't write as much with anyone as I do with you. You are such an incredibly talented person and so warm hearted! Over the year we have invented so many insiders that soon nobody will know what we mean.  Be it the monster hug, or that my cats are your spies or our many RP scenarios, which I really enjoy and which always make me laugh. I thank you for that!! I love you so much and I am so glad that we are friends! *minster hug*

@lunasilvermorny / @lunasilvermore : you are next to you !!! XD the next person I write to almost every day. What started with a little conversation about among us has turned into a friendship. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to streaming with you next year (and this year)!!! You are such a good listener that strengthens me. Your support is so nice of you too! Just the fact that you have subscribed to my YouTube channel xD (because of the language I even have an idea). I'm looking forward to the next year with you! Thank you so much for dealing with my craziness and still likes me! 

@kyril-hphm : muahahahaha. You can't escape me !!! Yes, what should I say? One of my big three even made friends with me. One of my Senpais noticed me! And then it's a lovely fluffy marshmallow! I still think it's funny  that we have such similar circuits and hearts! Nevertheless you are an incredibly honest, loving and talented person. I've never told you before, but sometimes I stare (for 20 minutes +) at your drawings to improve my style (just not working so far). You are an honest person and I am happy every time we talk, or when you react to my content. I would like to say thank you for that too! You are great and you can trust yourself more.

@carewyncromwell : my Chinese fireball, my Disney princess. Yes, for me you exude the aura of a Disney princess and nothing can change my mind. So! You were one of the first friends I made here on tumblr and one of the first to write with me! I still remember how proud and nervous I was back then! Just when I was in the hospital on Halloween and couldn't sleep that night, you kept texting me and distracting me from my fear. That means a lot to me. You are such a creative and lovable person too. Ah, that's just amazing. Your comments or hashtags always make me grin or laugh. Thank you for all your support and help!

@catohphm : my fluffier Ravenclaw brother!!! Of course you can't be missing either. I also write with you almost every day and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your kind words and your support. I just love the energy between Samantha and Cato. And it's always fun to write RP with you!  Thank you for being such a lovely and kind person!

@mira-shard : MIRAAAAAAA! It's kind of funny how long we've basically walked next to each other without talking to each other. And now I don't want to miss you anymore! You are such a fun and happy person. Writing with you is just fun! I also love your cosplay photos. Someday I'll come to visit you, and then we'll do cosplay shootings together until the camera bleeds! I would also like to thank you for your support and your kindness. 

@sirfluffig : ha. I hope you didn't think you were escaping me! Where should I start with you? Maybe that you were one of the first to give me such lovely feedback on Samantha? Or this super funny stream and that you helped me to stream in English? Or just like that, when we talk about our MCs or pen and paper. It's definitely always fun. I want to thank you for that and I'm looking forward to playing together again soon (get Among us)

@nightrhea-hphm : * run into you in slowmotion * Night! My wonderful supportive Gremlin! I've grown very fond of them over the years. And your support and feedback are just amazing. I also love the friendship between Night and Samantha. I think it's very similar to ours, right? You are also such an incredibly creative and lovable person. You make you feel like it's ok to be who you are. Thank you!

Of course there are many, many more like @rosievixen, @wangxianforever000 , @mollydarling-hphm , @morningstarinwinter , @hogwarts9, @hphm-brooke , @raymondhope-writer , @nikyiscreepy , @immagrosscandy , @mizutoyama , @ariparri-hphm and many many more.

I want to thank you all for your encouragement, support and feedback. You are the reasons why I am adding more and more details to this blog, why I dared to start with the fan comic and many more. 

It's still so amazing for me to meet so many talented, creative, kind and funny people. 

This year showed me again that life isn't just black or white. Life is Grey. Good things and bad things happen. Sometimes one side more than the other side. But as long we are taking the next step, life wl continues. Just keep in mind, as like you support me, I want to support you. So if you ever wanna talk, no matter what, remember you guys can always contact me. 

I'm really looking forward to next year and already have so many plans. I can not wait any longer. Enjoy the last days of the year, stay safe and most important: they the way you are guys! 

Love you all so much. 

#My end of the year thank you #Personal #Ooc #My year 2020 #God my heart beating so fast #Don't know why but these post makes me nervous #Very personal #Cry counter while writing this: 4 #Yeah so adult xD #Like I care #Hope you all enjoyed the Christmas holidays #Love you all #Such a great community #Never saw this before #💙❤️💚💛

[butitseverythingtiny]

About Blogger, tiny intro

Small tiny things can be so enormous. I know from my extreme weird obsession with tiny things.

Although I don't own much of the small stuff.

I don't know if this started when i was young, growing up with a total of eight siblings we didn't have much. 

Yes we were poor. Growing up in southern California wasn't easy. 

Didn't have much stuff, or friends. I was a little introvert.

When I was in my tween years a school project that we had to do every week was we had to get a newspaper and write a summary of a story that we read. 

I guess that's where I became interested in articles. 

So in my teen years i wanted to become a writer or a journalist where i could write stories and articles, but hanging out with the wrong crowd stopped me from following my dreams. 

I knew I was a little special, what I mean by that is I had some mental issues when I battled it at a young age, but wasn't able to get help because of my religious beliefs. 

I started therapy a little bit after I became an adult, my father died of a sudden heart attack. Shortly when I noticed it was time to end my life.

I didn't know what was going on. I just came out of a rocky relationship, I felt like everything was over. 

I started working after everything that happened. My first two jobs didn't go well. I was seeing shadows, hallucinating and my depression was at an all time high. I started drinking and what you may call partying.

Shortly my mother started to get sick so i was given the option of quitting or being let go. Due to my performance at work not being so good. I was sleeping on the hospital floor in the room while watching over my mother.

It turns out seeking help at the age of 25, changed my life. I was diagnosed with major depression, schizophrenia and other mental brain disorders. 

Yes i was put on medication and after seven years off and on all kinds of different medications I found the right ones. Just in case you're wondering, I'm going strong and currently on my medication.

During that time I stayed home and took care of my mother. We were living together and now that i think about it, i think the way we both dealt with our depression was by buying stuff. 

We would buy random stuff at thrift stores, sometimes it was broken stuff even. 

My fascination at that time was VHS movies. I had that I remember counting a collection total of 2083 tapes. A few of them were the same tape, but know more than 3 copies for some. 

There was something about the quality of the film that I loved. I still do tell this day. 

When we moved from the house I grew up in to a city thirty minutes away, we still would go buy random stuff. 

I remember watching a show on the travel channel one night when i had to stay up to watch my mother as she wasn't doing so good that night. I believe I thought she was going to pass. I woke up to check on her, she was there unconscious. I don't remember exactly what had made her that way. 

The show was about an older couple who built a tiny home and they lived in it when the 2008 housing market went down hill, and the economy was at an all time low. 

The show talked about how they had to build a new home on an old trailer bed because when they were relocating to another state. They had hit a storm in the southern part of America and the mile high winds knocked over their building and shortly was struck by a tornado.

I remember being shocked and wanting to build one for myself, I thought to myself that it would be nice to own and take your own home with you wherever you go. 

So from that day on I became a tiny house dreamer. I know that one day I will have my tiny home. 

I knew that was the start of my obsession. 

Growing in the late 90’s early 2000’s, I appreciated all the small things that life gave me. 

Being a Christian in a church that didn't allow lots of stuff. My parents became stricter than what they already were. The things I had were not big, but I loved them.

In the late 2000’s and early 2010’s, which in my opinion had the best music, movies, technology and was the best era ever. 

That being said, as the tech got stronger you were more hip with the smaller devices. For example nowadays if you have the biggest cellphone, computer or tablet, you get some kind of cred.

I guess that's another reason why I like tiny stuff.

In early 2017 my mother was in hospice at my sisters house weeks before I was told by the hospital and the dialysis company to think about putting her there, she wasn't doing so well. 

I called my sisters and brothers to have a family meeting, where we came to an agreement where she would be placed in a home. Shortly we realized her roommate wasn't in the right place of mind so my sister took her home to rest at her place.

During the day i would sleep while my family would take care of her, during this time I would stay up all night watching her as they rested. 

I remember the night she passed like if it was yesterday. Everyone was home and my sister was in bed, around 5:13 am she started making noises. I thought she was thirsty so I got a straw and gave her literally a drop of water. She moved her head back and side to side. 

I kissed her forehead and told her I loved her as I combed her hair with my palm.

I sat down and got my phone and less than five minutes from when I checked on her, my sister walked in and said good morning. She noticed that my mother had no reaction. 

That's when we noticed that she passed.

A year later after seeking therapy again, I was recommended to a behavioral health outpatient program where I made friends and found the help I needed.

I didn't graduate High school til the Age of 32. 

I read a lot of articles in my time and I honestly still do. Whether its a long one like this one i'm writing, or if it's a short one ( that I’m hoping to write for this blog ) my goal is to be successful and follow my dream. 

I have been thinking of writing a blog for years now, but the one thing that reall pushed me was last week I heard from my friend after two months. 

We use to video chat every other day and text everyday. 

I thought she got back with her ex which i think is stupid because we known each other for eight years and he forbid us from talking knowing that we both don’t have feeling for each other. We are like brother and sister.

When i talked to her on Sunday she made me realize that life is short and it's never too late to follow your dreams. 

She was out in a ICU in Minnesota, she was in a coma for three days and had to learn how to keep her body balanced and kinda learn how to take steps again. She's able to walk, but slowly and with a walker. 

She almost died because of Covid-19.

When we talked she asked me what am doing with my life. I didn't know what to say at that point. She told me you should start following your dreams, if you don't chase them then you might never catch them. 

When she told me this, it reminded me of two things I read. Quotes.

“Only put off tomorrow, what you are willing to die is left undone.” -Pablo Picasso

“Never be afraid to follow your dreams at any age, life is too short to wait.” -Unknown

Since 2020 was a bad year, I figured this was going to be my year. I figured like the quote above says, follow your dreams at any age. 

So that being said, let me tell you what this page is going to be about…

So my plan for this blog is to write small articles about everything tiny. Hopefully under 500 words. If i go over i apologize now. There will be content about everything. (tech, fitness, love, houses, budgeting, whatever I can research on really.) 

I will try to post every other week or maybe once a week, but for now every other week. It sound good and more realistic. I’ll post on Mondays or Saturdays, but looking at Mondays.

When I asked what encouraged them to write a blog. They told me that i should write what interests me, write what I feel and to stay true to my opinions. That's why I wrote this long introduction.

I know i could have made it a lot shorter but I wanted you to get to know a little bit about the writer. 

Now if you like what you read, follow me (i’ll follow back) 

If you have a story you would like me to write about DM me or leave a comment.

If you would want me to write a story about you. Email me at: [email protected]

Thank you so much for your time.

-Juan.

#Blog #Blog post #blogger #first blog #intro #my writing #writblr #introduction #about me #writing #write #article #comment #follow #enjoy #enjoythelittlethings #enjoytheday #read #long reads

[penebui]

Lgbt manga pt.1

If you had to put up with my sorry ass for a few years then yes you know that I have been searching for lgbt mangas!! I put up with the pain of going through most genres that sexualize/fetishize gender identities and sexualities (like yaoi and gender bender) and reading mangas to find if they have lgbt content so you dont have to suffer the pain of trying to! Clown on this post and please face my wrath

Keep in mind that these aren’t in order of ratings!! Its just a list. I also give summaries of the plot, the things that make it lgbt, and some content warnings!! 

1. Welcome to Room #305! by Wanan 

Kim Jung Hyun moves into an apartment (room #305) with a friend of a friend, named Kim Homo! Who (you guessed it) is gay! As Jung Hyung begins to live with Kim Homo, he slowly learns to accept him for his sexuality. Once he overcomes his homophobia and completely accepts him for who he is, other lgbt characters pop in too!! They all have their struggles with their identities, and it is very realistic, but the art style helps keep all that angst at bay! As far as english translations go, we have several lesbian characters, and a trans guy. You can read the english translation on several manga sites, but if you want the link to the original since this is a webcomic, here’s the [link]! Unfortunately english updates are very slow since translation teams have other projects, and legal companies who translate take their sweet precious time. 

2. Bokura no Hentai by Fumiko Fumi

The title might seem misleading, however it can be translated as “Our Transformation”! Buckle up buttercup cause this manga will fuck you over emotionally. Three crossdressers meet up after being in a crossdressing group, with different reasons as to why they crossdress. Parou crossdresses to fall in love with a straight guy, Marika is actually a trans woman, and Yui crossdresses as his dead sister to “help” his mother with her grieving. There are some other characters who don’t fit within the gender norms! 

Now let me tell you if you are dealing with some trauma and can’t handle very sensitive topics, this manga might not be the one for you. Although it isnt just homophobia and transphobia, it also contains content of sexual harrassment, pedophilia, and suicide. However these topics are not glorified or sexualized. They are trauma of some of the characters and they must learn how to overcome from it individually. However, there is a happy ending for them!! Please let that be known! I enjoyed reading it if sobbing your heart out counts as enjoying it, because it has indeed pulled my heart strings (although I am not a trans woman, I am a trans guy and I can identify with only some of the things Marika goes through, as trans women go through different experiences than trans men and have it harder on them.) 

3. Hourou Musuko (Wandering Son) by Takako Shimura

This manga is one of the most well known mangas realistically depicting trans identity. It became popular when an anime adaptation came out! However the anime adaptation only covers the middle school part of our protagonists lives, however it encourages you to read the manga to find out what happens to them and their life! We have two protagonists. Shuichi who identifies as a girl, and Yoshino who identifies as a boy. Shuichi is the primary protagonist while Yoshino serves as a secondary protagonist. 

This manga also realistically depicts how hard it is for transfeminine people to come out and be themselves while transmasculine people seem to have it easier (dont clown on this dear fuck). We have lesbian, gay, and genderfluid characters galore! Although they do have some touchy topics like transmisogyny and transphobia in general, it is less heavier than Bokura no Hentai.  

Some people might not like the outcome of this story when it comes to Yoshino, however I am content with it because it shows that people should be able to explore their gender identity, and they are welcome to change it anytime as they see fit. Sometimes you won’t figure out your identity if you don’t explore. 

4. Shimanami Tasagore / Our Dreams at Dusk by Yuhki Kamatani

Also one of the more well known ones, the mangaka of this beautiful story is X-gender and asexual! It follows the protagonist, Tasuku is contemplating suicide as rumors circulate that he is gay at his highschool (he is). He sees a woman jumping off a building nearby and runs to her aid. Her name is Anonymous/Somebody and she sees herself is asexual but other than that she does not like labels, she invites Tasuku inside the building she just jumped off, which contains a group of exclusively lgbt characters. 

We have both trans, lesbian, and gay people. We see their struggles. We see how they overcome it. We see how even we ourselves can harm others even if we’re both lgbt. Of course there is homohpobia, transphobia, etc. however it is all handled perfectly and we get the satisfaction of these characters speaking up for either themselves or for each other. I also love Anonymous simply because she doesn’t like labels and chooses not to use them (excluding the asexual part). Not everyone whos part of the lgbt community has a label, however they are still a part of us! 

5. Fukakai na boku no subete o (Fukaboku)/ Love me for who I am by Konayama Kata

Fukaboku is a very special manga to me, as it goes in depth on gender identity and sexuality. There are two protagonists, Tetsu who is a cis guy and supposedly straight (we later find out that he is not), and Mogumo, who is both intersex and nonbinary. 

Tetsu works as a chef at Question Cafe, and everyone employed in fanlations are called girlyboys, however in the official translation they use otokonoko which is anyone crossdressing as a girl regardless of their gender. There are plenty of transwomen, gay people, etc.! Tetsu falls in love with Mogumo, so he isn’t straight, however he isn’t explicitly gay because he recognizes Mogumo as what they identify as, nonbinary. It is safe to say that he could either be pan, bi, omni, etc. however we can’t confirm since it hasn’t been explicitly stated.

We learn how transfeminine people have certain struggles, like shoes that dont fit them, breasts, and voice feminization. We also have a dose of family struggles when it comes to Mogumo in later/current chapters. 

Before you dm me, yes. Yes I know about the shit prequel. The prequel actually features a gay couple in fukaboku. I have read it. Reluctantly even if it was only 24 pages. However just because the prequel is shit does not mean we should cancel Fukaboku. There is a thing called being critical of the content you’re enjoying. If we treated it like cancel y because of x, then things like persona 4 and danganronpa would be cancelled, but lets not get into that. 

6. Kanojo ni Naritai Kimi to Boku by Umi Takase

I haven’t heard of this one as much as I have the others, so I was very much pleased when I heard about this! There are two protagonist (yes there are a lot of lgbt mangas with two protags I’ve noticed too), Hime and Akira. Hime has a crush on Akira, who identifies as a girl. However this manga is also realistic, as Akira doesn’t fully ‘pass’ as a girl herself. Hime wants to do anything she can to help Akira feel comfortable on her first day of school wearing a girl’s uniform. Because of Akira being made fun of, Hime shows up to school in Akira’s male uniform to help Akira in solidarity. 

Their teachers are fully aware of Akira’s situation, however instead of discriminating her they accept her. Their homeroom teacher helps Hime overcome her internal problem about lashing out at others who try to befriend Akira, and she slowly realizes that just because people can’t accept Akira straight away, they will slowly get used to her and come to terms with the fact that Akira is trans in their own time rather than have it being forced on them.

Hime and Akira make friends slowly and we see that even little things (like calling Akira cute and/or a girl) helps Akira, even if theyre small things we dont usually notice. Hime also struggles with her crush as she sees Akira as a girl, yet she cant accept the fact that shes attracted to girls. 

Although Akira doesnt feel the same way as Hime does, she doesnt just like her as a friend, but also not as a lover either. Its safe to say that these two have a quasiplatonic relationship with each other. 

7. Yuzu no Koto by Arai Shou

I have noticed that there are plenty of mangas with transfeminine characters as the focus, rather than transmasculine, so heres one for the transmasculines! Ichigo’s best friend Yuzu comes back to school, however he is enrolling as a boy! It is very humorous as Ichigo tries to understand and get used to her best friend’s new identity. Although it is slow as each chapter is a single page, it is hinted that Yuzu has a crush on Ichigo (or if thats just me squinting really hard). 

8. Ohana Holoholo by Torino Shino 

It is a story about two bi women who are ex-girlfriends, raising one of the women’s baby together as a little family! There is also an idol/actor who helps them out and visits them occassionally! If you want something warming and wholesome, this is the manga for you!! 

9. My Androgynous Boyfriend by Tamekou

Wako, a woman who works for a publishing company is in a relationship with an androgynous/genderless man! Her boyfriend wears dresses, makeup, and is an instagram model! It is not necessarily treated as crossdressing. It is handled pretty well, and the chemistry between Wako and her boyfriend is very strong. They both love each other so much and help each other with their hobbies and interests. This is what a loving and healthy relationship is supposed to look like!!

10. Inside Mari by Shuzo Oshimi

It is debatable if this is actually considered lgbt, considered the circumstances, however I put it on this list because it shows how mental illnesses and disorders really feel to the person whos suffering from it. Please read throughout this whole section to understand why. 

Inside Mari is about a man named Isao who stalks this young girl named Mari. He follows her back outside of a little convenience store, but when she turns back and looks at him he wakes up inside her body and doesn’t know how to cope with it. He tries to find Mari while putting on a facade and living as her. He meets a girl named Yori who instantly recognizes that Isao isn’t actually Mari from his mannerisms. This girl has had a crush on Mari, just like Isao. Isao tries to prove to Yori that he switched bodies, and when he goes to his apartment, he finds someone living as him, but it isn’t Mari.

The more we delve into this manga, the more we figure out exactly what happened to Mari and Isao. As Isao and Yori visit and retrace his steps, Isao gets flashbacks to memories of Mari. Isao soon realizes that he isn’t actually the real Isao, but a introject of Isao, and that Mari actually has DID because of childhood trauma. The ending is bittersweet, as Mari comes back but Isao unfortunately becomes dormant/disappears since I don’t think what happened was them merging. 

11.  Seibetsu  "Mona Lisa" No Kimi He by Yoshimura Tsumuji 

In the world, people can choose what gender they want to be when they’re 12. When they’re 14 their appearance corresponds to their gender. Hinase however, is 18 years old and they still haven’t chosen a gender. They prefer to be neither. However when their two best friends suddenly confess to them, their hormonal development suddenly starts to increase. 

Imagery and symbolism is very clear in this manga!! As we revolve around the color blue/cyan and the debate and interpretations of Mona Lisa’s gender. I’m very hopeful that Hinase will stay as nonbinary rather than choosing a gender, simply because both of their best friends confessed and asked them to become the opposite gender to be with them. It is very much hinted that Hinase will be in a romantic relationship with their male best friend however. I love this manga simply because the protagonist doesn’t want to identify as either male nor female. 

12. Jun And Kaoru: Pure And Fragrant by Neiki Zui

Jun and Kaoru have a special condition, by midnight they both switch genders. Because they both have this condition, they hang out with each other and help each other with clothing, etc. It should be addressed that these two do not have the “I wish to be a girl/boy” etc. The problem that they have though is their growing crush on each other. They are either genderqueer, or genderfluid, or whatever you prefer since it isn’t directly stated within the manga. They’re not cis or straight! It is a very fun and comedic love story and I wish to see further updates on it!!! 

13. Sakura-Chan to Amane-Kun by Asazuki Norito 

This story revolves around Sakura who identifies as a girl and Amane who identifies as a boy. Amane spots Sakura dressed as a girl and instantly recognizes her, however instead of belittling her he asks her out on a date, only if she goes as a girl. During school however, they have to pretend to be the gender theyre assigned with while not interacting with each other. 

Since there is a lot more but I dont want to break tumblr, I will be making a part 2 and I’ll post it tomorrow! 

#lgbt #lgbt manga #manga #lgbtq #lgbtq manga #trans #gay #my post #long post #i enjoy doing stuff like this #prolly because its how i found out i was bigender

[alittleroseandhoneyblog-blog]

Sticks and Stones

A comment left on one of my photos!*

Let’s start this by simply saying Thank you!

Thank you for taking the time to comment on one of my photos – thank you for providing your opinion on a topic that we as women face on a daily basis – I want you to know that when you attacked my body, you did not effect me in a negative way – you did not discolor my self esteem, you did not hurt me (as I have been through far worse) and you certainly did not make me think any less of myself– in fact you empowered me.

You’ve made me stronger, so thank you!    

In many ways you are right, your opinion is exactly that – but it’s your form of “fit” that I do not fit into – not mine (or those who love me)  You see, this whole industry is in the eye of the beholder – it’s what we choose to get out of the process that matters, it’s all indifferent and perhaps if you removed your rose-colored glasses you would see beauty in all the different shapes and sizes the human body comes in rather then taunting those around you for not having your form of fit.

Those comments set us back, they linger and are a leading cause of so much self doubt and self sabotage and that conversation needs to change, you cannot be teaching children that – in fact, you should be educating yourself because YOUR perception of what “FIT” is needs to change.

FIT is defined as

“in good health”

……especially because of regular physical exercise.  

Well, that sounds like me…I mean

I have climbed the CN tower stairs, twice – all 1,776 of them.

I dance, every day for upwards of an hour or two

I lift weights every day

I fuel my body properly; I do not diet or restrict what foods I put into my body (because I am human)

So contrary to an unsolicited opinion on MY body…I AM FIT and here’s the thing- YOU (whoever you were) don’t get to decide – 

I have moved past that way of thinking – and I invite you to as well!  

I am not an expert.  I do not have a flashy background it fitness, I am not a trainer or a nutritionist – but what I do have is life experience, I’ve been through trauma (that I am still healing from) I have demons that I have been so ashamed to face until recently because of fear of judgement from not only strangers but from people who frequent my table.  The truth is none of this is easy to talk about, no one wants to stand up and talk about their body in a negative way, or relive their toxic relationships no one wants to risk appearing weak when there is already so much judgment out there, but guess what, we all have pasts, we all have gone through something that has lead us to be who we are today and just because someone has a similar story and lived through similar situations (and survived) doesn’t mean that your story is any less validated, it doesn’t make the experience any less traumatic or hard and it certainly doesn’t mean that you don’t have the right to tell it – we tell our stories in hopes that it helps someone so that it shows that we can go through dark times and still rise – we should be encouraging people to read their chapters out loud instead of claiming rights to something that many of us have faced whether its disordered eating, body image, mental health, self sabotage, relationships…and so much more. 

My first ever heartbreak had a lot to do with my weight at 21 … I will never forget how I watched a man that I loved fall out of love with me as the number on the scale went up. I was insecure about it but we never talked about it - I never asked the right questions I never asked if he was still attracted to me (as he gained the same “happy” weight I did) I didn’t ask if he was falling out of love with me but up until that point I never struggled with my body image and I believed that the number on the scale didn’t define me – but the truth is, it DID (in my own mind at least) – and in the end he broke up with me.  Truthfully, I can pinpoint that to exactly when my negative relationship with my body started.  B and I ate out a lot and If we weren’t eating out then I was cooking big meals that were greasy and with portion sizes that were out of control, I thought food solved everything. I gained about 30 “happy pounds” and hit my second puberty. My hips went up 5 sizes, my boobs were out of control and I didn’t recognize the girl I saw in the mirror anymore.

Dating as a chubby girl was seriously depressing so much so that I tried online dating (I know, save the judgment for later) I remember only using pictures of my face and avoiding anything that showed my body – and I ended up meeting this guy and after a few days of us texting we went for a movie (we had a wonderful time and he seemed really into me) but unfortunately on the ride home he pulled over 3 times and PULLED IT OUT…(I am not joking and there is a whole other story to this) anyways – I declined – politely (3 times, once with tears lol)  I could tell that his ego was a little hurt.  Shortly after he dropped me off at home I got a message from him that said… “you know you’re a lot bigger in person” as if that was the reason he wasn’t going to see me again - (not that he was a total pig) but honestly I was shocked and so embarrassed that someone openly commented on my weight (that wasn’t my grandma) and I wont lie It really hurt my feelings,  but I politely reminded him that the weight was something I could easily work off, but he was stuck with a small dick for the rest of his life (lol) and so we never spoke again (until he came across my social media last year and has been creeping ever since!!)

The truth is in that moment I became so desperate to have my old body back - to be able to fit into my old pair of jeans (the “before” him jeans) that I started skipping meals – I lied to my loved ones about what I was putting in my body - I ended up in the hospital - multiple times with stomach pain and exhaustion - I took a leave of absence from work because I was too sick to even get out of bed.  

I DID THAT - I starved my body and all I can remember thinking at the time was that it worked, I lost the weight as if it was some miracle.  It didn’t change anything- I was still sad, I was still skipping meals and I knew that mentally I was not in a good place and it didn’t help that 6 months after the break up that spiraled all those negative feelings just announced he was getting married.  This went on for about a year, where I struggled with disordered eating and my body image - I met matt, at my thinnest and I maintained that as long as I could - fast forward to pregnancy (which turned out the be incredibly unhealthy) I was still  starving my body, its really the only pattern I knew and I continued to watch my weight,  I didn’t want a repeat of what happened with B, So I limited my calorie intake – But once I realized what I was doing I started eating smaller meals more often, then the portions became larger, and within a few weeks I went from not eating the foods I wanted to eating everything in sight.  I would over-eat…and then eat and then eat some more…and in 3 months I gained almost 40lbs (60lbs my total pregnancy), went borderline Diabetic and ended up having a premature birth at 7 months followed by my gallbladder being removed shortly after-  great experience, right!  

My mentality at that time was “Well my body is changing anyways, may as well enjoy it…”

Or “I’ve already gained this much weight, what’s another few pounds….”

WRONG, wrong, wrong WRONG - that is not a healthy mentality at all and again is a part of that self sabotaging culture that we as women live in.

I wasn’t surprised that 5 years later I still owned 95% of that “baby weight”, I knew I needed to get serious – I put blinders on when it came to my health I was overweight, I was lazy and I lacked motivation to work out and it wasn’t until about a year ago that I actually committed to something that worked for me… (did you catch that… “something that worked for me”, because everyone is different ) Anyways- It certainly didn’t happen overnight, and I had to overcome a lot of personal demons that ended up being bigger then just a negative body image - I had to get raw and admit that in some situations I was the toxic person – that I allowed my circumstances and for that I carried so much guilt. 

The point is! 

As human beings we need to learn to co-exsist with all of our demons whether its food, weight or body shape or even our mental health – we need to be as patient with ourselves as we are others, mindful of our own feelings, our own needs and we need to cultivate in them.  This is why this conversation is so important to me – why I choose to address certain things, why my social media is public- no one but me has the right to narrate my story and so the best I can do is live well,  without fear of judgment, comfortable in my skin, in my decisions 

- Although I am as open as I can be, I choose to be very conscious about what I post on social media (for a few reasons) - One is simple, my husband has to approve of the content being posted. Out of respect and love for that man who has supported me unconditionally throughout this process, regardless of being 1000% confident in my “now” body, he prefers some things to stay private (in which I totally agree) but the other is because there are people (no scratch that) women out there whose “dream body” is my “then” body –  and the words I use to describe how I felt in my own skin during that time can damage someone else’s perception of their dream body, it can become discouraging – But understand this, I know now that my body was actually never the problem. That additional weight I carried, was beautiful. I admit there have been things that I have been insecure about, yes but that was society making me believe that my body didn’t look right,  that was social media and marketing saying you are only worthy of real love at a 120lb and everything else is unlovable.  That was my own self sabotage that made me believe I wasn’t good enough as is and so I went to drastic measures to try and comply to what society told me beautiful should be and throughout this entire process I wish I would have told myself sooner that being a size 12 did not change my banging personality or my sense of humour and being a size 8 didn’t change my heart, or how I viewed the world and being a size 4 now doesn’t make me any better of a person then I was 10 years ago when I felt my worth was dictated by the number on the scale.  I have had to accept that not everyone will see “fit” the same way I do and unfortunately because I have decided to put my life on social media the way I do, I have opened a window for others to form that opinion of me, I have allowed them judge me, to be passive towards me or to even question my character and in some cases those opinions will be voiced but I welcome them and if by chance you are that person who wants to dim my light know this you can’t break me - I am 10000% comfortable and confident in who I am – Broken past, Belly fat, cellulite, saggy boobs and all (Lol)

I will end with this, I will not apologize for “showing off” as I have earned the right to – I will not apologize for over coming the two worst relationships I’ve ever had and will ever have in my life (food and my self worth) – I will not apologize for being my own version of fit even if it doesn’t align with yours and I certainly will not apologize for being who I am.

As far as I am concerned, as long as you are not harming others in any way, live unapologetically in all you do.  You don’t need validation from anyone or anything!

#fitness

[newts-fan-case]

Balance

One-shot/Chapter number: Chapter One

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Young!Ballerina!OFC

Genre/Warnings: Fluff, Smut (in future chapters). TW for slight mention of eating disorders (in future chapters)

Rating: Rated M for future chapters

Word Count: 1800+

Summary/Author’s Note: Hello again! Here is the first chapter of my first Tom Hiddleston x OFC fan fiction (that is not a one shot). Like I said before it’s about a young ballerina that bothers Tom with the noise she makes, they met and lots of things happen... Sorry, I'm not really good at summaries. Any grammar or orthographic mistakes are my own, I hope to improve with this because English isn’t my first language, so just let me know if you spot any mistake that could be easily corrected.

Tag list is at the end and the text is under the “Read more” cut (I hope) for better scrolling. Any comments will be greatly appreciated, any constructive criticism will be strongly encouraged and if you want to be tagged or removed from the tag list just let me know! I hope to publish a new chapter every two weeks (early if I can, but don’t hold your breath) and on weekends mostly. If you read this, thank you and without further ado, the chapter:

“…Yes, Mum, I just landed. I’m gonna go fetch Bobby first, have a nap and then I’ll go grocery shopping.” Tom said to the phone. 

“Alright, Tom, remember you will come visit Friday, you can stay all you want and please bring that gorgeous pup of yours!” He could hear lots of noise on his mother end, she must have been in one of her clubs. “I already miss him so much, I’m having second thoughts about giving him to you.”

“Yes, Mum, I remember. I bet Bobby will be absolutely delighted to see you again, I will start to take him on walks without carrying him that much so we can start running soon. And I missed you, too.” He chuckled, absentmindedly shaking his head while he picked his luggage from the baggage claim area.

“Oh! Don’t be silly, I miss you very much too, and I miss seeing your face without all that hair that makes you look like a tramp,” she huffed, “I hope you shave and get a cut soon.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be holding my breath for that, I happen to like the beard and the longer hair, thank you very much.” He heard Diana sigh on the other end and smiled, picturing her shaking her head in a resigned manner.

“Alright, alright… I have to go now, Blanche is saying that it’s my turn. I love you, Tom, bye.” She made kissing noises and he smiled.

“I love you too, mum, see you on Friday.”

“See you.” He hung up, and sighed. He really had missed his family this few months and was really glad he got to spend the holidays with them this year. Tom couldn’t wait to see his mum, sisters and nieces. 

Getting a cab at noon wasn’t very easy, but after a few tries he was finally able to catch one, he gave the cabbie Luke’s address and mentally prepared himself to call his publicist and friend.

Luke, like always, answered after the third tone, “Luke Windsor”

“Hey, Luke, I just got to London, I’m on a cab right now to pick up Bobby, are you ready?” 

“Tom, lovely to hear from you, yes, your little nightmare is ready, you owe me a pair of new shoes and a belt.” His friend didn’t sound very mad, but he didn’t sound happy either, Tom closed his eyes and sighed.

“Okay, sorry about that, mate. I’ll be there in an hour maybe less if the traffic isn’t so bad, thanks for taking care of him”

“Yeah, you’re welcome, although I’m happy you don’t have any trips coming soon, because I’m not volunteering to look after him anytime soon.” Tom laughed but immediately stopped when he could hear a loud clash through the phone, “For fuck’s sake! Bobby!!” Luke shouted, he must have left the phone on a table because Tom could only hear his muffled voice, “Give me that… bad dog, stay there… no. Stay.”

Tom strummed his fingers on his leg and waited for the phone to be picked up again, a bit of shuffling later and… “Luke, I’m really sorry, I’ll pay you everything he may have broken, sorry, but he is just a puppy, he will learn soon enough and-“

“Tom, stop. It’s fine, it was just a cup of coffee, I’m glad he didn’t cut himself with the shards. And you will be here soon, so I won’t kill him to stop his adorable puppy eyes.”

“Great, thanks mate. Did you already walked him?”

“Yes, yes, he is ready to go, and I hope you get here soon ‘cause I have a meeting in two hours and I don’t fancy being late.”

“Right, see you in a bit.”

“Goodbye.”

Tom put away his phone and then yawned. Jet lag was really getting to him, he couldn’t wait to get home, shower and have a nice long nap, hopefully until dinner. These time changes were impossible to keep up with and he was practically living out of coffee and red bull. When he got to Luke’s house he asked the cabbie to wait for him and went to fetch Bobby. His friend opened the door before he even got there and a brown mass of fur came running and barking to greet him. 

“Hello buddy! Did you miss me? Yeah? Good boy! I missed you lots too!” The puppy barked excitedly and kept jumping to try and lick his face, Tom knelt and scratch him behind the ears, the puppy’s tail didn’t stop waggling and Tom had to keep turning his face to stop Bobby from licking his mouth and eyes. “Oh, you’re such a good boy! Yeah!”

At that moment Luke exited his house with Bobby’s bag, where Tom guessed were his harness, toys and bowls.

“Here, all his things are in there, I had to wash him the other day because he thought it would be fun to play in the mud, so there is a bottle of shampoo in there too.”

Tom stood up and put the bag over his shoulder, then he gave his friend a hug and thanked him, again, for looking after his dog. They said their goodbyes and Tom got back in the cab, with Bobby in his lap with the head out of the window. He gave the driver his address and they were home a few minutes later. Bobby had calmed a bit on the ride, so he quickly paid the driver -with a generous tip for allowing the dog in- got his things from the boot and made his way inside the building. 

He greeted the doorman and walked to the elevator. Normally he would’ve taken the stairs but with all the things he was carrying and the tiredness that seemed to creep on him, even more now that he was so close to his house and bed, he decided to not risk himself falling. ‘Better safe than sorry’, he thought.

When he finally was inside his house, he quickly let the dog down, got rid of the bags that were making his back hurt and started shedding his clothes to take a much needed shower. He practically raced upstairs to his ensuite and there he took off his shoes, pants and underwear, then he jumped in the shower and couldn’t help the loud moan that fell from his lips when the warm water touched his back and relaxed his tired muscles. 

He took his sweet time washing himself. He quickly dried his body and put a towel around his waist, he didn’t bother drying his hair, something he was sure his mother would have chided him for not doing and went to his bedroom to take his long needed nap. The man put on some clean boxers, checked the time on his bedside clock -1:37 p.m- and fell  face first on the bed, he got comfortable and closed his eyes, expecting to instantly fall asleep and sleep at least three hours.

Tom was startled awake with what sounded like… ‘Hammering? Who the hells starts hammering at…’he checked his bedside clock and groaned. It was only 2:16pm! He hadn’t even slept an hour yet! And the sound seemed to be coming from right upstairs, just above is head. He could already feel a migraine forming and then Bobby started barking from downstairs, obviously. He groaned again and buried his face on the pillow -that was wet now- because he hadn’t dried his hair and now he really regretted it. 

The noise finally stopped and he sighed contently, cuddling his pillow more and thanking the heavens that he could get to sleep again when…

Thump, thump, thump-thump-thump-thump-thump.

‘Bloody hell!”

The man couldn’t take it anymore, he put on some sweatpants, a shirt and went upstairs to knock on his neighbour door, he  prepared a speech in his mind to kindly ask whoever lived there that he needed a God damn nap or else…

Nobody answered, he was getting more and more irritated by the second, the noise was louder up here so he tried knocking a bit harder, and again, nothing.

He couldn’t hear any background noise except for the on and off thump-thump-thump, so he tried one last time. Just when the noise stopped, he knocked harder than the other times. Finally he could hear light footsteps approaching. A few seconds later the door was being opened and he found himself face to face -or more like face to chest, her face, his chest- with a beautiful young girl wearing a bun, headphones hanging around her neck -which explained the no-hearing thing- a leotard with light pink tights underneath, a flimsy skirt, leg warmers and a pair of shiny new pointe shoes on her hand. 

‘So, a ballerina then, that may explain the noise,’ he thought. 

The girl shyly smiled at him, with a flushing face and the shiniest eyes he had ever seen, leaning against the doorframe and sort of expecting… something… Right!

“Hello! Hmm… Sorry… I’m Tom,” he extended his hand, “I live downstairs, didn’t mean to interrupt your practice or whatever you were doing but-“

“Oh, its okay!” She said, letting go of the door so it opened wider, shaking his hand delicately, “I’m Claire, I’m sorry, are you here for the noise? I didn’t realize there was someone downstairs and I guess it would be annoying to hear the tapping while I break in the shoes.” Claire looked to the floor embarrassed, fidgeting a bit with the shoes in her hands. 

“Erm, yes, normally I wouldn’t mind. Really. It’s just… I got home from a large trip today and I’m a bit jet lagged, so if yo could… keep it down for a bit?”

“Oh! Yes, don’t worry, I was done with these pair anyways, and I’ll try and keep the breaking to a minimum here, and practice too, so I don’t bother you with the noise,” the girl bit her lip and Tom couldn’t help but stare, thinking about what it would be like to kiss those pink lips… ‘Wait, stop! She must be over a decade younger than you, and we all know how that ends’

“No, no, no. Don’t compromise your art for me, it’s just for today, really.”

“Well… If you say so…”

The two of them stood there in an awkward silence, Tom was so occupied admiring the young beauty before him, that he didn’t notice her getting slightly uncomfortable, until she snapped him out of his reverie saying:

“Well, hmm, Tom, was it?” He nodded, “guess I’ll see you around?”

Tom absentmindedly nodded again while she started to close the door, “Yes, yes… I’ll be seeing you…” His mumbling got cut off by the door closing slowly in front of his stunned face.

‘Great Tom! I bet she thinks you are an idiot and a pervert now.’ The man sighed and made his way downstairs, still thinking about the beautiful young ballerina, wishing he could see her again soon.

Tag list: The one in italics couldn’t be tagged

@lilyrosebae​ @drakesfiance​ @redfoxwritesstuff​ @charliepeaceout​ @magic-dust​ @bambamwolf87​ @starlord829 @bookgirlunicorn​ @godhateskyleigh​ @aknerdchick​ 

#tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston #my writing #balance fanfic #tom hiddleston fan fiction #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston x ballerina!ofc #rpf #mine

[poststhatmakemefeel]

People pleasing and the "fawn" response

(I saw this go by on Facebook, and it was surprising how much it resonated. I'm copying it from ThreadReader, which got it from Twitter, where it was originally written by Sam Dylan Finch. Complete text below the cut. )

I want to share what has been, in the last year or so, one of the most important things I've realized about my own trauma history — something that has been massively important for my own healing.

Let's talk about the link between people-pleasers and emotional abuse. 🧵

Confession: I am a people-pleaser.

It took me a long time to realize this, though. Because I'm opinionated! And I speak my mind! I'm an "open book" about a lot of what I've been through. Clearly I don't care what people think... right?

But people-pleasing is a lot more complex than that. It's actually part of a trauma response. Most people know about fight, flight, and freeze — but another response, "fawn," is at the core of what people-pleasing is actually about.

To avoid conflict, negative emotions, and retraumatization, people who "fawn" when triggered will go out of their way to mirror someone's opinions and appease them in order to deescalate situations (or potential issues).

For me, this meant that the more invested I was in an emotional connection, the less likely I was to criticize that person, vocalize when my boundaries were crossed, express unhappiness with their behavior, or share anything that I felt might damage that relationship.

This could come across as being excessively nice and complimentary, overly-concerned with another person's happiness, and waiting for cues in conversation to determine if something was "safe" to share or disclose. People-pleasers are often considered "emotional chameleons."

People-pleasers are often really warm, encouraging, and generous people. They tend to overextend themselves and say "yes" to everything and everyone, eager to make those they care about happy and comfortable.

They often grow up in very controlling and chaotic environments, and internalized the idea that if they were perfectly good or well-behaved, they could minimize conflict and secure love and attachment.

And.

When you have this tendency to defer, make yourself subordinate, try to become smaller, ignore your boundaries and intuition, and minimize your own needs... you are profoundly vulnerable to emotional abuse.

When you are excessively concerned with pleasing others, you learn that in order to be effective at this, you have to shut down your gut instincts, your values, your emotions — bc being an individual, rather than a mirror, doesn't serve you in securing the love that you want.

People-pleasers can become drawn to abusive relationships, and repelled from relationships that are abundantly loving — because love has to feel "earned" in order to feel secure. In other words? If love is given too freely or easily, it doesn't feel safe.

This means people-pleasers can be drawn to relationships that are controlling (they feel safest when they defer to others), emotionally-withholding (they are driven by the need to "secure" affection/elated when they do), and even abusive (their lack of boundaries is exploited).

Another part of being vulnerable to abuse is that people-pleasers are so easily gaslit, because when they are inclined to suppress their own instincts, values, and beliefs, they're infinitely more likely to defer to an abuser's version of events or narrative.

This also means that "fawn" types often go through cycles of restricting emotionally (I can't be "too much" for others) & then purging emotionally ("unloading" onto a trusted person bc the expectation to be perfect gets to be too much).

(I think this is why so many of us have eating disorders — just an anecdotal observation, but I digress...)

People-pleasers (the "fawn" trauma response) isn't intended to manipulate others and it's not meant to be dishonest. Every single person presents a version of themselves to others. This merely describes how trauma informs that presentation on an often unconscious level.

The "fawn" response is driven by fear, not a hidden agenda. The "fawn" type is less about manipulation, because it's not being used to *overpower* someone. Instead, it's an excessive *relinquishing* of personal power, driven by fear and a desire for validation.

For example, someone who runs personal errands for their boss — despite it not being part of their job description — is not manipulating their boss into liking them. (It won't work anyway.) Their boss, testing those thin boundaries, is exploiting their need for approval.

In more intimate relationships, this can show up as "fawn" types gravitating towards hot/cold dynamics, where affection and love are offered unpredictably.

This is where the emotional abuse piece comes into play. You have someone who is controlling, who feels safest in relationships where they call the shots, and most loved when someone is actively seeking out their approval.

Enter: The "fawn" type.

An abuser will offer validation only to keep the fawn type tethered. But they'll withdraw that it before things feel secure, to ensure that the pleaser will continue going out of their way to "fawn" — continually giving over their power and autonomy so the abuse can continue.

I'm sharing this because, holy shit, my friends, the number of traumatic relationships I've thrown myself into — professionally, personally, romantically — to get stuck in this cycle, with my self-esteem pulverized, has made my heart so heavy.

It took stepping away from a friendship that had so thoroughly gaslit and demolished me — while plummeting into the deep depths of anorexia — before I realized that chasing controlling, emotionally unavailable, even abusive people was crushing my spirit.

I'm not going to leave you hanging, though. If you're reading this and say, "Holy shit... it me. Oh god. What do I do?" I'm here. I've got some advice, some books, some resources. Hang tight.

For starters, I'm going to ask you something: Which of your friends do you cancel on?

Personal experience: I had this tendency to bail on friends, partners, acquaintances, whoever, that were the most generous, warm, and emotionally-available. I avoided those relationships where love was free and easy. Because it didn't feel "earned," so I didn't feel "worthy."

Which isn't to say that everyone with this trauma response does this, BUT, we seek out the familiar. Which means many of us tend to avoid what feels unsafe. For people-pleasers, we're so used to working endlessly hard in relationships — it's disorienting when we aren't asked to.

I made a google doc (no, I seriously did) where I listed out people who were "way too nice to me." And then I asked myself, do I like this person? Do I enjoy their company? If I did, I sent them a text message and told them I wanted to commit to spending more time with them.

I was completely honest about my process with those folks, too. I said, "Listen, I get really scared when people are nice to me. You've always been SO nice to me, and I get afraid of disappointing you. But I want to change that, because I just enjoy your company so very much."

In my phone contacts, I put emojis by their names. I put strawberries next to people who were super loving. I put seedling emojis by folks who taught me things that made me think/grow. So when I saw a text from them, it reminded me that I should prioritize that message. 🌱🍓

And?

My life completely changed... in every imaginable way.

My "strawberry emoji people" went from being acquaintances/friendly to becoming chosen family that I literally could not imagine my life without. 

With the help of some amazing therapy, I grew to love myself so much — because that love was being modeled for me in a healthy way.

I'm going into a partial hospitalization program for my anorexia in the next couple weeks (because I've taken it out on my body as much as I have my mind), and my strawberry people (who are now all in a group text together) have been there every step of the way. 😭❤️🍓

Resources! 

I genuinely believe that every single person should be reading Pete Walker's book about complex trauma. "Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving: A Guide and Map for Recovering from Childhood Trauma."

It's really damn good. It talks about fawn types in more detail!

I also wrote a blog entry last year about the pleaser/controller relationship type, if that sounds a little too relatable: https://letsqueerthingsup.com/2018/06/30/people-pleasers-can-be-drawn-to-toxic-relationships-its-important-to-know-why/

I chat a lot more about recovery from trauma/eating disorder stuff on my instagram as well. (I should probably be plugging it more regularly but I forget, sigh. Same handle as here!) 

So if this type of content speaks to you, I write about this on a weekly basis over there. 🌱

Most of all though, I just want to validate the hell out of you. ❤️ I understand the very hellish cycle that we find ourselves in when we're consumed by this idea that we need to be "exactly enough," and that, if we measure it out correctly, we'll never hurt or be hurt again.

But relationships involve putting ourselves in harm's way sometimes. What they shouldn't involve, though, is self-harm — and ultimately, that's what "fawning" does. We're harming ourselves. We're making ourselves smaller, we're self-silencing, and we're punishing ourselves.

You are allowed to have ALL the feelings. You are allowed to take up ALL the space. You're allowed to be everything that you are & then some. The right people — your people — will love you even more when they see how expansive your life becomes when you give yourself that space.

It doesn't happen overnight. It's a process! But I want you to know that it's a process you can begin at any time. It's never too late to give yourself permission to be, to show up more authentically, and to find those who will celebrate you for it. I promise you that. ❤️✨

PHEW that was a really long thread but... if even one of you is like "wait fuck this I'm gonna let myself be loved" then it was 100% worth the followers I lost in the process. 😂

(To them, I am sorry for flooding your Twitter feed, but I did it out of LOVE.)

Okay ily byeeee 👋🏻

Adding to this thread, since so many of us are in our feels right now: I’m listening to the song “Sum Of Our Parts” by @marylambertsing and FEELING IT.

“Which part of you clipped your own wings?”

Hugs to every single one of you. ♥️♥️♥️

I added a strawberry next to my name. Each time you see it, please know it’s me, right by your side, cheering you on in this messy and beautiful and weird journey we’re all on. ♥️🍓 

May you find your “strawberry people” and grow beyond what you ever thought possible! 🌱🌿🌷

[jixiani]

I’m Fat and that’s OK.

Several years ago I restricted my caloric intake to a point that I gave myself gallstones. I’ve had disordered eating since I was young, as happens when you grow up fat. I remember dieting when I was in middle school, joining gyms with my mom and aunt in sixth grade, eating nothing but a glass of milk and an apple until dinner in an attempt to be acceptable to the kids that teased me. I’ve dieted, tried exercise routines that I took too far because I’m super competitive and obsessive, counted calories and ended up memorizing caloric content of certain foods. I got helpful advice from people that cared about me: drink a glass of water before every meal (which turned into only drinking a glass of water instead of eating a meal), eat less, substitute celery for a snack, dance while standing in line to burn extra calories...I spent a good year as a middle schooler doing the Slimfast thing, or using the same concept but with milk when we couldn’t afford actual diet drinks. I spent my entire high school career never eating lunch, only occasionally snatching fries from my friends or skipping lunch to go to an elective with them followed by a few times a year staying after school for stage crew and conveniently not eating dinner either. I was always fat. I was nicknamed Miss Piggy in grade school, tormented by bullies, left out, beaten up a few times. Once one of the boys threw a bottle of glue at me so hard that I had a bruise the size of a melon on my hip for a month, coincidentally on the same side I get ovarian cysts, I’m sure it has nothing to do with that...When I almost died of Salmonella at ten I was happy not that I had survived but that I had lost thirty pounds. I alternated not eating anything with binging on junk food. Still to this day if I can’t bring myself to eat anything else I know I can eat ice cream or some sort of fried potato or chocolate. The summer before my senior year of high school I rode my bike eight miles every day it wasn’t raining. Sometimes I rode twice that. I rarely brought water with me, it was summer but I figured that it just meant I would lose weight faster. I did lose weight, I dropped five or six dress sizes and suddenly I was acceptable, I was cool, I was desirable. I was also terribly damaged and needy and threw myself into a series of really bad decisions and relationships because I had zero self esteem. I eventually gained all the weight back. In college I almost fainted during a theater rehearsal and was forced to eat a bag of pretzels, it was the only thing I had eaten that day because I had been busy. I learned that I could replace a meal with a candy bar, something to keep my sugar up. I can’t stand people seeing me eat, I would buy things out of the vending machines and hide in little used spaces and eat my candy bar or poptart. Under the stairs, in the garden, in the basement break room...I knew where all the vending machines were and would avoid them if there was someone else there. I kept dieting, I downloaded apps to help track calories and exercises. The machines at the gym gave read outs of how many calories burned. I was congratulated on every bit I lost, every hour spent at the gym, I fed on praise instead of food. My app said I could have 3000 calories, I barely ate 1200 on a regular basis and that was when I was actively trying. But then I’d look at that 1200 and think, I can do better. The hours of exercise built up and I competed with myself to see how little calories I could log. Each teaspoon of sugar is 15 calories (I didn’t have to look that up, I’ll probably remember it when I’ve forgotten my own name), milk is 125 but black coffee is almost nothing, celery is also almost nothing. 1000, 900, 800...the human body burns something like 800 calories just to keep you alive, so if I eat less than that I’m bound to lose weight, right? Well, yes, I did. After a few months of that I had lost a lot of muscle, my body burning itself up to keep me moving, out of breath walking up stairs, obviously I was out of shape despite the diet and exercise…See, when you’re skinny and you do this, people worry about you and you have an eating disorder, but when you’re fat every pound and inch lost is a victory. According to a doctor I was seeing around that time “Fat people don’t have eating disorders.” I was seeing them because I started having gallstone attacks, I had no insurance and couldn’t afford the surgery, they suggested that I “Just stop eating McDonalds” I insisted that I didn’t eat McDonalds, that I didn’t actually eat much of anything, that I had cut out junk food, that I was dieting, that I thought that maybe I was dieting too much and had a problem. This was met with skepticism and I was told that if that was true then I should keep up the good work. For the first time in all my turbulent history with food I was actually afraid of eating. The wrong food or food at the wrong time resulted in pain. Not eating had also resulted in pain. I had done this to myself, I gave myself permission to eat but I was terrified of putting food in my mouth. Finally after twenty one attacks, some lasting over 9 hours I went to the ER. I was developing jaundice, they gave me the option of surgery. It was elective, they were very clear on that, I could go home, of course I might need a new liver, but it was my choice.

After that I stopped dieting. I eat junk food, I eat good food, I eat because I enjoy it, I walk, again because I enjoy it. I gain weight, I lose weight, I have stretch marks, I still remember calories and I despise that everything has calories on the label now. I’ve gone to therapy, I found out why I am obsessive and restrictive (obsessive compulsive personality disorder) and have tools to help. I still sometimes survive on poptarts although that’s being poor/convenience/I genuinely like them not because I’m afraid that people will see me eat real food. I eat salad because I like vegetables almost as much as chocolate not because I’m supposed to in order to be seen as a “good” fat person. I eat fast food and chips and give zero fucks what someone might say about it and know that I’m allowed to eat what I want, just not to over do it. I am still self conscious, I still worry about whether someone will find me attractive, I still have days where nothing fits right and even my own skin feels wrong and I probably always will. To be fair, I had those days when I was a size 12 too. I found doctors that don’t harp on my BMI (which is a bullshit measure, how could I have the same BMI when I was a size 18 as when I was a size 12 and you could count every rib and take out an eye with my hip bone?), I’m not looking forward to finding new ones but hopefully I can find one that won’t try to make me lose weight before treating my strep throat (totally something that happened).

But the thing is, I work with a lot of women and they are always comparing diets. They eat their salads and talk about how much they hurt from the gym and how no, they can’t have that bread it’s all carbs. And I have a few girls (it’s always the girls) who come through my lunch line and ask for sandwiches without bread because they’re trying to lose weight (although I would have sold both my arms to be as skinny as them when I was their age) and I just want to shake them. I want to tell them about how I starved myself for most of my life, how I hid in my bedroom to eat and hated every moment that I ate with other people and never wanted to be the first in line for food, how I made myself sick and how I’m probably heavier because my body wants to hold on to every calorie I begrudgingly gave it. How those “Recommended daily calorie intake” things are low balled and growing kids should be getting more like 3000-3500 calories a day and the unknown damage I’ve done to myself by only getting half that for most of my life. I want to tear down the whole system that makes money off making us feel bad about ourselves and assure them that none of it matters, that you only have one body and one life and you can’t put off living until you reach some unattainable and unsustainable goal. I want to rip those little signs off everything that says how many calories are in things because it has taken me YEARS of purposefully ignoring them before I can eat things without thinking of how many hours I’d have to be on an elliptical to justify eating something. Because there are little girls looking at themselves in mirrors and hating themselves, because there are women that are painfully aware of how many calories are in those things and don’t need a little sign to remind them, because there are women that are still waiting to be thin enough to love themselves and do all the things they want to do but don’t think they can because they’re too fat. Because there are doctors that would rather we die while they treat our fat instead of our illness. Because fat is the worst thing you can be when there are so many worse things. Because you can’t hate yourself into someone you can love. Because the things we pick up from the world around us and the scars that are left from cruel classmates and behaviors that we develop are insidious and last a lifetime and I’m still self conscious about the way I look. No assurances that “a few hundred years ago, yours was the ideal body type” or “boys may not want to date you now, but someday men will want to marry you” or “Real girls have curves” (which excuse me, but all girls are real girls, curves or lack thereof notwithstanding), or encouraging words from lovers will ever change or erase that damage. I still have bad days. I read something in a story the other day about a chubby, older woman from the male character’s point of view and how he liked the way she looked and I realized that I had never considered that someone could be attracted to me. I always figured that people liked me despite my weight, or that they might like it but in a probably creepy, chubby chaser sort of way. It hadn’t occurred to me that my weight might not even be a factor, or that I might be beautiful (I’ve been told I was, but figured that people are just being nice or just saying that because they wanted something) I had honestly thought that everyone I have ever interacted with just put up with my weight or were willing to overlook it. I had to close my kindle app for a while, I couldn’t process anymore of the story because I had been struck momentarily dumb but the realization that people may well find me attractive. It’s incredibly hard to get past those hang ups but I’m getting better and I want everyone else to get better too.    

[fatphobiabusters]

Content warning: Pro Anorexia, Pro Bulimia, Weight Loss, Eating Disorders, Thinspo

I wouldn’t normally post what someone sent us in a fanmail, but this made me angry enough that I feel it should be addressed here.

I’m sure this person was well-intentioned, but I need to discuss this with you all because there is something you really need to understand, something this person didn’t. 

I am sick and tired of the way that, whenever we call out the hatefulness and dangerousness that is the pro-ana mentality, whenever we call out people who just happen to have anorexia for their fatphobia, whenever we call out rhetoric that pushes eating disorders onto others and tries to conflate restricted eating or starving with some kind of glamorous, healthy, wonderful weight loss diet that will make you oh so beautiful, etc., someone always has to scream at us for supposedly hating anorexic people or not understanding what anorexia is. 

I’m fed up, honestly. 

Recently, I made a post explaining that fitspo and pro-ana are connected, and that is why I don’t like fitspo. Fitspo isn’t about being healthy and fit; it’s about damaging your body and taking on dangerous exercise regimens while not nourishing your body or even starving yourself. And like pro-ana, fitspo pushes the idea that having body fat is a horrible, horrible thing, that it is shameful, that it is a failure on your part, etc., and that you should be willing to go to any length, to even die, to get rid of all your body fat. Which, for the record, is literally impossible, and this pursuit really can kill you. 

And in the post, I said, “You can check our other posts on pro ana to fully understand the mindset behind these blogs and see what kinds of things they say and post.” And I said that because every single time we talk about pro ana, people don’t understand how it’s different from just being anorexic, take what we said as some kind of attack against or blanket statement about all anorexic people, and start massive fights and spread rumors about how much we “hate” people with eating disorders. 

Which, by the way, anti fat acceptance people use against us to try to show people with eating disorders that fat people are their enemy (completely ignoring you can be fat with an eating disorder) and that they should become fatphobic and anti fat acceptance too. And it works. And for many people with eating disorders, that is extremely dangerous, because if you see fat people as a bad thing, you will see fatness as a bad thing, and then it only becomes harder to recover and to take care of your body because you become more and more desperate to not be fat. 

Obviously, eating disorders aren’t always about not being fat- but it would be ignorant and false to say that that is never a factor, or that weight is never a massive concern for people with anorexia, bulimia, and the like. 

So I wanted to make the point right away: if you don’t know what pro ana is, you can look it up on our blog and see it for yourself. That way, there should be very little misunderstandings here. 

We have many posts about how people with anorexia are not the enemy, how people with anorexia deserve help, love, and support, etc., but how using anorexic people as a tool in your anti-fat rhetoric or promoting a pro-ana mentality is not okay. We have stated many times that we don’t have a problem with people with anorexia unless they treat us poorly for our weight- which, despite what you might want to believe, happens. We don’t treat them differently from anyone else in that sense. 

We aren’t going to give someone a free pass on being hateful and fatphobic just because of a factor of their identity, and that shouldn’t be seen as unreasonable. It’s not that we are judging them for their mental illness; it’s that we are holding them accountable for how their behavior and words hurt other people. The same thing we do with anyone else of any size or mental health status or whatever else. 

Hating pro ana is not about hating people with anorexia. It is about hating a specific mindset that tells people that starving is better than being fat.

I have literally seen the words “Better dead than fat” on these blogs. So this is not an exaggeration of what they are doing. 

So, onto this fanmail that bothered me so much. 

Hi. I read your recent post on fitspo/eating disorders, and I agree with almost everything. I hate pro-ana blogs with a burning passion, and have blocked a ton of related tags, including fitspo.

This is how the message started. And I want to believe the person meant it, that they understand how these blogs are hurtful and dangerous to a variety of people, that they get why we hate them so strongly. But I’m not convinced, and that’s because of what they said in the rest of their message. 

I do want to say, though, that some of the language you used to describe anorexia felt… surprising. The stuff about “eagerly starv[ing]” and anorexia being about hating fat people… it upset me a little

Except I never described anorexia in the post. I never talked about anorexia in general in the post. I talked only about pro ana blogs, about pro mia blogs, about fitspo blogs. 

And pro ana blogs, pro mia blogs, and fitspo blogs often promote the hatred of fatness, of being fat, of looking fat, of fat people. We’ve talked about it before here, and if this person had actually gone through our other posts on the topic, they’d know what I mean. Many of these blogs hate reblog pictures of fat people to use them as examples of what “ugly” looks like and to motivate themselves not to be fat. They leave mean, horrid comments on these pictures. They describe fatness like it’s a moral failure. Again, they say it’s better to be dead than fat. They bully fat people, they say awful things about fat people, they attack others for not hating fat people... I mean, it’s impossible to deny that much of what they are doing is about their hatred of fatness and their fear and disgust of the idea of being fat themselves.

And they are proud of their starvation. They show it off like a badge of honor. They don’t feel like they are hurting themselves. They, in fact, brag about how much they are bettering themselves by losing weight. They flaunt it, and encourage others to starve themselves. They are always eager to learn new unhealthy quick methods of weight loss to combine with the starvation. They post selfies of their progress, partially to fish for compliments from others who share the same mindset, and partially in hopes of getting insulted to keep motivated to keep starving. That is pro ana! This is not anorexia in general!

And I know that, which is why the post was only about pro ana. 

The whole point of the post was to answer a question we keep getting in our inbox: “How can you possibly hate fitspo/fitspiration?” And so I answered it, by first explaining pro ana and second by drawing the connection between the two. 

The post was never talking about anorexia. Hell, some people who run pro ana blogs don’t even meet the medical requirements of anorexia or even atypical anorexia, because you don’t necessarily have to starve yourself in order to encourage others to starve themselves and say that being fat is the worst thing ever! So although uncommon, not all of these blogs are run by anorexic people! Many fitspo blogs, for example, are not!

Anyway, the fanmail went on from there to talk about the sender’s own anorexia... again, completely missing the part about how this isn’t about anorexia in general. And the best part was that they felt the need to “educate” me on how anorexia is often about control... something I already know, because every time people scream and insult us for “attacking” anorexic people, they feel the need to tell us this.

And never once did the sender consider that maybe we at this blog have more experience with eating disorders than they think. They spent the whole time “teaching” us about them, assuming none of us have ever struggled with one. 

Sender, maybe you should check our “atypical anorexia” tag and see all the drama we have caused in the past by pointing out fat people with eating disorders exist- including fat people who restrict their eating or starve themselves. Why? Because you may find out that making assumptions about the mods is a shitty thing to do. 

My eating disorder isn’t because I hate fat people. I’d wager that most eating disorders don’t stem from that, even if they look like it.

No one was talking about you, though, sender! If you are not a pro ana blog, our posts calling out pro ana are not about you! 

And for the record, not everyone who hates fatness and fat people realizes they do! Fatphobia is one of those things that, like many other prejudices, you can have without even realizing! 

Also, being fatphobic against yourself still counts as being fatphobic! And surprise, there are a lot of people out there who claim to never hate fat people but sure do hate themselves for being too fat or for being too much “like” a fat person (i.e. eating too much, not caring about their weight as much as they “should,” typical fat people stereotypes like that)! And that still hurts other fat people even if you don’t want to believe it! 

Yeah, I know this person meant well, but I am angry. I am tired of having these conversations over and over again. 

Pro-ana is disgusting and should be banned from Tumblr, but anorexic people, and people with other EDs, are human too, and we suffer in ways which are certainly not as superficial as they might seem at first glance.

Yes, I know this. Still doesn’t change that pro ana is fatphobic and dangerous and that I am allowed to call it out. Which is all I did. Seriously. 

Please y’all, read our posts carefully before you “critique” them next time? And don’t make shitty assumptions about our mods or our opinions and viewpoints when you do? 

- Mod Bella 

#Bella Blogs #Weight Loss TW #Death TW #Pro Ana TW #Pro Mia TW #Eating Disorder TW #Body Shaming #Fat Shaming #Fatphobia #Healthism #Sizeism #Weight Bigotry #Weight Discrimination #Discrimination Against Fat People

[ciceroisthefamilycat]

My Fiery Heart reread response (my Indigo Spell one here, my first-time Fiery Heart one here from 7.5 years ago)

before I get into it, I remembered looking up the Iolanthe coven name Sydney used; that wasn’t something I looked up until after reading it the first time though, so I didn’t realize the fairy court connection to Sydney recommending Zoe do her literature assignment on Midsummer Night’s Dream... I’m very certain it was an intentional reference to that opera now (even though the purple flower meaning was enough on its own)... if they get around to adapting this one, I half want to see Amberwood Prep put on a production of MND where Jill is helping with the costumes and Zoe gets to play Titania or something; I never got around to reading Richard III (Zoe’s original pick) but it’s interesting that free will/fatalism is apparently a major theme, and that Richard contrived to have his brother Clarence sent to the Tower of London...

also, I’m not sure if I cared about “White Rabbit” by Jefferson Airplane all those years ago, but I got a thrill seeing it referenced this go around.

we get the first namedrop for Cicero (though we had heard about his propensity for killing birds and some other mention in the earlier BL books ETA, 7/19: “My family had a cat back in Utah that I was pretty sure was more responsible than Angeline” pg 31 TGL

Anyway, gosh Sydney makes bad decisions in this one. And it’s not because she has too much to do- she has no real outside strenuous challenges to protecting Jill or her group this go around. The friend group actually had to decide “yeah let’s go hunt down a Strigoi in LA” for there to be a major action scene. I realize she’s in her late teens and the burdens put on her are unfair, but she’s a great example of someone who thrives under pressure and falls apart when she’s given too much free time.

The switch to dual narrators was unnecessary. It wasn’t bad, but it was clearly only to set up for the big cliffhanger at the end, and so feels a bit pointless in this one. Btw, Rose didn’t lose her spirit link into Lissa’s mind after Lissa went on antidepressants. Now admittedly, the chemicals in Adrian’s mood stabilizers would have probably worked differently, or maybe Richelle was trying to retroactively make things more consistent (since alcohol could affect the bond), or maybe it was “Adrian and Jill’s bond is less established, so Jill can’t break through like Rose could”... but the sudden decision mid book (with no repercussions- Adrian doesn’t even bring it up to Sydney to be like “hey, one of your main concerns about having sex is taken care of”) is so pointless and really goes to the minimal page-time of the larger ensemble. I said it the first time I read the book, the absence of Kristin and Julia, and Micah, and even more important characters like Angeline or Trey is so frustrating. I realize Richelle couldn’t write a book that was 900 pages long, but I would have gladly taken any of those characters instead of the completely unnecessary Terwilliger/Malachi romance. Especially to see Jill’s reaction to getting to be a more typical high school human, since I think she would have gotten even more attached to Amberwood than Sydney did. I also just... really, the Alchemists decided to have Sydney’s bio sister on campus... pretending to be a cousin... while she was playing sister to Jill? I get they kind of backed themselves into a corner, but weird. That being said, I was happy to have Rowena and Cassie around. (give me Adrian and Rowena being wlw besties excellence to make me really happy)

Sydney’s coven initiation taking place in chapter 2, then she meets Inez (who gives her the books on charms)... and we never see a witch other than Jackie again in this book? Honestly, why bother with writing the initiation at that rate? I still like the cloak they made Sydney though. On reread, there’s the randomest bit where Trey’s like “is Neil even really British” and I wonder if that was a dropped storyline where Neil was faking. Olive and Nina are still pleasant characters, and I liked that they had a “unique” background, but knowing how those stories end was kind of a buzzkill on reread. Olive, especially, deserved better.

This is another one where I forgot quite a few events- Adrian getting drunk and the pawnshop (I think I remembered that obliquely, but not so much on it), or the trip to Texas (which actually came before the pawnshop but oh well). I was happy to finally get some actual Christian content again, although I regret we didn’t get more from Sydney & Rose or more Sydney & Lissa. On Adrian’s mental health storyline... I am less impressed by it than I was the first time (though I didn’t remember being super-impressed, but according to my first review?). I do actually like Adrian being insistent, once he’s started taking meds, that he’s going to continue, but the diagnosis of bipolar disorder doesn’t actually feel like it fits? I will say, I find Adrian’s “chicken or egg” pondering over whether spirit causes mental illness or mental illness means a predisposition to specializing in spirit is fascinating (though it’s probably for the best Richelle never actually answered it).

The way Adrian spoke (or thought) about Zoe really pissed me off. Like, one, you’re an adult, stop antagonizing the sister of the girl you like and just be cordial (which is less suspicious than suddenly acting like you and Sydney don’t get along at all), and two... Adrian’s super protective over Sydney after realizing the emotional abuse Jared heaped on, but somehow doesn’t realize that this fifteen year old has been spending time with said father’s attention solely focused on her for ages now, and he has no sympathy for her? Instead of seeing Zoe being like “Sydney shouldn’t have to provide for you all the time” and being like “aww, that’s a nice protective sister instinct even if she needs an attitude adjustment” he taunts a 15 year old about drinking from her the way he did to 20-something actual-predator Keith. He could have engaged yet another Sage sister in talking about his awesome car on the drive over, or at least made other good faith efforts.

The dabbling stuff made me more uncomfortable this time around (I think). Especially Sydney comparing her getting Keith’s eye ripped out to Adrian’s assault of a human girl... that was some real false equivalency on Richelle’s part. But other parts of it, like “oh here comes Adrian to save the day and at least he’s changed from these guys he used to hang out with (oh, look at that convenient statement that even back in the day Adrian wasn’t on the same level of bad as them)”  was really frustrating, or the fact that Adrian was very deliberately withholding information from her in his own chapters and it made me question his trustworthiness in her chapters. Or the “oh, hey, he made the concession of getting treatment for his mental illness, so all is forgiven” handwaving. Like, Richelle brought this in to be an obstacle to their relationship, but it’s addressed so quickly (with maybe a pittance effort of later being like “oh, at least Adrian didn’t take advantage when Sydney accidentally absorbed some Moroi endorphins- he learned his lessons!) that it doesn’t merit the actual consideration of so important a topic Idk. I do feel like I enjoy the Sydrian relationship more in this book than the others, but I also have some huge issues with it.

Adaptation-wise, I think genderbent Adrian would definitely mean a change to the dabbling storyline (yes, women can be sexual predators, but I don’t think this storyline would be maintained with different social expectations). Honestly, give me an Adrian who, instead of having victimized someone, doesn’t immediately fully grasp how upsetting this idea of vampires preying on her species (and risking exposure) is to Sydney... Adrian being like “it isn’t sexual, those guys would never consider sleeping with a human” but the consent even to give blood still being critical to Sydney. And you know what? Let Lissa “compelled a guy to almost hit himself over the head with a baseball bat for molesting a Feeder” Dragomir have a spirit freak out moment of rage and go off on these subjects of hers the way that was deserved (and then once she cools down, maybe she can’t punish them fully, but she uses it to leverage their royal families’ agreement to the Family Rule amendment). And just finish that law by the end of the season, so that when the Alchemists pull out Sydney and Zoe, they’re actually closing down the whole Palm Springs operation in a rage. (if I remember correctly Alicia kidnapped Jill between books 5 and 6, but that was a stupid plotline imo- let Sydney and her coven take care of Alicia in the downtime of this book instead) Let Rose figure out that Sydney and Adrian are in love- she’s smart and she would pick up on that; let her celebrate them and encourage them to be happy together. Also the “Sydney and Adrian get three days at an inn to sex it all up” was stupid... like I’m happy for them but am I really supposed to buy that they could afford all that time away from Palm Springs?

As bad as I feel for Syd, and Adrian, and Eddie, and Jill, and Jackie at the end of TFH, I do remember that I’m going to feel worst for Hopper. I’m sorry that demon dragon Calistana has my heart and I remember one scene from Silver Shadows featuring the little guy prominently...

#I'm a VA girl