#i already thought that this semester's classes were not ideal but they offer like three total classes and now i am definitely stuck in two | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yuta-nakamots · 4 years ago

Text

Playing Games - n.yt

Pairing - Frat Boy!Yuta x Reader

Genre - College!AU, Fluff, Smut, Slight Angst

Warnings - Safe sex, swearing, alcohol consumption

Summary - Yuta is a notorious frat boy known for sleeping around with tons of girls yet never getting into a relationship. You never would have thought you’d become entangled with him until fate ends up placing both of you in the same beginner guitar class during your spring semester.

Word Count - 11.2k

A/N - i do not condone or promote the behavior or fraternities or sororities, especially during COVID-19, read a bit about it here. i am simply writing about my own fantasy in my own ideal world. with that being said, please remember to wear your masks and stay safe out there. this one shot will be my first work with smut in it so i’m open to pretty much any and all feedback. special thank you to @neocitybynight for helping me work out some of the plot!

Tag List - @jisungismymom @jikooksgirl19 @jungcity @boiolay @yasmini24

Written for the Bingo Collab hosted by @legendnct. Check out the masterlist here.

Prompts;

"Baby, I’m afraid to fall in love. ‘Cause what if it’s not reciprocated?” – Pink Sweat$ - Honesty

“So won’t you say my name, say my name?”– summer walker - playing games

“Don’t follow me, you’ll end up in my arms” – Joji - SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK

“Can you focus on me? Baby can you focus on me?”– H.E.R - focus

“Oh, how I love you. I just feel so lost without you.”– McKay & Jeff Bernat - Angel 2 Me

It’s the first day of your second semester of college and you’re starting to rethink your decision of signing up for Guitar 101 as you step into the classroom. You don’t remember what pushed you to add this course to your schedule other than the fact that it would knock off two off your graduation requirements, though surely there were other courses that could’ve done that as well.

You were quite the beginner to guitar, having only touched one maybe only a few times in your life and you were sure that you absolutely would not have ever thought about taking Guitar 101 if it wasn’t for your friend Mark, who had suggested it to you.

Mark is a sweet guy and you just so happened to have the pleasure of meeting last semester in your math class. He had walked in late on the first day and took the seat next to you as he muttered something about the campus being too big and not having building names displayed clearly.

Your friendship truly started the day he came in without any of his belongings, not even his backpack. “I, uh, woke up late and ran to class. Literally.” You could tell from the way sections of his hair were standing up and how his white t-shirt was inside out, but you didn’t tell him that.

“If it’s okay with you, can you send me your notes later?” He asked, his eyes resembling that of boba. Mark let out an audible sigh of relief when you agreed and handed him your phone to type in his number. As soon as he gave it back to you, you sent him a message to make sure he typed it correctly and it was at that moment that Mark realized, after a whole month of sitting next to you and occasionally working together, he had yet to remember your name.

‘Hey, this is y/n. Still can’t believe you forgot your backpack’

The two of you fit together like puzzle pieces and you always did your work together at any given opportunity, finding that two heads are definitely better than one when it came to calculus. Sometimes working on projects together often led to you and Mark spending more time together and eventually leading both of your guys’ friends to speculate that you were dating, to which you insisted was not true.

Your friends seemed to understand and leave it be, though Mark’s friends were a whole different story. He was part of one of the newest frats on campus which had come to fame due to their good-looking members, not a single one of them falling even a hair short of having god-tier visuals. You recognized a few of them, having been to their frat house a couple of times to work on projects with Mark though most of them were older than you so it came as a surprise to you when you saw one of them in your beginner guitar class.

You didn’t know his name but he was easy to remember with his long black hair and his ever-changing fashion sense. Today, he resembled something out of a motorcycle magazine with his maroon leather jacket, black ripped jeans, and the bandana tied around his head.

You watched as he took a seat in the front of the room though you had enough sense to turn your attention back to the professor who had started class and was displaying a list of names with corresponding locker numbers that housed the guitar you’d be using.

Standing up with the rest of the class, you went to go find your own locker and let out a sigh of relief when you saw it was on the bottom row because that meant less effort to take it in and out rather than if you had one on the top row.

Right as you popped your lock open, a shadow was cast over you and you turned around to see Mark’s friend who was even more stunning up close. He flashed you a quick smile along with an apology as he moved to the side to give you more room and allow you to grab your guitar out from the locker.

You were just slightly irritated at the guy. People with good looks knew how to use them to their advantage and this man obviously knew what he was doing. Had he been sane, he could’ve just waited for you to get your stuff out before getting his own, but instead, he chose to tower over you as you were crouching down on the floor.

Your eyes followed his figure as he made his way back to his seat in the front of the room, sitting down in front of the professor and you rolled your eyes knowing that he’s going to have an ego as tall as a skyscraper.

Aside from your encounter with the nameless e-boy, your first class went pretty okay though you were already having a little trouble remembering which chords were which so you sent a text to Mark asking for tips. He responds a few minutes later with fingering charts and even offers to tutor you, which you gladly accept.

You and Mark had appointed Wednesday afternoons and Sunday mornings as your lesson times and the first time you visit him is on the former. It was February so the weather was still quite cold though it wasn’t cold enough to make you regret not wearing a thicker jacket.

Before you could even text Mark that you’re outside the frat house, the door opens and he pulls you in, visibly shivering due to only being in a t-shirt and basketball shorts. “Not so Canadian are you, huh?” You joke at him, seeing the once thick-skinned boy now struggling to warm himself up as he practically ran up the stairs to his room.

You followed him up, greeting his roommate, Taeil, when you passed him in the hallway. Taeil was the oldest member of the frat and was set to graduate at the end of the semester. He had you absolutely fooled when you first met him. His personality reminded you of a golden meadow or a sunny beach but he was a total animal when it came to parties though Mark had told you that you’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg.

Having seen Taeil out in the hallway, you thought you and Mark would be the only ones in the room so you weren’t expecting to see the same guy from guitar class lying around on Mark’s bed. “Yuta, this is y/n, y/n meet Yuta.”

Yuta gave you that same smile you saw on the first day of class as he told Mark, “oh, I know her, she’s in my guitar class.”

“Dude, that’s so cool. You guys can work together on projects and the playing tests then. Man, that course would’ve been way more fun if I could play with someone I knew.” You shot Mark an awkward smile as if telling him to move on because you highly doubted that you’d ever want to work with Yuta, especially if his ego was as big as you thought it was. He’d call you out left and right for even the tiniest mistakes and you didn’t want to put yourself through that.

Mark cleared his throat while grabbing his guitar and handing it to you, and Taeil’s guitar to Yuta. “Yeah so, uh, anyway, I thought it would be better to teach you guys at the same time since you both are at the same level if that’s okay with you.” Mark’s question was obviously aimed towards you however Yuta answered first without any hesitation.

“Works for me.” Yuta looked over to you, strands of his white locks falling in front of his eyes though it didn’t dampen the intensity of his gaze in the slightest.

You didn’t exactly like the idea of playing with an audience, even if it was just Yuta. But if he was a beginner like you, then theoretically the playing field should be even. It was only because of this did you nod your head, telling Mark, “sure.”

Your first lesson with Mark consisted of his retaught both you and Yuta the fundamentals and basic chords you had already learned, making sure that your hands and fingers were placed the right way. Yuta, who was having a harder time than you, let out an exasperated sigh as he leaned back against the wall next to Mark’s bed while he ripped open a bag of gummy bears. “Whoever gets the fingerings right first gets a gummy bear.”

“Okay, bet.” Not really one for competition, you wanted to refuse his proposal, but this guy was really getting on your nerves. It was as if he had no interest yet all the passion in the world. And that’s aside from the fact that you simply wanted to continue showing him up and proving that you weren’t such a pushover and he can’t simply bend you to his will.

The three of you became so wrapped up in the competition that you didn’t even notice that you were supposed to leave to get to your last class of the day, which was now starting in five minutes. When you glanced over at the clock on Mark’s desk, you practically jumped out of your seat, “holy shit, I’m gonna be late to class.”

“I can drive you if you want.” Yuta offered.

“No, it’s okay, I’ll be fine.” You weren’t exactly lying but you weren’t entirely telling the truth as you declined him. It was an eight-minute walk away but you could probably make it in six if you did your Black Friday walk and surely your professor wouldn’t mind if you were just a minute late.

Mark helped you gather your belongings and held his door open for you. “Alright, see you y/n. I’ll set an alarm next time so we don’t forget.” He said with a slight laugh in his voice.

As you stepped out of the frat house, you just couldn’t stop your mind from wandering back to Yuta. He barely even knew you yet he had offered to drive you to class, even though your campus wasn’t particularly large. There was something about that man that made you want to run for your life but also just stop and stare at him all day.

The second time you had a lesson with Mark is on a Sunday morning and you’re pleasantly surprised to see that Yuta is nowhere to be found as you set foot into Mark’s room. After placing your bag down next to Mark’s desk, you pick up Taeil’s guitar and join him on his bed while he quietly plays a song to himself.

“Yuta’s still knocked out from the party we had yesterday so I doubt he’ll be joining us.” Mark informed you, and his statement rang true as Yuta did not come in during all of the three hours you spent next to Mark, much to your relief. Instead, Taeil had come in, looking terribly hungover.

“Hey, what’s up man.” Is all Taeil got to say before rolling into his bed, putting in a single Airpod before falling asleep, much to both you and Mark’s amusement.

Mark had tried to teach you basic chord sequences and strumming patterns but your brain just wasn’t having it. He kept giggling at seeing you frustrated and you had to repeatedly tell him to shut up in fear of waking Taeil so eventually both of you decided to call it a day as you put the guitars back on their stands.

You got back onto the bed next to Mark as both of you played on your phones for a bit before he turned his off and turned to talk to you. “Hey, y/n, so the guys are throwing this party next week Saturday and I was wondering if you’d want to come.”

“Next Saturday...Valentine’s Day?” You ask as you check your calendar on your phone.

“Yeah. You don’t have to though if you already have other plans.” Mark blurted out.

You laughed at the thought of actually going on a date on Valentine’s Day. “Didn’t have any plans besides ordering take-out and watching Netflix.”

Mark laughed along with you. “So is that a yes?”

“Sure.”

“Do you wanna sleepover too since you’re gonna be here on Sunday morning anyway?” You raised an eyebrow at Mark, wondering if he was actually serious.

“Sounds convenient but then where are you gonna sleep?” You countered.

“Uh, in Taeil’s bed.” Mark said, the gears in his head almost visibly turning.

“And where is he going to sleep?” You ask, not wanting to cause the kind senior any extra stress from having to deal with Mark as a roommate on top of his impending graduation.

Mark reached up and scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know, probably somewhere on the floor downstairs.” Your eyes grew wide at his statement. “Okay wait, before you yell at me, Taeil always gets too hammered to make it back up to the room until like, Sunday afternoon as you clearly just saw.” He explained, gesturing to his sleeping body on the other side of the room.

“Okay, then. But if he gets mad, it’s your fault, your idea, not mine.”

By the time Valentine’s Day came around, you were more than ready for it to end, having been annoyed by all the lovey-dovey advertisement and the couples posting on Instagram and holding hands and kissing wherever you went. You had always heard that love finds its way to those who are least expecting it, which is why you gave up the thought of ever pining over a guy who was likely to reject you anyway. Though, sure enough, love really did find a way of messing with your life in more than one way.

When you arrived at the party, you had first gone up to Mark’s room to drop off your bag that held your change of clothes and personal hygiene supplies. You don’t know what you were expecting to see when you entered his room, but you certainly weren’t expecting to see Mark’s bare ass while he was fucking into a girl in his bed, the same bed you were supposed to sleep in at the end of the night. “Oh, shit, fuck, sorry y/n, can you just uh, come back in a bit-”

You were pretty sure you were just as embarrassed as Mark, shouting “alright, have fun dude” as you closed the door. You turned around to search for somewhere else to go, pondering on the idea of just going back to your dorm after the party and walked right into Taeil.

“Should I not go in there?” He asked, having seen the way you backed out of the room and closed the door.

“Not unless you wanna see Mark’s butt.”

“Eh, I see it from time to time, can’t be any worse than usual.”

“Taeil, no” you exclaim, grabbing onto his arm and pulling him away before he could open the door.

“Oh, you mean to see his butt while he’s doing that kind of thing, I get it now.” He said with a playful glint in his eyes. “Were you planning on sleeping over?” He asked, having noticed the duffel bag hanging from your shoulder.

You let out a sigh before answering. “Yeah, I was gonna sleep in Mark’s bed and he was gonna sleep in yours since he said you apparently get too fucked up to make it back to the room.” At which Taeil laughs as he nodded his head, acknowledging the statement.

“He’s certainly not wrong,” Taeil confirmed, “did you want to put that down somewhere? I can let you keep it in our lounge room during the party. It’s a members-only room so you can just ask one of the guys to open it for you later in case I’m already out.”

You can’t help but giggle at Taeil’s joke as you accept his offer, following him down the hallway to a door where he punches in some numbers onto a keypad before opening it. Your jaw dropped when you looked inside, being met with a huge U-shaped couch facing the back wall where a large TV was mounted. “What do you guys even do in here?”

“Usually just gaming, sometimes watching big sports matches. Just normal guys stuff. We agreed to no sex, drugs, or alcohol in here so it’s like a safe room of sorts I guess.” Taeil explained to you.

“Huh, didn’t think you guys would have something like this.” You told him as you placed your duffle bag against the wall near the door.

“Frat life isn’t just all about getting high and drunk you know, y/n,” he said, playfully scoffing at you, “but speaking of, would you like to get a drink downstairs?” You nod your head before walking alongside Taeil as he places an arm around your shoulders, guiding you down to the party.

As you pass by Mark’s room along the way to the stairs, both you and Taeil share a laugh as you could hear the faint noises of sex through the door, though you really just wanted to erase the image of Mark’s ass from your head. Taeil seems to understand this much as he takes you to the kitchen and tells Doyoung, the frat’s resident entrepreneur with a side hobby for mixology, to get you something strong.

You’ve met Doyoung a couple of times, though you only exchanged short greetings since you were always doing something with Mark. “Where’s your boyfriend?” He inquired.

“Who?”

“Mark.”

“Oh, we’re not dating. He’s in his room though.”

“Sure seems like you’re dating. Why isn’t he here with you?”

Taeil responds, saving you from having to explain to Doyoung. “He’s getting lucky with some other girl.”

Doyoung’s eyes go wide as he responds, “that’s a first for him.”

You were about to ask what he meant by that but you’re interrupted by loud yells coming from the living room, causing you to turn around and see what was going on. You spot Yuta standing up on the makeshift DJ booth in the corner of the room with Johnny, who you recognized as your TA in your English class, as he grabbed the microphone and shouted “let’s get fucking drunk” before Johnny could manage to yank it out of his grasp and turn it off.

“What’s with that guy?” You mumble to yourself, not really expecting Doyoung to overhear you.

“Oh, Yuta? He’s just like that sometimes.” Doyoung states, shrugging his shoulders as he wiped the kitchen counter with a towel. “He’s that one friend who does really questionable things but you can’t get rid of them because deep down they’re actually pretty nice.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “You think he’s nice?”

“He is once you get to know him.”

You look at Taeil for reaffirmation only to find that said man is long gone, the only evidence of him ever being there is his yellow phone left lying on the counter next to Doyoung’s own drink. “I’ve gotten to know him and I wouldn’t say he’s nice, per se.”

Doyoung shakes his head at you, “you just haven’t cracked him open yet.”

“Why do you talk as if he’s an egg or something?” You joke laughing to yourself and watching as Doyoung fights back a smile.

“He is, in a sense. He’s got a tougher exterior along with his own inner issues that come tumbling out once he trusts you.”

“Like?”

Doyoung hums in thought before speaking. “I’m not gonna say too much because it’s his life and his own story to tell, but let me just ask you this one question. Don’t you ever wonder why he constantly sleeps around with girls yet never gets into a relationship with any of them?”

You ponder on the question before asking one back. “So are the rumors true?” Yuta’s reputation did precede him and you had, in fact, heard from other girls who had their own stories and adventures with Yuta but you didn’t necessarily believe them completely, not wanting to assume anything about Yuta.

“Some, not all...but yes, most of the ones I have heard were true, but maybe that’s just because people know I live with him so there’s no sense in trying to lie around me.” Doyoung responds to which you nod your head, acknowledging the accuracy behind his statement.

Three shots later of whatever Doyoung was making you, you were already starting to feel hot and lightheaded so you went back upstairs, as per Doyoung’s advice, and made your way to Mark’s room hoping he’d be done by now. You cracked his door open and peeked around it, grumbling to yourself as you saw your best friend and the same girl from earlier wrapped up in his blanket. You weren’t too sure where you were going to sleep tonight and you weren’t too keen on walking back to your dorm this late at night, especially when you were already starting to feel tipsy.

Closing the door quietly, not wanting to disturb the two people inside, you step away from the room, only to run into someone behind you. You spun around, ready to apologize until you realized who it was. Yuta, a quite drunk Yuta too.

“Taeil told me Mark got lucky-” he stopped to hiccup, “but I didn’t fully believe it so I came to-” he hiccuped again, “see for myself, but I think your action speak-” he reached up to briefly rub his eyes, “louder than words” he finished, letting out a yawn at the end. “Need somewhere to stay?”

“How did you know I was sleeping over?” You ask, wary of the man and his intentions.

He waves his hands as if dismissing your preconceived notions. “Taeil told me that too. Makes sense anyway since you’re here on Sunday’s as well.”

You sighed, not wanting to let yourself give in to Yuta yet again and give him another thing to hold over you, but it wasn’t as if you had many other options. “Taeil let me leave my bag in the lounge, can you unlock the door for me? I think I’ll just ask Doyoung to drive me back to my dorm or something.”

Yuta hummed as he grabbed your wrist and led you down the hallway to the lounge. He unlocked the door for you and held it open, but once both of you were inside, he closed the door behind him and turned on the mood lighting and watched as the room began to glow purple.

You picked up your bag as Yuta threw himself over the backrest of the sofa and tumbled onto the cushions. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re beautiful?”

“Well, yeah?” You stuttered, taken aback by his sudden comment.

“Damn, I wanted to be the first.”

“Okay?” You said, questioning his antics as Doyoung’s words floated through your head about Yuta and his trysts with girls, not wanting to become another victim.

As if Yuta could hear you thinking, he sat up and peered over the couch just enough to make eye contact with you, his eyes mischievously shining in the low lighting. “Were you gonna sleep with Mark?” He asked, raising his eyebrow suggestively.

“What? No,” you exclaim, “he’s my best friend, I would never do that.”

“Not like that you sicko,” Yuta said as he chuckled at your flustered state.

“Oh,” realization dawning upon you, “uh, yeah, I was planning to just sleep in his bed and he was gonna take Taeil’s but now I’m pretty sure that’s not happening tonight.”

“You can stay in my room if you want.” Now it was your turn to raise a suggestive eyebrow at him. “No, it’s not what you’re thinking. My roommate is away in China so his side is open. You can sleep in my bed if you’re not comfortable being in a stranger’s bed.” You were surprised he made it through such a long statement without any hiccups.

“Uh, thanks, I guess I’ll take you up on that offer.” You say, finally unrooting yourself from the floor and making your way towards the door.

Yuta begins haphazardly pulling himself over the back of the couch seeing as how you were ready to leave the room. “I’ll show you to the bathroom.” He would’ve face planted straight into the floor if it weren’t for you standing right in his path of destruction, barely catching him before he nearly sent both of you to the ground. “Sorry” he giggled as he regained his balance and pushed open the door.

You couldn’t mistake the way his body felt against yours, how warm and comforting it was. He smelled nice too, which was odd for someone who partied like an animal and lived with god knows how many other guys. You shook yourself out of your thoughts and grabbed your bag, following Yuta out of the lounge.

He led you to the bathroom and instructed you on how to use the shower and lock the door before telling you how to get to his room once you were done. The bathroom was surprisingly neat but you were sure it was thanks to Doyoung and Taeyong, the only two people you thought had their heads on straight in this house. Even if you had only briefly met both of them, it was enough to let you know that those men were the reason why the house somehow looked presentable within just a few hours after a raging party.

You showered quickly, the effect of Doyoung’s drinks really hitting you now, making you want to just pass out. Once you were done showering you threw on one of Mark’s shirts that you had previously stolen, intending on giving it back to him tonight, but you weren’t comfortable wearing your normal beat up sleepwear in front of Yuta, so you opted to wear Mark’s shirt instead.

Not quite wanting to have another incident like the one you had earlier with Mark, you knocked on Yuta’s door just to be safe. You heard him laugh from the inside as he called out “it’s unlocked, just come in.” As you let yourself in, he got off his bed telling you “I’m going to shower now. Just make yourself comfortable in whichever bed you want. I’ll sleep in whatever one you don’t choose.”

After he left the room, you looked between the two beds. One was neatly made and had pictures strung up on the wall next to it, the blankets and sheets folded nicely and placed alongside a few pillows near the foot of the bed. The other, which Yuta had just rolled out of, had wrinkled sheets with the blanket half falling off the bed, not a single pillow within a whole six-foot radius of his bed.

You didn’t really want to mess up the organization of whoever his roommate was, so instead, you just took one of the pillows and plopped it onto Yuta’s bed as you grabbed the blanket from the floor and pulled it over your head, allowing his scent to flood your nose. Just as you were about to drift into sleep, you heard the door open and close followed by rapid footsteps coming your way.

Before you even had time to react, Yuta was flinging himself on top of you and laughing as you gasped for air under his weight. “Somebody looks comfortable.” He teased as you continued squirming, trying to push him off you.

You wouldn’t take him to be a clingy drunk after seeing how rowdy he was during the party, but you suppose this is the side of him that managed to charm so many other girls into thinking they’d be that one lucky girl to finally win over Nakamoto Yuta’s heart. “Get off of me.” You uttered forcefully as you tried to make him move over and relieve the pressure on your chest and stomach.

“You silly, this is my bed” he cooed, letting another round of giggles leave his lips before rolling off you towards the wall, leaving you on the outside of the bed. He threw the blanket over himself, humming as he felt the warmth of it, that you had made, on his freshly showered skin.

Yuta kept his distance as he laid on his back with his eyes closed, his hands reaching up to ruffle his damp hair, speaking of which, “you know people say you can get sick if you go to sleep with damp hair?” You asked him quizzically.

“Yeah, but I’ve never gotten sick from it so I don’t really care.” He said dismissively.

A few moments passed before either one of you spoke again. “Didn’t you say that you were going to sleep in the other bed?” You questioned, remembering your conversation from not too long ago.

“Yeah, but I’m too lazy to unfold everything and put it back in the morning so here I am.” Yuta beamed, smiling over at you. You rolled your eyes at him, scoffing as he continued playing with his hair, making it stick up in different directions. “I can sleep somewhere else if you’re not comfortable with me being here.”

You wanted to say ‘yes, please move’ but you didn’t have enough strength in you to tell him to get out, not when you enjoyed his presence next to you so instead you simply told him “it’s fine” before tugging over more of his blanket and turning to face away from him.

He let out a whine as now half of his body was uncovered and exposed to the cold winter air and he yanked his blanket back, inadvertently pulling you with it, causing you to face him with your forehead nearly resting against his chest. “Why are you hogging my blanket?” Yuta whined.

“I’m not hogging it, you just keep trying to take more than your fair share of it.” You fired back at him.

“This is my room and my blanket.”

“You’re the one who offered to let me stay here, and might I add, you said you were going to sleep in the bed that I didn’t choose.”

“I can always retract my offer, you know.” You shook your head, the idea of asking Doyoung to drive you back to your dorm at 3am wasn’t exactly appealing to you. “Okay then come closer so we can actually share the blanket instead of leaving one of us to freeze.”

You let out a huff and scooted closer to Yuta. “Are you happy now?” Yuta let out a hum as he smiled down at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling underneath the strands of bleached white hair that had fallen in front of his face.

Closing your eyes again, you tried to fall asleep, hoping that you wouldn’t have any further interruptions from Yuta, but you couldn’t seem to fully relax with the main light of the room still on. “Yuta can you turn off the light?” He looked over you, clearly unhappy. “Please?”

“You’re closer.”

“God, why are you so difficult.” You remarked as you slid out from under the blanket, walking over to flip the light switch.

“I’m not difficult, you’re difficult.” He fired at you as the room became dark, illuminated only from the light of the moon. “You’re always so uptight and on edge about getting to class on time and being prepared.”

“Because that’s what a good student does, and unlike you, I actually want to graduate from college in four years.” You spit back as you rolled back into the bed next to him.

“Hey, not everyone graduates within four years, some of us just have a different path in life. And what makes you think that I’m not trying to graduate soon?”

“Your attitude and your seemingly nonexistent care to even make it to class on time.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t do my work though.”

“But you totally miss the instructions that the professors give at the beginning of class.”

“It’s not hard to figure things out when you’ve got a brain as big as mine.”

“You’re so annoying, just let me sleep.” You grumbled as you moved closer to him, wanting more of the blanket.

Silence falls upon both of you again but you let out a huff when Yuta starts talking again. He sure was annoying as hell when he was drunk. “Do you have feelings for Mark, or like, any other guys...like at all?”

You stared up at him, praying he’d feel the daggers coming from your eyes, “no.”

“Good, I was hoping you didn’t so I could do this.”

“Do wha-”

You hadn’t even finished your sentence before Yuta tilted your chin up and brought his lips to yours, eagerly molding his to fit the shape of yours.

You didn’t know what you were thinking when you started to kiss him back, in fact, you probably weren’t thinking at all. Yuta took it as a green light and let the hand that was against your chin find its way to the back of your neck to pull you in closer. You didn’t realize your body had shifted until you were now completely pressed up against him. It soon became all too hot and suffocating, forcing you to pull away and break the kiss.

Your eyes met his and held his gaze as you came to your senses. “Yuta, I’m not here to have sex with you.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” He replied almost nonchalantly.

You rolled your eyes at him, “no, I mean, like ever.”

“Okay. Who says I can’t just kiss a pretty girl because I want to?” He asked, the attitude in his voice was almost enough to make you want to slap him.

“I do?” You quipped. “I didn’t tell you that you could kiss me either-”

“Says the person who was definitely not kissing me back.” Yuta teased as he cocked an eyebrow at you, daring you to continue.

You flung the blanket off of you, not wanting to put up with any more of his antics. “Don’t use your fuckboy charms on me, I’m not here to become another one of your girls.”

“Y/n, wait, that’s not what I meant to do,” he whined, grabbing your wrist before you could fully get out of the bed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come off that way and for your information, I am not attached any of the ‘girls’ you are alluding to.”

“You attached yourself to them the moment you put your dick inside them and gave them something to talk about.”

“That's not what I intended to do.”

“Then what is it that you intend to do, Yuta?”

He paused with his mouth slightly open and you took this moment to separate your wrist from his grasp before he spoke again. “I don’t try to ‘charm’ them or whatever you call it. I’m not even looking for a relationship, trust me.”

“And why should I trust you when you have girls practically throwing themselves at you?”

Yuta let out a groan as he flopped onto his back. “Look, I never wanted to be this blunt with you but I’m not looking for a relationship because the last one I was in ended with me getting cheated on.” He paused as if letting his words sink in. “I don’t want to fall in love again because I don’t want to risk going through that same pain another time. I’m scared to fall in love because what if it’s not reciprocated? Is that enough to make you believe me?”

You stare at him in shock, barely managing to stutter out “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“It’s fine, let’s just go to sleep, I said too much already.” He interrupted, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you back under the blanket. Once you were close enough for his liking, Yuta let go of you, retracting his arm back to his half of the bed though he stopped when he felt your hand on his forearm. He looked up at you with wide eyes as you pulled his arm back over you and allowed your forehead to rest against his chest.

Yuta stayed like that until you fell asleep, finding it hard to do the same. It took him awhile to find himself in the familiar lull due to his thoughts running rampant in his mind as his eyes traced over your features. If only you could read his mind, you’d know of the dilemma he realized he had wrapped himself into that he was too scared to admit on his own.

You woke up with a pounding headache, to say the least. Reaching up to massage your forehead, you tried to roll onto your back only to find that you weren’t able to. You jerked around, finding Yuta’s sleeping body as you remembered the events and conversations that took place just hours prior. You stilled as you took a moment to admire the way the golden rays of sun seeped in through the window, falling across his face and causing him to have an ethereal glow. He’d be quite attractive if it wasn’t for his attitude.

However, his face alone wasn’t enough to distract you from the fact that he was practically spooning you and you weren’t confident that you could get out without waking him though what really irked you was the fact that part of you didn’t want to leave from his warm embrace.

You stayed in his arms for a few minutes longer until your headache became unbearable and your throat was begging for something to drink. You tried your best to gently extract yourself from Yuta but much to your distaste, he woke up. He caused you even more displeasure when he pulled you back towards himself and whined “where are you going?”

“I’m thirsty and I have a headache.” You stated plainly, your voice void of energy.

Yuta whined once more before trying to reason with you. “But it’s cold, it’s cuddle weather.”

“I didn’t say that I wanted to cuddle with you.” You pointed out, at which Yuta finally forced his eyes open as he yawned and stretched before sighing.

“I’ll get you water and some ibuprofen if you stay for a little longer.”

“Fine, but that’s only because I don’t have anywhere else to go.” You were trying to convince him of this as much as you were trying to convince yourself of the statement while he gave you one of the brightest smiles you’ve seen from a full-time college student as he climbed over you and let himself out of the room.

You took this time as an opportunity to use the bathroom and peek into Mark’s room as you made your way back. You were surprised to see there was no one in the room and nearly jumped when an arm wrapped around your waist from the back. “Are we spying on Mark?” Yuta whispered into your ear.

Scoffing, you answer “he’s not even in there, you idiot.”

“Huh, I wonder where he went,” Yuta contemplated, “might as well grab the guitars while we’re here.” He handed you the glass of water and pills he was carrying as he walked into Mark’s room and picked up the two guitars from their stands.

“What are we supposed to do without Mark?”

“Practice? What else are we supposed to do?” The man in front of you asked rhetorically.

You shook your head at him, not liking the sound of his idea. “We won’t know if we’re doing anything right, we’re literally both beginners.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t help each other.” Yuta countered.

“Ugh, whatever, you’re so irritating.” And with that, you down the pills and turn to walk back to his room.

Playing guitar with Yuta wasn’t actually all that terrible. He knew more than he let on during your shared sessions with Mark and he offered you some tips every so often as he led both of you through the chord progression sheet. The whole scene of it was quite surreal, the way you and Yuta were both simply clothed in plain t-shirts, hair still roused from sleep, the way the sun gently lit the room and warmed it up.

You were genuinely enjoying yourself and didn’t even notice when Mark came into the room. “You guys started without me?” He whined cutely.

Yuta looked at you and you gestured at him to respond. “Y/n went to go spy on you in your room but you weren’t there so we decided to steal the guitars and have fun on our own.” You shot Yuta a look, hoping he understood the ‘I will strangle you’ glare you were giving him.

“Wow y/n, why were you spying on me man?” Mark asked dejectedly.

“I was just checking to see if your girl was still with you because I didn’t want to barge in on anything, again.” You tease.

Mark groans and covers his face out of embarrassment. “Oh gosh, don’t remind me.”

“Wait, wait, you saw Mark naked?” Yuta questioned with his eyes wide. “He has a big butt doesn’t he?” He added, smirking, at which both you and Mark yell at him to shut up. “Just saying facts.” He claims, raising his hands up in defense.

“Anyways,” Mark said a little too aggressively, “are you guys doing okay on your own? Or did you want me to join?”

Again, Yuta turned to you for a response, though this time you really hated yourself for what you answered with. “No, I think we’re fine, thanks though.”

“Better go wash your sheets bro, you were wild last night.” Yuta called out as Mark left the room.

“Dude,” Mark exclaimed, “don’t ever say that again, please bro.” And just like that, I was only you and Yuta again.

“Speaking of parties,” Yuta began, “we’re thinking of holding another one in March before spring break. Wanna come?”

“I can’t believe you guys are already planning another one not even a whole day after getting drunk out of your mind.” You joke, the disbelief obvious in your expression.

“Hey, you have to let loose every once in a while,” he states, “but my offer still stands.”

You hum, faking getting lost in thought, “ask me again in a month and I’ll let you know.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you tilted your head to the side, the look on your face clearly ridiculing him, “for now.” He adds on.

You went back to looking over the chord progression sheet and tried again to go through the one you were on before Mark came in. You almost succeed this time until you place your fingers one fret away from where they were supposed to be. “Yikes” Yuta comments as he reaches out and shifts your hand over for you, causing you to stick your tongue out at him.

It seemed only reasonable that when the guys continued having parties every so often, that you were invited to every single one of them whether it be through Mark or Yuta, and the one time Johnny had hit you up not knowing your involvement with the frat already, or even when Taeil invited you though it was really because Mark needed help sorting out his relationship issues.

Everyone except you was surprised that Mark had found himself a girlfriend, especially one that wasn’t you. You were happy for him, even if it meant having to respond to his panicked texts at 2am asking what something meant in ‘girl language’ accompanied by numerous screenshots.

Mark often ended up leaving you and Yuta on your own on Sundays because that was the only day when both he and his girlfriend were free. You certainly didn’t mind spending more time with Yuta now that he stopped being such a cocky asshole all the time. Whatever absence Mark had left, Yuta was there to make up for it whether it be his lingering touches, shy kisses, and even the offering of his clothes to you when you accidentally ended up sleeping over again, though this time you voluntarily shared a bed with him.

Yuta was becoming a necessary presence in your life, though you didn’t mind. You didn’t mind it when he moved to sit next to you during class. You didn’t mind when he asked to work with you for the upcoming playing test. You didn’t mind when he found you during parties swept you away from the dance floor to take you elsewhere.

You especially didn’t mind when taking you elsewhere resulted in your current situation, your hands tangled in Yuta’s now orange-colored hair, as you lay under him while he kissed you breathless.

“You look so fucking hot, you had all of them staring at you.” Yuta growls out between kisses.

You bite his bottom lip, causing him to groan slightly. “Mmm, you like that though. You like it when I look like this.”

“Not when other men get to look at you the way I do.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re mine.”

The use of the word caused you to stop in your tracks, Yuta pulling back as your lips stopped moving against his. “What are we?” You ask him, your voice shaking.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, this relationship?” You say, gesturing between the two of you, “What is our relationship to each other?”

“We’re friends.”

“But are we just friends? Because I don’t think friends kiss each other like this.”

“They don’t, but that doesn’t mean we can’t.” Yuta interjected as he leaned in to reattach his lips to yours.

“No, Yuta, stop,” you declare, pulling away from him, “I told you I’m not someone you can just play around with. If you want to keep me as a friend, then that’s all we will be. No kissing, no flirting, none of that.”

“I’m not playing around with you-”

“Then why is it so hard for you to place a label on us?” You questioned him, unintentionally raising your voice ever so slightly.

He rolled off of you, throwing an arm up to cover his eyes as he let out a sigh of exasperation. “I...I don’t know.”

“We’re clearly more than just friends but if you’re not willing to commit to being something more, then I’ll leave it at that.”

“Y/n, I- fuck, I don’t know what I even want-”

“And that’s okay,” you interrupt, “I’ll just give you time to think then, but for now,” you pause as you stand up from his bed, “just friends.” And with that you let yourself out of his room and ventured back downstairs to the party without turning back, finding comfort in the common sight of Johnny manning the boards, Doyoung in the kitchen with the drinks, even down to Taeyong and Taeil drunkenly swaying with each other on the dance floor.

“Here, something sweet to get rid of that sour look on your face.” Doyoung joked as he slid a drink across the counter.

You let out a chuckle as you raised the glass to your lips. “That obvious huh?”

“It is when I know whose room you just came from and who you’ve been spending all your time with.” He was really too intelligent to be stuck with these idiots.

You could only sigh as you took a large swig of whatever it is Doyoung made for you, relishing in the burn it gave you as it went down your throat, wishing for the alcohol-induced pain to overtake the one in your mind caused by the one and only Nakamoto Yuta.

Needless to say, you and Yuta ended up changing songs for the playing test and performing alone. Yuta moved back to his previous seat in the front of the room, though you still felt the way his eyes practically pierced through you as you played your chosen song, which albeit, was on the easier side since you wanted to give yourself a break.

Unbeknownst to you, Yuta wished so badly to be the person you were singing about. “Can you focus on me? Baby can you focus on me?” You sang, and he mentally beat himself to the ground.

Yuta still wanted to give you the world more than anything but he didn’t trust himself to do so, not when he’s already hurt you more than he should have. He became so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice you finished playing until he heard the applause coming from your classmates.

You actually did end up going to their spring party, but it was due to a request made by Johnny as he told you about Mark’s current post-breakup state near the end of your English class together. “He’s pretty much been in his room all the time. Not like the normal kind where he just prefers to chill in his room, but like, the kind where he doesn’t even come down to eat with us and Taeil has to bring food up to him.”

“Did Mark say anything about the breakup? Like why or how it happened?” You questioned, not wanting to have to ask Mark himself in case it was still too sensitive a subject to talk about.

Johnny hummed in thought, cocking his head to the side. “He didn’t say much to me, but he told Taeil that she wasn’t looking for anything serious but he thought that she was.” Johnny paused to take a sip from the Starbucks cup on his desk. “In my opinion, he should’ve waited to get to know her instead of just fucking her and deciding to date her y’know? But, I mean, that’s on him, so as they say, not my problem.” He shrugged his shoulder before taking another sip of his drink.

“Literally who says that?” You joke, enjoying poking fun at the older guy.

Johnny turned to you, a mock look of offense plastered onto his face. “Y/n! You don’t know? The famous Johnny Suh says it all the time.” You rolled your eyes at him as you packed up your belongings, promising to be at the party later that night, not exactly fancying the thought of running into a certain someone at the party as well.

Mark’s fiery whirlwind of a romance had left him to become a mess of all sorts and you spent your time with him at the party in his bed, watching tik toks and animal video compilations to get his mind off of things. You felt a sense of relief as you heard one of his faint snores, realizing that he was asleep, allowing you to slip out of his room and head downstairs to grab a drink from Doyoung.

Right as you were about to head back up, you saw the all too familiar head of orange hair glowing under the dim lighting as he looked down across the party from the bottom of the staircase. He didn’t seem to notice you as you made your way towards him until a small “hey” left your lips.

His eyes darted over to your face, offering a simple nod of his head to you to acknowledge your presence. You stood next to him, leaning against the wall until you broke the silence “how have you been?”

“Fine. You?”

“Pretty good I guess.” You could tell he didn’t want to talk to you, but you didn’t want to leave him, just feeling so drawn to him. Finding comfort in his presence, you closed your eyes and let your head fall against the wall as you lost yourself in the music that Johnny had going.

“I’ll get going, this party isn’t as exciting as normal.” Yuta stated as he turned to go back upstairs. Starting up the stairs after him, wanting to check in on Mark again, but when Yuta heard you following him, he turned around and called out to you. ”Don’t follow me, you’ll end up in my arms.” You froze as he turned back around and continued his way up while you processed his words, allowing him to escape from you yet again.

You watched from an outsider's perspective and through the narratives of the other guys as over the next few days, Yuta replaced Mark as the resident vegetable. He fell into the same state Mark was previously in, said boy having slowly come back to his senses with your constant nurturing and care.

Party after party, Yuta was no longer down on the dance floor with one hand holding a red solo cup, another around the waist of a girl he had just met. You wanted so badly to speak to him, but whenever you spotted him off to the edges of the crowd, he’d disappear seconds later like he knew you were watching him. As much as it was nice to have Mark back and go back to your normal best friend activities, Yuta had lodged himself in your heart without you knowing it.

Countless parties more and it was already nearing the end of spring semester. Yuta had stopped showing up to class, appearing once or twice a week, at most. Even at parties, he no longer came out of his room, according to Taeil. You had been meaning to talk to Yuta for a while now, but with finals looming right around the corner and his ability to hole himself up in his room, it was nearly impossible to find the time and place for it.

You were sick of worrying about him and if he was eating and sleeping okay, often finding yourself wondering what he was currently doing while you were studying or eating your own meals. You hated how often he occupied your mind. You truly wanted to believe that you were different to him, that someday he’d come around ready to commit to something but you ridiculed yourself for thinking that you’d have enough power to change someone as stubborn as Yuta. Little did you know, you were more than capable of doing so.

You had just entered the last week before finals and your school was generous enough to allot students a two day period to study before finals started. Of course, the frats and sororities took it as a last-ditch opportunity to party before their seniors graduated. You attended the party thrown to celebrate the graduating Taeil, Johnny, and Taeyong, but you were there for a different reason.

Throwing a quick greeting to Doyoung in the kitchen as you entered, he offered you a drink, which you told him to save for later before storming up the stairs. You were tired of all the hours you spent thinking about Yuta. If he wasn’t going to do anything about this, then you were whether it ended your friendship with him or not. You were done thinking about all the what-ifs, you wanted a definitive answer and you wanted it now.

Stopping in front of Yuta’s door, having enough manners to think about knocking before entering, you raised your hand to knock. Though before you were able to, you heard the music coming from inside. It didn’t take a genius to recognize that it was his voice singing the words. You froze with your hand against the door as you continued to listen to him. “Oh, how I love you. I just feel so lost without you.”

You opened his door slowly, knowing fully well that he wouldn’t be able to hear you knock over the loud noise coming from the party and his own blue-toned song. Both of you stood there in shock as your eyes met. Yuta was sitting on his bed with Taeil’s guitar in his lap and a notebook laid open next to him while you stood in the middle of his doorway, hand still on the knob.

Oh, how you missed the sight of him, even when he was dressed as simply as he was right now with just a grey t-shirt and black shorts sporting the logo of his favorite soccer team. “Yuta, we need to talk” you blurted out, stopping yourself from ogling him any further.

“Alright.” He complied, closing the notebook as you sat at the foot of his bed.

You take in a deep breath before starting. “I’m pretty sure you know this already, but I like you,” pausing to regather yourself and push through the rest of the speech you practiced in your head, “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about you recently and I just want to settle this whole thing once and for all.”

Yuta nodded while picking at his fingers which you could see were now raw from playing the guitar so much, making you wonder just how often he was on it. “I’ve been thinking about you too...a lot,” he said as he looked up at you, “and I think I have an answer for you.”

You plant your hand down next to you on his bed, resting your weight on it and letting your head loll to the side as you raise an eyebrow at him asking him to continue. “I like you too, and I know the way I’ve been acting doesn’t really show that but I’m just scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of getting hurt again.” Yuta said, letting his head rest in his hands.

“Yuta, you know I would never cheat on you.”

“That’s what she told me too, but people can be deceiving.”

“Look, I’m not her,” you pointed out to him, “and I’m telling you right now that I would not even think about cheating on you.”

“Yeah, well, things can change.” Yuta let out exasperatedly.

“So you should change with them. You’re not going to grow unless you accept those changes.”

He went silent for a bit before looking up at you. “Teach me how to accept them, then.”

“What do you mean by that?” You ask him, your eyes meeting his.

“Show me that you’re different. Prove to me that not all change is bad.”

You moved closer to him as he spoke, swinging a leg over his lap and straddling him. “I will.”

Yuta’s eyes fluttered shut and you felt as he shakily exhaled before he reopened his eyes. “Can I kiss you?”

You nodded, and this time it was your eyes that closed as Yuta connected his lips to yours. Within a few seconds, you felt his tongue brush against your bottom lip, asking for entrance, which you allowed and gave him a sense of dominance before letting your tongue dance with his while gently pushing him down onto the bed.

He whined as he broke the kiss and rolled both of you over, switching your positions, preferring to smother your body with his, making you giggle at his actions. “Thank you for asking this time.” You told him, referencing the first time he had kissed you.

“I was drunk, okay? I wasn’t thinking straight and I just wanted to kiss you so badly.” Yuta groaned, grinding his growing erection on your hip at the last part.

“Oh you wanna kiss me so bad huh?” You teased.

You could’ve sworn he let out a growl right then before responding “fuck yeah I do” and reconnecting your lips to his. After fighting your tongue yet again, he pulled away and slowly opened his now lust-filled eyes. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Yes,” you let out breathlessly, “I want it.”

“Who do you want?” He questioned as he slipped his hands under your shirt, gently kneading your breasts while kissing along your jaw and down your neck.

“You.”

“Baby, say my name.”

“Yuta, I want you.”

“Fuck, I love it when you say my name.” He said as he pulled his shirt off, throwing it down to the floor as you sat up and did the same.

The second your shirt was off, Yuta’s hands were already undoing the clasp of your bra, tossing it to the side as well before pushing you back down and running his hands over your breasts. His mouth latched onto one of your nipples as his hand played with the other.

You let out a whine as he pushed his erection against your clit, making you feel your own arousal that had started leaking out onto your underwear. Yuta glanced up at you, smirking, as he heard the sound you made. “Someone’s getting needy.” He kissed his way down your abdomen, sitting back once he reached the waistband of your pants, pulling them off along with your underwear.

He groaned as he took in all of your naked beauty, telling you “you’re so fucking hot” as he spread your legs and brought his face down to your folds and licking a long strip upwards. He repeated this motion a few times before you let out a frustrated moan at his teasing.

Yuta laughed at your desperation until your hand wove it’s way into his hair and pushed him closer to where you wanted him most. He seemed to get the message as he dove in, allowing you to get lost in the feeling of his tongue swirling around and pressing at your entrance.

You weren’t expecting it when you suddenly felt him pressing a finger into you, though you enjoyed the sensation of it and raised your hips to feel more, only to be met with Yuta’s free hand coming down on your stomach, holding you down. He waited for you to relax before inserting a second digit, then a third as he started to speed up and finger fuck you open.

He was reaching places inside of you that you had never reached before but you still wanted more. “Yuta,” you breathed out, “just fuck me already.”

“Well when you say it like that, there’s no way I can resist” he said, a sly smile creeping onto his face as he sat up, his erection bobbing as he tugged off his ripped jeans, freeing it from its confines.

“Condom” you tell him.

“Oh, you’re one of those girls,” he snickered, earning him a smack on the arm from you, “I’m just kidding, jeez, I don’t want to have to be responsible for a child just yet.” He defended as he reached over and stuck his hand into one of the drawers of his nightstand.

“I’m not risking getting pregnant when I can barely pay my tuition.” You quipped back at him.

“Fair enough.” Yuta remarked as he ripped open the package and rolled the condom over his already leaking cock.

He crawled over you, his elbows coming to rest next to either side of your head. “Are you sure you want this?” He asked as he lined himself up with your entrance.

“Are you sure want this?” You countered to him, both of you knowing fully well what you meant since once he went through with this, there was no turning back. Yuta was promising himself to you just as you had done to him.

You watched as his eyes found yours, “I want this, I want you, I want us.” With that he pushed himself into you, both of you letting out sinful moans as he bottomed out.

He barely gave you time to adjust before he started slowly rocking his hips as your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer while your hands found their way into his brightly colored locks. Just as he began to accelerate his movements, thrusting harder and faster, his door swung open.

Mark walked in casually, “hey, Yuta have you seen Taeil’s- holy shit i’m so sorry” he exclaimed once he realized the situation.

Yuta didn’t even pause as he told Mark “it’s on the floor.”

If you weren’t struggling to hold back your lewd sounds in the presence of your best friend, you would’ve laughed at how Mark snatched up the guitar and bolted out of the room, muttering “guess we’re even now, y/n” as he shut the door.

You let out a whimper as Yuta hit your spot the second the door closed. “Fuck, right there.”

He pushed himself into you a few more times before suddenly rolling over, bringing you to straddle him. “Ride me” he commanded, one of his hands coming to rub your clit. You began bouncing on his lap and clenched around him, drawing a moan from him. “I won’t last long if you keep doing that.”

“Good, I'm not going to either.” You informed him, already feeling the knot in your stomach begging to be released.

Your thighs were starting to become sore though you didn’t want to stop. Yuta noticed your change of pace, bringing both his hands up to your hips as he began thrusting up into you. You let out a cry as he managed to brush against your most sensitive areas, causing an orgasm to wash over you.

His movements slowly only for a bit as he let you take control, riding out your high before firmly grasping your hips again and bouncing you on himself, relishing in the feeling of your tight walls fluttering around him.

Staying true to his word, Yuta came shortly after you, filling the condom with his cum. He continued to push himself up into you until it became too much and he pulled out with a hiss. Yuta gently you down on his bed before getting up to dispose of the condom in the trash bin next to his nightstand.

You welcomed him with open arms as he climbed back into bed, his own arms wrapping around your waist as he began pressing light kisses across your collarbone as he broke the silence. “So does this make us a thing?”

“Depends on what you mean by that.” You tell him, wanting him to clearly voice his thoughts.

“Are we official?” He clarified.

“Only if you want us to be.”

Yuta smiled up at you. “y/n, Yuta’s girl, I like the sound of that.” You leaned down to press a kiss to his lips before he spoke again. “That song was about you, by the way”

“I figured that much.” You stated as you pushed his hair out of his face.

He giggled as he told you “I wrote it after jacking off to the thought of you.”

“Okay, you didn’t have to tell me that.” He let out a full laugh this time as he rolled both of you onto your sides and brought his forehead to rest against yours.

“Gosh, as if you weren’t clingy enough before this.” You joke, playfully kissing his nose.

“I’m all yours now.” Yuta cooed, his arms pulling your still naked body impossibly closer to his.

804 notes · View notes

lonelyreputation · 4 years ago

Text

2021 (AU)

A/N: Got a bit wine tipsy & wrote a teeny story! It’s a bit different from what I’ve written before, so I hope you all enjoy!! Would love to hear your thoughts!! Was thinking of making it a little series, so!!! Happy 2021! I hope this year (so far) has been kind to you ! 💥💞

Prompt: One-sided enemies to lovers (kinda) & No dialogue

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂

Warnings: One swear word // WC: 2.6K // Angst & Fluff

He stared at you.

No, he glowered at you.

He couldn’t stand to be in the same room as you anymore. He’s been with you for as long as he could remember; from elementary school, middle school, high school…He was always a shadow in the room whenever you were in it. Always had been. Always will be.

His earliest memories included you scoring the top grades in school, teacher’s favorite student, handed in every assignment early, and you would always be picked first for a team in recess and gym class. He always resented you more for the latter. Ever since his best friend, Brian, picked you first for his kickball team in elementary school and not him…He ripped the title of best friend away from Brian.

Shawn Mendes hated you.

And he was fairly certain that you reciprocated the same feelings of hatred towards him.

In high school, Shawn studied day and night, turning down countless offers to parties because he was determined to receive the valedictorian title. Looking back on it now, five years since the high school became his alma mater, Shawn was still hung up over the fact that you stole his position of the highest education honor in high school.

He had the perfect farewell speech prepared for graduation. It was the perfect blend of a look how far we’ve come since freshman year speech and a see you later speech. Shawn was fairly close to the dean of student’s secretary and they may have tipped him off that he––more than likely––would be the valedictorian. So, his mother already had a copy of the speech framed and hung in the family room, next to his senior portraits, before the school year even ended.

Shawn finished the year with an exceptional GPA of 4.7.

But you…You finished the year with a slightly higher GPA of 4.8.

The feeling Shawn felt in the pit of his stomach was hard to pinpoint when he found out he was not valedictorian. Enraged didn’t feel like a strong enough feeling. Frustrated seemed like an adjective too soft to describe his disappointment. But the one feeling he could trace back as the reason for his clenched fists, locked jaw, and blinding vision of rage was resentment.

He remembers when the school sent out a congratulatory email to the top 10% of the graduating class. He expected to see Shawn Mendes as the name written on the top of the list. But instead, he saw your name on the top line, and his name at #2.

Shawn had even planned for his graduation party to be on the same day that the valedictorian announcement was made. He wanted to celebrate his achievements with his family and friends because he expected to have the title. He stayed up in his room for nearly an hour at his own graduation party to calm down his rage.

Maybe if he pushed himself a little harder, then maybe he would’ve beaten you out for the top spot.

Shawn Mendes detested you.

After all the years he spent with you––all the way from elementary to high school––he finally felt free after he was handed his high school diploma and shook the principal’s hand. He was leaving the small town of Pickering and attending university in Toronto where he would never have to see you again.

But Shawn wasn’t that lucky.

Because during an orientation session, a week before the first day of classes, he saw you walk on campus with your own orientation group. No amount of breathing exercises could calm him down. All he saw was red. And worst of all, you caught his blatant glare and offered him a small wave.

He ignored you, turned his head back to his group, and tried to engage in the ice breaker conversation.

Luckily, he only saw you a handful of times a semester. He had a different major than you; and always let out a sigh of relief when he walked into a general education class and saw you nowhere in attendance. It would’ve been ideal if he didn’t have to spend another four years with you, but he didn’t see you as much as he did in high school.

Until it came to senior year when you two both landed an internship at the same company.

Shawn thought he was in his own personal hell when he saw you in the lobby, on the first day, chatting with the other interns. He didn’t know what he did in a past life to deserve this kind of torture, but he would repent for the rest of his life to make sure it didn’t happen again. Thankfully, he was interning in a different department than you. But word somehow always got back to him about how wonderful every supervisor thought you were.

When he finally received his university diploma, that was the day he felt truly free. He was done with school, done with his internship––Done with you. He drank a little too much in celebration that night. He drank to never having to see you again and drank to celebrate the job offer his internship offered him.

He didn’t have to worry about either you or trying to find a job as a new university graduate.

So when he showed up to the place where he was now an employee––dressed in a new suit––his smile disappeared when he walked out of the elevator and saw you. He tripped over his own two feet, spilling some coffee on his coat.

Shawn, I’d like you to meet the other new hire––I believe you interned with her.

In the lobby of his first job was where he silently apologized to any God he had ever offended. If this was punishment for missing Church for the past seven years, he begged for forgiveness. If this was punishment for getting into a fight during one of his hockey games, he begged for forgiveness. He begged for forgiveness, but he didn't think he’d be pardoned any time soon.

Because in his new office space, at his first real job, he was only three desks away from you.

/ / /

You stared at him.

No, you gazed at him.

You absolutely loved being in the same room as him. You’ve been with him for as long as you could remember, and you wouldn’t want to have it any other way. From elementary school all the way through the wonderful years of high school. You always saw yourself as being academically equally to him. Although admittedly, you thought he was better than you.

A memory with him that was stuck in your mind was one from elementary school; you were nine and it was gym class. Brian had enlightened you that Shawn liked girls who could run fast. And after learning that bit of information, you convinced Brian to pick you first so that way Shawn would notice how fast you could run. So, Brian picked you to be on his team first…Not Shawn.

But after that day, Shawn stopped talking to Brian. And Brian came crying to your nine-year-old self while you were at the arts and crafts table saying that Shawn was ignoring him.

You had a little crush on Shawn Mendes.

But you weren’t all that positive that Shawn reciprocated those same feelings of giddiness you felt whenever you saw him on the playground.

In your eyes, you were one and the same with ambitions. School never came easy to you; so, studying for absolutely every subject was a chore. But you knew how smart he was, and you wanted him to think you were smart too. Along with studying, you buttered up to the teachers so that they would give you the benefit of the doubt and round that A grade––that was nearly an A+––to be an A+.

You knew he used similar tactics, but he wasn’t as obvious as you.

While you made studying a priority in high school, one of your friends mentioned that Shawn liked outgoing girls. So, you turned down some study sessions, and went out on either Friday or Saturday nights––sometimes both––in hopes you could strike up a conversation with Shawn. But you rarely saw him at the parties you attended.

And even five years after you graduated highschool, you were still hung up about not spotting him at more parties.

You had all the right words to say if you ever bumped into Shawn at a party. You had it all prepared, and even went as far as practicing in front of a mirror more times than necessary. Stored away in your mind was an endless list of topics you could talk to him about. You knew he played hockey, so you made a note to ask him about his games. And you were tipped off by a friend that Shawn liked when people complimented his ability to play guitar.

Granted, you had never heard him play guitar, but you were still prepared to praise him. You would’ve felt proud of yourself for stepping out of your comfort zone to talk to the boy who made you shiver with a pleasant bundle of nerves.

Shawn was a smart person. If you remembered correctly, he was the smartest person in school. You always admired his ability to keep up with his course load, play hockey, and balance out a well-planned social life. A little bird flying around the halls whispered that Shawn found smart and well-driven girls attractive. So you worked harder than you ever had in your life to miraculously pull your grades up higher.

You finished with a well deserved 4.8 GPA.

Shawn finished with an admirable GPA of 4.7.

Ecstatic didn’t feel like the proper word to describe how happy you were. Relief seemed like an adjective that was fairly representative of how gratifying it was to read that email. But one feeling you could trace back as the reason for your blinding smile, infectious high-spirited mood, and rose colored vision was how proud you felt.

Because the information in that email confirmed that you and Shawn were academic equals. And you knew how much he valued education.

You spent nearly an hour in your room––at your own graduation party––to write in your journal about how amazed you were with Shawn’s intelligence. Tucked away in a shoe box, your high school journal was still under your childhood bed with that entry.

You were in love with Shawn Mendes.

After your years in school together came to a bittersweet end, you felt slightly deflated when you received your high school diploma. It was your final parting place with him. You didn’t know what his plans were after high school––Always too nervous to make small talk with him. You were leaving the small town of Pickering and facing your fears of living in a big city and attending university in Toronto. You thought you would never see him again.

But you were lucky.

Because during orientation week, you were walking back from coffee with some new friends, when you saw him. You felt your breath get caught in your throat when you saw him sitting on the lawn with his orientation group. All you saw was a familiar rose color when you caught his stare. With a deep breath, and a little pep talk in your head, you offered him a small wave.

Instead of waving back at a familiar face, he turned his head back to his orientation group. You felt a little sad, but you brushed it off thinking he didn’t see you. One of your friends saw you wave at him, and they excitedly took hold of your wrist, and whispered; is that him?

Unfortunately, you only saw him a few times a semester. You figured he had a different major than you; but you always held your breath in anticipation when you walked into a general education class. But when the professor started class, and he didn’t rush in late through the doors, you always let out a disappointed sigh.

You accepted the fact that you and Shawn were no more than people who had grown up in the same town and went to school together. The past was in the past, and you were trying to move on as you filled out multiple internship applications.

Until it came to your senior year when you two both landed an internship at the same company.

You thought you were in your personal paradise when you saw him walk into the lobby, on the first day, that you stopped talking with the other interns. You didn’t know what you did in a past life to deserve this positive karma, but you would keep up whatever good deeds you were doing. Unfortunately, he was interning in a different department than you.

But even as you worked in a different area of the office, you always heard words of praise about him from multiple supervisors. And you always reiterated how diligent of a worker he had been since high school. You even tried your best to try and go on a coffee run with him, just to see him for a little bit, but those plans were never successful.

You dreaded the day when it came to receive your university diploma; that would be the actual day where your thin ties with Shawn would be officially cut. And then you would have to wait for either high school or university reunions just to get a glimpse of him. You were done with school, done with your internship––Done with him.

You had a quiet celebration with your family, opting to go out to a nice dinner instead of having a blow out party. You only drank a little champagne to celebrate the night. You sipped to all of your academic accomplishments, sipped to celebrate the job your internship offered you, and sipped in sadness as regret filled your body.

Because even after having four more additional years of school and an internship with him, you were still too nervous to talk to him.

But when you were in the lobby talking with the head of Human Resources, the ding of the elevator caused you to turn your head. You didn’t think the smile on your face could shine any brighter. You thought he looked really nice in the suit he was wearing, and he seemed just as surprised to see you when he stepped out of the elevator. He tripped over his own two feet, some coffee spilling over the lid.

Shawn, I’d like you to meet the other new hire––I believe you interned with her.

Not only had you interred with him before; you also grew up a few streets away from him, went to elementary school, middle school, high school, and university together.

In the lobby of your first real job was where you silently thanked any God up in the sky that answered your prayers.

If this was a reward for all of the nights you spent crying over sophomore year biology, you thanked your lucky stars. If this was a reward for the one time you went to one of his hockey games, and got a bag of ice for the athletic trainer when Shawn got hurt, you thanked your lucky stars. You thanked your lucky stars because you didn’t think you would be given a third chance to see Shawn any time soon.

Because in your new office, at your first real job, you were only three desks away from him.

tag list (add / remove yourself!): @adelaidestreets, @alilovesshawn, @alina--jpeg, @fallinallincurls, @lights-on-mendes, @mendesficsxbombay, @particularnarry, @shawnmendez, @shawnsreputation, @turtoix, @badreputatiom, @5-seconds-of-mendes, @pupsandpucks @musicalkeys, @madatmendes @im-salt-but-not-salty @sunkisseddreamer @determined-overthinker @fortheloveoftheaussies, @illuminatepotter , @par_r, @perfectlywrongsm @lovelysunset1 @samaratheweirdo @sarcasticallywitty15 @repostcentral

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littlegiantposts · 4 years ago

Text

pilot (~revised~)

Kageyama x f!reader

may contain spoilers!

description: In which Y/n is a new addition to Karasuno’s Girl’s Volleyball Club

warning: I’m sure there are some curse words in there.

A/N: yeah so there is another version of this on my blog, but that was really like a test run/rough draft, so here is the revised one that I like better and I added more scenes. ALSO, just ask if you wanna be added to like a taglist. I already stated this in the previous pilot post i will state it again to make sure.

This started off as just as a nice story to play in my head, but I really wanted to see if I could write it down. First things first, I am raised in California. Thus, I am quite incompetent in knowledge about Japan schooling. All my knowledge is really from me googling stuff and ofc, watching haikyuu. With that said, if I made a mistake on the take of Japan schooling, I do not mean to cause any offense. This is solely for entertainment purposes. With that said, I do not own the characters of haikyuu. However, there are some characters I made up with my own imagination. In addition, this is an “x reader” sort of story but I will be defining some of her characteristics so I am sorry if it hinders you from imagining its you. Finally, I am not that good at writing stories lol but im trying. I hope you enjoy.

I hate introductions. Y/n thought to herself as she sat back down in her seat after standing in front of the class, stating her name and her previous school. Her gaze shifted towards the window. The sun was out and shining and she had the perfect view of the gymnasium. Oh how she just wanted to get up from her uncomfy chair and leave the boring lecture and head towards the gym.

It was the first day of school for Y/n at Karasuno High. It’s not like she started in the middle of the semester, no, she was just about a month late into the school year. With her work ethic, she didn’t feel any pressure in order to catch up with everyone else. She knew she would get it done.

It’s not really her fault she came a bit late into the school year either. Her dad’s job required a small move, not that she was complaining. She didn’t really feel tied down at her old high school because: she wasn’t there for that long and she didn’t really make any friends, despite joining a sport.

It’s not that she didn’t want to make friends. It seems that her track record, or the lack thereof, from junior high with meeting new people has left an imprint on her.

Y/n looks down at the worksheet that was passed out in the beginning of class. The assignment was already completed due to Y/n’s eagerness to finish any homework that would take away time from her main passion.

Some people would say she was obsessed. Some would say dedicated. She simply sees volleyball as an opportunity. The class bell rings, signaling for lunch. Before she realizes it, she is walking towards the gym, in which she would meet the girl’s volleyball captain. As she is switching shoes, she can hear screaming from inside.

“-What did I tell you about touching my onigiri! You are going to pay for that!” “I really didn’t mean it this time, I promise! I didn’t know it was yours!” The voices were muffled, yet she was still able to hear the sincerity in both of the voices. Y/n was about to open the gymnasium’s door when the door swung open by a tall pink-haired girl. She was being chased by another tall girl with long blonde hair, but she was a bit shorter than the pink one. Before Y/n could process stepping aside because it seemed the pink-haired girl had no inclination in stopping, she was tumbled to the ground by the girl who she can only guess took an onigiri without permission. As well, the blonde clumsily tripped and fell on top of the two.

“You idiots! Will you stop it! We already told you, we got a guest coming today and we want to make a good first impression!” A stern voice called out inside the gym.

“Um, Moa-san, I think our wishes are already soiled.” Another voice chimed in from the gym.

“Wha- You dumbasses! Hey, are you okay?” A girl with dirty blonde hair came out from the entrance and offered a hand towards Y/n as the two perpetrators started to get up with apologies towards Y/n.

“Yeah, I am good.” Despite just being tackled to the ground, Y/n remains as neutral as ever.

“Aren’t you going to ask if we are okay?” The energetic, pink haired spoke.

“As if I care when you collide into our guest! You really need to be more cautious, Etsuko!” She barked. “I am Aihara Moa. Pleasure to meet you. You’re the first year that turned that application past the deadline, right?” she states more calmly than her previous statement.

“Pleasure is all mine. And, yes. Sorry for the inconvenience.” Y/n states with quite the unfazed face.

Does this kid crack a smile once in a while? Moa asked in her mind. She seems quite different than the other first years we have. Her thoughts continue.

“I am Oba Yuma and this is Morita Etsuko.” Yuma, who had the pretty, long blonde hair, spoke with a warm smile.

“Why did you introduce me?! I wanted to have a cool introduction!” Etsuko huffed with a small pout.

“Well, it’s not like you can recover your so-called ‘cool introduction’ from that full-body collision.” Yuma smoothly replied. Etsuko’s eyes widened and cheeks heated up as she couldn’t come up with a sly comeback to her logic.

“You guys are just lucky that Rinko isn’t here to scold you.” Moa warned the 2 first years. With the mention of the scary third year that wasn’t even the captain, yet she reigned supreme in the disciplinary department, they shivered at the thought of the punishment.

As Y/n stepped further into the big, bright court, she spotted that she could only assume was the captain as she looked so appalled at what happened.

“Hello, you must be Michimiya Yui.” Y/n knew she had to say something to pull the worried captain from her thoughts.

“Hi! Yes, that’s me! I am so sorry for those two. I would say they aren’t always like that, but I don’t want to lie to a potential teammate.” Yui spoke with an uneasy smile.

Yuma and Etsuko’s interests peaked when they heard “a potential teammate” come out of their captains' mouths. They were the only first years on the team, so the thought of another person in the same boat as them made them excited and wanted to join the conversation. The two first years gave each other a look and started to walk towards Yui, and hopefully their new friend. However, before they could even be in ear-shot, the pair got pulled away by Sasaki Chizuru, another third year.

“Oh, no. Don’t think you will be bombarding her with questions right off the bat.” She bluntly states.

“Oh, c’mon Sasaki, aren’t you curious about her? Like how did she get into volleyball? Or even, is she a beginner? Or maybe she is an absolute monster who dominates the court!” Etsuko proclaimed as her mind went too fast for her mouth to follow.

“As of right now, it’s not our business. All we can do, and are allowed to do”, emphasizing the word ‘allowed’, “is to watch from the sidelines and quietly eat our lunches.” Chizuru instructed the first years and pointed at the far corner of the gym.

Despite her own words, Chizuru couldn’t help but glance at Y/n and wonder the same things that the first year questioned. At face value, Y/n was quite the enigma. The 2 first years gave a pout, but headed towards their desired location.

“So, you came from Niiyama Girls' High? That’s a really good school for volleyball. What made you come to Karasuno?” Yui asked.

“It was the most ideal school in terms of my dad’s work location.” Y/n states plainly. She didn’t technically lie. It was an ideal school in terms to the proximity to her new apartment, but that was not the only reason. She saw videos of their interhigh-prelims last year and to be quite frank, Y/n was not entirely impressed with the state of their team. However, she knew that this meant there was room to grow for them. She knew very well that she could have gone to Shiratorizawa and joined their girls’ volleyball. Objectively, with her skill set, Shiratorizawa made sense. Nonetheless, Y/n didn’t know what compelled her to pick this one. She convinced herself it was because she is a sucker for rooting the underdog.

Does this kid show any emotion? Yui thought in her mind. It’s like nothing affects her.

“How long have you been playing volleyball?” Yui curiously asked.

“Since the 2nd grade.” Y/n quickly states. As much as she wasn’t showing it, she was just itching to show what she can do. The court was right there in front of her, after all.

“That’s impressive, alright, well if you’re comfortable with it, I’d love to see some serves and sets from you. After school, we can hold a three on three since we all aren’t really in the right clothes to play.”

“Sounds good.” To say Y/n was excited would be an understatement. As she removed her cream sweater, she could feel a set of eyes burning a hole on her back. She turned around to put her sweater down and realized that she was wrong. It wasn’t one pair of eyes, it was all of them, curious to see how good she really is. She could feel her heart pounding at the thought of holding everyone’s attention. She knew if she let her mind continue, the nerves would get to her and hinder her performance. She took deep breaths and started to quietly humm a song that was previously playing on her phone from her morning ride to school.

Yui passed a volleyball to her and ran to the other side of the net, and yelled, “Let’s see what ya got!”

Y/n carried herself behind the serve line, taking one deep breath to keep her hands from shaking. With that exhale, she opened her eyes and focused her sights on Yui. The captain wouldn’t admit it, but she could already feel herself sweating under the first year’s gaze.

She looks so intimidating. I’m not even on the court, yet I’m scared. Yuma viewed Y/n’s determined look. For Y/n, it was as if everything crumbled away and the only thing remained was the court. She starts her run up.

A jump serve?! Yuma, Etsuko, and Chizuru incredulously thought simultaneously with eyes basically bugging out of their head. They watch in amazement as she jumps with severe height and reeled her arm back. After that, all that could be sensed was a loud snap and then the ball smacked the ground next to the wide-eyed captain. The impact from the ball gave a small breeze through Yui’s short hair. The deafening silence that followed her serve filled the room in an instant. Those watching from the sidelines had to pick up their jaws from the floor.

“She’s a first year?! Are you sure?!” Etsuko broke the silence with her curiosity getting the best of her.

“Boke Etsuko! That was already clarified, don’t make her repeat herself!” Yuma scolded. While Yui read your capabilities on your application form, it was nothing like actually being on the receiving end in real time.

“That’s quite a serve she got in her arsenal.” A voice startled the three high school students, sitting on the sidelines. Etsuko and Yuma were the most startled, but Chizuru was quite used to her fellow classmate popping in every now and then.

“Seriously, Sudou. We have to put a bell on you or something because I don’t think my heart can take any of your surprise entrances.” Sudou Rinko only slyly chuckles at Etsuko remark. She looks over at Y/n and Yui on the court.

“Did you guys see the precision on that serve?” Rinko posed to the other three sitting on the ground, munching on their lunch.

“Well, not really, but it landed, like, near Michimiya, right?” Etsuko tries to come up with the answer that Rinko was looking for.

“It landed right next to her left foot. I think that pipsqueak is able to aim her serve.”

“What?! That’s insane.”

“Yeah, insane, but not impossible.”

“With her, maybe we can win more games!”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Etsuko, a team is only good if everyone is giving their all.” Yuma reminds. “After all, there’s not only one person on the court, there’s six.”

“I heard she came from Niiyama Girls' High.” Sudou stated as she reverted her gaze back to her fellow teammates. They stared at her after she gave more information on the stranger in their gym.

“Why would she come to Karasuno then?” Yuma asked honestly. She knew that her team had strengths, but she also knew that other teams had strengths that overpowered them.

“How could you diss your own school like that?” Etsuko was almost angry at how her teammate was treating their school. She always was the one to take pride in everything she does.

“No, that’s a valid question. It makes sense that a player with her caliber would be well-suited in a powerhouse school.” Rinko supported Yuma in her question. All four look ahead and see that Y/n is beginning to set for Yui.

“Her precision and accuracy are so on point, it almost makes me sick.” Yuma commented on how your form for setting only held the necessities. Y/n stepped with purpose, and it showed as she passed a nice set for Yui, allowing her to have optimal choices in where she can place her spike.

The bell rang, ending lunch. Etsuko couldn’t wait for practice. She wanted to play against Y/n on the three on three. As for Yuma, she always wanted to learn how to set, but with her grand height, most people would assume she would be great as a spiker. Everyone started to pack their belongings up, heading to their respected classes. Y/n started to head towards class 1-5. Etsuko and Yuma caught up with Y/n, standing on the sides of her.

“Do you guys need something?” Y/n poses the question bluntly, yet she was quite startled. Y/n never expected to have people purposefully come up to her.

“Yeah, where did you learn to serve like that? It’s crazy!” Etsuko praises.

“Don’t you remember what Sasaki said? Don’t crowd her with questions, dumbass!” Yuma scolded, which Etsuko already had an irritated look on her face.

“It’s only one question! It’s not like she’s going to fall apart by it, and I just wanna know because I want be strong as well!” Etsuko’s vain on her forehead looked like it was having a field day.

“Yeah, like that would ever happen.” Yuma remarks.

“What did you just say?! I’m going to make you eat your words!”

“Ooo Frenchie has me shaking in my boots” Yuma taunts with the famous pink haired character from Grease. Etsuko started to jump at Yuma. Because Y/n was between them, she raised an arm.

“Please do not fight, you may cause a ruckus.” Y/n chimed in. The first years returned to their previous spots. Etsuko huffed a little and crossed her arms and slightly turned her head away.

“So, what class are you in? I am in class 1-4. I don’t think I have seen you in the hallways.” Yuma tries to maneuver the conversation to something other than volleyball. Y/n was honestly confused. It’s been awhile when someone her age, someone in her grade asked her a genuine question about herself. She almost felt it was some sort of joke.

“Um, I have class 1-5. And that’s because today’s my first day. Transferred a bit late.” Y/n had pauses in between her words, still not used to people going out of their way to talk to her.

“Woah! You must be pretty smart! That’s a college-prep class, right?” Yuma genuinely comments with a warm smile. Y/n nods, complements on stuff other than volleyball made Y/n short-circuit. The trio walks inside the main school building, the air condition changing the atmosphere. Y/n didn’t notice, but she received some stares from other students as the three walk through hallways. While Y/n remained oblivious, Yuma and Etsuko realized immediately and looked at each other with perplexed looks, not because of the stares that were directed towards you, but the fact that you seemed unfazed by it.

“Woah, who is that? She’s really pretty.” a student spoke to their friend.

“She’s new I’m pretty sure.” another commented.

“I heard she has a famous dad. She’s like loaded.”

“I wonder if she’s taken”

“I heard she came from California.”

“Someone told me she’s snooty.”

“Her looks certainly make up for it”

“Why is she hanging out with those weird volleyball girls?”

Etsuko physically jolted at that last comment, anyone can physically see the irritation on her face. She turned her head towards the voice of the last comment, wanting to immediately put them in their place. On the other hand, Y/n was too much in her head at the moment.

Shoot, I haven’t asked them a question. Well, that’s what I should do, right? That’s what friends do? Wait, we aren’t even friends, I just met them. They probably think I’m weird. Oh great, now I haven’t said anything for the past 3 minutes. They probably think I don’t like them. Y/n felt that this was weird foreign territory.

“So, what’s your favorite subject?” Y/n broke the silence, just wanting to say anything to make sure that her two future teammates knew that she was still invested in this conversation.

Are you serious, Y/n?! No one wants to talk about school, that’s so lame! They probably think you’re a smart ass. Uhg. You’re terrible at this. Y/n wanted to groan and bow her head in shame, but all she could do is hold her head high and follow through with her question.

“I like math, and you won’t get an actual subject out of Etsuko, she will probably say something stupid like lunch.” Yuma answered.

“Hey! Why do you keep answering for me?! I am fully capable of answering!” Etsuko barked at her snarky teammate.

“Yeah, your English grade can clearly vouch for you.” Yuma sarcastically stated. Etsuko looked like all the blood from her face left, looking quite pale due to her not so great English grade. Y/n didn’t realize it, but a small smile was on her face as she saw the two interact.

“Well, this is my stop, And, Etsuko, your stop was awhile ago.” Yuma stated as she didn’t really know if she should just send a wave your way or a handshake because Y/n seemed so formal. She settled with a pat on the back. Etsuko copied Yuma, but her pat was a bit more forceful and it really just turned into a smack. Y/n didn’t say anything, but noted that Etsuko has one hell of an arm on her.

“I already knew that! I wanted to talk to our new friend!” Etsuko looked like she was going to cross her arms and stomp her foot like a small child throwing a tantrum. Y/n stopped her walking when she heard the word “friend” come out of Etsuko’s mouth. Y/n turned to look at Etsuko and Yuma with a surprised look. Etsuko and Yuma instinctively thought they misspoke and perhaps angered you.

“We’re friends?” Y/n held a pause between the two words. Her incredulous face kept switching eye contact between the 2 first years in front of her. “You don’t even know if I will be your teammate yet.” Y/n stated. Etsuko bursted out in laughter and it caused Y/n’s face to turn beet red, embarrassed. Yuma’s face looked like she wanted to backhand Etsuko, but before she could, Etsuko spoke “You don’t have to be our teammate for us to be friends! There isn’t criteria the last time I checked to be friends. Besides, you’re really cool!”

Yuma retracted her arm, despite Etsuko being a dumbass, she somehow always knew what to say in awkward situations. Y/n felt something that spread through her chest. It was a warm, fuzzy feeling. Etsuko and Yuma bid there goodbye’s to Y/n, leaving her to get to her class. The feeling in her chest was not new, it’s just a feeling that she has not felt in a long time.

Y/n sat down in her seat and pulled out her notebook. Everyone started to take their seats. Right before the teacher reached to close the door, a short girl with a small blue hair tie in her short blonde hair just managed to slip through the door. She was out of breath and sweaty, muttering an apology and quickly sat at her desk, which was coincidentally on Y/n’s left side. The teacher began lecturing, instructing to open a page in their textbook.

The end of the school day approached rather quickly. Because of her most recent interaction with Etsuko and Yuma, she couldn’t wait for the three on three. Specifically, who would she be playing against. While thinking of possible offense moves to coordinate, Y/n grabs her volleyball bag from her locker and makes her way to the girl’s gym. The door was already open and she peaked through to make sure there was no way she will be tackled again. She makes eye contact with a girl with short black hair, which she vaguely remembers as Sudou Rinko.

“Hello! I’m sorry I am a bit early, I just wanted to get a head start in warming up because I do take awhile for those.” Y/n quickly explains with a hint of timidness.

“That’s alright! I already setted up the net so you’re welcome to warm up in here or outside, whichever you prefer.” Sudou stated, making sure she didn’t seem to overbearing as others perceive her to be.

“Okay, thank you. I do prefer outside.” As much as Y/n’s face held a deadpan look, she was nervous in front of the third year. She didn’t know if she could just head out or bow. Unfortunately, she went with the latter. Sudou cheeks turned red. She didn’t really expect that, I mean in her eyes, she’s just a third year. But, your formality was appreciated.

“Heh, no need to be so formal. I’ve seen what you can do even without warming up, and we would be lucky to have you on our team.” Sudou reassured.

Now it was Y/n’s turn to turn slightly red. She’s new to accepting genuine compliments. So, all she did was a weird salute with a firm nod of her head, and headed out.

That kid has an interesting way of interacting with people. Sudou thought to herself. Hopefully, she’ll be able to open up more. Sudou busied herself by warming up as well.

In the meantime, Y/n found a spot near the side of the gym where there were no trees and the sun just perfectly drenched the scenery with natural light. It was as if the sun placed a golden film over everything and settled on a calm atmosphere. Here, Y/n began stretching.

After awhile, Y/n was tossing a volleyball up in the air, getting comfortable with how the ball fit perfectly in her hands as she set it in the air. After a couple of sets, she got into the rhythm of bumping, setting, and spiking against a wall. While she was focused on the ball, out of her peripheral vision, she notices someone. After a spike, rather than bumping it, she catches it.

“If you are going to stare any longer, I expect a name out of you.” Y/n stated with a calm yet stern tone while still staring at the wall in front of her.

“I-I’m sorry. You just seem so focused.” The stranger spoke.

Y/n closes her eyes, when she opens them, she turns to look at the stranger. He’s tall, way taller than her. He’s got a beard and his hair is pulled into a tight bun. If Y/n didn’t know any better, she would have assumed he was a teacher, but he was wearing a school uniform after all. With her eyes set on him, it was as if the guy visibly shook in fear and eyes widened.

“Well, you have to be, in an actual game of course.” Y/n responded.

“You play?” The mysterious guy asks. He does have a calming voice for someone who looks like the opposite.

“In order for me to answer, you should give me your name. I’ve been taught to not talk to strangers.”

“Oh r-right. I’m Azumane Asahi.”

There was a beat of silence as Y/n kept staring at him, deciding how she should approach this conversation. In Asahi’s eyes, he thought she was judging him and he started to wonder why didn’t he just mind his own business.

“Yes, I play.” Y/n answered his previous question. Asahi perked up at her answer like a little puppy.

“You seem like you’re really dedicated.” Asahi offered his observation to her. Y/n chuckles. Asahi’s eyes widened once more at the sudden reaction out of the girl.

“I’m guessing you play as well.” Asahi was dumbfounded at your observation. He was scared at how you were able to pick that up quickly.

“H-how did you-”

“Someone who is able to easily recognize the dedication in one person, also finds that same dedication within themselves”

Damn, this girl is wise. Asahi thought.

“However, volleyball was just a guess.” Y/n continued. “And I was lucky enough to be right.”

“Well, I don’t know about that.”

Y/n looked at him again. Y/n wasn’t one to let someone divulge into their personal life. Mainly because no one really came up to her for advice since she was quite the nonchalant person. However, if today is any indication, it seems her social interaction skills has been given a second shot. Y/n analyzed Asahi’s troubled face.

“Are you having an internal battle?”

How unfortunate that you phrased it that way, Y/n. Jeez. You can be so formal sometimes. Y/n scolded herself.

“Yeah, of some sorts.” Asahi responded with a puzzling look at the ground.

“About volleyball?” Y/n specified.

“Uh, yeah.” he reluctantly responded.

“What’s up?” Y/n knew that was more informal and she mentally high-fived herself for talking like a normal teenager.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah”

“Have you ever not wanted to do something because you failed at it?”

A beat of silence.

“No.” Y/n said confidently. However, she knew what he was trying to ask, so she added, “But, I’ve felt frustrated at it before.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Well, tell me, can you be frustrated at something yet you want keep trying it?”

Asahi didn’t respond, just thinking of what she said.

“The answer is yes, by the way. Volleyball is a sport where you are constantly improving yourself, just like any other sport really.” Y/n started to blabber on. “Volleyball provides that uncomfortable tension of not being enough. For some people, it discourages them completely, leaving them to quit or be stagnant. But, there are rare cases where the person is strongly encouraged by it. Those are the people who really do succeed.”

Asahi was deep in thought as he processed your words. As Y/n looks at Asahi, he looks like he’s going to hurt himself if he thinks any harder.

“Here, stand over there. Let me set for you.” Y/n commanded. Asahi Looks up, “h-how did you know I spike?” At this point, he thought you were some sort of psychic.

Y/n shrugs, “Only an ace would have that mindset and label a simple mistake as a “failure”. You feel like you’re whole team depends on you, right?” Asahi nods with shame. “Well, I think you need to understand that the other 5 people on your side have their own jobs as well. Sure, they know that you are capable of grabbing a point, but that’s because they are supporting you in the process.”

Asahi is quite overwhelmed at all the truth you are speaking, but it makes sense to him. Asahi obeys and walks where you pointed to.

“Now, run up like you are going to spike. You’re job is to knock,” Y/n grabs an apple from her lunch box, “this off of this trashcan.” Y/n places the apple on the the tin can and positions it in the way where a blocker would be in terms of where Asahi is standing. “Imagine this,” she draws a line in the dirt with her foot, “is the net. And, I don’t doubt that you are able to hit over the net.”

“O-oh I don’t know, you see, I haven’t really-”

“Just do it.” Y/n cuts him off with a sigh. Asahi gulps and catches the ball from Y/n.

He takes a deep breathe in. And a deep breathe out. He tosses the ball to you. Of course, Y/n perfectly sets the ball for him.

She notices after those deep breathes, it seems Asahi is a completely different person. He looks more focused and confident. His eyes are concentrated on the ball.

After the set, Y/n quickly looks over at the tin trashcan. And lo and behold, her apple is now on the dirt floor. Y/n smiles fondly. Asahi carries the most precious smile on his face.

“Now, how did that feel?” Y/n questions him.

“Makes me want to do another.” Asahi was staring at his hand as if the key to life was written on his hand. He then looked over at Y/n with a glint of inspiration in his eyes.

“The boys volleyball team should still be practicing, right? I still have to start my own practice.” Y/n shares a soft smile, which she hasn’t done in awhile. Asahi reverts back to a nervous state. Y/n’s guessing there is some awkward tension between that relationship.

“Just go to them. It never hurts to just try, right?” Y/n tries her best to be encouraging, but not too pushy.

“I-I don’t know I left them so suddenly-”

“Just go! Or else.” Y/n knew she shouldn’t use fear as a tactic to push him, but to be quite frank, it’s useful in these rare occasions. Asahi fervently nods, he didn’t want to hear what came after ‘what else’ so he quickly grabs his bag and starts his jog to the boy’s gym.

“Oh wait! What’s your name?” Asahi was already a bit far, so she had to yell, “Y/n! Good luck!” She cups her mouth as if that will totally help her voice travel to him. “Well, thank you, Y/n!”

Y/n picks up her things and heads towards the gym, where she has her own journey to embark on.

Taglist: @riceballsandanime

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addierose444 · 3 years ago

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How I Got Into Smith: Part II

In part I, I wrote about my high school extracurricular activities. In this post, I focus on the academic side of my application. I’ll be honest that these posts weren’t as well planned as I would have liked and that ideally, this part would have been first. It was initially going to be a single post, but I didn't have enough time to finalize this part before my unofficial deadline of Sunday at 11:59. It worked out in the end as splitting it into two parts created a new blog post out of thin air. Furthermore, it turns out I had a lot more to add to this part.

My academics were definitely a strong aspect of my college applications. For some additional context, I applied to Smith regular decision and was admitted with a presidential scholarship. To learn more about merit aid at Smith, click here. Smith was my first choice throughout the application process and I actually submitted my application before the early decision deadline. To read more about why I chose Smith or more accurately why it became my first choice, click here. For additional context, I attended a public high school in Vermont with a graduating class size of 106 with 65% of the class attending two and four-year colleges. If this post is interesting to you, you may also enjoy reading about my academic journey to engineering and computer science.

I’ve always loved school and education has been a top priority. Between middle and high school, I took six and a half years worth of high school science classes. In addition to the advanced track of our regular curriculum, I took a marine biology class that included a research trip to Bermuda and three APs (chemistry, biology, and physics C mechanics). You can read more about my AP experience here. Of the three main sciences, physics is my favorite. As a class though, I think AP biology was the best. I won departmental awards my first and last years. I was really proud of the first science award as it was a special award created just for me (as opposed to for a specific class year). The crazy thing about taking all these science classes is that I have taken very few science classes here at Smith. Thinking about this irony is part of why I thought to write this post in the first place. Technically I have only taken two science classes (PHY 118 and PHY 210) during my time at Smith. (And to be honest, PHY 210 hardly counts as it's really just an applied math class that’s offered by the physics department). You can check out all of my Smith courses here. The reality is that I fulfilled the introductory chemistry and physics requirements of my engineering major with AP credits.

In addition to lots of science classes, I doubled up on math classes in ninth and eleventh grades. Granted I didn’t take math my senior year and retook calculus at Smith. I think there were some clear flaws in my math education as many of the courses were too easy and had too much overlap year to year. At the same time, we didn’t cover enough trigonometry and had other gaps in our precalculus course. I did learn a lot in my AP statistics class and was surprised by how much I enjoyed the content. It makes total sense in retrospect as I now see math as an interesting and useful tool. Back in elementary and middle school, math was my favorite subject and I loved it in isolation of other subjects and real-life applications. In ninth grade, I got a math award, but unlike the other departmental awards, a lot of people got them.

My favorite class of high school was AP computer science A. In that course, I learned Java and the basics of object-oriented programing. In ninth grade, I’d been introduced to computer science through a semester-long Python course. In my senior year, I took an online website development course from my state university. I learned HTML, CSS, and some PHP. I also took a semester-long engineering course. It didn’t have math or science prerequisites, lectures, or structured assignments. What it did provide was a fun self-directed opportunity to learn how to use our new CNC machine and work with (mostly fix) the 3D printers.

Four years of English were required to graduate, so I took our required ninth and tenth-grade courses followed by an advanced expository writing course and an advanced literature course called world authors. I’ve always loved reading, but English classes and literary analysis aren’t really my thing. To read some of my reflections on writing, click here. I managed to win an English award my sophomore year which was cool as I’d never really seen English as a strong subject of mine. Granted, I didn’t like my sophomore English class as it only had seven other students who clearly didn’t want to be there and didn’t do assignments well or on time. I also took French all through high school and won awards my first and last years. I was generally more engaged with school than my peers, but French is where my peers’ lack of engagement had the most negative effect on my learning. I’m not trying to brag about any of my academic awards, but I do genuinely believe I did stand out on my own merit. When it came to French, it was more just that there wasn’t much competition.

Social science classes were the ones I generally avoided. Knowing that I only needed three years of social science to graduate and having already doubled up on math and science, I skipped the ninth-grade social science class. As a sophomore, I took the advanced version of our sophomore social science class called democratic roots. As a junior, I took AP U.S. history as U.S. history was required to graduate. The other AP courses were of actual interest to me and this was the only one I took for the AP designation. It was one of my least favorite courses, but I defend my decision to take it as the regular version was sort of a joke at my school. Furthermore, the APUSH teacher was also the advisor for the school publication and was able to write what I presume to be a strong letter of recommendation. As a senior, I took a semester of AP art history and another semester of art history through my local community college. The AP course was entirely online through UC Scout. I didn’t finish the AP course as the community college version was free due to my state’s dual enrollment program. The community college course was also fully online and was much more limited in scope.

I was in the jazz band from eighth through tenth grade. I played the electric bass, an instrument I picked up because they needed a bass player. Jazz isn’t my kind of music, so I never really got into it. To check out some of my favorite songs and musical history, click the respective links. I “quit” the jazz band as it conflicted with AP chemistry. The bass is an integral part of the rhythm section, but rhythm doesn’t come naturally to me and is challenging even with deliberate practice. I was used to being in all of the advanced courses but was in the intermediate jazz band with eighth and ninth graders. Additional required electives included health, financial literacy, and three semesters of physical education. The only class I did over the summer was an independent study for physical education credit. The running I did for the self-directed course probably helped earn me a spot on the varsity field hockey team. I also took a weight lifting class which I absolutely hated.

I wasn’t planning on sharing my actual stats, as there is so much more to college admissions than raw scores or even academics. What really matters is (in terms of academics) is the rigor of your courses in the context of the high school you attend. However, if you’ve read this far, I don’t really mind sharing my actual grades and scores. I earned straight As throughout high school and had a GPA of 4.26 (unweighted on a 4.33 scale). My school didn’t officially do class rank, but I am almost positive I had the highest grade point average. I do know that at the end of my junior year I had attained the “highest level of academic achievement” which I presume takes into account courses and grades. A lot of schools have gone test-optional due to the pandemic, but it’s worth noting that Smith was already test-optional. I don’t know exactly how merit scholarships work, but I am guessing that a strong SAT/ACT score would be necessary to earn one. My SAT score was 1500 (780 math and 720 verbal). I did study a lot over the summer before senior year and improved by almost 150 points from my PSAT. I also submitted SAT subject test scores of 790 for chemistry and 770 for math level II.

#college #Smith College #high school #academics #college admissions #grades #standardized testing #SAT #high school classes

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sxfterhearts · 4 years ago

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22. [4:22 pm]

“That’s all for today, good job everyone on your midsemester exams, and don’t forget to submit your assignments by midnight on Saturday.” Loud rustles echoed around the room as impatient students began to pack up their things and leave. “See you next week, class.”

Even before you dismissed your tutorial class, nearly three-quarters of the room was already vacated. As the last few students got up and bid you goodbye, a few of them stayed back to ask you questions about the midsemester exam you just reviewed. Being an experienced tutor for this unit, you listened intently to every single one of their questions and worries, providing them with answers to the best of your knowledge. It was common for you to get held back for nearly fifteen to twenty minutes because the unit you tutored was known to be difficult yet essential for all students from your major. You remembered taking this unit yourself two years ago and all the grief it had caused you, hence you fully empathised with your students.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a familiar blonde-haired boy leaning against a table and browsing casually on his phone as you placed all of the midsemester exams back into the cardboard box, along with your stationary and other tutorial material. He was the last student left. “Bambam,” you called the boy. “How can I help you?”

“What are you doing after this, Y/N?”

You tried your best to resist the strong urge to roll your eyes. Bambam had been over the moon when he found out that you, his former class president from high school, was assigned to tutor his class for the entire semester. Ever since high school, he had made countless futile attempts to get closer to you. Most girls back then would have been flattered by the vice president of the student council’s undivided attention – he was always trailing around you like a lost puppy, offering to help you with tasks that you were fully capable of handling, or leaving you small gifts like chocolate and miniature wooden figures from his Woodwork class.

Undeterred, you never caved to his advances, for many reasons. For one, the two of you were polar opposites. The only similarity that you shared was that you were both teachers’ pets who sat on the student council. Anything beyond that, such as your personalities (you were the studious, quiet type; he was popular, smart and sporty) and your interests (you loved escaping to the library and reading; he practically lived on the basketball courts) were miles apart. Secondly, you absolutely loathed all the attention he gave you. You disliked his grand gestures that quickly became the talk of the school. There was so much unnecessary gossip surrounding you due to Bambam’s actions and you hated it when people talked behind your back. Some girls even started sending you anonymous threats on social media for being the apple of Bambam’s eye and for rejecting his heart. It was just too much for you and you decided that you wanted nothing to do with him.

Things were much more different now, of course. Most people mature when they enter university and thankfully the students who used to harass you either studied elsewhere or lost interest in the situation completely. You had enjoyed your peace and quiet without him in your first year when Bambam had decided to take a gap year, but he had since returned from his worldly travels. You rarely came in contact with him in your second year as you had completed a year of studies abroad, but this year, by some twisted stroke of luck, you had been assigned as his tutor.

He was the same old Bambam, always so persistent, but a bit more mature in his approach. He would ask you the same question every other week, about your schedule, and whether you were free to ‘catch up’, but he knew how to stop and wish you a good day once you rejected him. You always gave him the same answer, a polite “No, thank you,”, before parting ways with him. That is, until last week.

It was the week of midsemester exams. Due to the exam timetable, the exam of the unit you tutored fell on a Monday, four days before the exam that you had to sit which was on the Friday. Normally, this would be an ideal timetable, however another one of the tutors came down with a serious case of the flu and the professor assigned you to mark her load of papers by Friday. By Wednesday afternoon, you were marking papers in an abandoned corner of the cafeteria, running on a lack of sleep and an astronomical amount of caffeine in your bloodstream. When Bambam walked up to you and sat across you, spouting his usual questions, you just lost it. “No! I have nearly two hundred papers to grade and a difficult exam to study for. No, I am not free, so leave me alone!” You yelled at him, nearly on the brink of tears.

Bambam was clearly taken aback by your outburst, of course. You were soft-spoken and demure, never one to raise your voice in a public place. He could see the resemblance between the woman before him, struggling to hold back the tears, and the girl he saw hiding in an abandoned classroom three years ago, bawling her eyes out as she crouched amongst a sea of books and papers. He remembered that you never really dealt with academic stress very well.

On the surface level, Bambam seemed the stereotypical rich boy on campus, shooting hoops with the boys every day while playing with a different girl every night. It wasn’t true, though. There’s more than meets the eye.

You learned that when he had respectfully asked whether he could stay with you, and if he could bring you somewhere to take your mind off things. Suddenly exhausted, you finally gave in to him, watching him tidy up your things and place them into your bag. You figured it was about time you took a break from this madness anyways. He led you towards the footpath by the riverside across the road from your university campus. The two of you walked in silence, with nothing but the sound of waves crashing against the bay filling your ears. He took you to the far side of the bay which you rarely frequented and sat on the bench facing the river. There were many more yachts docked nearby, their periodic swaying therapeutic to watch, and the occasional dog would pass by, wagging its tail in greeting. Being in nature was calming, and you felt yourself relax in his presence.

“Hello, earth to Y/N.” Bambam waved his palm in front of your face. “Are you alright? You spaced out there for a sec,”

You swung your backpack over your shoulder and picked up the heavy box filled with stacks of paper. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Did you miss my question? I asked you about your plans after class.” The blonde boy reminded, walking side by side as the two of you exited the tutorial room.

You were still somewhat shaken by the flashback you had. It left a deep impression on you, and casted Bambam in a completely different light. “Uh, yeah, sorry.” You readjusted the box in your hands. “I’m just dropping these off at the professor’s desk.”

“Wait, did you just give me a proper answer?” Bambam wondered aloud, clearly taken aback by your less-than-usual response. I’m making progress, he thought. “Can I come with? I was hoping you’d be free after that too, I wanted to take you out for a coffee.”

“Why?”

“Well, see, I wanted to talk to you about last week. You know, when-” He was interrupted by your soft wince as you readjusted the box once more. “Do you want me to carry it?”

You shook your head adamantly. “It’s not heavy.” You shot him a pointed look. “I’m stronger than I look.”

Bambam stifled a laughter at your determined expression. “Yeah, I have no doubt about that.” He quickly stole the box out of your arms and cut you off before you could protest. “You know, Y/N, you don’t have to act so strong all the time. Let others help you once in a while, no one will think any less of you for sharing your burden.”

“I-”

“Ah, Y/N!” Your professor exclaimed, stumbling upon you on his way to meet a colleague. “Are those the papers?”

You and Bambam bowed in greeting. “Yes, sir.” You answered, taking the box away and handing it to your professor. “One of the students had their marks calculated wrongly, I’ve already sent you an email with his student number and the new score. I’m really sorry for the mistake, sir, I promise-”

“That’s fantastic, Y/N. Always so efficient and meticulous. There’s really no need to be sorry! As humans, we are bound to make mistakes. What’s important is how we fix them and how learn from them. Thank you for your hard work, Y/N. You’ve done a good job.”

You turned your gaze downwards, slightly shy due to his kind words. “Yes, sir. Thank you.” You replied softly.

“And who is this young man, Y/N? Are you getting him to do all your dirty work? I saw him carrying the box earlier. It is heavy, though, if I do say so myself.” The professor extended his hand in a handshake, to which Bambam responded with a bright smile on his face.

“My name’s Bambam, sir. I’m doing your unit too, and Y/N is my tutor.”

The professor’s eyebrows quirked up in interest. “Oh? Is this something I should be worried about?”

“Sir, what does that mean?” You asked hurriedly.

He laughed boisterously in response, his half-moon glasses nearly falling off the tip of his nose as he did so. “I’m just joking, you two. Tell me, Bambam, how is it like being tutored by your girlfriend?”

“What-” You shrieked.

Bambam denied hastily. “Girlfriend? She’s not-”

“Sir, this is a misunderstanding, he’s not-” The two of you were gesturing and shaking your heads in unison, denying the professor’s words profusely.

“Ah, young love.” The professor readjusted his glasses as a knowing smile graced his lips. “Listen, son, I’ve known this young lady for two years now and I can assure you that she’s one of the good ones. Treat her well, she’s hard to find and hard to keep.”

Bambam flushed pink at his words. “You can say that again, sir.” His eyes met yours as he flashed you a bashful smile. Little did the professor know that he had been chasing you for the past six years, since the first day of high school.

(And little did you know that, indeed, opposites do attract. Seems like the blonde boy had a soft side that he kept hidden under that goofy exterior of his.)

(Of course, a few months down the road and a dozen coffee dates later, he would ask you to be his girlfriend.)

(And you agreed.)

#got7 #bambam #bambam fluff #got7 fluff #bambam fanfic #got7 fanfic #bambam scenarios #got7 scenarios #bambam drabble #got7 drabbles #bambam timestamp #got7 timestamps #bambam imagines #got7 imagines #bambam soft #got7 soft #got7 bambam #bambam soft hours

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 5 years ago

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Flatbush & Atlantic: part v

Here we have part v! Took me a little longer than usual, but I’m really happy with how it turned out - it’s All Star Weekend with our favorite couple, folks! I haven’t been getting as much engagement as usual with the posts, so please feel free to reblog it and pop into my inbox!

part i part ii part iii part iv

part v

January 28

Cass sat on a metal bench at JFK, legs propped up on her carry-on, eyes flitting between the departures screen and her phone. Mat walked through the sliding doors to her left, catching her eye with a quick wave and smile. If he wanted to travel incognito in Long Island, though, the suit bag and “these-are-more-expensive-than-they-look” sunglasses weren’t helping his cause. “You’ve got the tickets?” She asked. After much convincing, Cass finally agreed to let Mat buy the tickets; he said it would be easier to make sure they were seated together, and had told her to think of it as a belated Christmas present if she’d like.

Mat nodded, gesturing towards the check-in counters. “Shall we?”

Cat grabbed his hand in her own as they walked to the counter. It hadn’t even crossed her mind that they’d be travelling anything but economy — she never had, after all — so she was more than a little surprised when he steered her and their bags towards American’s first-class check-in. He looked down at her. “What? You think I’d let you go to the All-Star Game in anything but the best? Nah, we’re travelling in style, babe.” Cass flushed, handing over her bags to be weighed and taking the boarding pass from the flight attendant with a harried thanks.

“Qu-est-ce que c’est, chère?” Mat asked, brushing a kiss over the top of her head as they headed up the escalator. French had been her foreign language in high school and college; it had gotten rusty, but Mat and Tito had been more than happy to practice with her, though Beau’s Québécois accent sometimes proved a little difficult to understand.

“I’m just really excited for this weekend. I know how much it means to you to be on the team and competing in the skills competition again, and I’m lucky to be able to see you do what you love.”

After a less-than-ideal forty minutes in the security line, Cass handed her license and Mat’s passport over to the TSA agent, who gave them a cursory once-over before marking their boarding passes and letting them through the scanner.

They boarded the Delta flight some 40 minutes later, after a much-needed pit-stop at the Starbucks. The flight attendants took their coats and showed them to their seats, and before Cass knew it she was seated in a very large, very comfortable chair that had more legroom than she thought humanly possible, a glass of champagne perched on her tray table. “Is this how you live? All the time?” She whispered to Mat, stunned.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “The team charters a plane for games and I usually don’t do first class to go back home, but this is a special occasion. It deserves it, you deserve it.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek, pulling out his Airpods. “We’ve got just enough time to get through Pirates of the Carribean before we land. What do you say?”

Their plane landed a few hours later, the two catching an Uber to the hotel about twenty minutes away. Apparently there had been “a car” coming for them, but Cass balked at the idea, insisting that the Toyota Corolla coming to pick them up was more than enough for her.

“Hi, checking in for Barzal,” Mat said, smiling at the receptionist.

“One moment,” she replied, tapping on the computer and turning around to grab two key cards. “You two will be in room 307, third floor. Elevators are that way. Enjoy your stay!” Mat took the cards, handing one to Cass as they turned towards the row of elevators. As excited as she was, Cass was also just the tiniest bit apprehensive about sharing a room with Mat for a whole weekend. She had spent the night once or twice since the Christmas party, and had officially been granted “a drawer” in his dresser, but it was still the longest (relatively) uninterrupted time she’d spend with him.

There were a few hours before the festivities kicked off with some sort of red carpet-type thing, so Cass pulled out her laptop and got to work while Mat went off to exercise in the hotel gym. None of her professors this semester recorded lectures, so she was relying on good friends and a strong Wifi connection to get the notes from the one class she was missing. Cass wasn’t one to skip out on responsibilities and she did feel bad about not being there, but she had earned a break.

Mat came back a little while later, and Cass took that as her cue to start getting ready. After he got out of the shower, she took over the bathroom, spreading her makeup, brushes, and precisely-3.4-ounce bottle of hairspray over the counter. This was the first big event she was going to as a WAG, and nerves were flying. Cass was already well aware that she didn’t fit into the typical mold, and hated the fact that she felt like she had to justify herself everywhere she went. And it didn’t help that Mat wasn’t just one of the best young players in the NHL in recent memory, but also a total smokeshow of a man who had hundreds of women falling at his feet.

But galas, parties, extravagant events were nothing new to her. She had been the president of her sorority at UConn, organizing and attending more than her fair share of her own formals and semiformals or accompanying a friend or boyfriend to theirs. And law school called for dressing up more than occasionally. She was no stranger to impressing people. The dress was light blue to coordinate with Mat’s suit, heavily beaded, and absolutely gorgeous. This was the one part of the trip that she had absolutely refused to let Mat pay for, even though he offered. The league covered the room and he had gotten the flights, and her ego needed to pick up at least a marginal part of the expenses.

She twisted her hair up into a bun, bobby pins stuck in her mouth as she pulled out a few strands of hair. Setting spray? Check. Lipstick? A deep rose shade that she’d had since her first year of law school, so, check. “You almost ready to go, chou?” She asked, leaning down to her suitcase and grabbing the strappy heels she’d picked out for the night.

“Uh, yeah,” Mat said, buttoning his suit jacket. He usually had pretty good taste even before they started dating, but the navy blue velvet suit he was wearing was really something else. “Wow, you look amazing, Cass.”

She smiled, stepping towards him. “The lipstick’s kiss-proof, you know.”

He raised one eyebrow. “You wanna try that out?”

---

It was a fifteen minute drive to the venue, the car the league had sent packed with players and their partners, or whoever else had managed to wrangle a spot. She thinks there were some cousins involved? Mat got out before her, holding the door open while he leaned down. “The reporters are usually fine, they get that most of you guys aren’t used to this,” he murmured, “but you don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to, I’ll say something if I see it getting out of line.”

She squeezed his hand in appreciation, taking a breath to steady her nerves before following him onto the red carpet. After posing for a few photos, they moved onto the reporters, Mat getting steered towards someone who Cass was pretty sure was from SportsCenter, but she couldn’t be positive in the crowd of hundreds. Cass briefly introduced herself, stepping slightly to the side as the conversation’s topics veered towards strategy and expectations, how best to manage playing with only three players and how he was feeling about his chances for fastest skater.

“And you’ve brought your lovely girlfriend Cassidy along, how did you two meet?” Cass heard her name mentioned, quickly snapping out of the daydream she had been lost in. Fluff pieces were nothing new and she knew it would come up, everyone loved getting to know the players outside of a strictly hockey context.

“Yeah, so I’m in law school, and I got an internship with the counsel’s office for the Islanders,” Cas started, “and I helped Mat with some visa stuff. He kept trying to drop hints that he was into me, but—”

“They weren’t hints. I was being as obvious as possible,” Mat deadpanned. Cass giggled.

“Well, yeah, in retrospect I was just being incredibly oblivious, but came to one day, and the rest is history.” Mat leaned down, brushing a kiss over her cheek, and Cass could see camera flashes go off in her peripherals. She’d have to track that picture down later.

The interviewer nodded, asking a few follow-ups on her exposure to hockey growing up, her dress, and one more. “So, you hardly live the typical life of a hockey girlfriend. What do you think about that?”

Cass was confused. “Pardon?”

“Law school, being a lawyer. That’s not something that you typically see WAGs pursue, especially considering the salaries NHLers make. It’s not like they have to do much.” Cass was floored. How could someone be so disrespectful, not only to her, but to every other woman in her position? She was struggling to come up with a response. As it would happen, she didn’t need to.

“Excuse me?” Mat’s response was dripping venom. “Why would you ask something like that?”

The interviewer tried to backtrack, but ended up digging himself into an ever deeper hole. “Well, I just meant that you don’t see it often, which is true—”

“Maybe you don’t, but that shouldn’t matter,” Mat said. “Being a stay-at-home mom or running charity events is awesome if that’s something that they want to do, but it’s not for everyone. And don’t you dare ever suggest that Cass hasn’t worked hard as hell to get to where she is. She’s graduating in five months from an Ivy League law school, and she’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. Don’t ever talk about her that way. Don’t ever talk about any woman that way.” He turned away, his hand on Cass’ upper back. “Don’t ever let anyone undersell you. You’ve worked too damn hard and come too damn far.”

Jan. 29 (fri)

Cass smoothed out her dress, taking a last-minute look in the mirror to make sure nothing was stuck in her teeth. “How do I look?” She asked, turning to Mat.

“You look great, babe. Stop stressing.” She had picked a floral dress and denim jacket for breakfast with Mat’s family, but couldn’t stop wringing her hands in worry. Mat crossed the room in three steps, holding her hands still and looking at her more intensely than she had ever seen. “Remember when I was losing my shit meeting your parents?” Cass gave a tearful nod. “And it all turned out okay and now I text your brother probably more than you do?”

She laughed. “Noah worships you, and my dad loves you. Thinks you’re ‘good for me,’ whatever he means by that.”

“I think,” Mat said, tapping her temple with one finger, “that sometimes you get a little stuck up here. You’re so smart, and it’s incredible, but you overthink things sometimes, pretty girl.”

She ducked her head. “That’s probably true.”

“But what I meant to say is that it turned out I had nothing to worry about. And neither do you, my parents will love you and Liana’ll just be excited to have another girl around to complain about me to. It’s going to go great,” he added with finality.

“You promise?” Cass asked.

Mat kissed her, soft and sweet and slow, the kind of kiss that wasn’t born of passion and lust but of just genuine deep trust and affection. The kind of kiss that brings your feet back to the ground when your head’s stuck off in the clouds. “I promise.”

Cass flashed a small smile, squeezing Mat’s hand in hers and heading towards the door. “Then I guess we’d better get going.” She had been up late the night before, searching on Yelp for the perfect restaurant, despite Mat’s continual claims that they’d “love wherever, they just want food.” Though, she’s not sure what she expected when asking a 20-something man what he wanted to eat. There was a cute place a ten minute drive away, with four-point-seven stars and reviews that said their quiches were the “best thing on this godforsaken planet,” according to IridescentGymRat44. Cass loved quiches.

It was a quick Uber over, Mat’s mom having texted him that they had already arrived and snagged a table in the back for privacy. It may have been a family event, but it was still All-Star Weekend and Mat was still, well, Mat. It wasn’t likely he could fly under the radar for too long. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand reassuringly as they turned the corner, and his face split into a wide grin at the sight of his family. Hugging each of them quickly, he stepped back to introduce Cass, one hand lightly resting on the small of her back. “This is Cass, my girlfriend.”

“Yeah, we figured,” Liana said pointedly, causing Cass to poorly cover up a snort of amusement, which in turn just caused everyone to laugh even more at their efforts trying not to laugh so hard.

As it would turn out, Mat was right. She really had nothing to worry about; his parents embraced her (literally and metaphorically) as soon as she set down and his sister immediately whipped out her phone to show his worst baby pictures. “Hey,” she said, as Mat glared at her, “you deserve to know what you’re getting yourself into.” They were interested in her work and school, and Mat gladly took the liberty of explaining how they met, earning a slap on the back of his head from his mom when he got to the part with the visa slipup. They said their goodbyes sometime around eleven; Cass would have liked to stay longer, but everyone needed to get back to their hotels and ready for the skills competitions in the afternoon.

“Excited to defend the title?” Cass said, bumping her shoulder against Mat as they walked down the hallway to their room.

“Yeah, I guess,” Mat said, shrugging slightly. “Obviously it would be great to win, but there’s still McDavid and Eichel and a ton of other guys that have just as good of a chance to run away with this thing.” After his win last year, it was no shock that Mat had been picked for the fastest skater competition again, but the hordes of fans and reporters who were expecting him to go back-to-back weren’t helping his nerves. They reached the door, Mat shoving his hand into his pocket to dig out the key card.

“Look at me,” Cass said softly, once they had gotten their shoes off and were propped up next to each other in bed. Mat’s head turned, his hand still absentmindedly tangled in her curls. “You’re going to do great. Win or lose. I believe it, your family believes it, the other guys on the team believe it. Now all we need is for you to believe it yourself.”

---

Cass was walking through the tunnels of the BB&T Center, phone pressed to her cheek as she tried to listen to her dad on the other end of the line. A few players and their families were milling about, some getting ready to compete in their skills competitions, others catching up with old friends. “Oh, and you booked the tickets to Hermosillo, yeah?” It was a family tradition for them to spend a few weeks every summer back in Mexico with her grandparents; they had split their time between San Antonio and their hometown ever since retirement. Cass always tried to make it, but the past summer she wasn’t able to wrangle the two weeks off from her job that she’d need for the trip, and it had crushed her. They weren’t getting any younger, and her abuelo had suffered a nasty stroke the year prior that made her all the more anxious to visit.

“Yep, layover in Mexico City like usual, I’ll send you the ticket when the trip gets closer,” Patrick responded.

“And you’ve got everyone’s passport info?”

She could imagine her dad rolling his eyes. “Yes, Cassidy. Everything’s booked, everything’s fine. Have fun in Florida, tell Mat good luck from us.”

“Okay, I will. Love you, dad.” Cass said, running a hand through her hair.

A voice that she didn’t quite recognize called her name, and as she turned around she was more than a little surprised to see Auston Matthews waving at her. “It is Cassidy, right?”

She nodded her head. “Cassidy, Cass, I’ll answer to both.”

The confusion on her face must have still been evident, because he followed up. “I follow Barzy on Instagram, he brags about you all the time.”

“Yeah, sounds like him,” she said, tapping her fingers on her thigh.

“Are you going to introduce me?” His mom asked from beside him.

“Oh, yeah, ‘course,” Auston said, stumbling over his words. “Mom, this is Cassidy, obviously. Cassidy — Cass?” He questioned, looking over at her. She nodded. “Cass, this is my mom Ema.” She greeted her with a warm hug, and Cass just about melted. Moms really do give the best hugs.

Ema spoke up. “Do you have family in Hermosillo? I heard you mention it on the phone.”

“Mhm!” Cass’s head almost bounced from how fast she was nodding. “My grandparents split time between there and San Antonio, we try to visit for a few weeks every summer.”

“That’s where I grew up,” she responded, beaming. “It’s wonderful, but the summers get so hot, don’t they?” Cass and Auston both nodded.

“I think it got up to 110º when I was there once? Maybe 115º? I want to lock myself in a freezer sometimes, I swear.” The whole group collapses into laughs, and spent a few minutes talking before Cass had to tear herself away and find her seats with Mat’s family for the fastest skater competition. Ema had left her with no fewer than three restaurant recommendations, making her swear to try them all. “Best tacos I’ve ever had,” she had said about one.

Cass greeted Mat’s family with a wave as they settled into their seats, one row up from the ice on the right side. The players had just come out, and it only took a few seconds to make eye contact with Mat. She was wearing his — her — jersey, and had long since abandoned trying to roll up and cuff the sleeves. It wasn’t going to happen, and she kind of liked the feeling of being buried in it. She blew him a kiss as the announcers voices echoed through the stadium, and the heat was on.

Mat was slated to go last, which was either the best or worst thing depending on how you thought about it. Cass was always someone to sign up for the first slot for speeches and presentations, and hated having late games in tournaments during her lacrosse days. She liked being able to get it over with. Mat was the opposite. He was competitive and stubborn to a fault, needing to size up the competition and get ahead of the game. Needed to know what to expect. There first few she didn’t recognize, a few first-time faces to the All-Star competition, a rookie from Winnipeg who was a favorite for the Calder. Everyone was doing well, really well — all the times but one were under 14 seconds, but nobody had broken Mat’s time yet.

Eichel got close, McDavid got closer, and then Mat was up to defend his championship. She blew a kiss to him as he stepped up to the line, murmured a prayer, and the whistle blew. Clean straightaways, tight turns, gaining speed on the curves, and in the blink of an eye it was over. Cass knew he had won, the roar of the crowd told her as much, but she didn’t realize his time. She didn’t realize until the announcer reported that with a time of 13.080 seconds, Mathew Barzal had just set the record. His face was stunned for a moment, looking up at the screen and then down at the ice and then back up at the screen again, while being hugged and congratulated from all sides, as if trying to process what had just happened.

It was the last one of the night, so Cass said her goodbyes to Mat’s family, with a promise to meet up before the game the next day, and hurried down to meet Mat. There wasn’t anything formal scheduled for the rest of the night, so he came out of the locker room in just a pair of athletic shorts and an Islanders t-shirt. Cass ran up, jumping into his arms as he dropped his bag to catch her. “Woah, babe,” he said, steadying his hands on the back of her thighs, “coulda given me a warning there.”

Cass kissed him. “Wouldn’t have been nearly as fun that way, though, huh?”

“You’re right.” Mat shrugged good-naturedly, setting Cass down and grabbing his bag and her hand.

“How does it feel having beaten the record?” Cass asked.

Mat ran his free hand through his hair, still shower-damp. “So surreal. I wasn’t even sure I’d win, not with how stacked the lineup was, let alone get anywhere near breaking the record. It’s ridiculous, but it’s amazing.”

“You’re amazing.”

Jan. 30 (sat)

Mat was busy doing media and catching up with some of the guys before the game later that day, and Cass had elected to stay in the room. Mat had offered for her to come along, “you might think it’s interesting?” he had noted, but she’d be damned if she let herself fall behind in her last semester, she was just too close. It had already been a bit of a stretch for her to take a day off and come for the whole weekend, so her afternoon was instead filled with some utterly thrilling reading on advanced contract theory and a thick-as-all-hell review book for the New York state bar. She leaned back in her chair, taking the last remaining sip of the mediocre Lipton tea she had snagged from the basket by the room’s coffee maker. She could finish it later.

Cass picked up her phone, pressing play on a voicemail from Fiona that had been left earlier in the afternoon.

Uh, hey, it’s me. Cass, I don’t know if this is what you want to hear, but I don’t think I’d be a very good friend if I didn’t say it. Uh-oh. Conversations that started like that never ended well. I’m happy about you and Mat, I know you like him a lot, but I’m worried that he’s distracting you. I know you told us you’d be gone, but we missed you at the study group, and I know you skipped your law review meeting today. The rest of the message was more of the same, but one sentence stuck out to her. Think about where your priorities are. Think about where you want them to be.

Fiona Chan had a one-track mind. And Cass loved her for it — she was one of the most dedicated people she knew and an incredible friend. But she sometimes found it hard to understand when people had priorities that extended beyond the bounds of law school, when their sole focus wasn’t on their Contracts final or clinic or clerkship they were doing for some top-tier appellate judge.

She flopped back on the bed. Think about where your priorities are. She had been spending a lot of time with Mat lately, but no more than anyone would spend with their significant other — right? And it wasn’t a sin for her to have a life outside of law school. She was still more than competent at her job, got most of the reading done, was prepared when professors would cold-call on her. She still showed up to meetings.

But even she would admit that her head wasn’t in the game all the time, if she could hazard another High School Musical reference. She’d sneak texts, meet him for lunch instead of going to office hours, and now, take weekends off to be with him. But that wasn’t a bad thing. Or was it? Her grades weren’t really suffering, and nobody else had mentioned anything. Friends notice things, though, Cass thought. And Fiona was one of the most perceptive people she knew. She groaned. Why wasn’t there ever an easy way to figure these things out? She really liked Mat — she might even love him — but Cass couldn’t help but feel like she was gambling on something that wasn’t a sure thing. And her future wasn’t something to play games with.

#hockey imagine #hockey writing #nhl imagine #mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #hockey smut #mat barzal imagines #nhl writing #nhl imagines #nhl fluff #nhl #hockey #hockey imagines #hockey fluff #nhl smut #new york islanders #islanders imagines

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schrijverr · 4 years ago

Text

I Wrote My Own Deliverance

Chapter 2 out of 10

Alexander Hamilton is reborn as Alex Hambleton. He is desperate not to make the same mistakes twice, but it seems he is stuck in the narrative, unable to get out. Familiar faces pop up all around him as he attempts to keep his previous life a secret and write himself out of the story.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: Mild homophobia, beginning and ending indicated with a *. Tell me if I missed anything or if you want me to tag something!!

~~~~~~~~~~

Over the course of the first semester he fell into a nice rhythm, wherein he spend most of his days cooped up in the library or following his courses. He and Aaron rarely spoke, but they had fallen in a sort of camaraderie where they proof read each others work and studied in silence.

Alex was lucky that he did not share any classes with former acquaintances, since he was still a spit-fire, ready to argue with anyone about his beliefs and that would come back to bite him sooner or later.

The fact that it was working, should have alerted Alex that it was going to come crashing down, but alas he was oblivious when he exited his dorm near the end of the first semester.

He was trudging over the field when he heard a posh voice preach: “Homosexuality is a sin. It is unnatural and the people who follow the Devil will meet them in Hell.”

Alex stopped and did a double take.

As much as he tried to keep out of too much trouble in public, this guy got on his nerves more then anything and it did not seem that anyone in the crowd was about to say something to the guy.

So, he hauled his poly bisexual ass over there and got ready to fight.

“Homosexuality is a lot more natural than your haircut, fuckface.” he called out loudly, not missing the relieved slump in some of the bystanders that were glad someone else had stood up first.

“Excuse me?” the fuckface in question replied.

“Same-sex couples have been identified in nearly every species on the planet, reincarnations have kept their gender identity and sexual orientation over many lives and countless of bodies. Just because you’re ignorant and stupid, doesn’t mean you can go around insulting people who are just existing.” he said.

Fuckface was starting to say something back, but Alex just steamrolled forwards: “Not to mention how redundant Hell is when we have verified reincarnations, just because someone remembered a past life and interpreted it as a vision, doesn’t mean it’s true.”

He glanced around and added: “No offense to religious people, of course, just that you cannot force your beliefs on anyone else and I’m not even going to start the argument of how cruel God would be to send his saved souls back.”

People were rallying behind him as fuckface started to look more and more uncomfortable on his little box.

“I would tell you to suck my dick, but alas I have standards.” Alex said, “Now, if you excuse me, you can shove your backwards and ignorant ideals up your ass and pray for forgiveness, since you are not really loving your neighbor as thyself.”

And with that he marched away, not caring that the guy was getting mobbed by the fired up bystanders.

He didn’t get far though, before he was stopped. A friendly freckled face smiled: “Hey man, I really appreciate that, I was about to give him a meeting with my fist, but perhaps better that I didn’t. Sorry, I’m Jonathan Lawson, call me John.”

Alex smiled back, mentally cursing himself for being caught unaware, as he replied: “Alex Hambleton, pleasure.”

Johns eyes grew wide and this was exactly what he had wanted to avoid. Trying to save himself the lie, he asked: “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“No, sorry, just a familiar name.” John smiled back sadly, excitement falling of his face.

“Ah, I got that before, always awkward.” Alex assured him, “I was on my way to the library.”

“Hey, me as well, I was meeting two friends there, I’m probably late.” John answered, “Here, I’ll walk with you.”

“Sorry for holding you.” Alex said, starting to walk.

“Nah, don’t worry, if you hadn’t shown up I would have fought the guy and I would have been even later.” John grinned and, by god, Alex had missed that smile, “You being there will be the best explanation anyway.”

“Glad to be of service.” Alex grinned back, a pang in his heart that he couldn't hug his Laurens.

Alex had been right that Herc and Laf would be the people waiting for John. Their eyes widened when they came into view and Alex pretended he didn’t see the small shake of the head John gave them and how sad they looked afterwards.

Instead he smiled and stuck out his hand as he introduced himself: “Alex, nice to meet ya. I am here to verify that John has a valid excuse for being late.”

And that was Johns cue to jump in: “Yes, you see there was this asshole, and when I say asshole I mean asshole.”

“Homophobic asshole.” Alex added for him.

John nodded: “And you know me, I wasn’t about to let that slide, but then before I could punch him Alex here jumped in and he verbally ripped him apart, which was glorious and probably better since now I’m not bleeding or at a police station and somewhat semi-on time.”

Lafayette and Herc looked back and forth between them, then Herc sighed and said: “Of fucking course, anyway I am Hercules, but call me Herc.”

“And I am Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Marquis de La Fayette, but everyone just calls me Lafayette or Laf.” Laf grinned, shaking Alexs hand excitedly.

“It’s a pleasure.” it hurt Alex to let go of Lafs hand after that.

“So are you a reincarnate?” Laf asked.

Alex forced himself to look surprised and scandalized. To ask about someones past life was similar to asking ones sexual orientation, it wasn’t that weird, but also not really a socially accepted thing to do.

“Oh, desolé, I forget you Americans don’t ask that.” Lafayette smiled innocently, but Alex had known the other long enough not to trust it.

“No problem, but no, not as far as I am aware.” he lied smoothly, feeling slightly bad at their crestfallen expressions, “But you’re French? Je parle français!”

Lafs eyes lit up as he spouted it in quick French: “Quelqu'un d'autre qui parle la plus belle langue du monde! ”

“Je dois dire que j'aime beaucoup ça, oui.” Alex grinned.

“Hey, no excluding.” John pouted.

“Don’t you speak French too, John?” Herc asked.

“I used to, but I forgot.” John grimaced.

“Anyway, as fun as this is, I still have an essay to finish and a few sources to find.” Alex changed the subject. It was fun to see his friends, but it hurt that it couldn't stay like this and every moment was a moment he could slip up.

“Same, here I’ll come with you.” John offered, “We were planning on studying already. One more person at the table won’t hurt.”

Alex hesitated, then gave in.

One day wouldn’t hurt, right?

Wrong.

One day turned into two, turned into a week and before he knew it he had befriended all three of them to the point of no return.

He wasn’t complaining, because being here with his friends, alive and in the flesh, was amazing, but it got increasingly harder not to join in whenever they made references or jokes only past him would have gotten.

Naturally he pouted about exclusion and Lafayette would give him a kiss on the cheek as he apologized and changed topics, never explaining.

It was good, especially when they found out they all took American History together next semester, which was given by Professor Washburn. Not hard to figure out who that would be, given, well given everything so far.

They were all excited of course, but Alex was more nervous than anything. Would he be able to keep his mouth shut when faced with Washington?

Seemingly he was not the only one who had put together who their teacher was. When he entered the room with John and Laf both gave the man a lazy salute while Herc nodded at him, Alex settled on looking confused hoping to avoid any conversation.

Washingtons eyes widened and John said: “Hey, Alex, save me a seat, I wanna talk to the prof for a sec.”

“Yeah, me too.” Laf added.

Herc and Alex didn’t ask questions, just waved them off. Alex watched closely as his two friends greeted Washington. The man grinned broadly and he clasped both on their shoulders, sending a pang of longing and jealousy through Alex, before it was replaced by fear as Washington gestured over to him.

Lafayette and John shook their head sadly and said something to Washington that Alex couldn't make out as Washington nodded in reply, a small sad frown on his face.

The three said their goodbyes, before Laf and John made their way back. Alex couldn't help, but ask: “So, what was that about?”

“Oh, nothing much really.” John tried to avoid the topic.

“Why did you point at me?” Alex asked, god why did he always have to know everything? Make sure everything was going as planned?

“Because.” John answered.

“That’s not really a reason honestly.” Alex told him.

“Just let it go, alright?” John said.

“Laf?” Alex turned to the Frenchman.

Laf in turn shrugged: “It’s a past life thing, mon ami, we knew him. He thought he recognized you, but we explained, so that it wouldn’t be awkward.”

“Ah, thank you.” Alex said, curiosity sated and suspicions confirmed, “Why was that so hard to say?”

John threw his hands up in the air and snapped: “Because you are really similar to someone we knew and it still kinda sucks that you either aren’t him or aren’t remembering.”

Then he got up and sat somewhere else, the pit of guilt already forming in Alex stomach, he just had to keep fucking up, didn’t he?

Herc noticed and tried to comfort him: “Don’t take it to personally, Alex. You’re still great and we’re glad we know you. John was just close with the other Alex, well, Alexander.”

It didn’t really help and Alex just nodded, deciding to just keep his head down for now, not wanting more attention then necessary right now. Especially knowing who was standing in front of the board.

Of course the intention of keeping his head down did not last long and before he was really aware of what he was doing, he was ripping into this kid, Chris something or whatever. It didn’t matter, he was dumb and his opinions were shit, and Alex was letting him know.

“How on earth can you think that General Gates would have been a better leader for the Revolution instead of, oh, I don’t know, the Father of Founding Fathers, General and President Washington, who lead the American troops to victory?” he argued angrily.

“Washington took unnecessary risks and suffered many humiliating defeats that General Gates could have prevented.” the other kid sniffed.

“Those risks, as you like to call them, paid off.” Alex spat, “You’re sitting here because of them, deserving or not, and I suggest you pay better attention so you can realize how absurdly wrong you are.”

It looked like the kid was going to say something else, but before he could, John had stood up and threatened: “If you don’t keep your fucking mouth shut, it will meet my fist. Don’t test me.”

“Mr.-” Washington began.

“Lawson, sir.” John supplied

“Mr. Lawson, as much as I can appreciate discussions, I have to ask you keep the violence to yourself since it will not be condoled in this classroom.” Washington said.

John sat down, but he’d kept glaring at the Chris kid for the rest of the lecture. Though he seemed to have cooled down at the end and less angry at Alex since he joined them again while walking out of class.

“Hey, sorry for overstepping earlier.” Alex told him, just in case.

“It’s alright, just fresh wounds, I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” John replied, he’s always had a big heart, “Besides, you made it up by fucking up that stupid Charles kid.”

“Charles? I thought he was named Chris.” Alex said, putting together why the argument had felt familiar, and getting a few snorts.

“You got really into that debate.” Lafayette said, a silent push to explain hung unsaid in the air.

Alex shrugged: “I’m an immigrant, I tried my whole life to get onto American soil, read all about the history and it irks me that privileged fucks like that don’t realize how fucking lucky they are to be born here. I know the Founding Fathers did some fucked up shit, of course, but, I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.”

“Nah, I get it.” John slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him a side hug. Alex went willingly, the novelty at being allowed to do this was still amazing.

They talked some more as they walked when a black girl in a mellow pink top stalked her way over to them. Herc asked: “What the hell did you all do to piss her off.”

“Hey, I did nothing!” John exclaimed offended.

Lafayette looked scared, but turned up his sweetest smile as he asked the girl: “Hello, mademoiselle, what can we do for you?”

“I’m hosting a party, you’re invited.” she told them, “All of you. I’m Angie.” then she rattled off an address and a date, “Don’t miss it.”

“Wouldn’t dream off it.” Laf managed before she was gone.

The four of them shared a look and Alex said: “Was it just me or was that weird.”

He looked to the girls retreating back and saw her meet up with two other girls. One of them had wide eyes as she said something to Angie, then looked their way, blushing when she locked eyes with Alexander.

“No, that was definitely weird.” Herc assured him, snapping him back to the conversation.

“But it’s a party.” John cheered, “We have to go, I missed parties over the winter break, god the Christmas Galas were not something I looked forward to, but this will be fun.”

“Christmas Galas?” Alex raised a brow as a shit-eating grin crept onto his face.

John pushed him away with a fuck off and Alex silently mourned the presence of a warm arm over his shoulders as he tried to focus on John telling him about his father who was a Senator in South Carolina.

They laughed at John for a moment, before Alex mused: “You think it would be okay to drag my roommate with me? He never does anything fun, I want him to loose the stick that crawled up his ass.”

“Just take him.” Herc said.

“Yeah, what’s the worst that can happen?” Laf added.

Alex grinned and said: “You don’t want me to answer that. I am a chronic over-thinker with a tendency for the negative.”

“Try me.” Lafayette challenged.

“Well at this rate he murdered her previous lover, probably, and she kills him in return, she seems severe enough to pull it off and then I was there and I get charged just for being an accessory and my visa gets revoked and I get deported.” Alex theorized, taking small joys in bouncing off the truth for Aaron, though he had not realized how close to the truth he was for their invitee.

John laughed and ruffled his hair: “You’re a tiny idiot.”

“Like you’re one to talk. You’re hardly taller than me.” Alex pouted, his new life had not granted him more height sadly while it seemed that everyone elses had.

They traded more jabs as they walked before they had to split up for their dorms. He threw open the door and greeted Aaron, who startled violently at the noise, with a: “I have been invited to a party and you are going. I cannot let you die of being a boring nerd.”

“Alexander, do you want me to remind you of how much time you spend on your own studies?” Aaron asked, he had grown less skittish around him through time, especially when Alex showed no signs of remembering.

“Yeah, but I don’t have a stick up my ass.” Alex whined, “Come on, Aaron, please. Just for once in your life do something other than being the prime student who has no opinions.”

He watched as emotions warred on Aarons face. It was a low blow to call upon his last life while the other couldn't bring it up, an ultimate guilt trip.

“Alright.” but it worked.

Alex cheered and told him that it was that weekend, before plopping down at his desk and starting up his laptop, planning to finish the essay Washington had assigned for the end of the month, three weeks away.

~~~~~~

Sorry for my Google Translate French, I gave up on learning the language when I was twelve. The convo was this:

A: “I speak French!”

L: “Someone else who speaks the most beautiful language in the world!”

A: “I must say I’m quite fond of it, yes.”

#RR writing #hamilton #hamilton the musical #Hamitlon AU #alexander hamilton #lafayette #marquis de lafayette #hercules mulligan #john laurens #angelica schuyler #Aaron Burr #george washington #charles lee #samuel seabury #tw: mild homophobia #I Wrote My Own Deliverance #I Wrote My Own Deliverance Chapter 2

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thewritewolf · 5 years ago

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Eating Habits Chapter 3: Worry

A month into Marinette’s first semester at university, Adrien works a shift at the bakery before meeting Marinette for a date at their favorite restaurant.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 (Final)

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3. My ko-fi.

“...And that’s the best technique for kneading the bread, son! Any questions?”

Adrien felt Tom’s gaze on him as he worked the dough, his tongue sticking out a little as he concentrated. The past few shifts at the bakery had been very enlightening. Mostly for figuring out how Tom became so big and strong - the giant sacks of flour and the constant kneading of dough had already starting wearing Adrien down. And he’d had years of superheroics to toughen him up!

“No, I think I’ve got it this time.” Adrien glanced at the lumpy, slightly burnt excuse of a loaf of bread that he’d made earlier that day. “...Right?”

A giant hand patted him on the back. “I’m sure, son. You’re doing much better this time around.” After they’d set it aside to let it rise, Tom dusted off his hands. “It’s good of you to want to learn to cook. It’s a skill that everyone should have.”

They each picked up a platter of freshly baked croissants and walked out to the front of the bakery. The midday rush had just run its course and most of the shelves had been picked clean. It was the ideal time for them to restock with the lack of customers.

Sabine patted him on the shoulder as he passed. “Thank you for helping, sweetheart. It’s always wonderful having you around the bakery.”

“Aw, really?” Even after all these years, it was difficult to fully grasp sometimes - adults that actually enjoyed his company!

“Of course, son!” Tom laughed. “Heck, we were worried we’d be seeing you a lot less now that our little cupcake has moved out.”

Adrien smiled as he restocked the macaroons. “You won’t be getting rid of me that easily!”

“That’s great to hear.” Tom moved swiftly between display cases, much faster than Adrien was plodding along. “We’ll be needing all the help we can get around here.”

“Why’s that?”

“The bakery has been doing wonderfully,” Sabine said. “In fact…” She looked at Tom meaningfully.

The large baker’s eyes lit up. “In fact, we were even considering opening a second location.” They both glanced at Adrien. “It won’t be anytime soon, of course, but…”

“...But it’s certainly something to consider,” Sabine finished. “And we can’t be in multiple places at once, so we’d need extra help.”

Adrien wasn’t dense. Well, he wasn’t as dense as he used to be. He understood what they were getting at, but he still wasn’t sure about anything. Any thoughts about careers or education or businesses… that was all still in the air. Would he continue modeling? Would he pursue one of the many hobbies he’d be forced to collect during his lycee years? Who knows?

So, for now, he dodged the question by changing it to everyone’s favorite topic.

“Have you guys spoken with Marinette much recently?”

If they noticed his blatant evasion, they didn’t mention it.

“She tries to come over for dinner during the weekends,” Sabine said. “But other than that, no.”

“We aren’t that surprised, though.” Tom tucked the empty platter under his arm and leaned against the counter. “She always was the sort to throw herself into something with all her heart. Whenever we do get a chance to talk, she goes on about all the projects she’s working on.”

“And the organizations she’s joined?,” Adrien prodded.

“Not to mention how she’s become the head of some of them.” Sabine smiled proudly. “Our little girl was always a natural born leader. Even if she sometimes had a crisis of confidence, she always managed to find a way.”

Adrien smiled slyly as he finished stacking fresh baked goods. They were proud of her for being a leader, but they didn’t even know the half of it. Marinette lead more than classes and student bodies - she inspired the city and lead superheroes into battle. Adrien knew that he, at least, would follow her wherever she led.

And today, that meant letting her choose the venue of their date for today. He pulled out his phone. Still two hours to go, but…

“Do you mind if I clock out now? I’m meeting Marinette for dinner.”

“Of course, son. You’ve done more than enough for today..” As Adrien set one foot outside the store, Tom yelled after him, “I’ll let you know how your bread turns out, too. Say hello to her from us!”

Adrien flashed them a smile. “Don’t worry, I will!”

-------------

A shower, a change of clothes, and a kwami feeding later and Adrien was out the door of his apartment and heading for a nice little Italian restaurant that they both loved.

He’d been looking forward to this for days now. Finding the time for a date had proven to be very tricky ever since Marinette had started university. Not that he blamed her. He wasn’t sure about all of what university entailed, especially for a design student, but he knew that she wouldn’t leave him hanging intentionally. And he was patient. He was more than willing to wait for a date, just like when he’d tried to get that first date with her all those years ago.

His pleasant memories were disrupted by a jarring sight. Marinette was waiting for him, but there was a certain… dimmed quality to her, if that made sense. She was less vibrant. Paler. She’d done amazing work covering it up with make up, but he’d spent his entire life around the finest makeup artists in the business. Even if he hadn't see through it, there was an exhaustion in her eyes that no amount of concealer can hide.

Adrien pulled out the seat opposite her, his hand immediately reaching for hers. Her forced smile flickered and faded when she saw the worried expression on his face. She sighed.

“Yeah, I know. The semester has been a bitch.”

“But… you’re only a month in, bugaboo!” His eyebrows scrunched together in concern. “Are things really that tough over there?” He looked into her eyes. “Is there any way I can help?”

A smile - real, this time - lit up her face. “That’s very sweet of you to offer, but no. I don’t think there is.” She sighed. “Unless you want to spend a few hours holding fabrics for me, but even then-”

“Tonight? Sure, I can do that.”

“Kitty, I know you want to help, but this’ll be pretty boring.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. But at least I’ll be with you, right? That’ll at least make things go a little faster.”

“I…” She bit her lower lip, a little bit of the light returning to her eyes. “Thanks. I’d actually really love the company.”

He took her hand and squeezed it. “Me too. Now,” he raised an eyebrow, “would I be right in assuming you’ve gotten so caught up in work that you haven’t been eating?”

Marinette rolled her eyes and took back her hand. “Now you’re sounding like Tikki. I promise I’m eating, Adrien. It might not be three course meals, but it keeps me going.” She distracted herself by looking at the menu again. As if she would be ordering anything but her favorite.

Adrien took the opportunity to look her over again. He was reminded of the times during summer photo shoots when his normally strict diet became even more restrictive. The way he thinned out might have looked good on the camera as he modeled swimsuits, but he remembered how awful he felt during that time. It wasn’t healthy when he did it back then, and it wasn’t any better for his girlfriend now.

Maybe it was just a transitionary period. Maybe once she had a grip on her new workload, her eating habits would return to normal. But for now, something needed to be done.

While he was plotting, the waiter arrived for their orders. While Marinette asked for her usual of arrabbiata pasta, Adrien ordered two plates of his meal, plus extra appetizers. It earned him a strange look from Marinette, but he had a plan.

They chatted over their dinner. Mostly it was Adrien letting Marinette talk - about commissions, about classes, about the other students, whatever was weighing on her mind. He asked questions when he could to keep her going, offered advice whenever he could. It was gradual, but he could see the weight slowly lifting from her shoulders as she unloaded on him. It warmed his heart to see her start to come alive again.

But eventually, their meals were eaten. Marinette shot another curious look at his second plate, which had gone completely untouched. The mystery was solved when Adrien asked for it to be boxed up.

As they walked out of the restaurant, she asked in a teasing tone, “Don’t trust me to feed you while you’re over?”

Adrien chuckled. “This,” he tapped the box, “is for you, lovebug. I want to be sure you’ll at least have one good meal after I leave.” He winked at her. “Besides, we both know I’ll be the one cooking breakfast tomorrow.”

“It’s not my fault you get up at sunrise like some sort of monster,” she grumbled, but he could see her fighting down a smile. Adrien couldn’t cook much, but breakfast was something he had down pat.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed the top of her head. “You’re welcome.”

-----------------

They got to her apartment and Adrien was surprised to notice that it wasn’t much different than when he had helped her unpack. It was as if she gave up on decorating partway through and her projects had taken over. And given that they moved her in not long before the school year started, that might very well have been the case.

They were barely in the door when Marinette let her hair down.

“Make yourself at home, sunshine. I’m going to slip out of this dress and into some pajamas.”

Adrien opened her refrigerator to stash the leftovers away and waited for the door to Marinette’s room to close. Once he heard the click, he opened up her purse and revealed a tiny red kwami.

Tikki blinked up at him in bemusement, a macaroon halfway to her mouth. “Um… hello, Adrien. How can I help you?”

“I can promise you Dupain-Cheng cookies if you give me the information I need.”

The kwami’s eyes widened as a calculating look passed over her face. Plagg may have been the more gluttonous of the two, but Tikki had her weaknesses. And there really wasn’t any better baked goods anywhere else.

Tikki floated out of the purse and glanced back at Marinette’s room. “You better ask quick, then.”

“Has she been eating?”

“Barely,” Tikki rolled her eyes. “If you can get her to eat more, please do. She skips meals all the time to get work done.”

“Is she taking on too much?”

Tikki shrugged. “You know how she gets. It’s a lot, but she is used to dealing with a lot.”

He’ll count that as a definite ‘maybe’ then. “How about-” Marinette’s bedroom door creaked open and Tikki flew away. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Not something reassuring, but at least now he had a sense of what he was dealing with. He walked around the couch and sifted through Marinette’s DVDs.

“Want to watch a movie while we work, bugaboo?”

Marinette sighed, a content smile on her face as she relaxed in her baggy sweater and yoga pants. “I would love to, kitty.”

-----------------

Saturday morning and Alya was already frustrated with Marinette’s apartment as she trudged up three flights of stairs. Granted, it wasn’t nearly as taxing as half the things she did as Rena Rouge, but it was the principle of the matter.

It was as she was angrily trudging up the stairs that she nearly collided with someone going the opposite direction. She managed to keep her grasp on her phone. Years of hanging out around Marinette had made sure that reflex was deeply instilled. After a quick second to confirm that she hadn’t dropped anything, she looked up at the person she’d nearly been bowled over by.

“Well, if it isn’t centerfold himself!” A wide grin crossed her face. “How’re you doing? Did you make a nocturnal visit, hm?” She waggled her eyebrows.

As hoped, Adrien blushed. “No- Well, I mean, yes, I did come over last night, but that’s not- we didn’t-”

She chuckled and put a hand on his shoulder. “Relax, sunshine. I’m teasing. Care to give me the news on what’s up with our favorite girl?”

Alya listened to Adrien as a frown slowly deepened on her face. It sounded a lot like half a dozen times Marinette had started to get too caught up in something before. Her work for Kitty Section. The many events she’d pulled off as class president for years. The weeks following Hawkmoth’s reveal. Compared to those times, this wasn’t that bad… yet. But knowing Marinette, they’d need to nip this in the bud before it blossomed into a big problem.

“...You see why I’m worried, right? It might not be serious now, but if this is how she keeps going for her entire college education…” He trailed off, nervously stepping from one foot to the other as he watched Alya.

“I get what you mean. I’ll see if I can talk some sense into her, but you know how she can be…”

Adrien seemed crestfallen. “Yeah, I know.”

“Still, thanks for the update. Don’t worry, I’m sure this is just her getting used to these big changes. See ya, later, hot shot.” Alya squeezed his arm reassuringly as they passed, already forming a game plan. She knocked on her best friend’s door.

Marinette answered. “Alya!” She smiled and wrapped her up in a hug. “I didn’t realize you’d be here so early.”

Alya smirked as she followed Marinette into her apartment. “Is that why I passed your lover in the halls? Should I give you a little warning so you can sneak him out earlier?”

Much like her boyfriend before her, Marinette blushed in embarrassment. “Alya…” she whined.

“You two are too easy,” Alya said with a snicker. She took the opportunity to put her nosy journalist skills to good work as Marinette returned to the piece she was working on.

The breakfast on the table - mostly untouched - definitely had Adrien’s hallmarks on it. The boy only knew how to make like three dishes well. All three were breakfast foods and she suspected some hairbrained advice from her boyfriend was to blame for that. She frowned when she saw that only a few bites had been taken out of it.

“Your breakfast is gonna get cold, M.”

Marinette groaned. “Now you’re sounding like Adrien. It’ll still be there when I’m done with this, I promise. I just need to-”

“Just need to have breakfast before your best friend force feeds it to you? Couldn’t agree more, M.” Alya put on a sickly sweet smile and Marinette dragged herself over to the counter. Alya joined her and sipped at the coffee she’d picked up on her way. “Now, what’s going on in Marinette land?”

While Marinette told her about a few tickets Jagged Stone had sent her for the Parisian concert, Alya dutifully listened. She had started mentally juggling her schedule to let her spend more time with Marinette. Alya was not one to let her friends suffer alone.

#Miraculous Ladybug #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrienette #post reveal #Sabine Cheng #Tom Dupain #Alya Cesaire #Tikki #ml fanfiction #my writing #Eating Habits #The Lucky One series

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dimpled-gukkie · 6 years ago

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Give and Take

Moodboard made by @i-am-today-we-will-survive

Pairing: student heiress! Feminine Reader x art student!Jeon Jungkook ft. platonic best friend Kim Taehyung. (Brief appearances made by Park Jimin, Min Yoongi, and Kim Seokjin).

Word Count: 20.5k

Warnings: mentions of drinking, taking pain meds (not abusively), belittling parents, incarceration, slight cursing, and allusions to feeling depressive

Genre: Fluff w/ some angst, S2L, College au, kinda a coffee shop au but barely

A/n: I’m sorry I’m a day late on this, I really thought I could get this whole thing written out but I was 4k short yesterday. I promise to get better at time management and not overextend myself. Anyways, yesterday I hit a milestone so this fic is also like a celebration to that. Hopefully you guys enjoy it!

Summary: Love has never come easy to you; you would say you even question if it exists. So when your parents hound you about finding a boyfriend to improve the company image you panic. The only boy you trust enough to bring home is Jeon Jungkook but he doesn’t quite match your parents ideal which means you need to give him a bit of a makeover. Along the way can Jungkook prove to you that love is real or will he just re-affirm your beliefs that it’s a lie?

Your heels clack against the linoleum floors, each step making you wince at the harsh sounds. It’s a stark contrast to the gentle thud of your converse, and you keep your head down as you pass through the hallways. People turn to stare at you as you walk by and you wind your arms around your middle in an effort to comfort yourself. If it were up to you, you’d be tucked into a pair of leggings and and a thin sweater, just warm enough to protect you from the cool breezes of spring. Instead you’re in what could best be described as a summer dress because your father’s words keep going through your head. The first impression is the only thing that matters, so always dress yourself well. In your own mind, you’re merely setting yourself up for being able to wear sweats for the rest of the semester.

Casting a sparing glance to your phone, your eyes widen in surprise when you notice the time. Class begins in three minutes and you have to cross the entire building. Picking up your pace, you’re nearly to the lecture hall when you smack into someone’s chest while rounding a corner. Papers fly and the sound of a million pencils rolling across the tile haunt you. You’ll surely be late if you stop and help them but you accept your fate. Hastily you swipe the pencils and paper nearest to you, shuffling them into a haphazard pile. The person you crashed into says nothing as you both grab their belongings, only grunting in annoyance. Once everything you can see is collected, you give them the pile of paper and pens that threatens to capsize in your arms. “I’m so sorry.” You begin, looking up to see a pair of dark brown eyes glaring back at you. Their icy gaze causes chills to run up your spine and you find yourself backtracking. “I-I wasn’t looking where I was going and it’s all my fault-“ A deep blush creeps onto your cheeks as the stranger breaks out into a lazy grin, amused by your nervous antics.

“It’s alright, no big deal.” You nearly get whiplash from his icy stare turning into molten pools as his eyes crinkle around the edges.

“Well-“ You clear your throat. “Alright then. I have to get to class.” Scurrying past him, you catch a glimpse of a fond smile but don’t pay it much mind. After all, you know too well how fake smiles can be. Upon entering the classroom, all eyes turn to you and you awkwardly shuffle towards an open seat. Of course they’re left in the front row, meaning everyone in the lecture hall watches you plop into your chair and throw your head onto the table in embarrassment.

“Well now that it seems that everyone is here,” The professor looks at you pointedly.”We may now begin. It should be noted that since this is an upper level business class, I expect you all to dress accordingly. That means no sweats, leggings, or anything less than business casual.” The class lets out a collective groan causing the professor to roll his eyes. “In less than two years, you’ll be entering the work force where you’ll be treated as professional adults. It’s about time you start looking like it.” With that the professor turns back to his slides, beginning his presentation. You could tell this was going to be a long semester.

A grueling two hours later, you’re finally free and make a break for the door. You’re not sure if you can handle a whole semester of that man. His monotonous voice nearly drove you to sleep, but his sharp eyes kept you from dozing off. It was clear he had disdain for his job and you were worried he would take it out on your class. Taehyung is waiting faithfully outside of the classroom, leaning against the wall directly across. He opens his arms wide when you emerge from the classroom and you hide inside his chest. Nothing is as comforting as crawling into your best friends arms after a rough morning. “How was your first class of the day?” He mumbles against the crown of your head. Sighing you press yourself further into him as you answer. “That bad huh?” He chuckles giving you a squeeze.

“I want to go back to the apartment.” You whine. You and Taehyung have been roommates since the end of your freshman year when the dorms dumped you both out onto the streets. They don’t appreciate when you smuggle dogs into them apparently. It was on the fateful day, surrounded by your Prada luggage and Taehyung surrounded by his Gucci, that you decided to be roommates. For most it was probably a bad idea to move in with a random stranger, but you and Taehyung clicked so quickly that by the end of the day you were best friends.

“Me too. I miss Tannie already.”

“We can skip?” You offer, giving off your best smile. It’s hard to want to go to class when you hate your major.

“First impressions are the most important remember?” He wiggles his eyebrows and you regret telling him your whole life story.

“Don’t remind me. Besides my classes suck.” You’re back to whining because being sweet isn’t working.

“I know.” He rubs his hands down the length of your spine soothingly. “But college is almost over and then when you get the company you can sell it.”

“I’m sure my dad will love that. He won’t even let me take the classes I want.” Glancing around, the hall is void of any other students, the rest already heading to their next class. You should be too, but you’d rather be with Taehyung.

“You don’t have to take classes to make it as a writer.” Taehyung points out. You appreciate that he always tries to see the bright side, but sometimes you just want to complain.

“Yeah. I wish my parents were more like yours though.”

“I don’t think so. At least your parents care, in their own twisted way. I don’t even think I really have a family at this point.” He chuckles lightly but you’ve known him for long enough to know it’s to cover his sorrow. He’s pretty good at hiding behind a smile but you’ve know him too well for it to ever fool you.

“You have me. You’re my family.” Glancing up, chin resting on his chest, you watch as a small smile makes its way onto his features.

“And you’re mine. We’re our own two person family.”

“Exactly. And why would you want any more members when you already have the best?”

“Did-did you just refer to yourself as the best?” Taehyung pushes you from his chest and holds onto your shoulders, keeping you at arms width. He suppress the smile trying to make its way onto his face.

“What? No-no I meant you!” You both fall into a fit of giggles and Taehyung pulls you back into him.

“I know bubs, you’re just too fun to tease. Now come on, let’s head to class. I’ll walk you there.” Pouting you let Taehyung drag you to your next class and sadly wave goodbye to him. You never have any classes together, aside from that rare time there’s an elective you both manage to snag. Taehyung majors in Art History, something he is actually passionate about, but always manages to be there to walk you to and from classes. You really don’t know what you did to deserve him. Inside, the classroom is already pretty full, only a few seats empty here or there. Walking towards the back, you sit down quietly next to a boy with his head down. Taking out your AirPods you pop them in to listen to some music before class starts. Taehyung always makes sure that you arrive a little early to class, the only exception being this morning because he has a class earlier than your own. You just hit play on your music when the boy next to you turns to face you. Looking over you realize it’s the same one from this morning.

“Oh hi.” You wave awkwardly and take one earbud out.

“Hi.” He smiles and now that you have the time to really look at him you notice his whole face crinkles when he grins. “Airpods huh?” He gestures to the one in your hand.

“Yeah. I don’t speak broke.” You both fall into a fit of giggles at your lame joke and you reach out to give your earbud to him. “You can listen too if you want. I wouldn’t say my playlist is the best but it’s good enough.” Grinning he takes it and bops his head dramatically to the beat coming from them.

“I don’t know what you mean. This is great.” Rolling your eyes you slide your phone over to him with the music app open.

“Fine then. You pick something.”

“Let me show you what intellectuals listen to.” His grin becomes earsplitting as he shields the device from your prying eyes and you gradually become more concerned. You shouldn’t have trusted him. The beginning of Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley begins to trickle through the speakers and you try your best to snatch the phone back from him but he holds it out to his other side.

“I can’t believe you just rick rolled me.” You groan, struggling to hide a laugh of your own. “I don’t even know you yet and you’re already messing with me.” He turns to you suddenly serious and his face falls.

“You mean, you share your headphones with just anybody?” Pouting he hands you back the device and guilt already begins to eat away at you.

“No I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t really share them with anybody but I’m comfortable around you for some reason even though we only met this morning so I guess we’re not really stra-“

“I’m just teasing.” He cuts you off from your rambling. “I’m Jungkook.” He says sticking out his hand. Gently you place yours in his and he shakes it firmly.

“Y/n.”

“There you go, now we’re not strangers.” He smiles and you find yourself smiling back. You’re not sure what exactly makes you trust him so much. He’s just so warm and bright, reminiscent of Taehyung. He makes you feel safe and protected, something you haven’t really felt in a long time. Maybe it’s a mistake, but you decide that you want to keep him around. The professor enters the room and calls for your attention, effectively ending the conversation.

That night you’re curled up next to Taehyung on the couch of your apartment, the dogs sprawled across your laps. “Who was that boy in your second class?” Taehyung asks, absentmindedly playing with your hair.

“Taehyung there’s lots of boys in my second class. You need to be more specific.”

“The one with the red hair. He kept glancing at you when we were talking after your class.” You rack your mind for someone with red hair before mentally facepalming.

“That’s Jungkook. I think we’re friends now.” Taehyung raises an eyebrow at you.

“Really? You don’t really trust people after him.”

“Yeah I know, but there’s just something about Jungkook. He makes me feel safe.”

“Well that’s good. I’ll have to meet him though, make sure he knows that if he ever hurts you I’ll beat his ass.”

“Tae we only just became friends.” You groan hiding your face in his neck.

“I don’t care. As long as we’re best friends it’s my job to make sure no one will hurt you.”

“Ah yes, big bad Taehyung. You’ll really scare them away with that boxy smile.” You tease pinching his soft cheeks for extra measure.

“Shut up.” He swats your hands away. “Besides I have a very manly voice. I’ll just use that to my advantage.” Nodding you rest your head against his shoulder, attention focusing back on the tv. “You tired?” Taehyung asks softly. You lightly nod in response. “Come on then.” Gently he scoops you up and places you onto your bed, shuffling the comforter up to your chin. “Sleep well okay?” Nodding, you watch with half-lidded eyes as he walks over towards your door. “Goodnight bubs.”

“Goodnight Tae.

The next morning you’re enjoying your day without class, walking hand in hand with Taehyung. He swings your connected hands in large swooping motions, giggling childishly at the action. “Ahh I missed this.” He says and you roll your eyes, albeit your heart does grow a tad warmer.

“Tae we see each other everyday. We live together.”

“Yeah but it’s not the same. I have you all to myself today.” Grinning he pulls you into him, stopping to give you a bear hug in the middle of the street. Hugging him back tightly you rub his upper back, sensing a shift in his attitude. Maybe something happened last night after you went to bed that upset him and is making him so starved for affection.

“You okay?” You murmur into his ear, ignoring the annoyed grunts and huffs of air the people around you are giving.

“Your parents called me last night.” You feel yourself turn rigid in his arms, and this time it’s Taehyung rubbing soothing circles down your back.

“Why? What did they want?” You’re not exactly sure how they got Taehyung’s number seeing as they only know him from the time they stopped by your apartment uninvited. They were solely against the idea of you living with a male until they found out Taehyung also came from a wealthy family. They couldn’t stop talking about him and pressuring you to make a move until you broke the news that Taehyung was already engaged to someone else. Truthfully, Taehyung was just as single as you but your parents would never accept the fact that you and Taehyung would only ever be friends regardless of his beauty or wealth. After finding out Taehyung was a no-go your parents have never mentioned Taehyung again and you had thought they’d completely forgotten him.

“They called me and pleaded that I break off my engagement and court you instead.” Your cheeks turn a hot shade of pink and you hide yourself in his neck.

“They really think I’m that much of a lost cause that they have to do my bidding huh? Did they offer you money? Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Bubs…” Taehyung warns, his tone of voice telling you not to ask questions you don’t want the answer to.

“How much?” Your voice is muffled by his sweatshirt but his sigh signifies he still heard you.

“1 million.”

“That low huh? I guess my worth has decreased over time.” You laugh humorously. “To them that’s the equivalent of 20 dollars.”

“Well you’re priceless to me, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Thanks Taehyungie.” You pat his shoulder a few times before disentangling yourself from his grip. “Now come on, I definitely need some coffee to get me through the day.” Pulling him into the first shop you see, you’re welcomed by a soft yellow light emitted from the lights strung along the ceiling and soft piano music filtering through the speakers. The smell of freshly ground coffee beans swirls through the air, the smell like the soft flutter of a butterfly’s wings rather than pungent and assaulting. You’re too busy looking around to notice the boy with familiar red hair, dark eyes, and crinkly smile, which comes on full display when he notices your presence.

“Y/N!” Looking over towards the register you finally take notice of the beaming boy.

“Oh, he-hey Jungkook.” You move to rub the back of your neck nervously but end up pulling Taehyung’s arm with you, completely forgetting that you’re attached. Jungkook’s eyes dart down to your conjoined hands, as do yours, and his smile droops a little.

“Hey. What can I get you both today?”

“A medium vanilla iced coffee for me and then a large strawberry smoothie for him please.” Jungkook types in your order before turning the screen around for you to pay. He says nothing after you swipe your card and enter your pin, just turns around to start making your drinks.

Taehyung gives you a weird look before leaning in to whisper in your ear as you wait to get your drinks, “I thought you said you were friends?”

“We are?” You’re just as confused as Taehyung about Jungkook’s sudden change in mood. He seemed so happy before to see you, but now he won’t even speak to you.

“Mmm. I don’t like him.”

“He’s really nice. Maybe he’s just having a bad day?”

“Just be careful alright? I don’t want a repeat of-“

“Your order is ready.” Jungkook cuts Taehyung off gruffly. You flash him a concerned look but he ignores it and heads back over to the register. Maybe Taehyung is right. Is Jungkook even worth it?

The next time you see Jungkook is your shared class together three days later. He’s sitting in the same spot as last week and part of you wants to go sit somewhere else. Your heart wins out though and you decide to sit next to him anyways. Everyone has bad days, you shouldn’t hold it against him. Pulling out your headphones and notebook you place them on your desk and out of the corner of your eye see Jungkook giving you a soft smile. “Feel like sharing?” He asks.

“You want to be AirPod buddies? Hmm… I don’t know.” His grin turns into a pout, plush bottom lip jutting out considerably. His eyes twinkle like they’ve captured the stars. “Fine.” You huff and roll your eyes.

He grins happily as he pops the bud in, and bops his head happily side to side. A fond smile stretches across your face and it’s like the coffee shop incident never happened. It must’ve really been a bad day. You both sit at the desk bopping along happily until the professor comes in and you both set the headphones aside. You’re halfway through the lecture when a loud crinkling sounds next to you, and when the people around you also turn their heads toward the sound, Jungkook is frozen with hunched shoulders and wide eyes, a bag of banana chips clutched between his fingers. You struggle to hide your giggle, eyes scrunched as your body shakes in silent laughter. When everyone finally turns their sharp gazes away, Jungkook lightly shoves your shoulder. “I can’t believe you laughed in my time of need.” He whines.

“It’s your own fault for trying to open up a bag of chips in a quiet room.”

“Just for that I’m not sharing.” He sticks his tongue out at you when you spare him a glance.

“Alright banana boy.” You snicker. A pout grows on his face at your words and you resist the urge to poke his jutted lip in response. It’s odd for you to feel so affectionate towards someone so quickly, Taehyung’s really the only one who brings it out in you, but you don’t want to shake off this feeling. It feels warm like friendship and it’s been a while since you’ve made a real friend after Taehyung. When Jungkook starts getting back into the lesson and is too focused on his notes to realize you inching your hand towards the bag, you quickly swipe a few chips and push them into your mouth to hide the evidence. You’re too busy grinning at your “sneaky” plan working to notice Jungkook tilt his head to the side quickly and poking his tongue into his cheek to hide his smile. He definitely saw you but if you were going to get so happy over sneaking chips he offered, he’d let it slide.

When class is over and you are gathering your notebook and pens, Jungkook softly taps on your shoulder, twirling the AirPod around in his fingers. “Do you maybe -um- want to go grab a coffee or something? You don’t have to, I mean you’re probably busy but-“ His face gets increasingly redder the longer he rambles, becoming more and more flustered.

“Sure. Just let me text Tae and tell him I have plans, unless he can come with us?”

Scratching the back of his neck he gives you a tight lipped smile. “Yeah sure. The more the merrier right?”

You look at him skeptically before raising an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Yup.” Walking outside the classroom, Taehyung is once again leaning against the wall and when he notices you both come out together he raises an eyebrow. You dismiss it with a roll of the eyes but a blush still makes it’s way up your neck and onto your cheeks. The three of you walk out of the building in an awkward silence, the tension almost palpable. Pursing your lips, you wring your hands together, lost on what the route of the tension is and how to solve it.

“So umm… what are you planning on getting?” You turn to ask Jungkook. He gives you a small smile.

“I was thinking something sweet. Maybe a caramel macchiato.”

“Oo good choice. Maybe I’ll get that too.”

“It’d definitely be more exciting than a vanilla iced coffee.” He snickers. In result you shove his arm and he practically throws himself onto the grass next to the sidewalk, rolling a few times while clutching his “injury”. “Yah! Who knew someone so small was so strong? Be careful will you? I could’ve broken my arm or something!” Rolling your eyes you stifle your giggles behind the sleeve of your sweater.

“You’re a dork.”

“You know, surprisingly I’ve heard that before.” He chuckles while picking himself off the grass.

“Wow that is surprising.” Jungkook rolls his eyes in response and opens his mouth to say something before Taehyung interjects.

“Now now children. Let’s not fight.”

You and Jungkook both huff and mumble, “I’m not a child.”

“If you have to refute it, then you probably are.” Squinting your eyes, you give him your best glare but he ignores it. “Where are we going anyways?”

“My place.” Jungkook grumbles. His eyes widen as he registers his words meanwhile you and Taehyung have stopped to stare at him.

“Umm.. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression but-“ You begin but Jungkook frantically waves his hands while shaking his head.

“No no not my place my place like my coffee shop. My place of work. This is so awkward, I’m so sorry. I swear I’m not like that.” Taehyung giggles behind you as a bead of nervous sweat trickles down Jungkook’s head the longer you remain silent. His gaze is pleading as he stares, praying he hasn’t ruined his chances.

“Jungkook it’s fine. I figured that’s what you meant.” Taehyung is still giggling as you make your way towards Jungkook’s cafe, the same one you visited a few days ago. The bell chimes above your heads as you enter and the boy behind the counter whips his head up at the sound. “Kookie!” He yells, grin so wide that his eyes squint to the point that they’re nearly closed.

“Ahh,, hi Jimin.” Jungkook smiles, voice soft.

“Look at you making friends. I never thought the day would come.” The cashier teases while wiping a fake tear. “My Jungkookie is all grown up.” Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“This is Y/N and uhh,,,”

“Taehyung, but most people call me Tae.” Taehyung sticks his hand out to shake Jimin’s and Jimin winks at you when they release.

“So you’re Y/N..” A smirk grows on his face as he gives you a once over and your cheeks heat up.

“Yup, that’s me.” You smile awkwardly.

“Okay well now that introductions are over, how about taking our order?” Jungkook steps in front of you, shielding you from Jimin’s gaze.

“Sure thing.”

“Two caramel macchiatos and a- what did you want?” Jungkook asks turning to Taehyung.

“Strawberry smoothie.”

“Yeah that.” While Jimin’s punching in the order you squeeze between Jungkook and Taehyung. “What are you doing?” Jungkook asks watching as you take out your debit card.

“Paying?” Reaching out to hand Jimin the card, Jungkook places his hand over your own to stop you.

“No I got this. Don’t worry.”

“Jungkook it’s really no big deal.” You begin.

“Y/N it’s really no big deal.” Sighing you put your hand back down, realizing this argument is futile. Jungkook is too determined.

“It really is no big deal. He’s got that employee discount anyways.” Jimin teases, leaning against the counter as he shakes in laughter. Pink dusts Jungkook’s cheeks and your heart hurts a little because he’s so cute. But you only mean it in a friendly manner, at least that’s what you tell yourself.

Ever since you’ve gotten coffee with Jungkook and Taehyung you’ve felt giddy. The type of giddy where your whole body feels like a live wire budding with electricity. You deduce it must be because you’ve made a new friend. You’ve finally found someone new to let in, someone who doesn’t seem to only want you for your contacts or bank account. Not that they’re even yours to begin with. Growing up in a household where your father was the youngest CEO of the largest distribution companies in the country meant you were always more than comfortable. You could get whatever you asked for, money came in like it really did grow on trees. Your biggest worry though, focused on the people outside your immediate family. Crooks and snakes lied around every corner, waiting to strike the naive girl you once were. The type who gave love so freely and in such an abundance that you couldn’t fathom the greed or cruelty that overtook humanity so easily. When you did finally see it, it felt like all the warmth and love you had was sucked out of you, leaving you this shell of a person. For a long time you didn’t really know how to be, the new you was so cynical, so cold. It wasn’t until you met Taehyung and truly trusted him that the flicker of life in you came back. That’s part of the reason you and Taehyung are so close, seeing as he made you feel human again.

With a smile on your face even throughout your classes, nothing can break your mood, not the grumpy old man who loiters in the lobby of your apartment building yelling at the people at the front desk or the loud stomping of the people on the floor above you. Smiling widely, you flop onto the couch and both pups jump onto you, Tannie settling in your lap and your own dog lying on your chest giving you a few licks on your jawline. “Hi babies!” Craning your neck up, you pat them both on their heads before settling fully back down.

“Why didn’t I get that kind of excitement when I picked you up from class earlier?” Taehyung whines, nudging your legs aside to make room for himself on the couch.

“Oh, hey Tae! I didn’t see you there.” You voice drips in faux excitement making Taehyung roll his eyes. “Aww come on. You know I’m always happy to see you.”

“And?” Taehyung pushes, eyes wide and hopeful.

“And?”

“I can wait all day you know.” Resting one arm on the back of the couch he shifts to his side to stare at you head-on.

“I love you.” A boxy grin two sizes too big stretches across his features and you’re sure if they dogs weren’t on your lap, he would’ve tackled you. It’s not often that you say I love you, what with all that happened last time.

“I love you too! You should really say that more often. It makes my day.” He’s practically beaming and you consider maybe just for him you’ll try and say it more frequently. After all, there’s no risk of losing Taehyung. You’ll be best friends even in death.

“I might.” You mumble, half hoping he won’t hear you but also hoping he will. After all he’s done for you, you could at least give him this.

The rest of the night is spent how every night is, you and Taehyung wrapped in pillows and blankets while surrounded by take-out boxes, the pups waiting fervently to catch any spillage. The whole time though, thoughts of a certain red haired, crinkly smiled boy swirls through your head leaving a small smile on your face even when you’re asleep.

You find yourself back in your dreaded class, the same eyes as before judging you for your outfit choice. Did the professor say that you were supposed to dress nicely? Yes. Are you going to dress nicely though when you hate your major and have to study it at 7 am every morning? No. So here you are in your comfiest sweats and one of Taehyung’s hoodies, nursing a coffee that’s not nearly as good as the one Jungkook made a few days ago. The professor walks in and his beady eyes land right on you and you give him your best fake smile before grabbing your notebook out of your backpack. “I see some of us have forgotten the dress code.” He begins and all eyes fall to you. “Today I’ll let it slide, but next time you’ll start to notice an effect on your grade.” His eyes say try me and you shrink a little into yourself on the inside, even though you don’t let it show. You make eye contact with the class TA named Seokjin and he winks at you before mouthing something unintelligible, well at least to you. He definitely said something to garner the giggles of the girls around you but you’ve always been bad at reading lips. You just smile awkwardly before turning back to your notes.

When class ends, he saunters over to you, placing both hands on the desk before leaning into you. His wide shoulders shadow part of your desk leaving you feeling caged in, but not in a good way. “I’m Seokjin.”

“I know.” His smirk widens. “Kinda need to know the name of the TA in case I have questions.” The smirk falls a little and you can’t help your swell of pride from knocking him off his high horse.

“Well I thought it was real sexy how you stood up to the professor like that. He’s a prick.” Seokjin says.

“Thanks. Well, I have to go. My friend is waiting for me.” You point to Taehyung who’s leaning against the wall like he does everyday. He won’t admit it but he definitely does it for the wallflower aesthetic. Seokjin’s eyes follow the direction your finger is pointing in and he stiffens when he notices Taehyung.

“Friend?” He asks as he follows you towards the door of the classroom.

“Mmhmm.” Taehyung wraps his arm around your shoulder when you you walk out sensing your discomfort.

“Well, you should come to my party. It’s at my frat. Free entry for pretty girls.” He winks and you lean further into Taehyung.

“Free entry for him and I’ll think about it.” Seokjin gives Taehyung a once over, like he’s assessing whether he’s more attractive than him.

“Free entry for both if you come.”

“You drive a hard bargain but I’ll accept.” You stick out your hand to shake on it and when you pull away a folded note is left on your hand.

“I mean I study business so.. But I’ll see you later, Y/N. Maybe we could even hang out before the party?” He smiles before walking away with a small wave. Opening the folded note, his number is scrawled across in red ink along with a wink and a heart.

“How can you be so greasy in a note?” You ask, scrunching your nose in disgust. Throwing the note in the nearest trashcan, you and Taehyung speed walk to your next class, seeing as your little chat with “mr. worldwide handsome” put you behind schedule.

Jungkook chuckles as you race into class moments before the professor and settle down in the seat next to him. “Running late?” He asks.

“No I just decided to have to run to class today for fun.” You roll your eyes and shake your head, not bothering to fight the smile stretching across your face.

“You sure have an interesting idea of fun then.” He pushes his tongue inside his cheek and tilts his head a little, fighting back a large smile but leaving his eyes twinkling.

“Well what’s your idea of fun?”

“Going to the countryside, photoshoots, painting.” He whispers, both of you neglecting the lecture going on at the front of the room.

“Spoken like a true wannabe art hoe.” You giggle and wink at him. He puffs out his cheeks in a pout and you can’t help but poke a finger into one of them, effectively making him blow out the air.

“First of all if anyone’s the wannabe it’s you and your paint stained hoodie. I bet you bought that from Urban with the paint smears just to be quirky.”

“Someone’s defensive.” You snicker. “Besides it’s not even mine. It’s Tae’s and he actually studies art for his major.” You stick your tongue out at him for extra measure.

“Well so do I so ha!” He sticks his tongue back out at you and you both fall into a fit of giggles at your childish antics.

“You’re such a dork.” You laugh.

“Takes one to know one.” He sings.

“Remind me why we’re friends again?”

“You mean… I’ve been upgraded from desk mate to friend?” Jungkook sniffles and wipes under his eye like he’s catching tears. “This is such an honor.” You shove his arm but he doesn’t even move.

“I hate you.” You pout crossing your arms over your chest. “I was just trying to be nice and-“

“Ahh you know I’m teasing. Besides we both know you’re only my friend for the banana chips.” Reaching into his bag, he pulls out two packets of banana chips and hands you one. “Now we can wreak havoc together!”

The next day you and Taehyung coincidentally end up at the coffee shop Jungkook works at. Taehyung says nothing the whole time you’re ordering, opting to just look at you with this big grin as Jungkook turns to make your drinks. “What?” You ask sharply.

“Oh nothing, just find it funny that out of all the coffee shops in town we had to walk five extra blocks to come here.” He shifts his weight between his heels and toes, rocking back and forth and looking up while he says it. You glare at him in response.

“Maybe I just like it better here? Did you think of that?”

“Or maybe you just like a certain worker better here.”

“Is it wrong that I want to see my friend?” Taehyung coughs loudly muttering boyfriend in between. “No. I don’t do boyfriends.”

“Don’t do boyfriends?” Jungkook interjects, his brows furrowed and lips pursed as if he’s displeased.

“Ahh,, let’s just say I don’t have a good history with them.”

“With one.” Taehyung says, holding up one finger to Jungkook to really emphasize your lack of experience.

“It only takes one bad experience to ruin something. Besides it’s alright, I’ve coped with dying alone.” You shrug.

“That’s a little morbid. Don’t you think maybe you should give it another shot? Find someone who’ll treat you better?” Jungkook pushes, holding onto your drinks. He keeps them close to his chest though like they’re tethering you to him, making you stay.

“That’s what Taehyung’s for,” You pat his arm a few times. “Who needs a boyfriend when you have a best friend that provides you with everything you need sans romance, of course.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Jungkook pushes your drinks towards you, his mouth sadly quirked up in one corner.

“Not quite. Since I’m getting married soon, you’ll need someone to take home to your parents.” Taehyung says, winking at Jungkook. Both of your faces turn scarlet and you hastily pull Taehyung out of the shop, not even taking the time to say goodbye to a stunned Jungkook.

“What the hell Tae?” You exclaim when you’re a safe distance from the shop and the cool breeze soothes your burning skin.

“What? I was doing you a favor. Planting a seed if you will.”

“I won’t.” Grabbing your drink from his hands, you stomp away towards your apartment with Taehyung trotting happily behind you. You’re not paying much mind when you’re shoving your key into the door of the apartment, mind still reeling over the incident back at the coffee shop. What if Jungkook doesn’t want to be friends anymore? What if Jungkook thinks you like him? “I can’t believe you told Jungkook I need someone to take home to my parents.” You’re not looking as you enter too busy scowling back at Taehyung who’s standing behind you. He looks a tad guilty now, finally sensing your distress over the situation and it makes you feel a little better. He shouldn’t be pressuring you into getting a boyfriend, let alone one meeting your parents, when he knows the wreck you were left in last time.

Later that week Taehyung convinces you to go to the university art exhibit with him. The gallery is made up entirely of student compositions and there’s even a small scholarship given to the creator of the best piece, voted by the art board staff. It’s a requirement for all students in the art programs to attend even if they haven’t entered a composition, hence why Taehyung is here. As a fellow art hoe, mainly a sucker for textured paintings, it really didn’t take much for you to give up your Saturday afternoon. Walking around there’s many pieces of all forms: paintings, prints, sculptures. You must spend at least three hours wandering from piece to piece discussing your own interpretations of the pieces and their meanings. Nothing has quite caught your eye yet, but Taehyung has become enraptured with a piece called ‘Squirrel trapped in a garden’. The ceramic squirrel sits in the center of a clear vase turned upside down and Taehyung can’t seem to pull himself away. While he stands staring at the woodland creature, you move on ahead of him to a painting tucked in the back of the venue. It’s a mixed media piece, the melancholy theme of it all contrasting with the bright colors. Your hand itches to run across the gray canvas and touch the raised paint and trace the harshly etched lines making up the face. An array of rainbow makes up half of the man’s hair and the color seeps from his eye like tears and trips down his face off his chin. It’s almost like the color is being drained out of him, spilling from the cracks that line his face.

You’re too engrossed in the painting to notice the sudden presence beside you leaning in close to whisper, “What do you think?”

“Hmm?” You ask turning to jump back when you realize Jungkook’s face is mere inches from your own.

“About the painting.”

“Right. I think the juxtaposition of the dark theme but bright colors makes for a really interesting piece. I like that it’s open ended. Is he becoming darkness as his colors fade to grey or is light breaking through his dark facade?”

“Which do you think?”

“I feel like you’re going to psychoanalyze me based on my answer.” You joke.

“Just answer the question.”

“I think he’s being taken over by darkness.”

“Interesting. I would’ve pegged you for the type to choose sunshine and rainbows.” Jungkook says.

“I once was.” You scoff, almost mad at yourself for your past mentality. You were a fool.

“What happened?” Jungkook presses, moving to stand in front of you as you refuse to take your eyes off the painting.

“It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got time.”

“Correction, you’ve got time. I have to get ready for a party.” You say.

“A party? Where?”

“Kim Seokjin’s frat.”

“How’d you get in? He’s real picky about his invite list.”

“What can I say? The people love me.” Jungkook scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Well if you’re going then so am I. Can’t let you get drunk alone.”

“I’d be in a house full of other people but okay.” You don’t tell him that you were planning on going with Taehyung anyways. You’re not exactly sure why, he’ll find out when you arrive together, but you’re afraid he won’t come if Taehyung does.

The front door of the frat looms above you, your body nearly vibrating from the bass of the music coming from the house. You can taste the regret already as you walk inside, wrapping your hand around Taehyung’s as he pushes his way through the dense crowd of people. You pull Jungkook behind you by the belt loop, too awkward to grab onto his hand but not wanting to loose him. You release them both when you enter the kitchen, opting to hold onto a red solo cup instead. The only way you’ll be able to get through this party is with a little liquor in your system. Mixing yourself a little drink you turn towards the boys and only Jungkook grabs one too. Taehyung decides to be the sober one for tonight and watch over your little trio but you feel like it’s really to watch for Seokjin. Something about him is off-putting. Maybe it’s because he reminds you of your father.

Speaking of Seokjin, at just that moment you have the misfortune of making eye contact with him from across the room. He smiles and nudges a boy with dimpled cheeks before nodding in your direction. The boy gives Seokjin a clap on the back before he makes his way over, the partygoers parting for him like the red sea. “Y/n.” He says, standing on the other side of the island.

“Seokjin.”

“Y/n’s friend and boy I don’t remember inviting.” He says nodding to Taehyung and Jungkook respectively.

“Jungkook is with me.”

“i thought I only gave you one plus one.” Seokjin smiles sweetly, to contrast his sharp tone. He really is picky about his invite list.

“That would be Jungkook. Taehyung got his own invitation remember?” You turn your head to the side and smile at him sweetly. It just feels so nice to one up him.

“Ah, smart girl. You’re a true business student, always looking for loopholes.” Seokjin reaches across the island and swipes your cup, taking a swig.

“Poor taste in alcohol though.” He coughs throwing your drink in the trash. “Here let me make you a new one.”

“No!” Taehyung and Jungkook yell simultaneously.

“Fine.” Seokjin says throwing his hands up in the air. “She can make her own drink, but she has to dance with me first.” Seokjin winks at you and your skin crawls. Something about this doesn’t feel right.

“I think I’ll take my chances with the drink.” You say.

“A shame. Most people would kill for a dance with the Kim Seokjin.”

“I’m sure.” Jungkook snarks under his breath causing you to laugh. After your drink is mixed and back in your hands, the four of you stand in an awkward silence until the dimpled boy calls for Seokjin and he disappears from sight. You all immediately relax and Taehyung leaves for the bathroom, comfortable to leave you unattended for a few minutes.

You turn to Jungkook once you’re alone in the kitchen, placing Seokjin’s drink in the sink. “So, I was meaning to ask but did you enter a piece in the art show today?”

His cheeks dust pink, making his red hair a little softer. “Y-yeah.” His gaze focuses on the floor between you two and he smiles at something in his head. “You really seemed to like it.”

“That was yours?” You exclaim, shocked that something dark could come from the boy whose eyes and smile shine.

“Yup.”

“So which one? Did you make him radiate light or darkness?” You ask, referring to the question he’d asked you earlier.

“I can’t tell you, that defeats the whole purpose of interpretation. But I will tell you the answer I’d give today is different than the original one.”

“That’s even more confusing.” You whine. Jungkook just grins.

“Good. Art is supposed to make you think.”

“Hey, did they announce who won?” You ask and Jungkook’s smile falls a little.

“Yeah, something with a squirrel?”

“You mean that squirrel piece beat your painting? I have to question the judges then because yours was definitely the best one there.”

“You think so?” His blush deepens a shade but you blame it on the heat of the room.

“Of course! I was even thinking of buying it to put up in the apartment.”

“You don’t have to buy it. I’ll just give it to you.”

“No, I couldn’t just take it. It’s a work of art, not some child’s painting.” Reaching into your purse you pull out your emergency cash before pushing it towards Jungkook. “Here, take it as a downpayment on the painting. I’ll give you the rest tomorrow.”

‘Woah, woah, woah. Slow down there. I’m not charging you for it. Think of it as a gift.” Jungkook says, putting your cash back inside your purse.

“Well at least let me do something for you in exchange.”

“Take me out for breakfast tomorrow. I could use a pick-me-up after the headache I’ll get from this music.”

“O-okay. Here, I’ll give you my number and you can text me when you wake up.” Handing over your phone, he types in his number before taking a derpy photo up close to the camera as his contact photo. It’s so close in fact that all you can see is his nose and eyes. “Kook, that’s gonna be so scary when you call me.” You whine, staring down at the photo with a pout.

“Scary? Why because your heart will skip a beat at my handsome face?” He quips, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“More like because you look like some deranged fish.”

“Just for that you don’t get a contact photo.” Jungkook says as he makes your contact. What did you do to deserve this treatment?

Your phone blares at six a.m. and you groan, having just gotten to sleep a little past two a.m. You’d made the most of the night, what with all the free alcohol, and your head throbs. You’re contemplating letting the call ring out until you turn over the device and are greeted by an intimate view of Jungkook’s face. Annoyedly you swipe to answer, croaking out a “what?”

“You said to let you know when I wake up.” Jungkook sounds much to awake and happy for how much he drank last night.

“Who wakes up at 6 am after a night of drinking? How are you even alive?”

“I just don’t get hungover.”

“Lucky you. My head is pounding.”

“I’ll pick up coffee and ibuprofen on the way. Drop me the location of your apartment.” Jungkook says and you don’t think much of it. You’re drifting in and out of consciousness for about fifteen minutes when there’s a knock on the door. You could yell for Taehyung to get it even though you know who it is, but that seems too cruel. No one should be up at the crack of dawn involuntarily. Standing up you pull your comforter along with you, wrapping it around your head like a hooded cape. You acknowledge that you probably look ridiculous but it’s too early for you to care. The knocking persists even as you move towards the door and you hurry across the living room, throwing the door open so the dogs don’t start barking. “Hi.” Jungkook smiles, cherry hair a tad messy from sleep.

“Hey kook.” Turning around you plop down onto the couch and Jungkook follows.

“You look ready to go.” Jungkook teases.

“Oh I am. Blanket and all.”

“Good, it’s cute.” He pats the top of your head for extra measure. You sputter a little as your brain malfunctions. Is Jungkook…flirting with you?

“Okay, let’s go!” Standing abruptly you sway a little from moving too fast.

“You gotta take your meds first.” Jungkook says, unscrewing the cap on the ibuprofen and handing you two along with your drink.

“Thanks.” You murmur unsheathing yourself from the blanket. “Now I’m good to go.” Jungkook gives you a once over and your cheeks flare up a little. You’re only in a pair of sweats and a baggy t-shirt.

“You sure you’ll be warm enough?”

“Aww are you worried about me?” You tease, tempted to pinch his cheek.

“Eww no.” He scrunches his nose and gets up to open the front door. “Now come on, I’m hungry.”

A fifteen minute walk later and you’re seated in a small diner, your coffee Jungkook brought you long gone but replaced by another. Jungkook chose to get a hot chocolate because “coffee should cease to exist” which you can’t help but find a little ironic seeing as he works in a coffee shop. Your waitress is a young girl in her twenties who seems bored to death. She just stands by the till repeatedly stirring her coffee with a small spoon. “So you and Taehyung?” Jungkook asks after taking a small sip of his drink.

“Me and Taehyung what?”

“Are you two together or something?” oHis fingers drum on the table like he’s waiting with anticipation.

“Oh no. Tae and I are just friends. He’s basically my brother.” Your nose scrunches in displeasure at the idea of you and Taehyung being something romantic.

“Ahh. So you live together for fun?”

“Yeah, it’s nice having someone to come home to. Plus the rent isn’t cheap.” You may be rich but you’re not about to drop 4k a month on rent.

“Yeah your place is really nice. Much nicer than mine.”

“I’m sure your place isn’t bad.”

“It’s not. Just compared to yours it’s a dump and yet I’m still barely able to pay my half of the rent even though it’s considerably cheaper. Student loans are a bi-“

“Here’s your orders.” The waitress sets your stack of pancakes down and Jungkook’s breakfast burrito down. “Need anything else?” You can tell she’s only asking because she has to.

You and Jungkook both shake your heads and she heads back to the till. You both fall silent as you eat, merely enjoying each other’s company. You watch the world outside begin to wake up as the sun rises and people begin to venture outside. You like this, being outside when the world is still half asleep. It’s peaceful, a stark contrast to the usually busy streets of the city your college is tucked into. When your plates are both clear, do you and Jungkook pick back up conversation. “This is my favorite time to be out, you know? When you can just move at your own pace and the city feels like it’s yours.”

“It’s nice. Normally I’m still asleep but I like watching the world wake up.” He hums in agreement. “Is this what inspires your artwork?”

“Sometimes. I just find I can think clearly during this time of day.”

“Probably the lack of distraction.”

“Do you have any passions?” A blush dots your cheeks as you pull at the hem of your shirt.

“Writing.” Your family has never been fond of your hobby. You aspired to become an author but your family quickly vetoed it. An author isn’t a respectable career in their eyes. You think it’s just because it’s not a big money maker.

“Like poems or stories?”

“Stories. I wrote a novel but I haven’t had anyone read it yet.”

“I’m not much of a wordsmith but if you ever do decide to share it, I’d be down to be the first reader.” A grin stretches across your face and you look up to meet his eyes, shining with sincerity. Everything suddenly feels warm.

Three weeks later and two 6 a,m. friend diner dates with Jungkook later, you’ve both decided to make it a weekly Sunday hangout, and you’re standing in front of the cafe Jungkook works at. You made sure to learn his schedule so he wouldn’t be here today, because surely he would sense you’re up to something. Your hand shakes with anxiety and you nearly drop the papers you’re holding in your hands as you walk up to the counter and ask for the manager. Glancing back at the ‘hiring’ sign in the window you take a big breath and remember who you’re doing this for. Jungkook has mentioned for a few weeks now about how broke he is, and you know he’s joking and that it’s common for a student to struggle financially, but it hurts you. Seeing as you’ve never had that worry you want to help him out and alleviate his stress as any good friend would. But seeing as you’ve never worked anyone before, you’d rather have the comfort of Jungkook beside you. “H-hi.” You stumble awkwardly when the manager comes out to meet you. Wiping your hand on your pants quickly, you shake her hand. “I saw your and filled out the application.” You’re ninety-percent sure your voice is shaking.

“Great! I’ll give this a look through and call you if we decide you’re a good fit.” Your heart stumbles a little. You thought they’d just give you the job right away. That’s how it happens in movies.

“O-okay. Have a great day.” Hurrying out, you rush back to your apartment trying to outrun your embarrassment. You accidentally slam the door which alerts Taehyung who sticks his head out of his room.

“What’s up with you?” He asks, moving from his room to the couch in the living room.

“I just applied for a job.” His eyes go wide as he stills before motioning for you to sit down next to him.

“Why? It’s not like we need the money.” He laughs.

“I- uh I wanted to help.” His brows burrow as he tries to detect the hidden meaning to your words.

“Help? Who? Jungkook?” Your cheeks flare up at his more than right accusation. “I should’ve known.”

“I thought he could use a little extra money. To help with his student loans and stuff.”

“That’s sweet. Taking care of your man and all.”

“He’s not my man, Tae.”

“But you wish he was.” Taehyung sings and you scoff.

“Boys and girls can be just friends you know. Like us for example.”

“Bubs we’re an anomaly.” He says but you disregard him entirely. If you give thoughts like that the time of day, you’re done for.

You hear back from the manager a week later that you got the job. You’re standing in the hallway with Taehyung right after your first class and jump up and down excitedly. You’ve just landed your first job! Giddily you sit beside Jungkook, not even bothering to take out your airpods. You have too much to say. “So..” You begin.

“So?”

“I got a job!” You tap on his arm excitedly like it’s a bongo.

“That’s great! Where at?”

“The coffee shop you work at.” His whole body freezes for a second before he engulfs you in a hug.

“I’m so glad you’re the new coworker. I was worried it was going to be awkward but now I can see you even more often.” He’s all smiles and so are you, too enthralled in each other to notice the professor come in.

Your first day is on Wednesday seeing as you said you could start right away. You do your hair extra special today seeing as first impressions are important but also because you’re working with Jungkook today and if you’re going to be a bumbling mess you might as well be a cute one. Not that you’re worried about him not finding you cute or anything.

You have to show up at five seeing as you have the opening shift but after your friendly dates that aren’t dates with Jungkook you’ve grown to somewhat enjoy the morning. At least when you’re in good company. He meets you outside your building and you both walk to the cafe together mindlessly chattering. You’ve found that you and Jungkook can talk about anything and everything, from your biggest fears to why mint chocolate chip ice cream is a valid flavor. When you arrive at the cafe the doors are already opened and the lights are on which has you a little confused. You could’ve sworn only you and Jungkook were assigned the opening shift. Sending your confusion he turns to you and says, “I asked Jimin to come help out this morning so I can focus on getting you familiar with the machines.” You’ve only met Jimin a handful of times so you don’t really have an opinion about him, but you’ll definitely give him credit for coming into work when he doesn’t have to to help you. Well more-so Jungkook but you inadvertently.

Inside soft singing bounces off the walls in the backroom and you’re honestly a little floored. Jimin has both the looks and the talent? You wonder what that must be like. Following Jungkook into the back you spot Jimin picking up coffee blends and different cups. “Hey Jimin.” Jungkook says.

“Oh hey guys!” Jimin waves, a smile gracing his features.

“Morning.” You smile back, his happy attitude infectious.

“Y/n we’re so glad you’re working here. I could use a pretty face to look at instead of Kookie.” You and Jimin break out into a fit of giggles at his jab and Jungkook just pouts in the corner.

“I feel attacked.” Jungkook says.

“Does it make you feel better if I say you’re pretty to me?” You ask. Jimin’s laughter suddenly dies and Jungkook looks at you with wide eyes and mouth forming a small ‘o’. His cheeks match the color of his hair and Jimin comes up next to you to place a hand on your shoulder.

“I think that answers your question.” He winks, disappearing back to the front of the shop. The rest of your morning is rather uneventful and Jungkook has you man the cash register the whole shift. The machines aren’t that confusing but with how hectic the morning shift is it’s better for you to learn during the slower mid-day shifts. Jimin ends up staying through yours and Jungkook’s shift and when the three of you turn your responsibility over to the next shift workers you all let out a collective sigh. Rolling your shoulders and neck, you try and relieve the tension in your body from the stress of your first day.

“Good job today.” Jungkook smiles when you’re both standing outside your apartment building. He insisted on walking you for safety purposes even though it’s mid-day.

“Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I know.” Rolling your eyes you push his arm.

“You had to ruin the moment.” You groan.

“We had a moment?”

“I swear, every time I try to be nice to you-“ He cuts you off by pulling you into his hard chest and your breath hitches. He smells sweet and citrusy, his body warm as he wraps his arms around your middle.

“Shh, you’re ruining the moment.” He whispers and you nearly burst out laughing. You can hear his heart hammering against his chest like he’s nervous. But he shouldn’t be, friends hug all the time.

When you get your paycheck the next week you’ve never felt so accomplished in your life. You did that. It’s so gratifying to actually earn something and not have everything handed to you. Too bad you’re just going to give the money all to Jungkook, but at least it’s helping him. The real issue is how to give it to him because he’s definitely too prideful to accept it even if you gave it to him as a gift. You could leave it in his mailbox but there’s no guarantee he would actually use the money. He’d probably think it was counterfeit to something. The only real option you have is Jimin, if he could find a way to put the money in Jungkook’s bank account. When you have a shift alone with Jimin, you decide to confide in him about your idea. “So you’re like his sugar mama?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I mean I could use a sugar mama too. I’d make it real easy to pay me too.” Rolling your eyes you continue cleaning the counter top.

“Focus, Jimin.”

“I could give you his account number? You could just directly deposit the money in there.”

“I feel like that’s illegal. Even if it’s not, he’d definitely notice someone putting money in his account and call the bank.”

“You can just tell you’ve never been poor. If someone is sending you money for no reason, you just hope they’ll keep sending it.” Jimin says.

“You sure?”

“Yup.” He pops the ‘p’ for extra measure.

Later that night Jimin drops you Jungkook’s account number and you anonymously deposit your paycheck into it. You log out right after, feeling wrong about seeing how much money Jungkook has in his account. It’s much lower than you expect but you guess that has to do with the fact that you have no real perception of what it means to be struggling for money. You do feel a little lighter though, knowing you’re relieving a little of his financial worries. With two incomes he’ll be better off and maybe can even buy himself some new art supplies. You could drop a little more money into his account but you figure it’s better to start out small.

Weeks pass and Jungkook says nothing about anonymous deposits in his bank account. You even ask Jimin about whether Jungkook has said anything but he hasn’t been told anything about it either. Everything between you and Jungkook is as normal as ever as he spends the whole time you’re together at work and school teasing you about your apparent coffee addiction and the fact that the only coffee you really seem to like is his own. He really doesn’t need the ego boost so you never admit this to him, just refute it every time he brings it up. You’re smiling as you enter your apartment after work one day, ready to tell Taehyung about the stupid thing Jungkook did not really paying much mind as you say, “Tae you won’t believe what Jungkook did today.” Laughing at the memory you look up only to spot your parents sitting on your couch. Taehyung stands up from the chair to the side of them and comes to stand beside you for emotional support.

“Mom, Dad. What are you doing here?” You reach your hand back towards Taehyung who silently intertwines his fingers with your own, giving a comforting squeeze. Your relationship with your parents has been strained for quite a while.

“I think the real question is what are you not doing here? You should be studying not out with your friend. I don’t pay for this apartment and all your things so you can go out and have fun.” Your father says.

“The semester has only just started. I have nothing to study for.”

“I don’t appreciate your tone young lady.” You struggle to suppress the need to roll your eyes.

“Irregardless, that’s not what we came here to talk about. Taehyung would you mind giving us a minute?” Your father is only nice to Taehyung because he has money. If Taehyung was anything less than a millionaire your father would forget all manners and pleasantries.

“I want him to stay. Anything you can tell me, he can hear.”

“I’m not sure what gave you the impression that you have a say in the matter or that you can talk back to me, but this behavior ends right now. Otherwise, you’ll find yourself being moved back home under my supervision.” More like his scrutiny.

“It’s fine. I’ll go.” Taehyung says, giving your hand another squeeze before heading into his room. With Taehyung gone, your father begins his tirade.

“It’s no wonder you can’t get a boyfriend with that attitude. What man would want to date someone so outspoken? Did you even bother trying to dress up today? You look like you just rolled out of bed. Do you even realize that whatever you do is a reflection of me, of the company? I constantly get sent photos of you and that Taehyung that I have to pay off because I can’t have my daughter frolicking with an engaged man! Do you have no shame? I mean you even live with him! Surely his fiancé can’t be too keen about it. I think it’s time you find a boyfriend, you need a man in your life. Someone to pick up your mess and make you a respectable woman, someone worthy of my company.” When he’s done he’s heaving, worn out from the yelling. You’re swaying in your spot, eyes a tad watery as you try and calm down. He already sees you as weak, you don’t need to make it worse by crying in front of him. You want to scream at him that a man doesn’t define you, that you had a boyfriend before and they ruined it but you bite your tongue. It’s not worth it; they wouldn’t care anyways.

“Okay.” You murmur.

“Do you have anyone in mind or do I need to find someone for you?” You can just imagine your dad’s choice: a money hungry beefcake who sees you only as a means to and end.

“I heard you mention the name Jung-Jung…” Your mom begins and your breath hitches. You hate to drag him into this but you really have no choice.

“Jungkook.”

“Yes him. Is there something between you two?” Taehyung barges into the room then like you’re saving grace.

“Yes! Sorry I don’t mean to interrupt but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation, the walls are only so thin you know? But yes Jungkook and Y/N are together.” Taehyung smiles widely at you, blinking purposely as if to say ‘I’m sorry, please forgive me’.

“Why didn’t you start with that love?” Your mother smiles standing up to pull you in for a hug. “I’m so happy for you. Hopefully this one is acceptable.” You look at Taehyung over your mother’s shoulder, nervousness taking over your features. Jungkook is not the type your parents are looking for, although he does have a rather nice muscular build. But that’s merely an observation.

“He sure is! She picked him out with you guys in mind.” Taehyung’s honey tone soothes over the rough edge to his words, passing in your parent’s ears and out just the same.

“He’s clearly not done that well of a job then. Bring him to the estate next weekend so we can meet the boy. Maybe by then he’ll have fixed your little attitude; if not, I’ll just have show him how. Or maybe just find you someone new.”

“No need for that. I’m sure you’ll love him just fine.”

When your parents leave, coincidentally right after they berate you like that was their only reason for coming by, you’re left in a shaking mess. Taehyung brings you into a hug and sits with you in his arms on the couch, stroking your hair while softly humming to calm you down. You silently cry, your tears wetting his t-shirt but he says nothing about it. He’s always been good at being the silent supporter. For once you kind of wish he was someone else, but you can’t put your finger on who. Or maybe you just don’t want to acknowledge it. “What am I going to do?” You whisper, after your heart finally settles and your eyes are dry.

“You’re going to have to ask him to go to your parents. I would but they already know who I am.”

“I don’t want to drag him into this though.” Your voice is muffled as you press your face further into Taehyung’s chest like you’re trying to hide from your reality.

“You have no choice. Unless you have another guy in mind willing to pretend to be him.”

“They would love Seokjin. Maybe I should just ask him?”

“Bubs, he would want to go as himself not as Jungkook. Besides, I don’t think you want to have to spend a weekend with him. That would make you even more miserable.” Taehyung says.

“Jimin?”

“Y/n.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right. But do you think he’d do it? I mean he’d have to pretend to be someone else entirely. You know they don’t like the artist type. Especially not the non-millionaire kind. We’d have to make him into your basic business major. I feel like it’s unfair to ask someone to change their entire persona.”

“It is but for you I think he’d do anything.”

“You say that like he’s in love with me or something.” You scoff.

“Something like that.”

Turns out Taehyung is right about Jungkook being willing to pretend to be someone else for a weekend because as soon as you ask he agrees. Even after you give him an extensive list of reasons why he should say no, including the fact that his beloved cherry red hair will have to go. Not willing to lose the chance, you run your hand through his bright locks as he sits in the salon chair on Monday evening. His eyes shutter closed as you pull lightly at the surprisingly soft strands and he leans his head back towards you for easier access. “I was thinking black.” You say as your hand still cards through his hair. “A classic color you know?” The hairstylist nods and goes to the back to mix the dye. “I’m gonna miss your cherry hair.” You pout.

“Yeah?” Jungkook asks, popping one eye open to look at you in the mirror.

“Yeah. It really suits you.”

“Maybe I’ll dye it back then after this weekend. So that way you don’t miss it for too long.” Looking up from your fingers tangled in his locks you make eye contact through the mirror.

“Really?” You ask smiling.

“Really.”

You and Jungkook spend the next two hours sitting in adjacent chairs, battling each other in cup pong and other little phone games. He pouts dramatically when you beat him 5 times in a row at cup pong and you cheer dramatically. As someone who calls himself the king of video games, he’s not very good. The hair stylist laughs at you two before turning Jungkook’s dried and styled new hair around so he can see it in the mirror. You end up missing your shot on the game, too distracted by Jungkook’s beauty. If the cherry was beautiful, the black is otherworldly framing his face and giving him a timeless look. It contrasts nicely with his eyes which gleam like they’re made up of stars as he looks at his reflection in the mirror. His hand reaches up to touch a tuft of black and he scrunches his nose before the bunny grin is on full display. “Don’t I look like James Bond or something? I feel like I could be a spy.” You bite back a giggle.

“Yes Kook, you look like James Bond. All we need is to find you a bond girl and you can go off on your international adventures. Be sure to send me post cards amidst your travels.”

“Bold of you to assume you’re not a bond girl.” You try not to mull over his words.

“Bold of you to assume I am.”

“You’re a dork.” He laughs.

“Takes one to know one.” You sing.

The night before your trip to your parents you invite Jungkook over to your apartment to go over how to talk like a business major, well more like Kim Seokjin. Jungkook is more soft-spoken and reserved but to really sell his business persona he needs to be brazen and loud. The first trial is with the pizza delivery guy, mainly because you don’t want to answer the door but Jungkook doesn’t need to know that. “Rule number one is to never admit defeat. Be like a bulldog, relentless.” You say as he walks towards the door. The poor boy on the other side must be only sixteen and you feel a little bad as his voice wavers under Jungkook’s intimidating persona. He’s really got the domineering attitude down.

“One pepperoni pizza and one cheese.” The delivery boy says and you cringe a little. Of course this one time they screwed up on your order. Normally you’d let it go but the whole point is for Jungkook to learn how to be your father.

“That’s not what we ordered.” He says gruffly and for a moment you almost let out a small laugh. You’re not sure why he decided to lower his voice but it has the opposite effect. Maybe it’s just because you know what he really sounds like.

“O-oh?” The delivery boy says.

“Yes. This heathen,” He says pointing towards you. “wanted pepperoni and spinach.” He says the latter word like it’s insulting him to even have to say that and you glare at his broad back.

“Maybe it’s a good thing the order got screwed up then.” The boy laughs. You feel attacked.

“I’m not paying for a pizza I didn’t order.” Jungkook says, crossing his arms and cocking his head to the side for a more intimidating stance. He’s really laying it on thick.

“Uh-I- okay? Then just the one I guess?” Your heart hurts a little and judging by how Jungkook looks away for a moment his hurts too. This must be the poor guy’s first day. Handing him only half the money, the boy basically tosses both boxes into Jungkook’s arms before dashing away.

“I feel awful.” Jungkook says, placing the boxes gently onto the kitchen table.

“Me too. Here, give me the money.” Before he can say anything more you run after the pizza boy and catch him just as the elevator doors begin to close, risking your arm just so he can get his full payment. “Here’s the money for the other pizza. Don’t worry, accidents happen.” You smile as the boy cautiously takes the money. “Have a good night!”

Back inside the apartment you and Jungkook sit on the couch as the tv plays some drama. “Did I do well?’ He asks, after inhaling a slice.

“Yeah, almost a little two well to be honest. Rule number two is to always look for loopholes in people’s wording. Things you can get around.”

“Are all business people like this? They sound so shady.”

“My father is. I’m merely going off what type of people he likes.” You shrug.

“They don’t sound like good people.” He’s not wrong. Your father’s business partners have always put you off a little. There’s just something about them that doesn’t seem right.

“The last and final rule is to never lose face. Show no weakness.” You say. Jungkook says nothing as he continues to eat, both of you falling into a comfortable silence. There’s really not much to say. Taehyung bursts out of his room frantically calling, “Hey bubs did you take my favorite shirt? I-“ Taehyung emerges from his room shirtless, but stops when he sees you with Jungkook.

“Why do you always assume I steal your stuff?” You grumble, unfazed by the sight of Taehyung shirtless. Walking back into your room you return moments later with the shirt in hand.

“You get mad at me for accusing you of having it, but you have it anyways? That’s not very fair bubs.” He teases ruffling your hair. Swatting his hands away you huff in annoyance and try smoothing down the mess he made. He slips the shirt on before going back to his room to continue getting ready for his date, something about also wanting to find romance. You’re not really sure what he means.

“Why Bubs?” Jungkook asks when you settle back beside him. Before you can answer Taehyung pops his head back into the living room.

“She used to be obsessed with bubbles. I remember we went to Disneyland once and she got this bubble maker and she had to keep rebuying the soap packs because she wouldn’t stop pressing the button to make them.” Pink coats your cheeks and you hide your face in your hands.

“Taehyung you said we wouldn’t talk about that!”

“Awe was that when you were little?” Jungkook asks and you peak at him through the slits of your fingers.

“Summer of freshman year actually.” Taehyung snickers.

“See now I’m glad I kept hitting you in the face with them.”

“I had the taste of soap in my mouth for days Y/n!” Jungkook’s laughter breaks the argument and you both turn to see him leaning against the coffee table clutching his stomach.

“I-I’m sorry.” He says dramatically wiping a tear away. “I just-freshman year?” His fit of giggles starts back up and Taehyung joins, laughing at your embarrassment.

Pouting you mumble, “I had never gotten to use them before. I didn’t really have much of a childhood.”

“Ah yes, the woes of your typical rich kid. Hopelessly following nannies around for a sense of a family.” Taehyung chimes, walking towards the door to grab his coat from the rack.

“Well this just got real depressing. Thanks Tae.” You say sarcastically.

“Anytime.” He winks. “Now if you don’t mind I’m off to go on my date. Have fun, be safe, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” He blows you a kiss before leaving out the front door of the apartment and for the first time in a long while you feel awkward around Jungkook.

“Best friends huh?” You chuckle.

“Tell me about it. Jimin is always saying stuff like-“ And just like that things fall right back to normal.

The next morning you and Jungkook are packed and the luggage is loaded in your car. Well really you did the packing for the both of you, borrowing Taehyung’s clothes for Jungkook to wear because they’re roughly the same size. Plus as much as you like Jungkook, you don’t want to spend a mini fortune on posh clothes when you practically have a mini Gucci store in the room next to yours. The drive to your parent’s house is nice, both of you singing along to the same playlist you played the first time you and Jungkook shared headphones. If someone would’ve told you then you’d be taking the boy sitting next to you home to your parents, pretending that he’s your boyfriend, you wouldn’t have believed them. That sounds like something out of a drama, not real life. Although your life always has been sort of a drama.

Pulling up to the gold gates that practically scream ‘we have way too much money then we know what to do with’ Jungkook’s jaw drops. “I- I knew you were rich but not this rich.” He stutters. Sometimes you forget that your house is beautiful; all you can see are the bad memories. Punching in the code for the gate, you wait for them to open and impulsively check your rearview mirror, feeling like someone is watching you. A car on the opposite end of the street idles and it strikes you as odd. Even though it should look the part, being one of those fancy self-driving ones, it still seems out of place. “Y/n?” Jungkook disrupts your thoughts and nods towards the now open gates. You completely forget about the strange car. “So we never talked about PDA.” Jungkook says as you’re parking the car.

“Oh right. I forgot about that. So umm we should probably hold hands.” You say, your blush rivaling that of Jungkook’s old red hair.

“We could uhh.. kiss a few times in front of them, you know if we really need to.. sell it.” Jungkook’s cheeks are also very pink and he now refuses to look at you.

“O-okay.” Turning off the engine, the car suddenly feels claustrophobic and you hastily climb out of it. Members of your staff immediately rush out to grab your luggage once you’re both out of the car and Jungkook panics for a moment, grabbing onto the bags’ handles and pulling them behind him. “It’s okay Kook.” You say coming up beside him. “They’re just taking them to our rooms.”

“I thought this was a house not a hotel?” Jungkook asks innocently.

“You’ll realize real soon this doesn’t feel like a home.” Sticking out your hand Jungkook intertwines your fingers as you lead him inside. It’s only awkward for a moment but holding hands with him feels almost natural. His hand is a comforting weight in your own, his warmth seeping through and easing the goosebumps you get when walking through the house. You haven’t been here in two years; truthfully, you thought you would never come back. The house is lined with art and Jungkook’s eyes never leaves the walls as he gazes at all the artwork lining your home. You would think your parents really admire art but truthfully this is all a ploy to make them look more cultured and refined. Well that and to also flaunt how much money they really have. Unlike most homes, there’s no pictures of you and your parents lining the walls, although you do have a few portraits of other families.

Your parents are waiting for you in the great room, sat perched in two giant chairs that somewhat resembles thrones. Coincidence? You think not. When you open the doors their faces are entirely stoic as you call out to them, “Mom, dad.” A fake smile plastered on your face. Your grip on Jungkook’s hand tightens like it’s tethering you to your sanity as you walk farther into the lion’s den. This is all to reminiscent. You don’t know whether you want to cry or scream.

“Sir, Madam.” Jungkook says and you try not to look startled. Glancing over at him he’s got a confident smile on his face and standing tall and straight. His eyes have a glint in them and he looks like he could give Kim Seokjin a run for his money. You’re almost worried you’ve lost him entirely to this facade, until a rough thumb moves across your knuckles. Glancing down at your intertwined hands you notice just how hard your grip is and loosen it a bit to be more relaxed. Jungkook however continues his movement. “My name is Jeon Jungkook and it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He smiles but it’s not quite the same. His face doesn’t crinkle and it makes you a little sad. Sticking his hand out he shakes your father’s hand first before moving to shake your mothers. She ditches the shake for a hug and you’re thrown off. This was not the same reaction you got the first time you brought a boy home. The only time. Maybe it’s because he wasn’t decked out in an Italian suit.

“So tell me, how did you two meet?” Your mother asks once you and Jungkook are seated on the couch across from them. You lean closer to Jungkook who’s hand is still in yours for comfort as this feels more like an interrogation than innocent questioning.

“We share a class together and sat beside one another on the first day.” Jungkook answers for you and your father nods. You sit silently beside Jungkook knowing your father will like a man that does all the talking for you.

“How sweet.” Your mother coos. This is sickening. Everything about this is just sickening. It’s like you’re reliving when you first brought him home but the only thing that’s changed is their answers. They’re okay with Jungkook but why couldn’t they be okay with Yoongi?

“I just like that you’re a business major. She needs a man with a real job not one of those useless art ones. Wasn’t that what your last boyfriend studied?” You clench your jaw to keep from saying anything you shouldn’t. He knows exactly what Yoongi studied. Instead you nod. Jungkook’s grip on your hand tightens and it takes you a minute to realize your father offended him too, seeing as he is an art major.

“Dear we shouldn’t mention her ex in front of her new boyfriend.” Your mother says and your father glares at her.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” He growls. “Now tell me son what really made you want to join the business field?” Son. You almost laugh.

“I’m a man of many passions and business is my main one. Well, besides family of course.”

“Let me give you some advice seeing as I like you. Business should always be your first priority. If you want to be successful like me and be able to afford my daughter, you’ll have to make sure everything knows it’s place. Both in your work and personal life.” You’re not even surprised that this comes out of your father’s mouth. This just completely embodies him.

Jungkook is quiet for a moment before saying, “That’s some great advice. You’ll have to take note Y/n.” Your father and mother chuckle. You and Jungkook make eye contact for a brief moment and you both look equally as pained.

The day continues on with your father giving Jungkook advice which you can only hope he doesn’t taker seriously. You’re starting to worry he’s actually becoming your father he’s playing the role so well. He’s brazen, confident, stubborn. The perfect man in the eyes of your father. They play pool for half the afternoon, making bets to prove their manliness, well at least your father is. Jungkook seems to be very secure in his masculinity. Meanwhile you and your mother are sat on stools sipping wine and watching the boys. You’re tempted to have Taehyung call you just so you have an excuse to do something but you don’t want to leave Jungkook alone here. “I’m sorry.” Your mother whispers and you spin to face her confused. “No no face the front. He’ll notice.” It takes you a minute to register she means your father.

“I know mentions of your ex hurt you. So I’m sorry that he kept bringing it up. These past two years you’ve been gone and I’ve been stuck here alone have been really awful. I just… missed you and wanted you to have good memories while you’re staying here.”

You’re a little taken off guard. Your mother has never apologized to anyone in your life. “It’s okay mom.” You say.

“Please move back home.” She croaks out and only then do you realize she was playing you. She wanted you to feel vulnerable so she could manipulate you. “I can’t stand being here alone with him. He won’t let me leave the house anymore and I’m all alone.”

“So you want me to leave my apartment with Tae just so I can come here and be put on lockdown?”

“Yes.” You actually can’t believe you believed this woman for a second. That she could actually be motherly when your entire life she’s practically been a stranger.

“Sorry mom, I can’t.” More like you won’t but that answer would get you in trouble. You’re putting your own happiness in front of theirs for once. They can finally get a taste of their own medicine as vindictive as that sounds. But you’re finally really happy after a long while of being miserable and you’re not about to give that up/

“Fine. I didn’t want you here anyways.” She huffs like a chid, crossing her arms over her chest. That just confirms your decision.

Dinner rolls around the corner and the four of you are seated at a table made for ten. Your father sits at the head, no surprise, and you and your mother flank him with Jungkook beside you. The staff returns and sets your plates down, your favorite meal set before you. Eyeing the meal suspiciously you give your father the side eye. The only time they’ve ever bothered to have your favorite meal prepared is your birthday, which is not remotely close to today. “Why are we eating this for dinner?” You ask and Jungkook pauses mid-bite, eyes round and cheeks full.

“What can we not eat this meal now?” You father remarks, fire ablaze in his eyes. Oops.

“We only eat this on my birthday and that’s not today.”

“We’re celebrating.” Your father smiles maliciously. You gulp nervously and Jungkook reaches over to grab your limp hand resting in your lap. “Today is the day that Yoongi boy signed the contact.” Your eyes begin to water and you blink the tears away but they keep coming. Your father begins recounting the story of your first heartbreak but the words don’t even meet your ears as you’re too busy reliving the event.

(flashback to two years ago today)

Your father is sat at the head of the table with you and your mother flanking his sides. Yoongi, your current boyfriend and most likely love of your life, sits beside you with a hand on your thigh, stroking his thumb along it in an effort to soothe you as you bounce it nervously. Your father has been vehemently against your relationship since the moment they found out about Yoongi. For one he is studying the arts, something you found really intriguing but your father finds utterly useless. Secondly, he is middle-class at best, living mainly off your student dining card because you don’t care that you are racking up quite the bill as long as he is fed and healthy.

But for as against your relationship as your dad is, your father is smiling brightly at the table, cheery even. He’s in a good mood which is very peculiar. Your favorite meal is served and you think this was strange seeing as it isn’t your birthday or anything. Your mother keeps the chatter going at the table, both of your parents cracking jokes and being pleasant, making you think maybe everything is okay. Maybe they finally see that money doesn’t make a person and that it should be more about how they make you feel. You begin relaxing, your leg finally stilling, hope building in your chest that this will work out. That you can live with Yoongi in peace and your parents will respect your relationship. Instead though, halfway through dinner the staff brings in a manilla envelope and Yoongi’s hand tightens momentarily on your thigh. You both immediately sense the change in atmosphere as your parents both put down their silverware and carefully empty the contents of the manila envelope. Stretching forward you take note of some sort of contract but the print is so small and fine that you can’t read much. “So, Yoongi is it?” Your father asks. Yoongi’s eyes turn into slits as he regards your father and nods. “Well Yoongi, judging from my daughter’s dining bill and your full stomach despite your very low account balance, I can guess you’re in dire need of money which my daughter is so willingly supplying.”

“It’s not like that. I don’t date her because she’s rich, I date her because I love her.” Yoongi rasps.

“Love,” Your father says. “such a fickle thing love is. It can be so easily bought.” The hope that was building earlier has crumbled. “Especially when you have as much money as myself. Say Yoongi, how much money do you need?”

“I don’t want your money.” Yoongi growls.

You both move to stand up and leave the table when your father shouts, “I’ll give you two million dollars! Two million dollars and a producing job at the biggest record label in the country. I’ve already got it lined up, all you have to do is sign this little contract.” You scoff and b begin walking away when you realize Yoongi isn’t behind you. Turning around he’s still facing the table staring down at the contract that your father is now pushing across the table towards him.

“What’s the catch?” Yoongi asks, fingers tracing over the pen that lies on top of the contract. You take a step forward to stop him but freeze at your father’s next words.

“You break all contact with my daughter. Your relationship is terminated at the very moment you sign. I want it to be like you never even existed.”

“Yoongi?” Your voice breaks, tears clouding your vision as his fingers start to wrap around the pen. “Baby please don’t do this. I-I can get you the job and the money just please, please don’t leave me.” Sobs tumbled out of you harshly and you begin to hiccup form the violent onslaught of emotions. “Please Yoongi I can’t do this without you. You can’t- you can’t do this to me.” Running forward you grip onto his bicep turning him to face you head on, hoping that if your words can’t convince him then maybe the love and impending heartbreak swirling in your eyes will.

Tears fill his own and as you hold eye contact a stream of tears fall down his full cheeks. You reach up a hand to wipe them away but he turns his head to the other side. “I’m sorry angel. I am. I don’t want to hurt you but this is my dream. If I don’t take this opportunity now I might regret it for the rest of my life.” His voice is even raspier than normal and as he clicks the pen to begin writing you put the final nail in the coffin.

“But you’re my dream.” You cry, and he sucks in a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry angel.” He says one last time before pressing the pen to the paper. You leave the room quickly, the sound of a pen scratching on paper and the overjoyed looks on your parents faces haunting you every step of the way.

When your father is finished with the retelling of arguably the worst day of your life, a proud smile takes over both his and your mother’s face. You want to throw up. Silent tears stream down your cheeks from the memory and you say nothing as you push up from your chair, letting go of Jungkook’s hand. You’re unresponsive even as your parents question you and what you’re doing. Walking to your old room, you slam your door shut hoping to alleviate some of the tension but it does nothing. Laying facedown on your bed you scream into the pillow but nothing. It’s like you’re feeling everything and nothing at the same time and you don’t know what to do with yourself. So you decide to call the only person who knows how to make you feel better: Taehyung.

He picks up on the second ring cheery after just getting free pizza from the student union. Something about there being a fundraiser. You can hear him talking but fail to register his words, too lost in yourself to even notice. “Taehyung.” You cut him off.

“What’s wrong?” He asks worriedly. You never call him by his first name unless you’re pissed at him or upset.

‘They-they celebrated the day- the day Yoongi signed the contract.” You croak, sobs wracking your body once again.

“What? They memorized the date? They’re sick!” Taehyung spits, disgust evident in his tone. “Do you want me to come get you?” He asks, voice much softer.

“I can’t leave Jungkook here.”

“I’ll pick you both up, no worries.”

“It’s okay. We’ll just drive back tomorrow morning.” You’re not sure why you’re so calm and rational when you were crying two minutes ago but you guess it’s because you’ve already dealt with the heartbreak a while ago.

“How about you talk to me on the phone a while okay? Until you fall asleep.”

“Okay.” You mumble placing the phone on your pillow. You wake up hours later to a soft knock on your door and when you open it Jungkook is on the other side.

“Are you okay?” He immediately asks pulling you into him. “I was so worried about you, you know that? You just ran out and I could tell you were upset but your parents wouldn’t let me leave to come check up on you, and I should’ve just told them to fu-“

“I’m fine.” You grumble, half-asleep against Jungkook. It’s heartwarming that he cares. Giving his waist a squeeze you yawn against his chest. “Thanks for checking up on me though.’ Walking back to your bed you crawl under the comforter and turn to face Jungkook who’s standing in the doorframe awkwardly. “Kook could you sleep in here? I don’t feel like being alone tonight.” Taehyung had ended the call a while ago and you’re glad he had because you wouldn’t want him to hear this. He’d tease you for the rest of your life.

“O-okay.” Stepping inside, he shuts the door quietly before moving towards your bed. “Here give me a pillow and one of the blankets and I’ll be just fine on the floor.”

“You can sleep on the bed if you want. If you’re comfortable.” You mumble, pushing your face into your pillow to hide your embarrassment but to also not see his reaction. It’s all too silent and you get ready to backtrack, but the bed dipping stops you. Jungkook clambers into the bed and lies down beside you, the room suddenly so much cozier as his body heat mixes with yours. Your eyes instantly fall closed and your breathing slows, your body relaxing. “Thanks Kook.” You murmur before sleep finally takes its hold.

You wake up in a heap of tangled limbs that your half-asleep self didn’t really account for when there was originally some space between you two last night. You’re laying on your side and his arms wrap around you from behind, a thigh pressed between yours and his nose tucked into the crook of your neck. Soft snores escape his mouth in short increments, his breathing slow and calm against your back. You just enjoy the moment and relax, eyes beginning to flutter closed when there’s a knock on your door. Jungkook starlet behind you and digs his face into your shoulder groaning. Your body goes stiff at the motion, the fact that Jungkook is conscious making it seem much more intimate. Scrambling, you land on the floor with a loud thud making Jungkook jump up and whoever is behind the door to burst in. When the maid comes in and notices you and Jungkook she blushes and apologizes profusely for her intrusion, but not before she sends you a sly wink. You shake your head and try not to think about her implication. “Your parents are requesting you in the dining hall.” She says before closing the door and awkwardness begins to cloud the room.

“I guess we better get going. We’ve got to say goodbye and all. Pretend that we actually had a good time.” You chuckle, moving to reopen your bedroom door. Jungkook follows closely behind you, his hand slipping into your own. You almost take your hand out of his own, still reeling from the bedroom incident, but calm yourself down by repeating that this is fake. He’s only doing it because that’s what he’s supposed to do. He’s putting on a show.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks, sensing that you’re a bit jittery.

“Yeah, just peachy.” You smile but he stops you in the middle of the hallway.

“Talk to me. Is it about what your parents said last night? Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?” Jungkook takes his your other hand in his own and rubs his thumb over your knuckles, and it’s too much. It feels too real, it makes you feel like you could have a fighting chance. That you could get your happy ending. So you pull away to save yourself both from the pain and from the disappointment.

Carefully taking your hands out of his own your gaze ices over, face becoming unreadable. “I’m fine, just want to go home is all. We can quit the act now. Doesn’t matter much as we’re leaving right now. I’m not in the mood to stay for breakfast.” You head off towards the dining room not looking behind you to see if he’s following.

Your parents take the news of your early departure surprisingly well, almost like they were expecting you to take off right away. You promise yourself that this really is the last time you’ll step foot in this house, bad things just seem to happen here. When you’re changed into fresh clothes and your bags are packed and loaded, they stand outside to see you off. Your heart picks up a little bit as anxiety sets in because this is wrong, something feels off. They’ve never taken the time to see you off, half the time not even taking the time to see you. When the engine roars to life and you’re about to put the car into reverse your father taps on the window. Rolling it down, he leans in to say, “ Feel free to come by anytime Jungkook. I’d love to get to talk to you more, maybe about a future position at the company.” You change the gears and start slowly reversing, desperate to get Jungkook out of here before this goes any farther. Your father jumps back but continues walking next to the car, hunched over to continue talking. “How about you and your parents give me a call and we can try and work out something? Maybe even a deal if it comes up?” Slamming on the breaks you send Jungkook shooting forward, his seatbelt thankfully catching him.

“A deal?” You ask incredulously. “You’re fucking kidding me right?” You ask eyes welling with tears. It’s like Yoongi all over again. Any time you get close to someone they try and exploit them. “What you want him to break up with me too or would you rather me keep this one for the money? You people are sick, I can’t believe I have to call you my parents.” You spit. If you thought you were done with them before, you’ve never been so sure of it now. “You know what? Keep all your money, I don’t give a shit. Cut me out of the will if you want. I don’t want to be a part of this- this- whatever we are because a family sure isn’t it.” Your chest is heaving from your yelling and also the emotional toll taking over. There’s no going back now. Switching back into reverse, you peel out of your driveway barely giving time for the gates to open enough for your car to slip through. The car from before still sits across the street.

Jungkook ends up driving home because you’re too emotionally distraught to focus on anything. You’ve just isolated yourself from your family and your funds, meaning you’re basically broke, something you’ve never been in your whole life. You just ripped your own safety blanket right out from under you and while it feels nice to no longer be under your parent’s control you’re entirely rattled. You have no idea how to live or support yourself. Taehyung meets you in the parking lot of your complex a sad, knowing smile on his face when you pull up. Jungkook must have told him what happened before he took over the wheel. “Hey bubs.” Taehyung says softly, pulling you into a hug as soon as you stand out of the car. You limply wrap your arms around his waist, too exhausted to do anything more. Taehyung kisses the top of your head before laying his cheek against it, rubbing up and down your back. “Let’s go inside yeah? I ordered chinese and ice cream.” Your nose scrunches.

“Those don’t sound very good together.” You mumble into him and he chuckles.

“They taste good though. Separately.” Moving to wrap his arm around your waist, Taehyung guides you all the way back to the apartment, Jungkook following behind while carrying your bags. You feel a little guilty letting him carry everything for you but make no move to help him. You really don’t think you could do anything other than focus on putting one foot in front of the other, which is already hard enough with your current mental state.

Taehyung opens the front door and the dogs climb in your lap, licking your face and cheeks like they’re trying to cheer you up. Jungkook sets the luggage down by the door and stands there unsure about whether or not you want him to stay. Normally you would, Jungkook usually brightens your mood, but you’re feeling too vulnerable today and your vulnerability will get the best of you. So instead you say, “Thanks for driving and carrying the bags kook. I’ll see you at class tomorrow okay?” He deflates a little and you wonder if you made a mistake.

“Okay. Call me if you need anything.” As soon as the door shuts you start crying again.

The next morning during your shared class Jungkook arrives later then you and throws down two bags of chips as well as a large stack of newspaper clippings onto the desk. You look at him with a raised eyebrow. “I can’t let you starve, so I’m introducing you to the world of couponing. This will allow you to buy a lot of food without having to blow your whole budget. Speaking of which, you have a budget right?” You shake your head. The only thing money related was Taehyung offering to cover all your living expenses until you get on your feet which you politely declined. He was insistent on paying the rent though, so at least that’s one less thing to worry about.

“Oh right. You and Taehyung are like dumb and dumber when it comes to this.” Jungkook chuckles at his own lame joke and you glare at him. “We can just use the same one as Jimin and I do. We all have the same income anyways.” Throughout class Jungkook shows you how to plan out how much you’ll spend each month and on what, along with several rebate apps that give you cash back. You feel like a fool for wasting so much money that you could’ve used today by completing disregarding discounts or sales. You used to even feel embarrassed for picking something up off clearance.

When class is over you and Jungkook both head to the local grocery store to pick up food. Pink colors your cheeks as you hand the woman your rather large stack of coupons but she says nothing of it. Apparently a lot more people coupon than you thought. Carrying the groceries home though is a chore since they’re so heavy and you wish you would’ve just stolen temporarily borrowed a shopping cart so you wouldn’t have to carry them. The dogs yip happily at your heels when you and Jungkook enter the apartment, probably thinking that the food was for them. You can’t help but feel a little bad for them because there’s nothing for them, no coupon equals no buy, so when everything is packed away you give them a few bites of cheese. Flopping down onto the couch Jungkook joins you, throwing his head into your lap. He’s seemed to grow more physically affectionate after the trip to your parents.

Unsure what to do you keep both of your hands close to your chest to avoid touching Jungkook. The thought of running your hands through his hair is much too tempting so you really have to keep yourself restrained. You don’t really know what’s wrong with you, why you’re having such a problem with this. Well you have a semblance of an idea but you’d rather not think about the repercussions of that. You shift a little uncomfortably because of your thoughts and Jungkook turns his head to look at you. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just uhh… your head is heavy.” You lie, too afraid to hurt his feelings. It’s like you want him close but far at the same time. You feel like you’re running from something, you’re just not sure what.

“Feelings,” Taehyung says when you bring it up to him a week later after your weekly 6 a.m. sunday breakfasts with Jungkook. You had mentioned how Jungkook went to hold your hand but you pulled away at the last second, pretending to reach for more syrup as an excuse. You also ask him why Jungkook is suddenly more affectionate with you. He’ll give you hugs when you arrive at class and work now, his hand brushing against yours as he walks you home. “You’re running from your feelings because you’re scared to be hurt again. After your breakup with Yoongi you convinced yourself love wasn’t real and now that you’re feeling it, and it’s being reciprocated, you’re freezing up. You like the feelings but you’re scared of the hurt they could bring. You’re scared of being vulnerable again.”

“But I’m not scared with you/“ You say, anything to save face. To pretend he’s not entirely right and that you’re just causing you and Jungkook pain all because you’re too afraid to put yourself out there again.

“I’m not going anywhere, there’s no danger with me. We’re still friends even as ghosts remember? But with Jungkook you’re unsure because neither of you know where the other is at but have an inkling that your feelings are mutual. Which is why he’s getting touchy because by taking him with you to see your parents that was his in. That was the first time you’ve ever been vulnerable around anyone other than me right?” You nod. “That was your make or break moment and you didn’t even know it. So when you asked him to stay, that was you solidifying your feelings which he’s trying to encourage you to act on.” Taehyung says this all so matter-of-factly that you wonder whether it’s really been this obvious. If you’d been so in denial that you were blinded.

“What if- what if I’m always scared? He shouldn’t be with someone scared to love him.”

“Bubs, you’re not scared to love him. You’re scared of love itself. But so is everyone. Love isn’t easy, sometimes it’s hard. But you shouldn’t let that deter you from chasing after it.”

“Okay,” You’re still wary but you think you’ll always be given your past. But you trust Taehyung and if he says, you’ll be fine you believe him. “I guess it’s time I accept my feelings and tell him.”

You decide to wait until the weekend to confess your feelings to see if that’s really what you want. If you’re truly committed to the idea of trying to make this work. Because you accept that you love Jungkook and his stupid dorky humor, starry eyes, and crinkly smile but you haven’t accepted that you’ll have to open yourself up again. On Monday when you walk into your shared class again, your heart speeds up for a moment when Jungkook grins and waves frantically at you as you shyly wave back. You notice though that when you get settled behind him your heart slows down dramatically, instantly relaxed with him being in close proximity. This whole time you had thought it was because he was one of your closest friends but this whole time it was really because you love him. All those days where you sacrificed countless hours at the cafe just so you could give all your earnings to Jungkook so he could live easier were small declarations of your love. To have it all in the open now, well at least with yourself, is relaxing and for the first time you initiate intimate contact with Jungkook. You expected it to be nerve-racking and awkward as you lean your head on his shoulder but instead it just feels natural. Just like how it was when you two held hands for the first time. Jungkook stiffens for a short moment before he relaxes and you can feel his cheek brush the top of your head as he turns to glance down at you, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a soft smile. Looking up at him through your lashes his eyes are soft, their glimmer a soft glow rather than their usual blinding light, as he whispers softly, “tired?” You just nod because if you open your mouth you just know those three little words will tumble right out. And when you say you love him for the first time, you want it to be in something other than the back of a classroom.

The next time you get the urge to tell him is when you’re at work and he’s got his white button up sleeves rolled above his elbow, arms practically on full display. Normally you wouldn’t give yourself the time to look at them, busying yourself with menial tasks to keep any wandering and dangerous thoughts at bay but you don’t care anymore. Your mind is too hazy with the image of his taut arms that you don’t notice that rather than the cup, your hand is under spot where the steamed milk comes out and you hiss in pain when the boiling liquid comes in contact with your skin. The sound attracts Jungkook who immediately leaves the till to come to your aid, gently holding onto your wrist to inspect the injured appendage. Tsk’ing quietly he hurries you to the back where he runs the faucet on cold before gently putting your hand under it. His hand is still cupping your wrist gently and his mouth is moving as he probably tells you to be more careful but you can’t make sense of his words. Not when his presumably soft and pink lips keep forming into a pout like they’re waiting for you to give him a peck. You need to tear your eyes away before you do something stupid, but you don’t want to. Unconsciously you begin to move closer and it’s not until he stops mid-sentence that you realize you’re much too close and you don’t want to confess in the back of your work so instead you turn your head and pretend it never happened.

Sunday rolls around and you wake up before Jungkook’s traditional 6 a.m. wake up call to put in a little more effort today. Today is the day, no more waiting, no more torture of not saying anything even though it’s practically bursting out of you. This is your time and place to tell the Jungkook you love him, at your very own spot. Throwing on a comfy dress, one to hide the food baby caused by one too many pancakes, and fixing up your hair a little you anxiously wait for Jungkook to arrive at your apartment. You swear he takes a little longer than normal to get there but maybe it’s just because you’re so nervous. You’ve only confessed once before and that relationship didn’t end very well but you’re trying to not let it effect you. Just because it happened once before doesn’t mean it needs to happen again.

When Jungkook does arrive he’s in his typical white t-shirt and baggy sweats but you swear he’s never looked so good in his life. During your double take do you only then notice his bright cherry red hair has made a reappearance. “Gone back to red huh?”

“Told you I would didn’t I?” He smiles bending down so you get a full view of the top of his head. “Wanna double check it’s the same quality as last time?”

“If you want me to play with your hair why not just say so?” You laugh softly, carding your fingers through the strands. It’s just as soft as it was last time. “Come on, we can do that later. I’m hungry.” You say grabbing onto his hand and dragging him down the hall. This time you don’t let go the whole way to the diner.

You both sit in the same booth as always and the same bored waitress as always is working. She doesn’t even say anything as you come in, just begins punching in your order since you both always get the same thing. The only thing that has seemed to change is the tv mounted on one of the corners of the room above the counter top seating area. A news station plays in the background but the volume is practically inaudible.

“So what’s been up with you?” Jungkook asks leaning on his elbows that are resting on top of the table. “You’ve been really affectionate all week, not that I mind, but it’s kind of out of character for you. Did something happen? Are you okay?” Your heart warms that he cares enough to ask. It grows twice as large at the fact that he noticed the change in your demeanor. It just validates everything Taehyung told you and gives you the confidence you need to really take the leap of faith. You’re ready to put your faith in Jungkook because you know he’ll be there to catch you.

“Well actually-“

“Wait isn’t that your dad?” Jungkook interrupts. Whipping around you turn back to the tv tucked away in the corner. Sure enough there’s you dad with his hands handcuffed behind his back as two cops lead him to their patrol car. Your mother is shown seconds after your father is placed inside the car, also in a set of handcuffs as she’s placed in a separate vehicle. “Hey can you turn the volume up please?” Jungkook asks the waitress who begrudgingly obliges.

-just in, the CEO of Medle Distributions has been arrested on several counts of tax evasion and embezzlement. According to law enforcement, he’s been doing this for quite some time and has also scammed smaller companies by selling them fake shares into his company. His wife has been arrested for assisting her spouse in his crimes.” The news reporter says and his words circled around your head for a while. Your parents have been arrested. They’re probably guilty of the crimes. Somehow they managed to mess up with your love life again by screwing up the day you were supposed to confess. But it’s in this moment while you’re processing what’s happening that you realize that life will always have its hiccups. It will never be perfect, there will always be some aspect that’s not great. If life was a garden there would always be a weed somewhere. But you shouldn’t expect it to be perfect either. If your life was perfect you would have never been here with Jungkook, you probably wouldn’t have even met him. And if a perfect life meant no Jungkook, well then you didn’t want it.

“Y/n I’m-“

“I love you.” You say, not wanting to withhold it any longer. Your whole body sags after you finally let it out, relieved of the weight on your shoulders. Jungkook’s doe eyes have reached their peak roundness and his mouth is parted slightly open from being caught off-guard like a deer in headlights.

“Y-You what?” He stutters.

“I love you.” You grin at him, leg beginning to bounce in anticipation. Jungkook’s eyes sparkle even brighter than possible, their intensity rivaling that of the sun beginning to rise outside. His cheeks once again match his hair and your heart skips a beat as his crinkly smile takes over his whole face.

“i love you too. But what about your parents? We can’t lie to them forever.”

“That doesn’t matter. When I said I was done with them I meant it. Besides, I don’t really care what they think anymore. If they don’t love you for you, then that’s their problem.” You say, reaching over to grab onto his hand. Your heart is still slightly racing from the nerves of confessing but as Jungkook’s comforting warmth seeps from his hand into yours you know you’ll be okay. You have a home now, a family. Your family may be small with just you, Taehyung, Jungkook, and Jimin (you two have gotten much closer since you’ve been working together). It may not be much but to you they’re you’re everything and you wouldn’t trade them for all the money in the world.

“Scooch over.” Jungkook says before sliding next to you and throwing an arm around you.

“What are you doing?” You ask. The waitress comes over and places your food down before disappearing into the kitchen.

“What does it look like? i’m sitting next to my girlfriend.” He says giddily before pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek and giggling into your neck as both of you grow shy.

“Bold of you to assume we’re dating.” You tease and his other arm wraps around your waist to pull you into him.

“Bold of you to assume I’d confess and then not make you mine.” He mumbles into your neck.

“If I remember correctly I was the one who confessed.” Jungkook pulls back to roll his eyes at you.

“You couldn’t have just let me be cute.” He whines, pouting. This time you finally give in a place a soft kiss against his jutted lower lip.

“You’re always cute kook.” He nuzzles his nose into your neck and you laugh, bringing a hand up into his hair.

“Is this your embarrassed tic?” You tease. “Because I hate to tell you but it really just makes you that much cuter.” You giggle.

“You’re the worst.” He groans but moves so he can kiss you properly. His hands cup your cheeks stroking your cheekbones as he kisses you soft and slow. It’s more than you could’ve imagined because it’s real and when he pulls away and his eyes stay closed for a little while longer like he’s trying to relish the feeling a little longer, with a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips you just know this it is. Love is all about the give and take and you’d give Jungkook the world if it meant you could take small moments like this.

“i love you.” Jungkook murmurs leaning in to give you another kiss, the food in front of you long forgotten.

“I love you too you dork.” You mumble against his lips.

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lurafita · 6 years ago

Text

Obsession - Chapter 1

Read the prologue here: https://lurafita.tumblr.com/post/184483191964/obsession-prologe

Somebody please tell me how to properly embed the previous part here, please? I’m such a noob.

Thanks everyone who liked and reblogged the prologue, it really got me writing the first chapter way quick! Also, please tell me if this is missing specific tags.

Somebody also tell me how to tag people for the update? Do I just go like this: @itfeelssogoodmrstark @the-neon-demon ?

Obsession

Chapter 1

//Tony, this isn't a joke! You can't just slip away from the tower without any security! If you don't call me or Happy in the next ten minutes, I'm sending Natasha after you!//

Tony smirked as he read the text message Pepper, his personal assistant, had sent him. It wasn't so much that he enjoyed being hunted down by his head bodyguard and former Russian spy, Natasha Romanoff, but he simply wasn't the kind of person to organize a team of stiff security goons around him, just to get out of his tower for a bit.

Which was not to say that he didn't understand Pepper's worry. He was an important, powerful and influential man, who had rivals and enemies practically around every corner. While he certainly wasn't helpless, it wouldn't be the first time he had been kidnapped. And ever since Obadiah's betrayal... well, as stated before, Tony did understand Pepper's worry. Didn't change the fact that he didn't like having a fucking battalion of suits following his every movement, or telling him where he could or couldn't go. He had already fired a bunch of those who had tried. No one told Tony Stark what he could or couldn't do. It was possibly one of the reasons why he had promoted Natasha to the head position. The woman was terrifying in every way, but she never tried to limit Tony. She simply adapted to his whims. And today one of those whims had prompted him to put on a rather atrocious outfit, a wig that made it look like he was some kind of hippie, a cap and sunglasses, all of which combined made up the perfect disguise for him to roam the streets of New York undetected.

He hadn't actually planned to stay out too long, just find some hole in the wall, unobtrusive little diner and drink a cup of coffee (which in hindsight was a really bad idea, because clearly whatever this brown sludge was couldn't hold a candle to the high quality beans used in the coffee makers in his tower), when the conversation between the three people sat at the table on his right had drifted over to him.

At first he had felt annoyed; after all, he had chosen this pitiful little diner because it's unappealing location in a narrow alley way and over all unimpressive decor, was supposed to guarantee very few patrons. And therefore, a quiet little space for Tony to relax for a few minutes, before he had to go back to people shoving papers and contracts under his nose for him to read and sign and his phone ringing every damn five minutes. He had been about to leave, when he decided to at least take a quick glance at the people daring to disturb his little break.

They seemed to be around the same age, which Tony guessed to be early twenties. One rather heavyset young man, black hair, slightly darker skin tone, if pressed, the billionaire would put him down as part Filipino. A young black woman, curly hair, a serious expression on her face that kind of reminded Tony of Pepper. And then his eyes drifted to the third person at that table and he felt... something... shoot through him.

Pale skin peeked out from under a too big sweater, allowing just a glimpse at the collarbones leading up to the slender neck. Light pink lips that, while not overly plumb, looked invitingly lush. Short brown hair that was clearly unstyled, but just seemed to beg you to run your fingers through it's curls.

Soft brown eyes. Deep and bright. And so expressive, as the young man recounted what must have been a fascinating lecture by one of his professors to his two friends.

“Professor Conners studies of cross species genetics and their possible applications in modern medicine are mind blowing, guys. I'm so deliriously happy that I got into his class! He even said that there ...” And Tony couldn't look away. At only a first glance, the brunette looked plain. Unassuming. To someone like Tony Stark, who had bedded more super models than most people even allowed themselves to fantasize about, there should be nothing particularly outstanding about the younger man. And yet...

He was cute. Slightly boyish features, a bit of a baby face. But clearly an adult. Must be. Had to be.

He spoke with such enthusiasm, such passion. His voice just that side of a little higher pitched, but smooth, pleasant.

“...which is why we could possibly be lucky enough to get Doctor Octavious as a guest lecturer sometime this semester and...”

Intelligence and eagerness was pouring off the brunette. So excited by the prospect of learning more, widening his horizons, that his cheeks had taken on a light rosy hue. It was adorable.

“...and just think about what this could mean for trauma patients, or people waiting for a transplant...”

And so Tony ordered another cup of watered down mud, kept on ignoring the messages blowing up his phone, angled his body in a way that kept the younger man in his sight, without outright staring at him, and continued to listen.

The three covered a wide variety of topics, and Tony learned not only the brunettes name (Peter, the other man had called him at one point, and what a delightfully fitting name for the cute creature), but also that beside the sharp intellect, Peter possessed a snarky kind of humor, that had almost caused Tony to snort loudly a few times.

The disguised celebrity was on his third cup of what passed for coffee in the world of the pitiful, when the three were discussing a book that the woman – he hadn't bothered to memorize her name – was reading for her literature course.

“I'm not saying that I like Richard. I just don't think that he is the personification of evil that the book is painting him as.”

And even though Tony had no idea what the books plot even was about, he felt inclined to agree with Peter. Just on principle. The woman shook her head.

“Every oracle they have come across has pointed out the darkness residing in him. He clearly can't be trusted.”

Ah, so it was some kind of fantasy book? He hadn't known that colleges even used those. Then again, his education at MIT had mostly circled around all kinds of mechanical engineering and business, with a side of physics and a bit of chemistry. He had never really been into the liberal arts and the like, so what did he know?

“But that's just it! All they ever say about him is that he carries darkness in his soul. But does this automatically make him a bad man? I mean, if the darkness can be used and manipulated, then isn't it simply a matter of the person who wields it? Like, think of the darkness like a weapon. A gun in the hands of... a robber or something, could kill you. But a gun in the hands of a good guy, like a police officer or someone, could save your life.”

What a profound thing to say. Cute, smart, funny and thoughtful.

“And, is darkness even all that bad? I know it gets linked to evil a lot in stories, but really, I mean, how do I put this? Sometimes darkness can be.. comforting? Like, have you ever tried to sleep in a fully lit room? And sure, you are more likely to get robbed when it's dark out, but it's also a lot easier to hide or escape from someone if they can't see you. Know what I mean?”

It was like Peter was speaking directly to him. Because there had been a time, almost five years ago now, when Tony had thought that maybe, he could find love with Pepper. She had been with him for years. She was loyal, she was beautiful, she was his friend, and he trusted her. The attraction was reciprocated, and they had tried. Tony Stark’s first real relationship. The media had been in a frenzy over them, had hounded him more than usual, hoping that they would catch him straying. Wetting themselves over the chance that they might be the one to get the scoop of the playboy who couldn't stay faithful. Nothing sold better than a scandal.

But Tony hadn't cheated on Pepper, and it wasn't an act of betrayal that ended their relationship. “I'm sorry, Tony. But I can't do this anymore. It's not something you did, it's just... Remember that article a few months ago, - after we brought out the new military weapon series, - that questioned whether or not you had a heart? That article was bullshit and the person who wrote it is an ignorant fool. I believe you have a great capacity for love. But I don't think that I'm the one that... Sometimes, it feels like there is this darkness inside of you. And that scares me. I'm so sorry.”

They had stayed friends, and Tony knew, even if Pepper hadn't ended it that day, it wouldn't have worked out between them. But her words had stuck with him. 'There is this darkness inside you. And it scares me.'

He hadn't denied it. How could he, when it was nothing but the truth?

How many people had called him a warlord, because of Stark Industries weapons manufacturing? How often had he been accused of profiting off people dying? How often had he had to defend himself from his would be assailants, or his would be kidnappers, and not felt an ounce of mercy or regret, when he broke their bones or put bullets into their limbs? He knew well of the darkness he carried, and he had accepted (resigned himself) that this made him a bad man.

But now Peter, bright, enthusiastic, adorable Peter, was offering him an alternative. A second chance.

Darkness didn't have to be evil.

Yes, Stark Industries had made millions by designing and building weapons to use in wars. But it was those weapons that enabled their soldiers to protect and fight for the ideals of their country and the freedom of all.

It might be scary, but it could be comforting.

He had felt like a demon, avenging and ruthless, when he had finally hunted down Obadiah and ended him; but after that, he had held Pepper and been held by her, knowing that he had done what needed to be done, and that because of that, they were now safe.

It might harbor monsters inside itself, but it could also hide you from them.

He could remember running through the endless halls in his childhood home, his angry and drunk father screaming somewhere behind him, and slipping into a room, any room. Killing all the lights and crawling into a niche, or under a bed, or a couch, or a table. And his father, too drunk to find the light switch with his fumbling, unable to see him in the dark.

“I doubt Professor Wilson expects us to be this philosophical about it, Parker.”

The woman's voice so rudely interrupted Tony's introspection, and he wanted to yell at her to shut up. But he didn't. He wouldn't. She was Peter's friend. And while Tony carried darkness inside him, he was not a bad man.

He watched as Peter shrugged.

“You never know, MJ. Can't hurt to be-” That's when the young man caught a glance at the clock that hung on the opposite wall and his eyes widened in panic. “Shoot! It's almost six already?! I'm gonna be late!” He frantically grabbed his jacked and backpack and stood from the table. His Filipino friend shot him a concerned look.

“Think you gonna make it? Wasn't your boss really angry that last time you were late?”

Peter was rummaging in his jacket pocket and having found the few dollars in it, quickly laid them on the table to cover his tap. He nodded.

“Yeah, I will have to run, but it's not far. I should just make it. Skype later?”

His two friends nodded, and then Peter was off like a shot.

No. No no no no no. This was too fast. Peter couldn't just leave like this. He couldn't- his phone vibrated with what was undoubtedly another angry text from Pepper about bringing in Natasha. It helped clear Tony's head, though.

This wasn't a problem. Nothing was lost. Tony had listened to the three undergrad students long enough to deduce that they attended Berkeley College. He knew that Peter had signed up for all of Doctor Conners lectures.

And he now knew that Peter's last name was Parker.

He could find him now. It would be easy, with all the resources available to him. Child's-play.

So he breathed in deeply, and finished the last of his sludge. He laid some money on the table and stood. He had left a generous tip, because even though the coffee had been miserable, the company had been exquisite.

He took his phone out and finally answered Pepper's numerous messages, as he left the diner.

Tony Stark didn't believe in love at first sight.

He thought back to his escape from the tower, now almost 2 hours ago, and the time spent in the diner. He felt lighter than he had in a long time.

But he did believe in true love.

He remembered every detail of Peter that he had been able to gather. And he remembered that something that he had felt, when he first looked into his eyes.

And he did believe that sometimes, true love started with a something.

#starker #peter parker #tony stark #fanfic #obsession #dark!tony #Possessive!Tony #op lurafita

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manonmidgen · 5 years ago

Photo

OH HUNTER; IF YOU DIDN’T WANT THE BEAUTIFUL SO BADLY, PERHAPS YOU WOULD’VE FOUND IT IN YOUR SPIRIT SINGING SOFTLY.

❝ she thinks that she’s the worst so she acts like she’s the best. ❞ NANA KOMATSU? No, that’s actually MANDOLYN ‘MANON’ MIDGEN. A SEVENTH YEAR student, this GRYFFINDOR student is sided with MCGONAGALL’S ARMY. SHE identifies as CIS-FEMALE and is a PURE BLOOD who is known to be CONCEITED, FAKE, and FICKLE but also HARD WORKING, ENCHANTING, and MAGNETIC.

tw. bullying.

links. pinterest. spotify.

stats.

MANDOLYN ‘MANON’ MIDGEN ,

7th year gryffindor. Pureblood. Prefect. President of the potions club.

Gemini Sun / Sagitarrius moon / Scorpio rising. / born 20th june 1:12pm

wand: hawthorn / dragon heart string/ 14 1/2″ / brittle

patronus: would produce a swan if produced.

NEWT classes: potions; herbology; charms.

favourite subject: potions. least favourite subject: history of magic.

electives: divination & care of magical creatures.

character inspo: mia thermpoplis ( princess diaries. ) caroline ‘ cool girl’ ( snotgirl. ) lottie person ( snotgirl. ) | albums : melodrama by lorde / lush by mitski

see more here !

bio. ( this got long, but i can offer you this meme in this trying time. )

IT’S TOO UGLY TO BE HUMAN. IT’S TOO UGLY TO BE YOU. CHILDREN ARE SCARED OF THE DARK; THERE IS NOTHING REAL TO BE MADE OF IT.

the midgen family , a lesser thought of pure blood family with nothing else to really say about them ; they say that the families money dates back to them having a stake in the creation of butter beer but there’s little to no historical archives to support this. they, for the most of history, had simply just been; been nothing iconic or memorable but simply just existed in the sidelines. a safe and cautious place to be.

Madolyn Midgen, the youngest of the midgen family tree and only of her generation, the first and only born of Eloise Midgen. Although Eloise did marry, a lovely pureblood named Rupert, the condition came that their child would keep the midgen name. the midgen’s for long had only been blessed with a single heir each generation, almost always a female, so the stipulation had been written into the family.

Most people don’t describe childbirth as the most beautiful things, the babies red, screaming, and unkempt ; but most get over this hurdle in a few days. yet madolyn seemed to stay that way. her limbs not growing as they should, her face unexplainably red, and flaky, the puffs of black hair doing nothing to disguise the ugliness of the baby -- apparently the sight of her face alone was enough to cause the rest of the reception to burst into tears.

I THINK PERFECTION IS UGLY. I WANT TO SEE SCARS, FAILURE, DISORDER, DISTORTION.

minging midgen.

that was the smart name the 5 year old boys made up for her; and like the world on atlas’ back, it was the burden that the ugly duckling carried with her - shackled with - for the rest of her childhood years.

Elementary school was just more of the same; the girl that people would ask out for fun, for laughter, despite any kindness she might have held in her heart, her attitude couldn’t sway people to look past her stout figure and cystic acne. mud would poured in her hair; snails placed in her shoes; people who touched her were said to be cursed with germs -- ; her attempts to make friends went most often in vain and her birthday parties went by every year without a single card or cake.

It caused Mandolyn to develop crippling anxiety; body dysmorphia; the over emphasis of her flaws in her own eyes. she’d pick at her arms and glance at any mirror that she walked by ; any laughter that she heard she’d automatically assume it was about her.

this led to a shy girl ; who constantly burst into tears and without a single back bone in her body-- her spine would bend in on itself as a shield from any jeers, but it also left her extremely comprisable to any suggestions. she would often just go along with anything suggested because of the concept that if she did what they say; maybe they would like her; maybe they would leave her alone.

she became the easy pickings of pranks, jeers, a punching bag with the stability of wheat.

Already at the ripe age of 10 years old mandolyn had been duly crushed by this role that she played in life, despite any encouragement from her mother or father.

They promised her it would get better, and it did. And luckily, after a few more years or two of sucking it up, it finally did.

AND SUDDENLY I AM A PHOENIX FROM THE DEPTHS OF THE EARTH AND IT WOULD ALMOST BE BEAUTIFUL IF THE WORLD WAS NOT ENDING

When she arrived to Hogwarts, she was sorted into Gryffindor which people assumed must have purely been a family heritage decision, as no one would ever think the girl who seemed to hunch in on herself so much she could roll down a hill could ever be a gryffindor.

The first two years of school were almost entirely uneventful, of course, 11 years old love to pick on each other, and the rampant bullying followed her like wild dogs wherever she went, but she was slowly growing out of the childhood pudginess and gaining some length to the otherwise stumpy limbs she’d been born with. Mostly, she continued to fulfil the role she had played in primary school ; though, the presence of a few true friends made it somewhat bearable. they were thick as thieves; completely nonjudgemental of each other, and for a second, it seemed that mandolyn was gaining some sort of confidence, but still, no independence of back bones -- - she simply just continued her childhood pattern of following.

The changing moment ( the birth of the phoenix ; the ugly duckling shedding the grey coat ) was three days after her 14th birthday, her third year, when spectating an impromptu game of quidditch left her in an awful face cast the likes that meant she had to momentarily drop out of hogwarts; a Midgen tradition to do as soon as something went wrong; She had to miss the last month of summer semester — and like the ugly duckling came back like a swan.

The late bloomer blossomed, and the magical cosmetic surgery didn’t hurt much either. But more importantly, the change in look seemed to go hand in hand with a change in confidence (the one bubbling now bloomed). The once shy and inept Mandolyn became well spoken ; charming ; magnetic ; alluring to the point that nobody recognised her at the beginning of the fourth year.

So Mandolyn rebranded herself as Manon, she says it means french for beautiful. Finally, she managed to receive the attention she had been almost dying for since she was a young child, at only the price of 2 months of education and weeks sat in a hospital.

But whilst her face became beautiful, her personality soured slightly, which was noticeable to almost all of her actual friends ( the three of them that existed. )

Her personality became as fake as her face as she lied, cheated, and smiled politely to try and weasel her way into the social scene she had so longed to become apart of. She became liked, and popular, but at what cost ? The price of being able to have genuine human connections with most people.

Whom once was a genuinely nice girl, scared of human confrontation and going with the flow to avoid any problems grew a spine. and also a bite. she became snarky, slightly argumentative at times, and wholly competitive with being pretty and popular as her only real intentions. she began to care a lot less for anything genuine unless that genuine thing would benefit her in some regards. but despite the presence of a slight back bone, it was still as brittle as her wand, she would still do anything for attention, to prove to herself that she was liked and popular. easily manipulated & entirely fake. the not blonde barbie doll with as many clothes and switching professions & friends. ( and ACCORDING TO THE RUMOURS; SHE’S FILLED WITH JUST AS MUCH PLASTIC ! )

in her fifth year; mandolyn is made prefect, she’s told by the head of gryffindor that her change in courage, determination, and ‘standing’ up to her bullies was a comendable feet, and in collaboration with her good grades and her pristine record, she was a great candidate for prefect. mandolyn took the opportunity with open arms for she thought it would only help to bolster her now growing reputation.

YOU ARE STARING OUT AT A WORLD ON FIRE COMPLAINING ABOUT HOW UGLY YOU THINK THE ASHES ARE.

When the deaths hit, and the world suddenly became a lot darker than Manon could ever realise, her well perfected facade started to crumple, and the idea of popularity no longer seemed as ideal as it did in the past.

Perhaps it was longing for the simpler days without death around every corner, but she’s begun to doubt who she really is — and her impromptu decision to change her name is only aiding in adding to her identity confusion.

Part of her decision to aid in Mcgonnogal’s army is down to Manon trying to follow what she believes is the righteous path; fighting against the darkness that is seeping in through the cracks in Hogwarts stone walls. Because in Manon’s mind, she feels that as soon as that problem is resolved, all of the issues that are surfacing in her mind will suddenly disappear — just like what happened when she got her magical face list.

wc.

less wanted, and more connection ideas to start plotting ;

- core long term friendship group, the few friends manon had before she was ever manon-- the non-judgemental, supportive friend group who was always there for mandolyn to cry on // most likely might have felt spurned after manon’s re-invention of herself, or might have been passively against her new personality, or supported her new found confidence [ the current logistics are very easily changeable ~ ! ]

- the new influence of friends, the group of friends, or partying group, that manon wedged herself into after she re-invented herself as cool and ‘beautiful’ ( in her own opinion. ) // probably a friendship group built more on benefit and falseness than any actual emotion. [ again current logistics are very changeable ; it’s just a broad sentiment of ideas. ]

- the bullies, people who teased mandolyn because of her cystic acne, short limbs, uneven bone structure and poor posture -- and may have continued to after she rebranded herself.

- the love interest, manon is more into girls than boys, but is very fluid and casual with her relationships so any long term interest is probably going to have some sort of angst based on that -- alternatively, i’m all for hook ups and one time things in building a web -- as manon most likely wanted to date as many people as she physically could to bolster her new reputation.

- i’m obviously 100% open for more open plotting ;or filling any connection ideas anybody else has, so please feel free to message me surrounding that ! i’m really excited to be here and plot so !! yeah !!!

#iidyintro #kinda rough but i think it gets the point across; really excited 2 be here !!

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insightexploration · 6 years ago

Text

Being Myself

Introduction

I am a story teller. As a teacher, a therapist and friend I have always used stories to make a point, illustrate a principle or just to entertain. For the last 49 years people have been encouraging me to write them down. Here are some of them. Make of them what you wish. After writing them I am filled with an overwhelming gratitude for the people who have crossed my path in this life. The most important is Susan Riley, my partner of 59 years to whom I dedicate this effort. None of this would have happened without her.

How I found my calling

“To be nobody but yourself in a world that’s doing its best to make you somebody else, is to fight the hardest battle you are ever going to fight. Never stop fighting.” e.e. cummings

Doors

One of the most obvious truths I have encountered in my work with students and clients over the last fifty years is that many people are unhappy with who they are and how they are living life. Some have no idea of who they would like to be or they know who they want to be but the road to a meaningful and satisfying life is blocked by anxiety, fear, confusion or crippling depression. Many times their ideas about who they should have become have come from their family and the disparity between this ideal and the reality of their lives is creating great sadness. I would like to posit that many times in life doors appear offering us a way out of this dilemma. We then have a choice to ignore the door and continue on a less than satisfying path or we can walk through it onto the unknown path to a more fulfilling life.

I would like to illustrate this by sharing a bit of my own story with you. Let’s start at the beginning. My parents gave me the name Lawrence because they thought it would look good with “Doctor” before it. It does. After my grandfather died during the depression, my father left premedical studies to support his mother and three siblings by doing physical labor. In the 1930’s he began his own company and for fifty years was a successful, if not affluent, businessman. It was my parents’ intention that I would be the first member of my family to finish college and that I would fulfill my father’s dream by becoming a physician. Even though my “Doctor” looks good, I am not the right kind of doctor. Unfortunately for them, I was a child of the sixties and “do your own thing” was our mantra.

Joseph Campbell said, “Follow your bliss.” My journey to my bliss was not direct but was determined by several doors that at first were ignored and then recognized as messages from something larger than me.

After the Russians became the first country to send a satellite into space, I was seduced by the national passion and set my sights on becoming a scientist. This was a mistake but it was a mistake sanctioned by my family and the culture. Although it was not as good as becoming a physician, it was good enough for my parents.

In my senior year of high school, with the idea of becoming a key player in the race to the moon, I visited a counselor at Pasadena City College and expressed my desire to become a nuclear physicist. She looked at my transcripts and shook her head. I was not the most motivated student in high school but my dad said if I wanted the car (necessary for dating) and if I wanted to play sports (necessary for impressing potential dates), I had to maintain a B average. Since grades were reported on my transcripts every semester, I knew I had to maintain a B average between two quarters. So if I got an A in one quarter I would allow myself to get a C the next. If I got a C, I would work to get an A the next quarter. Therefore, my high school transcripts show 6 semesters of 5 courses each, all of which are Bs. So, my counselor was looking at 30 Bs.

Her response to me voicing my aspiration was, “You are not bright enough to be a nuclear physicist.” “However,” she added, “you are not bad at anything. Why don’t you become a teacher?” Looking back, this was a door. One I completely ignored and, in fact, felt angry about.

So I gave up on PCC and began college as a physics student at Cal State, L.A. in 1960. In retrospect, I would have saved myself a lot of grief if I had paid attention to her. While science and math did not come easily to me, I did well enough to be able to transfer to the University of California at Berkeley, home of one of the world’s premier physics departments. After two years there I received my degree with a major in physics and a minor in math. When I showed my mother my diploma, her response was, “Take good care of that, it is worth just as much as the ones they gave the students who got good grades.” Alas, I was well on the road to parental disappointment.

Several things happened at Berkeley which were pivotal in guiding me to the path I still follow. In my first semester at Cal, I was required to take a course in which we read several of Shakespeare’s plays. Reading Shakespeare revealed a new world to me in which there was more to human behavior than met the eye. I loved this course but could not afford to spend much time on it while taking advanced courses in physics and calculus as well as two other electives. If I had paid attention to the joy and excitement I felt reading and writing about the human psyche as Shakespeare saw it, I would have known where my life needed to go at that time. However, I was, as James Hollis says, in the midst of my first adulthood, an attempt to live out the life one is expected to live by one’s family and culture. At the end of the Shakespeare course my instructor, a wonderful teacher, said, “You are the smartest C+ student I’ve ever had.” I think it was a compliment. But again, I had ignored an important sign. After I finished my Ph.D. in child psychology I returned to thank him for opening the doors of the human psyche to me. Surprisingly, he remembered me. I have contacted him again recently and he remembered my name and told me he has focused much of his work since then on children’s literature and fairy tales.

In my second semester at Cal, I began volunteering at an elementary school in the West Berkeley ghetto where I tutored some of the worst students in the school. For a middle-class white boy from the suburbs of Southern California this was a real awakening. To my surprise, I found that individual attention could turn some of the worst students into academic successes. Witnessing the wasted potential of children in the sixth grade already consigned to the garbage heap of American life changed me. It was the sixties. I was young and idealistic and it became my personal mission to save as many kids as I could. I wanted to help children that others considered unreachable. A door had appeared.

Although I realized that my life was turning away from hard science, I found employment during the summer between my junior and senior years in the Apollo program at the Research & Development center at Aerojet General in Azusa, California. My assignment was to design a monochromatic light source to simulate the effect of unfiltered sunlight on metal which would simulate the environment on the moon. While this brief experience as an engineer was enjoyable, I realized that I was much more interested in pure theory than I was in the practical application of scientific principles. Also I wasn’t a very good engineer. I blew so many circuits they nicknamed me “Sparky.” I also realized that I was quite a few brain cells short of theoretical physicist material. It occurred to me that I could combine my interests by becoming a teacher of physics, math and English literature in high school.

Being confused, I once again visited a guidance counselor when I returned to Berkeley in the fall. After a battery of tests were scored and interpreted, I returned to find out just what I was supposed to do. I had spent an inordinate amount of energy purging my life of Christian Fundamentalism so imagine my surprise when I discovered that my number one, absolutely no fail, born to be occupation was “Minister.” I was even further incensed when I found out “Psychologist” was a close second. I happened to be taking Psych 1A as an elective in my senior year in order to graduate and had the book with me. I raised it up and said defiantly, “You mean this bullshit?” and walked out of his office. I finished my last year of university somewhat unenthusiastically, married my high school sweetheart (we are still married) and moved to San Francisco where she took a secretarial job and I enrolled in education classes at San Francisco State College.

It is with some humor that I reflect on my professional career and see that I have spent most of it teaching psychology and practicing as a therapist trying to bring spirituality and psychology together. I should have listened to both of those counselors but knowing the expectations my parents and I both had of me, I did not. Doors had appeared and I ignored them.

After four years of rigorous physics and math courses, the education courses at State left me nonplussed. I lasted two weeks. I started looking for work and fell into the most defining moment of my professional life. You can call it grace, coincidence or synchronicity but it has happened so many times in my life, I know it is real. This time I walked through the door.

I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do so I looked for part time work. I found three jobs: gardening for a psychologist, driving an autistic child to and from his psychiatrist and tutoring a supposedly “minimally brain damaged” eight-year-old boy whose mother was a psychologist. In a matter of days, a whole new world opened up to me. It was less exact and predictable than the world of formulae and numbers, but fascinating in its complexity and ambiguity.

Alan

The most important of these experiences was tutoring a boy I shall call Alan. His mother was desperate. One after another, a series of tutors had failed miserably in their attempts to teach him to read. He was repeating third grade and his psychologist (who was very well known in his field) had told Alan’s mother that her son would be lucky to finish elementary school. From the first moment I met him, I knew Alan was smart; he had a great vocabulary, a wonderful sense of humor and a keen interest in the world of science. He just couldn’t read.

Rather than tackling his reading problems head on as his other tutors had done, I decided to approach them indirectly through a subject which interested him. We began to do chemistry and optical experiments under the suspicious eyes of his mother. Alan really liked the experiments, especially the ones involving explosions or really bad smells. Every so often I would be reading an experiment and I would ask him to read a short word. After a while, he was reading more and more of the experiments and starting to read books with me.

Since Alan was Jewish, I thought it would be important for him to know some of the heroic stories of the holocaust. I learned one of my first lessons on the workings of a child’s mind when we started to read a child’s version of The Diaries of Anne Frank. When we had finished about three pages he said, “I don’t like girl stories.” So we returned to science, where a 21-year-old WASP in an identity crisis and an eight-year old Jewish boy with a learning disability could find true happiness.

My work with Alan encouraged me to start reading about psychology, learning disabilities and children in general. Since I had very little experience in this area, I decided to visit his psychologist for direction. His office was in a very posh area of San Francisco and filled with fine art and beautiful furnishings. It effused monetary success. He said that it was wonderful that Alan had a friend like me, but that I should give up hoping for a normal life for him. I looked around his office at the plush furnishings and thought, “If someone this stupid can be this rich, this is the career for me.” I re-entered San Francisco State where, with the financial and emotional support of my wonderful wife and the enthusiasm engendered by the discovery of my life’s work, I achieved a straight “A” average.

My wife, who had been interested in psychology long before me, also began taking psychology classes and realized it was her life’s passion too (second to her passion for me of course). I was mentored by several members of the psychology department and, in 1966, I enrolled at the University of Minnesota in what may have been the best program in clinical child psychology in the United States.

Alan finished elementary school, junior high, high school and college, and is a happy husband and father who, along with his wife, runs his own very successful communications business. He told me several years ago that he continued to be interested in science after I moved away but gave up chemistry when he realized he would never be able to use it for his true purpose, to blow up his school.

Some important influences in my life

“If they can make penicillin out of moldy bread, they can sure make something out of you.” Muhammad Ali

My Last Name

Dettweiler is a fairly unusual name. Things happen to me that wouldn’t happen if my name was Smith or Jones. For example, upon meeting me for the first time, a person often will say, “I knew a Dettweiler (not necessarily spelled like this) in Pocatello. Is that a relative?”. “Probably,” I always answer. My branch of the family settled in Ontario, Canada so when we moved to Victoria, British Columbia I was often asked about my family. The doctor who set up the British Columbia health plan was a Detweiler (different spelling) and people used to say things to me like, “If you are half the man your father was you will be a fine person.” His son was a lawyer in Victoria who did a lot of pro bono work for legal aid. I used to get calls in the middle of the night from guys proclaiming, “I was framed” or “You gotta help me.” Very seldom does anyone spell it correctly and often people mispronounce it. For reservations at restaurants I always use my wife’s name which is Irish and much easier to spell for the person taking the reservation. There is some irony in this as I will explain later.

The Dettweilers, who were Swiss German, came to Pennsylvania from Germany in the early 1700s. About 20 years ago when my son visited Switzerland, he found the Dettweiler homestead which, until recently, had remained in the family. Over the fireplace were tiles inscribed with the words, “Detwiler, 1513.” My dad had recently died and he buried my dad’s favorite pipe behind this building.

It is thought that since they were Mennonites, they were escaping religious persecution in Europe and fled with other Mennonites to the community in Lancaster County. My branch left Pennsylvania for Canada in 1810. After arriving, the patriarch of the family lost his wife and remarried within the church but did not register the marriage with the government. Eventually a huge tract of farm land near Kitchener/Waterloo, Ontario was seized by the government since the children who inherited it were not legal heirs.

When I first moved to Canada it was a fairly fractured country. The French wanted out and the West felt like the neglected child in a large family. So when people would refer to the government as “Those bastards in Ontario,” I thought maybe they were talking about my relatives.

My name has caused me to have some interesting interactions. One client came to me because he was Swiss and he knew my village. He said, “I used to drive through it every day on my way to the airport in Zurich.” Once he said to me, “Larry, your ancestors may have come here 250 years ago but you are still very Swiss German.” Curiously, I asked what he meant by that. “Well, the French and Italian Swiss work to live. The Swiss Germans live to work.”

I had another client come to me because he recognized the Mennonite name. He had left the Ontario community and was feeling lost. They shunned him and he felt completely out of touch with mainstream Canadian culture. He was neither here nor there and it was very difficult for him.

I once went to a panel discussion about death and as I listened to Elizabeth Kubler Ross I grasped a whole new understanding of the meaning of life. I was delighted by her statement, “But what do I know? I am just a Swiss hillbilly who has sat with thousands of dying people.” After the talk, I walked up to her and told her what an inspiration she had been to me. She looked at my name tag and said, “Oh look! You are a Swiss hillbilly too. I know your village.”

One of my students, originally from Switzerland, asked me if I knew the difference between European heaven and European hell. I said I did not. She said, “In European heaven, the cooks are all French, the lovers are all Italian, the cops are all British, the mechanics are all German and everything is organized by the Swiss. In European hell, the cooks are all English, the lovers are all Swiss, the cops are all German, the mechanics are all French and everything is organized by the Italians.”

Back to the family history. After losing the land my disenfranchised great grandfather moved the family to Michigan in the late 1800s where, during the First World War, the locals blew up their house because they spoke German. But they persevered and my Grandfather left the Mennonites and became a preacher in the Evangelical United Brethren church, eventually settling in L.A. where I was born and spent my early years. Hollywood to be exact.

I have always taken great pride in being the descendent of Swiss German Mennonites and my wife has felt the same about being Irish. All our lives we have chided each other on the stereotypical traits of these cultures. Recently we did genetic testing and were shocked to find out that my proud European heritage accounts for only 9% of my genetics and her Irish heritage is about the same. Surprisingly my number one heritage is Irish and hers is English/Scottish. No more Irish jokes for me and no more superior race jokes for her. I now refer to her as the Limey oppressor and constantly ask her when she is going to let my people go. I believe most of that Irish heritage comes from my Grandfather Mooney. His family considered themselves Scottish but I think they originally came from Ireland.

My Grandfather

It is a sad truth that many of the men I have seen in my work have had very little contact with positive male role models while growing up. I was fortunate to have two. They were not perfect but they taught me about being a responsible husband and father and gave me the belief that I would be able to traverse this life successfully.

Soon after I was born my dad left to fight in the war in Europe. My mother and I moved in with her parents, Nana and Grandad, who lived next door to our house in Hollywood. My father was gone for three years and during that time my grandfather was really the only father figure in my life. The closeness of this relationship was reflected in an event that occurred three years after my father came home. At age 6 I was selected to be a participant on the Art Linkletter radio show, Kids Say the Darndest Things. When Art asked me if I looked like my father I replied, “NO, I look like my granddad.”

He was a first-generation American son of Scottish grocers who settled in Danville Illinois. He had three obsessions, money, religion and baseball. When my cousin researched the family history she discovered that when his parents arrived at Ellis Island their name was Muney. The immigration officer said, “This is America. You can’t have the name Money.” So at that point their name was changed to Mooney. Apparently, the name went deeper than the spelling. When my grandparents were in their 70s my grandfather would send my elderly grandmother back to the store if he thought she had been shortchanged by even a penny. I remember watching her leave the house in tears having to go back and haggle with the store manager.

The major accomplishment in his life had been to bring Fritos to Los Angeles. He worked for this company his entire life but was always quite happy to remain a salesman driving his truck around Southern California. Although he was obsessed with money and loved to buy and sell property he never made a lot of money. At one point in the 20s he owned a square block of Wilshire Boulevard but sold it shortly after he bought it because he said it would never amount to anything.

Although my grandparents were very kind to me, shaming was definitely the response of choice to what they considered to be bad decisions about money. Once, when I was about ten, we were visiting them on a Saturday afternoon. I had a crisp five dollar bill in my pocket and there was a corner store at the bottom of the hill on which they lived calling to me the whole afternoon. I walked down to the store and bought a dollar toy for me and a little tin bank for my brother that cost four dollars. Looking back, I think, what ten year old spends one dollar on himself and four dollars on his five year old brother? It would seem to me that this act should have been seen as an act of generosity and commented on as such. However, when I returned, my grandfather said, “You bought the bank for the wrong person.”

He never wanted to waste anything. When he and my grandmother were in their mid-nineties they lived in an assisted living/end-of-life care facility for members of the church. My grandmother had been taking hormones and stopped taking them because of problems with bleeding. My grandfather decided that it would be a waste of money to just throw them out and since they were so helpful to her he would take them. Several months later he asked my mother to take him to the doctor because he was suffering pain in his chest. It turned out he was growing breasts. Later, my grandmother decided that she just didn’t want to live any longer and she stopped taking nitroglycerin for angina. Again my grandfather didn’t want to waste the money so he started taking the pills, passed out and suffered a concussion and went into a coma. While he was in the coma my grandmother died.

When he came to my mother played a recording of the funeral for him but he just couldn’t get it into his head that his wife had died. One day when my mother was visiting him he told her that Stella had left him and had run off with another man. My mother, after trying uselessly to convince him that she had died, asked him how he knew she had run off of another man. He told her he had an invisible radio under his pillow and every night it played the Stella and Alan show and on this show Stella had run off with another man. He then told my mother, “I know why she left.” My mother asked, “Why?” He said, “I wasn’t giving her enough sex!” This was too much for my mother, the daughter of these devoutly religious people, and she ran crying from the room.

I’m not sure how his obsession with religion began. I know he was raised in a severe Scottish Presbyterian household. He told me once that his father had beaten him for whistling on Sunday. I do know that as a young man he smoked and drank and was not terribly religious. At some point he found Jesus, stopped smoking and drinking and joined the Evangelical United Brethren church. The minister in this church was my other grandfather, Elden Dettweiler.

He was what we called in those days, a character. Some of the funniest stories about my grandfather concern his poor vision. In his later life he developed cataracts and at that time cataract surgery was very serious. When they removed the cataracts the patient had to stay in bed motionless for an extended period of time so often the surgery was postponed until it was absolutely necessary. I remember that he would take me on his rounds in his Frito truck. We would place a wooden chair in the stairwell on the right-hand side of the truck and I would ride around telling him when the lights turned green when the lights turned red, what lane to be in and generally help him complete his route. When I think back on this it is absolutely terrifying and I would never have allowed my children to do this. But back then nobody thought twice about it. On another occasion we were driving in the mountains and he pulled up behind a parked police car to ask directions. He went up to the car window started asking the officer where we were only to get no response. He soon was yelling at the officer demanding to know why he wouldn’t talk to him. My grandmother got out of the car walked up to calm him down and realized that that the car was parked with a dummy in the front seat in order to slow people down as they traveled down this mountain.

Although he fancied himself somewhat of a handyman, his inability to negotiate the physical world was often a humorous topic of conversation when the family was together and he was out of earshot. Even though we lived in Southern California, he would wear long underwear all winter long. In the summer, when temperatures rose to the 80’s and 90’s, he would cut the sleeves off but still wear the underwear. I remember one year I was staying at their house in Glendale when the annual cutting ritual was being performed. He would fold the underwear in half and cut both sleeves at once. On this occasion, I watched as he carefully folded the garment and proceeded to cut one arm and one leg off. I could tell he was angry but he put it aside, carefully folded the next garment and again, cut off one leg and one sleeve. Under his breath I heard him mutter, “Shit.” It was the only time I ever heard him swear.

He was obsessed with baseball all his life. I remember that we would go to games played by the L. A. Angels minor league team on a regular basis. It was especially fun to go to the games when they played the hated Hollywood Stars, another minor league team. When the Dodgers moved to L. A. he would spend hours next to his radio or in front of the TV transfixed by the slow, deliberate pace of major league baseball. Afterwards, if I was around, he would relate all the funny things Vin Scully had said and give me a summary of the game and the glorious or miserable play of the Dodgers.

All in all, I feel very fortunate to have had a grandfather who was so present in my life and at one time told me, “You are going to be very special and make us all proud.” Certainly in my early life my grandparents were as much my parents as my mother and father and as I grew older we remained close. As different as they were from who I consider myself to be, the feeling of being cared for and nested in matrix of relatives who would be there if needed gave me a sense of security and well-being that has never left me. For that I am grateful. However, he was a character.

My Dad

When she was about 12, my mother was standing on the steps of her church in Los Angeles as a car driven by the new preacher’s son pulled up to the curb. Her brothers always teased and frightened her so when she saw the boy get out and run around to open the car door for his sister (my aunt Irene), she said to herself, “That’s the boy I am going to marry.” She had never seen a boy act so politely with his sister so she figured he must be something special. Later, on their first date, she waited anxiously when they pulled up to their destination. “Don’t open that door,” he said, “It is broken and I have to come around and open it for you.” Well, he wasn’t such a gentleman after all but she married him anyway. She said my dad never opened another door for her, but I know he did because I learned to do that from him.

My dad had a hard life as a young man. He was the son of a preacher during the depression and told tales of working the orchards of the California central valley, driving unsafe trucks and polishing cars at a parking lot. (When he answered the ad he did so even though he wasn’t from Poland. The ad was for a polish boy). They lived off the hand me downs and food supplied by parishioners. There was no money. He got his first pair of new shoes when he was in high school after his father had landed a fairly lucrative position at the church in downtown LA. Just as it seemed they had turned a corner, his dad died suddenly and he and his sister had to quit college and get jobs to support his mother and two younger siblings.

He managed, along with some partners, to start a wholesale florist business which did well, if not spectacularly, for 50 years until he retired. He worked long hours six days a week but I think he loved it. My mother was not so crazy about it. Shortly after I was born he was called up for WW2 and after my brother was born, he was called up to Korea for a year. So between the wars and the long work hours I didn’t have a lot of contact with him.

When my dad knew he was going to be drafted for WW2 he tried to enlist in the Navy. He was told, “Mr. Dettweiler, you are almost legally blind, we can’t take you.” So he tried the Air Force and they said the same. Then the Army drafted him and made him an artillery spotter. A clear example of military intelligence.

After the invasion of Germany he was driving a truck into a town one day and saw a big sign saying, “DITTWEILER” which was the name of the town. He said to his friend beside him, “Hey, this is my town. Too bad they misspelled my name!” They were laughing when around the corner came a German Panzer tank that began to shoot a machine gun at them. They pulled a quick U turn and raced back to base camp, happy to be alive. When they got out of the truck they noticed bullet holes in the back of the cab right above their heads. After a moment of shock and relief my dad said, “I guess they didn’t know who I was.” That’s the way he was. No matter how bad things got in our house or with his business, my dad could always come up with a story or a joke that would get us all laughing.

After he returned from Korea he recognized my mother’s overprotective nature and thought I was becoming a “mommy’s boy.” So he started taking me to work with him on Saturdays when I was 11 and on the rest of the days during the summer when I was 12. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays we would get up at 2am and get home about 4pm. On Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday we would get up at 5am and get home about 2pm. Since holidays were the busiest times for him, my friends would be spending their Easter and Christmas vacations at the beach while I was putting in 70 hour weeks with my dad. I loved it. Unlike my friends, I had money to spend and was learning about the world of men, a world I had been shielded from by my mother. I learned the value of hard work and all the guys encouraged me to stay in school so I wouldn’t have to work like this for the rest of my life. It was a valuable lesson.

When I was in Boy Scouts I asked my Dad why we never went camping. He said son, “I camped all the way through France and Germany and up and down the Korean peninsula and I will never spend another night in a tent.” Returning home after one campout I explained enthusiastically how we had eaten this great stuff called Spam and that we should get some for the house. He looked at me disapprovingly and stated, “There will be no Spam in this house.” I think his experience in the army really shaped his attitude toward life in other ways too and has helped me understand some of the reasons he and I differed so much as adults. But he was a good man and a good father.

My dad was pretty tolerant but my grandfather was a confirmed anti-Semite. We lived in Hollywood which was heavily populated by Jewish folks and he would often make denigrating remarks about them. One day, at my dad’s workplace, I went to lunch but did not have enough money for the bill. After a short conversation with the elderly Japanese owner, we settled on a price that equaled the money I had on hand. When I returned to the shop, my dad asked me if I had enough money for lunch. I said, “No, but I Jewed him down.”

This was a phrase I had heard my grandfather use on many occasions and had also heard my friends use. He looked at me the way he always did when he was displeased, tilting his head down and looking over his glasses, and said, “I want to talk to you when we get home.”

When we got home he sat me down and brought out about twenty 8 by 10 glossies of pictures he took on the day his unit liberated Dachau. He had me look through the sickening photos of nude, emaciated bodies stacked in huge piles, bodies hanging on barb wire, bodies in mass graves and then, the ovens.

“This is where talk like that ends up. I never want to hear you talk like that again.”

My dad said that occasionally when he was directing the shelling of German positions he would realize that he was killing men who, had his ancestors not left Germany, might be friends or relatives. After Dachau, he said he didn’t feel so bad about it.

I never did talk like that again and it is fitting that when I have been in really bad places in my life, it has almost always been Jewish men and women who have taken me under their wings. At one point in my life I was so impressed by all the Jews I knew I considered converting which led to my brief flirtation with Judaism. Dettweiler, however, is not a great last name if you want to be Jewish.

My brief flirtation with Judaism

During my second year of grad school I got very interested in working with autistic kids. A visiting expert put a Jewish family in touch with me regarding their 8 year old son who was autistic. The father had been a lawyer in Romania before the war but when the Nazis came his gentile friends smuggled him and his wife into the Ukraine where they hid from the Nazis and their collaborators for the remainder of the war. I never had the courage to ask them about that experience but from films I have seen and books I have read, it must have been horrific.

They were so grateful for the work I was doing with their son Sammy they sort of adopted us. They insisted on paying me and we occasionally were invited to the house for dinner. I was doing behavior modification with Sammy and one of the things behaviorists are known for is keeping excellent records of time and behavior. I would be in the middle of tracking Sammy’s behavior carefully when the door would fly open and Miriam would appear with a tray full of baked goods, coffee and sweets. “Eat, Eat,” she would say. “You are so skinny. Your wife needs to feed you more.” So much for that data collection.

Sammy made such great progress that his parents decided to enroll him in Hebrew school with the ultimate goal of a Bar Mitzvah. I had him on a token economy in which he bought things with the chips he earned for speaking and reading. One of the things he bought with his chips was a TV guide. He would then memorize the whole thing and be able to tell you when and on what station every program was broadcast during the week. I thought, “How hard can it be to memorize a little Hebrew?”

Well the Rabbi at the school thought different. He said Sammy was retarded and couldn’t learn anything. So I asked for the best student in the school to help me and by using M and Ms as rewards I taught Sammy the Hebrew alphabet in about 30 minutes. The Rabbi was ecstatic. He said I had performed a Mitzvah and asked me what my last name was. Oh Lord, all my credibility was about to go out the window as I prepared to tell him my Teutonic title.

Immediately Miriam said, “This is almost Doctor Dettweiler.” “Ahhh,” said the Rabbi with a smile. Next week when I returned all the kids were getting M and Ms. Apparently the Rabbi thought that was why Sammy was learning so quickly.

At one point, a young rabbi came to Victoria to take over the Synagogue and we ended up in the same tai chi class as Danny and his wife Hannah. He took on the job of refurbishing the Synagogue which had fallen into disrepair. As a fundraiser he invited Shlomo Karlbach, a singing Hassidic rabbi and a friend to Hanna’s family, to come and give a concert. I had listened to Schlomo on the radio when I was a student in San Francisco so I was excited to attend. “Bring your guitar,” Danny said, “we are going to get together and sing after the concert.”

I took my guitar and left it behind the coats in the cloak room before we entered the Synagogue proper. Danny and Shlomo were working their way through the audience and when they came to me. Danny said to Shlomo, “This is the guy.”

Shlomo said, “Get your guitar you are going to accompany me.”

A lump formed in my throat and I said, “But I don’t know your songs.”

“No matter,” he said, “God will help you.”

So I got my guitar and accompanied him all night long. When it was over, people approached me and said things like, “I didn’t know you were Jewish” and “So now you are out of the closet.”

“I’m not Jewish,” I would say.

“How did you know the chords to the songs?”

“God helped me and he only plays three chords so it wasn’t that hard.”

One fellow actually asked me if I wanted to join his Jazz band. I demurred saying I only played simple folksongs.

“Nonsense,” he said. “I heard those arpeggios you were playing.”

I thought to myself, “What’s an arpeggio?”

After, a bunch of us went to a house where we sang Yiddish and Hebrew songs for a long time. Then the moment that I was dreading came. He asked us our names. As we went around the circle everyone gave their first and last names. When my turn came, I only gave my first name. He asked me what my last name was. When I told him he asked, “Dettweiler, what kind of name is that?”

“Swiss,” I answered. “But my father fought the Germans and liberated Dachau,” I blurted out. This seemed to please him and we sang a few more songs on that most memorable night.

The next morning my wife and I went out to breakfast at a local restaurant and who should walk out the door as we are walking in? Shlomo. Racing out he said, “Pray for me brother, I am late for the ferry!”

Later, telling Hannah how much I enjoyed the evening, I said I had been entertained and moved by his stories. She replied, “Yes, and some of them may even be true.”

I told this story to a client recently and she told me a quote from Rabbi Akiva Tatz. “All my stories are true. Some happened and some did not, but they are all true.” I love this quote.

Perhaps the thing I love most about Jewish culture, aside from the philosophy of saving the world, is the humor.

I had a colleague who had twin boys that were coming to the point in their lives when they should start studying for their Bar Mitzvahs. He told me that he had no connection to the religion in which he was raised and his wife was not Jewish. I said, “You know Jerry, it is a part of their heritage and they don’t have to do it if they don’t want to. Why not give it a shot?”

“Well,” he said, “I might but I really don’t like the rabbi here in Victoria.”

I took this problem to my friend Louis who was president of the Synagogue. In typical fashion he told me a story.

Once there was a shipwrecked rabbi. His parishioners looked for him long and hard and finally found him. When they went on the island they saw a beautiful little structure made of driftwood and palm leaves. He explained he had built a synagogue in which to worship. They looked up the beach and saw there was an identical building. “Is that a synagogue you built also?” “Yes, and I wouldn’t set foot in it.” I don’t think Jerry’s boys ever did their Bar Mitzvahs.

I don’t know why Judaism has always fascinated and impressed me so but it probably had something to do with all that bible reading I did as a kid and the fact that Jewish people have played such a large and positive role in my life. At one point I felt such an affinity for the culture and religion I considered converting but somehow it just didn’t seem right for me. There was a culture and a history that I did not feel a part of. When I was discussing this with my good friend Bernice who had been a great help in establishing my parenting courses, she said, “Larry you are welcome to become a member of our Synagogue and our religion, but really, you are such a Baptist. Why don’t you just stick with your roots?” I am not sure what she meant but somehow it made complete sense to me. So next I need to talk about my roots.

Jesus is Watching

At the time of my birth my parents were members of the Evangelical United Brethren Church. This was an amalgamation of two churches that had spun off from the Mennonite Church. It was fundamentalist and during my early years our lives pretty much revolved around the church. My dad’s father had been the minister before his untimely death. My other grandfather was a deacon. My grandmother played the organ. My dad was the choir director. My mom taught Sunday school and both she and my uncle were the soloists in the church choir. My cousin and I were the youth duet and we can still do a pretty mean “Old Rugged Cross.”

My first recollection of a reference to Jesus was when I was very young. I was in the back yard and apparently I had my hand down my pants because my mother said, “Don’t touch yourself there, Jesus is watching!” Sage advice, no? A couple of years ago my friend and fellow psychotherapist Ralph got very interested in men’s sexual health. He wanted us to do a workshop on the topic. Ralph is a former Mennonite minister so I said we could do a short workshop entitled, “Don’t touch yourself there, Jesus is watching.” Later he sent me a photo from Farmington, NM of a big porn warehouse and a billboard across the street with a picture of Jesus and the warning, “Jesus is watching.” I didn’t know my mother had ever been to Farmington.

I used to lie in my grandmother’s lap in church staring up and the glass skylight of Jesus carrying a lamb. She would tickle me to keep me quiet and I thought this must me what heaven is like. Those moments are stuck in my memory and the peace I felt is still salient in my mind. Even after all these years and the rejection of fundamentalist Christianity if not Christianity in general, I love to sing along with the old gospel songs while speeding down the highway. Somehow it still touches me at a deep level.

They tore that church down to make a freeway and moved it some distance away. Eventually we moved so my parents started going to a Methodist church, primarily for the choir, I believe. That ended my experience with the EUB church and ironically, they merged with the Methodists at some later date.

Although my mother remained religious all her life, I think my dad had lost his religious beliefs after fighting in Germany and Korea. The battle of the bulge and the liberation of Dachau caused him to seriously doubt the existence of a beneficent and loving God.

One experience that I remember clearly is an interchange between my father and my grandfather after my dad returned from fighting in the Korean War. He was quite bitter about being called back to war after serving in Europe and I think what he saw in both conflicts led him to question all the beliefs that had been instilled in him as a child. We were sitting in my grandparents’ den and granddad asked my dad, “Art, when you were in the foxholes and the Koreans were shooting at you did you pray to God?” My dad answered, “Mr. Mooney, I figured any God that would send me to the hell I experienced in Europe and then send me to Korea to experience it all over again at the ripe old age of 35 wasn’t worth praying to.” All I remember after that was a deadly silence that settled over the room.

As they grew older, my grandparents could not travel to the new church so they started going to a store front mission EUB church nearer their house in Glendale. As a young teenager I loved going to that church. It was fire and brimstone and stand on the third verse. Every week the minister would ask for people to come forward and testify. I remember one ancient old man who stood up on his canes and said, “I used to be a Lutheran but now I am a Christian!”

I started having my doubts in college and attending UC Berkeley in the early 60s put an end to any religious aspirations I might have had. Also, the rigorous scientific training I received while completing my degree in physics caused me to doubt anything one could not see or validate scientifically.

As I said earlier, between my third and fourth year I worked on the Apollo program for NASA at Aerojet General. There was another intern from Cal Tech and we were talking about religion and discussing the fact that in those days they made you fill out a form designating a religious preference when you registered for classes. He was from Idaho and lived in a town with a lot of Mormons. He stated that Mormon girls would go to great lengths to convince you to convert to Mormonism. I doubt this was true but when asked for a religious preference he answered jokingly, “Mormons.” But the joke was on him. For four years he was bombarded by letters, calls and visits from Mormon missionaries trying to convince him to rejoin the flock.

My wife and I married in 1964 in a high episcopal church that her mother attended. Before the wedding with had to meet with the priest and he asked us, “What do you think makes a good marriage?”

Being fresh out of Berkeley and full of myself I answered, “Intellectual compatibility.”

He frowned and said, “I was thinking more of the love of Christ.”

“Oh yeah, that too.” I said.

During the rehearsal, we were told we could not have the wedding march because it was from A Midsummer Night’s dream and celebrated the marriage of Titania to an ass.

Susan said, “If the shoe fits….”

Also, two of my best friends, Iranian Jewish brothers, wanted to throw rice and the priest said no because it was a Pagan ritual. Really? Sometimes religion just seems so silly.

When I was working at Camosun College in Victoria, B.C., the departmental secretary was a born again Christian. I made the mistake of sharing my childhood history with her and she assumed we were cut from the same cloth. One day I could not get the duplicating machine to work and I asked her for help. She came over and laid her hands on the machine, closed her eyes and intoned, “Lord Jesus, help Larry to do his work and repair this machine.”

Somewhat stunned, I pushed the start button and, you guessed it, it worked. She winked at me and said, “You and I know the power of prayer, don’t we?”

My last experience with Jesus came in 1986 when my wife asked me if I remembered the last time we had spent more than a weekend alone without our kids. “Well,” she said, “it was in 1967, before our oldest was born.”

“Ok,” I said, knowing something was coming.

“We are going to take a two week trip to Santa Fe, New Mexico.” Our oldest was to stay at home and the younger was to go to a basketball camp.

“Why Santa Fe?” I asked.

“I don’t know, we just are.”

When we were first married I used to scoff at these decisions based on her intuitions but over the years I have learned that she is almost always right about what we need to do. She has said on the ship of life she is the rudder and I am the motor although I sometimes feel like the bilge pump. So we flew to Albuquerque and landed at night. The next morning I got up and looked out on the west mesa and thought, “My God, this is where I belong.”

As we drove north toward Santa Fe the feeling got stronger. The next day we were downtown when my back started to hurt. I had injured my back seriously playing Rugby in College and every so often it would flare up and I would be incapacitated. As the pain intensified I told my wife, “I am going back to the motel to lie down. Call me when you want to come back.”

On the way to the car I passed the Cathedral of St. Francis. I don’t know what came over me but I said to myself, “You are 43 and you have never sat in a Catholic church.”

Growing up in the Evangelical United Brethren church we were taught that these were havens of evil and not places to enter so deciding to challenge this absurdity, I went in and sat in a pew. As I sat there I was overwhelmed by the beauty of the saints, the architecture and the knowledge that this lineage had been around for almost 2000 years. I sat there and soaked it up for about 30 minutes and when I stood up the pain was gone. And I never even saw the Devil – disappointing.

The next day we went to the Sanctuario in Chimayo and the same thing happened. Afterword we went to a small shop where my wife bought me a small milagro shaped in the form of a human back. I have never had a serious problem with my back since that trip.

We had been trying to buy the house we were renting for years but the landlady kept changing her mind and we had given up. My wife suggested we also buy a house milagro to help us find another house to buy.

When we returned to Canada I immediately went to the local bank and was getting cash out of the machine when I heard a familiar voice call my name. It was the landlady. Nervously I touched the house milagro in my pocket.

“Larry, I want to sell you the house.”

I said, “I don’t think I have enough money for a decent down payment.”

“I don’t care,” she said.

So we bought it.

At that point we decided, “Someday we are going to move to Santa Fe. We are both going to be in private practice in a little adobe office with a portal out front.”

We started going to Seattle for Jungian training and analysis in the early 90s. At some point we decided we wanted to live there and my wife moved to Seattle in 1995. I spent 3 more years at the College where I was teaching until I was ready for early retirement. We tried to get things moving in Seattle but it never really came together. So we said, “Let’s just go to Santa Fe. That is where we belong.”

It was very interesting to watch the responses of our friends and colleagues. Most could not understand why I would leave a secure teaching position with a good salary and great benefits as well as a nice little private practice for a place with no prospects in sight. I would reply, “I don’t know. I just have to.”

I added one caveat. “We have to begin in Albuquerque because that is where the jobs are.” She agreed, sort of. She went down and found us a great place up in the hills outside of Albuquerque. Then, because fate likes to play tricks, I got a job in Santa Fe and had to commute every day. A little over a year later we moved to Santa Fe.

I eventually quit that job and we are both in private practice in a little adobe with a portal out front. I guess Jesus was watching on that first trip.

The last remnant of my Christian heritage sits in my garage covered by a blue tarp. On one of my aunt’s trips to visit relatives in Michigan, a cousin took her to a vacated church where her father had preached. As she looked around, her cousin said, “That is the pulpit from which your father preached his first sermon.” Overcome with emotion she asked if he would ship it to her. When she moved from her home she gave it to me. My wife does not want it inside the house but I told her we’d better not get rid of it because, you guessed it, Jesus is watching.

As I left Christianity behind I longed for some philosophy that would fill the need I had for something bigger than myself. The first was Yoga.

A Hopeless Case

In the early 70’s I was working as the treatment director of a small residential center for preadolescent children on Vancouver Island. I had recently graduated with a Ph.D. in Child Psychology and was a firm believer in the behaviorist school of psychology. As you may know, behaviorism holds that we are shaped by our environment and anything invisible to the human eye is not worth talking about. My wife, Susan Riley, who had a great respect for the mysteries of life, would sometimes recount tales of extraordinary events to me and my favorite response was, “That’s not physically possible.”

In addition to working at the center, I was teaching at the University of Victoria and running around North America giving talks and doing my best to become well known in the behaviorist community. Fueled by copious amounts of caffeine and putting work before my family, my health and the activities that brought me joy, I seemed to be achieving my goal. I felt quite full of myself.

The first warning I received regarding the folly of this adventure came from the nurse at the center who said to me, “If you don’t slow down, you will be dead by the time you are forty.” I was thirty at the time. I remember one of the teachers at the center giving her class the assignment of writing a short book in the form of “Dick and Jane.” One of the kids entitled his, “See Larry Run.” In the book were several pages of stick figures. One was pictured with a coffee cup in his hand and the words at the bottom of the page said, “See Larry Drink Coffee. See Larry Run. Run Larry, Run.”

One morning while I was sitting at home grading papers, drinking coffee and preparing to dash off to work, I was instantly incapacitated by a blinding pain in my chest. I crawled to the phone, contacted my doctor’s office and was told to immediately drive to the hospital which was about a half-mile away. When I got there I was put in a bed and connected to a heart monitor. I, as well as everyone else, thought I was having a heart attack. As I lay there suffering from excruciating pain, I had a thought that I previously would not have believed I was capable of considering. I thought, “If I am going to be in this kind of pain for very long, I want to die.” At the moment I finished this thought, a voice inside my head said, “Stop drinking coffee, spend more time with your family and study Jung, Yoga and mysticism.”

“Of course,” I answered.

After numerous tests, it was discovered that I did not have a heart condition but that I was suffering from gallstones and a jaundiced gall bladder. Rather than a traditionally masculine condition caused by overwork, dedication to achievement and general disregard for my own body in service of some greater calling, I was suffering from a condition, according to my nurse, that usually was associated with the words fat, forty, fertile and female.

Being the rational, masculine achiever that I was, I soon dismissed the voice inside my head as part of a delusional thought process caused by the pain. The next evening I was again visited by the excruciating pain associated with a stone passing through the bile duct. Uncharacteristically, and with great prodding from Susan, I decided this was a sign and that I needed to pay attention. In this experience, as in many other significant changes in my life, she has had the wisdom to know what was best for me when I did not.

So I gave up coffee, stopped traveling and began to study Jung and Yoga. After surgery to remove the gall bladder I also began to experience extraordinary events. I began to practice astral traveling, experienced precognitive dreaming and generally saw myself as a rather extraordinary fellow.

One my favorite things to do was to attend yoga workshops on Saltspring Island led by John Robbins. John was a great hatha yoga teacher and had spent some time at Yashodhara Ashram studying with Swami Radha. I always left these workshops feeling very healthy, happy and centered. This feeling would usually last until I had to face the realities of marriage, children, work or a ride back to Victoria on the B.C. Ferries.

It was at one of these weekends that I had an experience that would change my life. John asked us to sit in a meditative pose and then played a record of a woman chanting. I later learned the woman was Swami Radha. As she chanted, I began to see myself sitting on a large round circle on top of a hill overlooking a lake. Across the lake was a snow covered mountain. Later, I was transported to the other side of the lake and looking back, saw a beach with an A frame and other smaller buildings. When I recounted this vision to Susan she gasped and said, “I had a dream about that same place!”

Wanting to make sense of this, we discussed our respective experiences with Elaine Griff, our hatha yoga teacher in Victoria. We drew a picture for her and as she examined it she began to smile and said, “That’s Yasodhara Ashram. The circle is the foundation for the temple.” Knowing that this was an important sign in our lives we decided to attend an upcoming workshop with Swami Radha, Life Seals. Little did I know what was in store for me.

We arrived at the workshop and at some level I knew that something big was going to happen for me. In a nutshell, Swami Radha cut right to the quick. What was exposed would be called, in psychoanalytic terms, a raging phallic narcissist. I won’t go into the details, but the key words here would be, “It’s all about me.” At the end of the workshop, I approached Swami Radha and asked her, “Would you work with me?” Her response was one of the most painful but truthful pieces of information I have ever received.

In her lovely German accent she said to me, “I think you have been lying for so long, you no longer know the truth. I think perhaps you are a hopeless case.” These words were not music to a narcissistic ear. I was shattered. I lost about ten pounds over the next two weeks and began the process of manufacturing all the rationale necessary to convince myself, and anyone else who would listen, that she was a charlatan. In retrospect, everything I have accomplished in my life since then probably began at that moment. Most importantly, I believe my 60 year relationship with Susan would have never survived me had Swami Radha not uttered those words.

One of my favorite concepts from Jungian psychology is the “wisdom of the psyche.” Over the next year my psyche worked overtime and forced me to see more and more how correct her assessment of me had been. At the end of that year Susan and I went to the ashram for a visit and all I could say to Swami Radha when I met her was, “We’re doing really well.” It was as though I had to make a report to my probation officer before I could even say hello or offer up the customary box of Black Magic Chocolates.

In the following years I had many experiences with Swami Radha but I feel it is only now as I am in my eighth decade on the planet that I grasp their significance. Looking back, I think I wasn’t ready for her teachings the way Susan was. I believe that following a spiritual path requires complete surrender. I was not ready to surrender. I still needed to hold onto the illusion that I was in charge of my life. Even though my experiences with her were limited, I would like to share some of them with you. They were profound for me, have influenced me greatly and, I hope, exemplify her ability to be amazingly insightful, brutally honest, incredibly caring and delightfully funny, sometimes all in the same moment.

I remember being at a Straight Walk workshop listening to Swami Radha when she looked into my eyes. At that moment I felt an incredible stirring in my heart and a wonderful feeling of well-being. I asked her if she had done that to me. She replied, “Ja, I give you a little light. Most times people don’t notice it. You know, the only things that are really important here are the light and the mantra.”

Stunned, I asked, “But what about all the stǖrm und drang, the tears, the confessions and so on?”

“Oh Ja,” she said. “That is the entertainment. If I don’t do that, you don’t come and pay the money for the workshop.”

I never really knew if she meant it or was just having some fun with us.

On another occasion I decided to ask her about the experiences I was having. As I told her about astral traveling, visiting other people’s dreams, precognitions and other paranormal events, she listened attentively and then asked, “Do you ever forget to take out the garbage?”

Taken aback, I responded, “Uh….yes.”

“Are you ever unpleasant with your children?”

“Yes,” I replied sheepishly.

“Do you ever fight with your wife?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Well,” she said, “Why don’t you work on those things and let these other things go? Anyone can do those things you talk about but very few can be really good husbands and fathers.”

So I did. I have never missed a garbage day since. As for my relationships with my wife and children, it has taken a lot longer to reach the point where I believe I have successfully integrated Swami Radha’s advice.

From the beginning, I noticed that she treated people differently. In workshops I sometimes felt like she had it in for me. Other people who would whine, complain and generally demonstrate what I, in my wisdom, considered a low level of consciousness were not confronted at all. After one particularly painful encounter I was feeling aggrieved so I decided to ask her about this. “Swami Radha,” I asked, “why are you so tough on me while at the same time you let some people in the group off easy?”

“Ja, I only give you what you can take.”

The incredible gift behind this statement only became clear to me later in my studies of Aikido. My instructor, after being asked why he never praised us but only approached us to correct, replied that in the East, to be corrected by one’s teacher is a great honor. If the teacher does not think you are worthy, you will be ignored. When Swami Radha said she gave me only what I could take, she was paying me a great compliment, offering me a great gift and, I hope, was telling me that I was not such a hopeless case after all.

After fifty years of working in the helping profession, the value of this gift has become clear. As a helper, I must have a high standard of self-awareness or else I will project my own unconscious complexes and insecurities onto those who I am supposed to be helping. I must be willing to take all that is given me by my teachers. In essence, those of us who consider ourselves “helpers” must first clear our own psyches before meddling in the psyches of others. Leo Buscaglia captured this concept perfectly in one of his videos by quoting a Zen monk who said to him, “Don’t walk through my mind with your dirty feet.” Those of us who want to help others walk through this world with joy and purpose must first cleanse our own feet.

Swami Radha loved to point out the symbolic meaning of one’s actions and appearance. Once, when giving a talk with David Bohm at the Victoria YMCA, she was talking about the ways in which we communicate who we are without even knowing. She was talking about clothes and asked, “What is the symbolic meaning, for example, of someone whose clothes are all brown?” Pondering this, I casually looked down and saw brown shoes, brown socks, brown pants, brown belt and a brown shirt. I don’t know if she meant this for me but it certainly had an effect and perhaps explains my annual purchase of at least one Tommy Bahama Hawaiian shirt.

On another occasion Susan and I were sitting in the ashram dining room eating with her and a friend of ours. At the end of the meal, our friend casually cupped his hand and collected the crumbs on the table in front of him and brushed them onto the floor.

“Look!” she exclaimed. “Look how you have just created work for someone else with your thoughtlessness.” She never pulled punches if she thought you could take it.

I think it was very hard for her to carry all the projections and expectations that were laid upon her by all of us. She once told me this was the hardest part of her work and actually revealed that she wasn’t sure how long she could continue to do her work since it took such a toll on her. I remember one particularly frustrating moment at a workshop when she sighed and said, “When are you boys going to stop projecting your mother complexes all over me?”

I think this burden weighed heavily upon her and at one point she told Susan, who was planning to go to graduate school in order to become a counselor, “Do you really want to spend your life sitting in a room with someone who is projecting all over you?”

Fortunately, Susan’s answer was yes and she has had a very successful career and has many grateful clients to show for it. This question reveals the difficulty Swami Radha experienced while helping us travel further down the road of awareness and enlightenment.

On another occasion she talked about the ridiculous expectations of many of her followers and students. It was particularly curious to her that many could not reconcile the fact that an enlightened being could have a jones for Black Magic chocolates. It also baffled her that people in workshops would be upset by the fact that this guru would have to take breaks in order to attend to bodily functions. Apparently she should have been above such mundane needs. Fortunately for us, she never stopped her work and, I believe, is working still, even after her passing.

I can give one example of this. Over the 80s and 90s our contact with the Ashram diminished but our appreciation for Swami Radha and the Ashram did not. After Swami Radha passed and in the year of the Ashram’s 40th Anniversary, we returned. I decided to do a weekend program at the Ashram which I translated as “What am I going to do with the rest of my life.” At the time I was working at a job I did not particularly like and wanted a change but was unclear what that change should be.

Although we were in a location where cell phones should not have worked, on the day before I was to begin the workshop I received a hostile, angry message from one of the administrators at my work. So I began my workshop at this peaceful, loving Ashram with hatred and anger in my heart.

We began on Friday night and I hardly slept. In the morning I went to the temple and sat in seiza as we began to chant. About ten minutes into the chanting, with my thoughts churning about the phone call, I started to heat up. Soon I was sweating profusely and feeling light headed. At some point I lost consciousness and my head fell to floor. I awoke suddenly to Swami Radha’s voice saying loudly, “You can’t evolve spiritually and change your life while you are angry at the same time!” Stunned, I moved to a chair and recovered my senses and began chanting again.

When the chanting was finished I approached the leader and recounted my experiences. He advised me to do the workshop but let the focus be finding the meaning of that experience. So I did and the workshop changed from “What am I going to do” to “Who am I going to be” for the rest of my life. Many changes came about as a result of that workshop and, once again, they began on the foundation of the Temple.

When the temple that Swami Radha worked so hard to build burned to the ground a few years ago, I was struck with horror but also realized that nothing is permanent and the experiences I had involving the temple are still with me. All of us who have been blessed by Swami Radha and the Ashram now have to help in our own way to rebuild the temple. Swami Radha always trusted the divine to provide for her in times of need and it never failed her. I trust that the same will be true for the temple rebuild and for all of us who have been touched by her.

Swami Radha is gone now and I regret that I was not more mature when I knew her. I am sorry that in many ways I was a little boy and not the man I am today. Looking back, I believe she was the most enlightened person I have ever met and she may have saved my life both figuratively and actually. In the years I knew her, I heard many of her students referring to her respectfully and endearingly as Mataji. I never used this term because I never really felt I deserved to use it. I had never really surrendered to her.

I don’t know what happens after death. Are we are reborn? Do we move to another plane? Does Saint Peter meet us at the Pearly Gates? All I know is that I want to meet her again. I will be ready this time. Thank you Mataji.

During the time we were involved with Swami Radha, we were so enthralled by the practice of Yoga we began to train as yoga instructors at the local YMCA. I felt somewhat out of place in this endeavor as I was the only man in the training program and I am very inflexible (in so many ways). On one occasion we were doing a posture and the instructor said, “Where do you feel the effect of this posture?” No one answered and she said, “In your ovaries.” I said, “I don’t feel a thing.” She said, “I have a special asana for you. It is called the Steer.” If you know how a bull becomes a steer, you know the meaning of this communication. No more funny comments from me.

But I persevered and one day I was approached by the program director. She said that there was a class, Yoga for Teenage Girls that needed an instructor. Apparently several teachers had tried to lead this class but had become so frustrated by the girls they had left in tears. The director said she had heard I was a child psychologist and would really appreciate it if I would try to teach it. So I did.

The course was taught in the small chapel and the first day I walked in I was greeted by six very attractive young women who probably saw me as their next victim. As I began teaching the class they would talk to each other and generally act out. After the second class I was so frustrated I sat down and said, “I am volunteering to teach this class. I am not getting paid. Do you want to do Yoga or not?”

In Aikido we talk about and practice getting into harmony with your attacker. I had not experienced Aikido yet but I decided to follow this path with the girls. They said they wanted to do Yoga so I told them to bring their favorite music the next week and we would do Yoga to the music. So the next week we did Yoga to heavy metal, Jesus music and crappy pop. They loved it. They started to warm up to me and fortunately whenever I started to feel sexually attracted to one of them I could look up to the picture on the wall and be reminded that Jesus was watching, even in the Yoga class.

Eventually we started having a little discussion group at the end of the class and they would share hopes and fears and problems they were having. All in all it was a wonderful experience and for years after, some of the girls would come to my office at the College just to talk.

Japanese Culture and Aikido

At some point I realized that Yoga was not the path for me. I was drawn to Japanese culture and began to investigate Zen. My first encounter with Japanese culture came when I was 11 years old and I started working for my father. My father was a wholesale florist whose business was located in the middle of two square blocks known as the L.A. Flower market. As I said earlier, on Monday, Wednesday and Friday he would get up at about 2 in the morning, eat breakfast and go to work. On Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday he would not get up until 5. I would go with him and work at the shop doing menial tasks on Saturdays. Later, during holidays and summer vacation I would work full time at the shop. The main thoroughfare was Wall St so I can say I grew up working on Wall St.!

There were many other wholesale florists on the street as well as two large open markets where wholesalers and growers would bring their flowers to sell to retailers and route runners who would call on retailers who did not come in to the markets. About half of the wholesalers and a lot of growers were Japanese Americans. My dad was very highly respected by them. During the war, when the Japanese were moved off the coast into internment camps, his company took over the running of the Japanese American flower market. Many Japanese Americans were robbed of their businesses and possessions during the war by unscrupulous individuals and companies but when the Japanese Americans returned, my father’s company returned all property and material to them.

After the war there were two Markets, one almost completely peopled by Japanese Americans and one almost completely peopled by European Americans. When they amalgamated, the Japanese would only accept one person as the director, my father. So I had a lot of contact with people of Japanese ancestry and came to love the culture and the food. However, when I went away to University, I lost touch with that culture.

In the early 70s while still involved in Yoga, I realized that I really wanted to learn a martial art. I had been a pretty wimpy kid and relied mostly on my wits to avoid fights with other kids. I also made sure that every year I had a really big, tough kid as a friend. Heaven help the kid that picked on me. So I figured it was time to get a handle on male violence and to be able to fight my own battles. At one point in this search I had a dream that seemed really strange to me. I was in a basement fighting the guys who had picked on me in high school. For some reason I was wearing a black skirt, which seemed very strange.

I visited many martial arts schools and dojos but it seemed to me there was a lot of ego involved and that a lot of the people teaching were pretty nasty guys obsessed with competition and bravado. In 1975 I attended the Transpersonal Psychology conference in Asilomar and saw that there was a morning workshop in Aikido, a martial art I had never heard of. The instructor was Bob Frager, a psychologist and head of the Institute for Transpersonal Psychology. I later learned he had studied Aikido in Japan with the founder himself. He has written humorously and informatively about this experience. And, he was wearing a black skirt.

After two mornings of practice, I was hooked. I returned to Victoria and at my first day back at the University of Victoria, I opened the campus newspaper and was surprised to see an article about a young man from Hawaii who was going to begin teaching Aikido on the following Monday. This could be seen as an occurrence of what Carl Jung refers to as “Synchronicity,” two or more seemingly unrelated events that occur simultaneously and are perceived by the observer as carrying a message that would only have meaning in the psyche of that person.

I began studying with Gary Mols Sensei and he did a great job of teaching us physical Aikido as well as presenting Aikido philosophy in an understandable and useful manner. I had been practicing Aikido for about a year when Gary Sensei announced that we were going to Vancouver to participate in a demonstration that the new Japanese sensei there was giving. We arrived at the gym and all went into the change room together. After changing into our dogis we proceeded upstairs and the demonstration began. We all demonstrated but Kawahara sensei’s demonstration was the most amazing and terrifying. I had never seen such power and precision. After the demonstration we went back to the change room, changed into our street clothes and were preparing to leave for lunch together. As Kawahara sensei was getting dressed I noticed he was looking around and saying something in Japanese to one of his students. I realized that he was looking for his socks and I looked down to my feet I realized I had put on his black socks and not my own. Terrified, I left the gym and even after many years together as student and teacher, never told him about this.

Kawahara sensei made many visits to Victoria and I consider him one of my best teachers ever. I wanted so much to learn from him that I even studied Japanese so I would better understand him. On one occasion, he, my friend Gary Anderson and I sat in the wheelhouse of Gary’s fishing boat drinking scotch and carrying on a conversation about life itself. At one point I asked, “Sensei, you drink, you smoke and you like to consort with women. Is this good for you?”

He replied, “Not good for body, but good for spirit!” Gary and I both erupted in raucous laughter.

After our first summer camp with Kawahara sensei he gave a little speech. As we were sitting in seiza completely exhausted but filled with the joy seven days of intense practice had brought us, Kawahara sensei began to speak in Japanese. Ishiyama Sensei translated.

“You Canadians are the worst Aikido students I’ve ever seen in the world. I thought Americans were bad but you are worse.” Imagine the shock we all felt as we were being ruthlessly criticized after a long week of intense practice. What we didn’t realize was that this is a traditional Asian practice used when training students. It keeps one from becoming inflated and in fact is a compliment. If he did not have hope for us as students he would not criticize us. So every year after practice Kawahara sensei would rip us up one side and down the other and we got used to it. In fact, we sort of looked forward to it. So imagine our surprise when after four or five years we sat down at the end of the practice and waited for Kawahara sensei to tell us how terrible we were. On this occasion all he said was, “Your Aikido is getting better.” It was like the heavens had opened up and God himself had blessed our Aikido.

Aikido has given me many gifts. One of these is body awareness. One form is awareness of my own body and a sense of where it is in space and perhaps more importantly, where it is in relation to others and the effect my presence has on others. The lack of this ability in others is painfully obvious every time I am negotiating the aisles at Whole Foods. Another important lesson is that my Ki, or life energy, must flow out ahead of me, even if I am moving backwards. This is true in both a physical and psychological sense.

The most dangerous person in an Aikido dojo is a beginner. There are two reasons this is true. First, a beginner is often so determined to do a technique correctly and with force that they may ignore the limitations of a partner who will be injured if a technique is applied too forcefully or rapidly. One of the major lessons in Aikido is to be aware of partner’s ability. Secondly, beginners are so focused on technique that they lose awareness of their own body and bang into others and also sometimes throw partner into other practitioners. According to Ishiyama sensei, this is not a problem in Japan. Even beginners have the well-being of those around them in mind when practicing. Growing up in close proximity to others and in a culture that stresses awareness of how one’s behavior affects others leads to a sensitivity many of us here in North America lack.

Ishiyama sensei, a practitioner and teacher of Morita therapy, says this also has its disadvantages. While we are focused on self-development and individuation but often fall short in our assessment of our effect on others, according to him, the Japanese are likely to avoid individual achievement and individuation in favor of conformity and group identification. In his mind, the middle path involves development of self and a development of our recognition of our effect on others. This is very similar to the basic tenets of Naikan, a school of Japanese psychology.

One of the most difficult aspects of aging is the limitations that my body is experiencing. I gave up physical Aikido several years ago when my arthritic joints just refused to cooperate. I notice that I sometimes lose balance or bump into doors, something I never would have done in the past. I hope I am still doing mental and spiritual Aikido in spite of my body limitations. What good is a martial practice if it does not transfer to daily life? Really, how many times in a day is someone with a wooden sword going to attack me? And yet I can be sure that every day will bring interpersonal and psychological challenges.

When I was first studying Aikido, I began to look into the martial philosophy of Budo. I realized that for the Samurai, an honorable life meant serving one’s lord faithfully and without question. Dying in the service of the lord in battle was the most honorable act one could perform. As a young professional with a wife and two children in modern Canadian culture, this didn’t seem very practical so I set about trying to translate this philosophy of ancient Japan into a way of life that was applicable to me, now. I realized that if I considered integrity and truth as my “lord” then my ego, not me, would have serve those concepts and, in fact, may have to die in their service. This approach to life turned out to be a lot harder than I imagined but I hope it still guides my behavior today.

One of the greatest gifts I was given in Aikido was the opportunity to confront my own fear and to finish something to which I had committed myself regardless of my fear. On one occasion a Japanese Zen monk stopped by our dojo in Victoria and gave a talk after practice. He asked the question, “What are the three things you must do to become proficient in Aikido?” Some of us answered, “Practice.” He said, “Yes, that is one.” Students then offered numerous other suggestions to which he answered “No” repeatedly. When no more answers were forthcoming he said, “The answers are practice, practice, practice.”

I did not always want to go to practice and sometimes I would have to drag myself to the dojo. Sometimes fear and anxiety would stalk me as I stepped onto the mats and I would want to make an excuse and leave. But I almost always went and I always stayed. Five minutes into practice my spirit would be soaring and often at the end of class, soaking wet with sweat and joints aching I would think, “My God, it is good to be alive!”

I used to be a very anxious person. I think I come by it naturally since my mother, Virginia, was extremely anxious. I think her philosophy was that if you worry about it enough it won’t happen or if does you will be ready. Since most of what she worried about didn’t happen she was reinforced for her worry. See, it works. I worry and it doesn’t happen.

I once asked my supervisor why I was seeing so many clients with anxiety. He answered, "The world is a scary place.” I said, “For this I am paying $170.00/hr?” I remember hearing Chuck Yeager being interviewed about a scene in the movie “The Right Stuff.” He was asked if he was afraid when the plane he was testing went into a death spiral. He answered, “No, fear just gets in the way of the job to be done.”

Once, when I was feeling anxious about a high-school math test I asked my dad the same question about the battles he fought in Germany and Korea. He had a similar response. He said that no anxiety means you are not paying attention, too much anxiety is crippling but some anxiety is good because it forces you to focus on the job to be done. Although, he did say that the one thing that really scared him was seeing the Germans advancing across snow covered fields in their white camouflage outfits. He said on one occasion he thought he was watching ghosts advance against his position.

I knew I finally had a pretty good handle on anxiety and fear after an experience I had a few years ago at the local hospital. I started feeling a pain in my chest one evening and after it became quite intense I drove to the hospital and was admitted to the ER immediately. I was given an EKG, administered nitroglycerine and put through the tests given to heart attack victims. I was informed I had suffered a heart attack and my life was going to change.

Everyone left the room eventually except one male nurse. We began to talk and he said he and his wife, also a nurse, wanted to move to Vancouver, Canada. I proceeded to tell him the best way to do that and we had a long discussion about the Canadian medical system. At some point he asked, “Do you have a spiritual practice?” Surprised, I said, “Sort of. I have studied Aikido for many years and it is the basis of how I live my life. Why do you ask?”

He replied, “this is not how people who have suffered a heart attack usually behave. You are not depressed, not upset, not angry and you don’t even seem worried.” I answered, “What good would that do?”

Eventually, after three days of tests it was discovered that my heart was perfectly healthy but had somewhat of an unusual but not dangerous rhythm. My favorite experience was the treadmill. As we reached the final stages and I was gasping for breath wondering if I would be able to finish it, the tech said, “Keep going Larry. Keep going.” The she exclaimed, “Don’t follow the light, don’t follow the light Larry.” After, she said, “You have the most boring normal heart I have ever seen.”

Pondering what the nurse had said, I tried to understand why anxiety no longer seemed to be a real issue for me. I decided it was Aikido that had helped me lose that burden. A side effect of this experience was that it brought my mortality to the forefront and I had to decide what I needed to complete before I leave the planet. This book is one of those things.

I believe the discipline required for conscientious practice taught me to face my fears, overcome my own laziness and anxiety and complete tasks because I had committed to completing them. Striving to live with integrity was the greatest gift Aikido gave to me. It has become the foundation of how I try to respond to every challenge I face in life. I do not always succeed and fear, laziness and negativity are always lurking.

A funny example of the difficulty of translating ideas across cultures was told to my wife by Dr. Hugh Keenleyside who was a member of the Canadian delegation to Japan before WW2 began. Apparently the Japanese had just begun to celebrate Christmas and as Dr. K. entered a Japanese department store he beheld a large, beautifully decorated Christmas tree. At the top was a large replica of Santa - nailed to a cross.

I studied Japanese for two years at the University of Victoria. The two people I practiced with most often were my sensei and friend, Ishu Ishiyama and my colleague, Michiko. Japanese is very different from English and I remember some humorous experiences.

Michiko told me she was once discussing American politics with a class when she first began teaching in Canada. At some point the class broke into raucous laughter and she asked them why. They told her she had just said she wanted to discuss the difference between Canadian parliamentary elections and the American plesidential erection. I will forever be grateful to her for teaching me a response to, “O genki deska?” a greeting roughly translated as, “How are you?” She told me a good response would be, “O kage sama de.” “Fine, because of you.” How much richer than, “OK”.

On another occasion I climbed the stairs to Ishu’s house and asked politely, “May I come up into your house?” He laughed and said, “You just asked if you could throw up in my house.” He once told me that I could study for years and I would never completely understand Japanese. One reason is that they leave a lot out that you have to fill in with cultural content, much of which is unknown to westerners. Sometimes the subject or object is left out of a sentence. Verbs are sometimes omitted and can be negated at the end of a sentence if the speaker senses discomfort in the listener regarding the content of the sentence. So a sentence might be, “As for Johnny, a good boy he is….not.” The other reason Ishu said it would be difficult to ever understand Japanese completely is that the language, by its very structure, serves the purpose of hiding meaning from foreigners. There is also the problem that there are really two Japanese languages, one for men and one for women.

The importance of syllabic stress and context in the language was demonstrated by one of my teachers who gave this example. Mr. Yamada visits Mr. Tanaka. Ms. Tanaka answers the door and says, “Mr. Tanaka is not home. Would you like to come in and wait for him?” He said this in three ways, all of which sounded exactly the same to me. Apparently the first phrasing meant indeed he would be home soon. The second meant he was away and you shouldn’t really come in but politeness requires me to ask you to come in. The third meant either he was dead or was never coming back. Japanese people interpret these differences with ease. We, of the literal English language, do not.

This teacher also told a story about arriving in San Diego from Japan. He said that in Japan when you are first asked if you want something to eat or drink you refuse it and say something to the effect of, “No I couldn’t possibly eat a bite.” You refuse a second time then grudgingly accept and eat every morsel or you insult your host. So, arriving at his host residence looking haggard and thirsty in the California heat, he was asked, “Would you like a drink?” “No thank you,” he said. His host said “Ok” and began to orient him to his new home. He thought, “What is wrong with this person? Why does he not ask me again? Who are these impolite barbarians?”

This penchant for politeness and indirectness often confuses us westerners and our missing the hidden meaning in the communication makes us seem stupid or rude. Soon after Ishiyama Sensei began teaching Aikido he realized we did not have the same standard of cleanliness that he did. One night after class he asked us, “Would you like to wash the mats now?” We had already opened the fridge in the dojo and started to drink beer so we decided we wanted to do it at another time. He later told me he was astounded at this response as it was not a request but a command. A Japanese person would know that. We did not. When I arrived for the next practice, the fridge was gone and buckets and rags were set out so we could clean the mats before practice. He never had to ask again.

All in all, the influence of Aikido, Japanese culture and Japanese people in my life cannot be overestimated and I will be forever grateful for the opportunity to experience the insights and kindness those experiences afforded me. Domo Arigato.

Ishiyama Sensei, Kawawara Sensei and Me

Buddhism

Our annual Aikido summer camp would start on Saturday and by Wednesday we were so exhausted we would only practice for half a day. Full-time practice would resume on Thursday. One year we were told that a Zen monk from Japan was present in the camp and would lead a meditation at noon on Wednesday. Those of us who were interested arrived and lined up in two rows kneeling in seiza while Kongo Sensei began the meditation with a loud cry of “Mokso!” which can be roughly translated as “clear your mind.” He would then walk up and down the lines carrying a large stick (Jo) and if you felt you needed to focus your attention you could bend forward crossing your arms and he would give you a good whack on the shoulders. Kongo sensei, his head shaved and dressed in the flowing robes of the Zen priest was most impressive.

After the meditation we all made our traditional journey to the local pub for lunch, beer and perhaps some pool. When I walked in the door Kongo sensei was bent over the pool table, cigarette hanging from his mouth, pool cue in hand, whiskey glass on the edge of the pool table and a tall blonde hanging from his arm. I thought, “Now this is a religion I can get into.”

When we returned to Victoria Kongo sensei moved into the home of the Tibetan Lama who lived two houses away from our house. Unfortunately, the Tibetans ate almost all meat and he was getting sick because he was a strict vegetarian. Seeing this, we gave him a portion of our garden and in that small portion he raised the most amazing vegetables in precise lines and perfect symmetry that made our gardening attempts look haphazard and amateurish. Our neighbors were a bit upset, however, as he liked to fertilize the garden by urinating on it.

Kongo sensei further demolished my preconceived notions about Buddhist priests by showing up one day at our front door in a white leisure suit and a white hat that made him look like the Japanese version of Roddy McDowell’s character in A Clockwork Orange. Susan said, “Kongo sensei, you like Canada don’t you?” He replied, “I like Canadian women. I have date at disco.”

Kongo sensei gave many lectures in Victoria, usually translated by my friend and Aikido teacher Ishu Ishiyama. On one occasion he gave a lecture on the Buddhist approach to anger at the University of Victoria. At the time, my wife and I were separated and I was very angry so I decided to go to the talk to see if the Buddhist approach to anger management could help me. After the two hour talk I was quite sure my anger was under control and I walked peacefully across the campus to my car. On the way home I started thinking about my situation, conveniently overlooking the fact that I was the person most responsible for being in this place, and started to become angry. Eventually, I became furious, drove home in a rage and spent an hour yelling and pounding my boken (wooden sword) into my mattress. It appeared that I hadn’t quite integrated the Buddhist approach to anger management at that time.

My most interesting conversation with Kongo sensei was regarding reincarnation and the effect it had on one’s life. It was a very interesting conversation conducted in his halting English and my halting Japanese. He maintained that believing in reincarnation very much changed how you lived your life. His main point was that if one believes that the results of one’s behavior in this life will be carried forward into the next life, one will be more careful and more considerate of others. Although I’m not convinced reincarnation exists, this still seems like a pretty good way to live.

My wife and I were quite involved in Jungian studies and analysis in Seattle in the 90s. On one occasion we went to a panel discussion by several practitioners who described how they worked from a Jungian perspective. The panel included a minister, a catholic priest, a counselor, a Jungian analyst and a Buddhist teacher who was also a psychotherapist. Each of the panelists spoke for about ten minutes describing their work. The last teacher was the Buddhist and all he said was, “Yes, all of that is true. But in Buddhism we just call it paying attention.” I was smitten and soon began to explore Buddhist philosophy and practices.

I have always been drawn to Zen Buddhism because of its simplicity and its similarity to the philosophy of Aikido. I think I dabble in Buddhism but do not really practice it. By the end of my life I would like to become a more serious student. It just seems to be so practical and clean. My one concern with Buddhism is that I am not sure it deals with what Jung would call the human shadow, our dark side. Jung said, “One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.” Perhaps my thought that this is somewhat contradictory to many of the forms of mindfulness is due to my own lack of understanding but I have had experiences with practitioners of Buddhism who seem to not have a very clear view of their own dark side. However, it is a wonderful philosophy and a very useful tool. I wonder why I still cringe when someone tells me their approach to therapy focuses on mindfulness. I need to look at this.

One of my most entertaining experiences with Buddhists took place many years ago. When my wife finished her MA we decided to celebrate by spending a week at Rio Caliente outside of Guadalajara. It was a great place with pools of varying warmth for soaking. The water sprang from underground and at the source was so hot you could burn yourself seriously if you were to step into it. One day a few of the guys decided to hike through the desert and over a hill to a town known as Tala.

We set off early in the morning following the river until, we were told, would see a path that would lead up into the hills and eventually to Tala. As we trekked on, occasionally we would run into a vaquero on a horse and I, being the only person who spoke Spanish, would ask directions. After about three hours we were hopelessly lost and one of the guys, a serious student of Buddhism and somewhat of a proselytizer asked me, “Do you really speak Spanish?” I said that I did but that I had forgotten so much that I could only speak in the present tense. He said, “In Buddhism we call that enlightenment.” Unfortunately, when we moved to New Mexico I took courses in Spanish and now I can use the past tenses. I guess I am no longer enlightened in English or Spanish.

We finally came upon a huge house in the middle of the desert surrounded by barbed wire and guarded by unsavory looking men with automatic weapons. From a great distance I yelled, “Donde esta Tala?” to one of them. He raised his hand and pointed in the very direction from which we had come. "Aya!“ he yelled (There). So we followed the river until we came to a park and I asked a nice young man in Spanish if he would give us a ride in the back of his pickup to Tala. He said, “Sure man. I am from San Francisco. No need to speak Spanish.”

We ate in Tala and then took a taxi back to Rio Caliente. It was a great day but they never let me forget my inability go get us to Tala. At the restaurant the Buddhist kept trying to find out what was in the food because he was worried that there might be lard or some other meat product. Lard in Mexican food? Are you kidding me? I was embarrassed that this rich guy from New York was grilling the waitress from a poor Mexican village about her food. It seemed to me that true mindfulness and loving kindness would require one to eat the food no matter what was in it. Is it going to kill you to eat some lard and treat the Mexicans with respect rather than grilling them on the purity of their food? It seemed very insulting to me.

The food at the spa was good but all vegetarian and a lot of the people there were pretty sanctimonious about what they ate. About 5 days into our stay the Feral Cats were looking pretty tasty so my wife and I jumped into a taxi and rode to Tlaquepaque, an artists’ center not far from Guadalajara. There we feasted on chicken and beer for lunch and steak and wine for dinner before returning late at night and stumbling to our room. The next morning the breakfast room was surprisingly empty and the soaking pools were unusually vacant. We later found out that something had gone wrong with the food and everybody had food poisoning and all were sick in their cabins with the full range of glorious symptoms associated with this disorder.

When people recovered, they asked how we had managed to avoid the plague. I responded, “When you have reached the level of spiritual enlightenment we have, bacteria have no effect on your body.”

Actually it was a wonderful place and the staff were magnificent. One of the visitors who was an English Prof at UBC said he was going to write a novel, “One Hundred Years of Massage.” I suggested he follow it up with a sequel, “One Hundred Years of Diarrhea.”

A lot of the visitors were Texans and their unabashed extroversion and outspoken manner prompted my wife, a true introvert, to say, “In my next life I am going to be a Texan.”

It is a sad fact that Guadalajara has become a major battleground for drug cartels and I believe the Spa has now closed. I hope the wonderful people who worked there are surviving and that perhaps it will open again. We loved it.

Buddhism still interests me and perhaps I will get off my Butt (or onto it) and find the deeper meaning in this wonderful tradition.

My first great therapy experience

When my wife and I reunited after a 4 month separation in the early eighties I was quite confused. I wanted to see a therapist but being really well known in town I didn’t know who I trusted enough to see. She suggested Alice, a woman she had met in a women’s consciousness raising group. Alice was sort of the Grand Dame of the lesbian community in town and practiced psychotherapy even though she had very little formal education. My wife said she was brilliant and that I would like her for that and her keen sense of irreverence. So I went to see Alice. Here is our first conversation:

A: Hello Larry. I must ask you why you came to see me. I don’t see many men in my practice. Actually, none.

L. Well, I know every therapist in town and quite frankly I think I could bullshit them all. My wife doesn’t think I can bullshit you.

A. Ah. Tell me, what is your worst fear?

L. My worst fear is that I might be ordinary.

A. I have bad news for you.

We worked together and she was wonderful. Even though she became a close friend of my wife, she was always objective and helped me realize many insights. After I stopped seeing her we became friends and colleagues and eventually shared an office. We are still good friends and my wife always stays with her when we are in Victoria. I am so grateful to have had her in my life.

Forever Jung

When I was teaching at Camosun College in Victoria, B.C. I was head of the union negotiating committee for one year. I typed up a proposal for the administration concerning Professional Development. Not being a good speller I ran a spell check on it. However, in the early days of computers, spell check would run from your cursor forward to the end of the document and my cursor was sitting in front of the first word in the paper. When we met, the president said he liked the proposal but that for my professional development I would have to go to spelling class. I had not spell checked the title of the paper and had misspelled “Proffessional.”

But all ended well as I myself was eventually awarded a large PD grant in the early 90s which allowed me to travel to Seattle where I studied Jungian psychology and underwent 5 years of Jungian analysis. It changed my life forever and I will always be grateful for that grant that had resulted from a paper with a misspelled title.

My wife, who is a psychotherapist, has always been interested in the ideas of C.G. Jung. In 1990 when I was looking for a new direction in my life she invited me to accompany her to a program at the University of British Columbia built around a series of 20 half-hour filmed interviews with mythologist Joseph Campbell done by Fraser Boa, a Toronto analyst. Campbell discussed the meaning of the great myths within Jung’s theoretical formulation. I was smitten. At the conclusion of the films I told my wife, “I want to spend the rest of my life doing this work.” I wasn’t sure what I meant by this comment but I felt something powerful was stirring within me.

The introduction and end of each film was accompanied by a Bach Concerto. So I must have heard the beginning of this piece about 40 times. After leaving the auditorium, we got into our car, turned on the classical station and lo and behold, the Bach concerto began. I knew this was a sign that my life was to change forever.

I began a search for mentors which ultimately led me to Seattle where I found a wonderful Jungian analyst, Ladson Hinton. My wife and I joined an association of Jungian oriented therapists and traveled to Seattle for therapy, supervision and study groups. All of my work with clients today has its roots in those years in Seattle.

My therapist and my supervisor in Seattle probably taught me more about doing therapy than any other person, book or course I have ever taken. One of the best sessions I ever had with Ladson (I still talk to him once each month) involved my guilt about not committing myself to my full time job at the college in Victoria. I was heading toward early retirement and I was trying to establish myself as a therapist in Seattle. I was in transition.

I told my therapist I was feeling guilty about not putting in my hours at the college and the following conversation occurred.

LD: I am feeling guilty about not spending the whole week at the college during this attempted transition.

T: Do your students mind?

LD: No, they are fine with it and can get me on the phone or by email.

T: Do your colleagues mind?

LD: No, my department operates on a system of seniority and since I am the most senior member, they will all move up when I leave.

T: What about your dean?

LD: She is completely supportive. She is happy that I am following my true calling.

T: So what you are telling me is that no one really cares about the issue about which you feel guilty.

LD: Yes.

T: That is Completely F***ing Nuts!

LD: I have just finished studying the DSM and I had never seen that diagnosis.

T: Well there is a new version coming out and they have included this diagnosis. There is a page just for you.

When I was trying to formulate my future I kept vacillating between moving into adventure and what I considered to be my true calling on the one hand and security and stability on the other. I had a dream that I was in the Safeway store near our house and the hands on the clock on the wall were spinning madly. We worked on the dream and the next week he brought in a quote from Jung in German. I read it and it translated to, “Whoever takes the safe way is as good as dead.” After that I set about changing the direction of my life. I would not be here doing what I do if it were not for him.

My other mentor in Seattle taught me so many things about therapy it would be hard to put them all down here. The most important was the idea of induction. He said that intuitive, empathic people often experience strong feelings when encountering another person. He maintained that a field exists between two people and that the unconscious emotions in one person can induce the same feelings in the other person’s unconscious. Therapists can use this tool to notice what they are feeling and use it as an insight into the unconscious feelings of the client. I find this concept really helpful to clients that are empathic and often have strong feelings they don’t understand when they are around certain people. They are feeling what the other does not or cannot bring up from the unconscious.

On another occasion he drove home the importance of relying on one’s intuition when practicing as a psychotherapist. He described an experience he had had years earlier. As he was sitting listening to a young women talk about her difficulties with her father, he became aware of a presence in the corner of the room. Eventually he realized it was a native American beating on a drum. Out of nowhere he asked her, “Tell me about the drum.”

Shocked at first, she related a story about her favorite toy as a child, a drum. At one point her father became enraged and destroyed her drum. This conversation evolved into a search for the meaning of the drum and eventually led to her becoming an ethnologist who roamed around North America recording the drum songs of different tribes.

All in all, these two men radically altered my life and the wonderful life I live now is in many ways, a testimony to their skill and caring.

My Work

“Life is change, how it differs from the rocks.” The Chrysalids, John Wyndham

My First Real Job

In 1966 I entered graduate school at the Institute of Child Development at the University of Minnesota as a student in the Clinical Child Psychology program. This program was primarily test oriented and this did not seem right to me. I was less interested in how a child was performing or acting and more interested in why. One event in particular sealed my fate in this program.

I was asked to go to a school in Minneapolis to administer a Wechsler Intelligence test. I arrived at the school and found most of the students were black and poor. The teacher involved told me the child I was to test had scored below normal on the intelligence tests administered by the school but that she thought the girl was more intelligent than the scores indicated.

I sat down with Felicia and began to ask her the questions on the exam. One of the cardinal rules of this sort of testing is that you don’t ask a child why she answered as she did, you just record the answer. Some questions have general answers that give you full marks. If you offer a specific answer, you lose points. So when I asked “Where do you get groceries?” and she answered, “Albertsons,” she lost a point. I couldn’t help myself. I broke the rule.

“Why Albertson’s?”

“That’s where they take the food stamps.”

Poverty had just lost this girl IQ points.

Then when I showed her a picture of a coat, she identified it as a sweater. More lost IQ points. Again, I broke the rule. We were in the beginning of a Minnesota winter and this little girl was wearing a tattered sweater. So I asked, “Do you have a coat?”

“No,” she replied looking down.

When I tallied up the points she indeed had an IQ below normal. When I told the teacher, she said, “I guess I was wrong.” She put more faith in the test than her own judgement. Discrimination and poverty had consigned this girl to a limited future and I really wanted no part of this.

As much as I wanted to work with children, I did not want to do it this way. I drove back to the Institute and found Harold Stevenson, the chair of the department, and told him I wanted to change programs from Child Clinical to Child Development, a research based program, a program focused on “Why?” Fortunately, there was another student who wanted to move in the other direction so we swapped fellowships and I became a student of developmental psychology and he became a student in the clinical program. We also became good friends.

I am particularly thankful to Harold because without his prodding, I would never have heard many of these stories. At the end of four years of graduate school and after 10 years of university studies I was sick of it all. I told him I would do my research and finish my Ph.D. after I left Minnesota. He reached into his drawer and pulled out a sheet with the names of every one of the students who had left without finishing. Next to those who did finish later was a check. It was a paltry number.

“But I don’t have time,” I said.

He said, “There are two kinds of theses. There is the Magnum Opus, a masterpiece of research and a real contribution to the field. Then there is the kind you are going to do.” I will ever be grateful for that. That degree opened many doors for me and allowed me the privilege of being a part of so many lives and to have had such rich and instructive experiences.

As I recount the stories I am writing here I feel such gratitude to the students, clients, teachers and children who have shared their lives with me in such a rich manner and to all the people who said to me, “You have got to write these stories down.” The first time this happened was in 1970. I had returned to Minneapolis to take my final Ph.D. orals. We never even talked about the thesis. They just asked to hear more stories about the wild kids at the treatment center where I was serving as treatment director. Harold, a prolific writer himself said, “You have got to get these stories recorded." That same year my sister-in-law, Melba Riley told me the same thing on several occasions. If two people from such different backgrounds found my stories interesting and funny, I thought they must be worth writing down. So here I am all these years later finally getting it together.

As my graduate school days came to an end, I began to receive inquiries from a number of prestigious universities in the United States, Canada and Europe. In those heady days of unfettered expansion, graduation from a first class program in child development ensured numerous offers from departments desperate for qualified people. I had over a dozen offers of employment, but I wanted to work with children as well as teach at a university. Unfortunately, by switching from clinical to developmental psychology, I had eliminated my chances of achieving certification in most states.

Through a series of coincidences, word about my search reached a psychiatrist in Victoria, B.C., Canada who invited me to visit him at the Pacific Centre for Human Development, a residential school for "emotionally disturbed” children. He offered me a job as treatment director and put me in contact with the chair of the University of Victoria Psychology Department who was delighted to have someone from the Minnesota Institute of Child Development in his department as a part-time instructor. I took the jobs, flew home to finish my degree, and in the fall of 1970 my wife, my two-year-old son and I emigrated to Canada with plans to stay for two years, gather some experience and then return to California.

What I found when I arrived at the Centre was shocking. The kids were running the place and the staff was barely surviving in an environment of fear and chaos. Bribery and physical force were the two main methods of control. I wanted to establish a very tight program of behavior modification with strong incentives for academic success and reasonable conduct. The staff were very resistant and undermining of this program and something drastic had to happen. So one morning I came in and I told the staff, “I am going to demonstrate that this program will work. I want you to all take the day off and come back at three.”

They were shocked and I could tell they were expecting to find the building burned down and me dead when they did return. But I had a devious plan that had nothing to do with Behavior Modification. After they left I found the two most violent and powerful kids in the school and offered them a deal. I pulled out two twenty dollar bills and said, “If there are no incidents at the school today, each of you will get one of these at three o’clock. The kids can do anything they want but there can be no destruction or violence and you can’t tell anyone about this.”

They agreed and we had a peaceful day. No other child at that facility would dare to challenge these two. When the teachers arrived they were stunned to find a school functioning quite well with no violence or destruction. They bought in and we began a behavior modification program immediately.

It took about six months, but the place began to run smoothly. It also became evident to me that, while we could affect major change in some children, we were sending them back into the same environment which had produced their behavior in the first place. I initiated a parent training program and found that education and some introspection helped many of them to become adequate, if not perfect, parents. I will never forget the gratitude of some of the parents when they were finally able to take their children home. It was working with the staff and parents that led me to the conclusion that I liked teaching adults as much as working with children.

After two years at the Centre I was asked to be the Canadian representative at the First International Conference on Behavior Modification in Minneapolis. In preparation, I distilled all the data we had collected over the previous two years and wrote it up in a report which was eventually published as a chapter in a book summarizing the proceedings. Among the many fascinating aspects of the data was the fact that children who had been considered unteachable had covered two or three years of math and English in the space of one year.

How were we able to do this? As Jean Piaget has said, learning is a fundamental human drive. If you create an environment in which inquisitiveness is nurtured and rewarded, learning is inevitable. We made education a positive experience for these children by allowing them to work at the level at which they were competent and we rewarded progress, no matter how small. We also focused considerable attention on their interests. Every person alive, unless he or she has been completely beaten down in life, has a passion for something. If you can discover that passion, you can unlock the motivation for learning. For Alan it was science. For many of my adult students it has been the desire to raise healthy, happy children, or perhaps to understand their own childhood.

At the end of my three-year tenure at the Pacific Centre, I had the background I needed to become licensed as a Clinical Psychologist and did so. I left the Centre, opened a private practice and eventually was offered a job at Camosun College where I taught for 23 years while continuing to carry a light load of clients in private practice. The two-year commitment became a 28 year commitment until my wife and I moved to Santa Fe, NM in 1998.

I learned so much at the Centre and I realized that a true understanding of developmental psychology can be a powerful clinical tool. I also had a lot of humorous experiences, some of which I would like to share.

Shortly after I arrived one of the teachers told me the five boys she had in her class were paying no attention to her, physically assaulting her and that she was going to quit if things didn’t change. I had not implemented the program yet so I tried something desperate. I hauled the kids out about 15 minutes before lunch one day and took them to the activity room. I said, “We have about 10 minutes before lunch and I am going to challenge you. I am going to take on all five of you and if I am still standing at the end of 10 minutes I want you to promise not to bother your teacher anymore and to be good students.”

Their eyes widened as they relished the thought of pummeling a senior staff member to death and were a little disappointed when I told them there would be no punches, no nasty stuff below the belt and no biting. But they agreed. So I said, “Go!” and they did.

We went at it for ten minutes and at the end I was still standing, barely. They were elated and promised to behave as agreed and they did. I made five good friends that day and we never told anyone.

The nurse at the school was a wonderful Scottish woman who had seen it all. She had learned her nursing skills in the worst neighborhoods of Glasgow and described herself as a spinster. She told me that if she was going to have to take care of someone she wanted to get paid for it and marriage salaries were not that great. She was a prankster of the highest order. I remember showing up to camp and her approaching me with a “special sandwich I made just for you.” Peanut Butter and cotton balls. Yuk.

She used to put pills out on the kitchen counter in the morning and one morning she was going to do a dental inspection so she laid out about 30 pink pills that were intended to highlight dental issues when chewed. There was one incredibly difficult boy at the center at that time, Donny, and as he entered the kitchen he gathered up all the pills and downed them. She went ballistic. She often lectured the kids on the dangers of taking drugs so this was a major affront to her warnings. She grabbed him, hauled him up the stairs, castigating him all the way and then locked him in his room and screamed, “You could die from doing that.”

He took full advantage of this opportunity, yelling, “Helen put me in here to die, Helen put me in here to die!”

She paid no attention and her parting shot was, “Don’t be surprised if your urine is red!”

The next morning she was doing bed checks and when she came to his bed he smiled and proclaimed, “It was pink! And, I am not dead!”

She replied, “How do you know you are not in heaven?”

Stunned, he blurted out, “You’re here!”

She relished talking about one experience she had with Donny who had an undescended testicle. She maintained that was why he was so ornery. She was examining him one morning and asked him to move his penis to a position that would not hinder her from examining the offending testicle.

He said, “It doesn’t move that way.”

“Yes it does,” she replied.

“Helen,” he proclaimed, “You know a lot about pills but you don’t know anything about penises.”

On another occasion we took the children from the treatment center to a beach campground for a summer camp experience. One of the boys in my tent was wetting his sleeping bag every night and we were pretty sure he was doing it on purpose. So I told him, “If you pee in your sleeping bag again, we will take you home to the Centre.”

That night I was awakened by the sensation of warm liquid spreading in my sleeping bag. Startled I awoke to find him urinating into my bag. “What are you doing?”

“You told me you would take me home if I peed in my bag so I decided to pee in yours.”

He had me.

Another child taught me that using power over a child can often lead to resentment and retaliation on the part of the child. This boy had a terrible learning disability which caused him to see written material backwards. He wanted to go home to Yellowknife for Christmas so I told him he had to learn five letters before December if he wanted to go home. When the time came to show me his work he said, “I actually learned six.” He then wrote the following message for me.

U O Y K C U F.

This was a powerful lesson for me about the misuse of power and authority. I sent him home for Christmas, a trip he deserved just for being a child, regardless of his disability.

I got into another bad situation with ultimatums when I was showing a new boy around the school. He was yelling and cursing me, the school and his parents and said he would never stay at this “F…ing S…hole of a school.” Exhausted and fed up, I turned to him and said, “You can stay here or go to jail!”

“I’ll take jail,” he replied.

Once again I had backed myself into a corner. Just then I remembered a story a professor of mine had told me. At the end of the war he was drafted and asked, “Europe or Asia?” Since the war was over in Europe he answered enthusiastically, “Europe.”

“Europe’s full,” the officer replied. And he was off to Asia.

So I said, “Jail’s full.”

Although he was one of the most difficult kids to deal with, he eventually came around and became a model for other boys to emulate. When it was time for him to leave we gave him the choice of returning to his dysfunctional family or a foster home. He chose the foster home.

Bobby was a developmentally disabled boy who had suffered some kind of abuse as a young child and had formed an attachment to Dinky Toy cars and would walk around for hours making car noises as he pushed the cars through the air. At one point a new boy, Alex, arrived. Alex claimed to be a vampire and after a few weeks I was convinced he was right. More than one staff member had bite marks on their necks. He took a fancy to Bobby and manipulated him into a very exploitative homosexual relationship. We decided to use behavior modification to try and convince Bobby to avoid Alex.

My friend Barney and I brought Bobby into Barney’s office and explained a program in which Bobby could earn points by staying away from Alex. When Barney asked him “What do you like that you could earn with these points?”

Bobby replied, “Well, I really like it when Alex sticks his tongue in my mouth and goes lubalubado.”

Barney calmly replied, “That is not on the list.”

Having worked with several autistic children I considered myself somewhat of an expert in behavior modification with this challenging group. So when a young autistic girl showed up at the center I decided to record a teaching video for staff to watch in order to learn how to use such skills as shaping and prompting to teach behavior. One of the things that made Jeanne special was that she had an ileostomy collection bag on her side. It would fill with urine and have to be emptied often. What I didn’t know was that when angry, she would pull the bag off and empty it on the floor.

I sat down with a simple reader and her lunch. I would point to letters and prompt her to repeat them as I was being filmed through a one-way mirror. She began to get agitated as she did not like her lunch to be contingent on completing the tasks I set out for her and when I turned to look at the clock, she whipped off the bag and emptied it on my head. This video became extremely popular and was hauled out every time there was a staff party.

Several years later, after Jeanne was released, I went to visit her in Vancouver. When she came to the door, she gave me a big hug and said, “Remember Larry. You teach me to read. I dump PeePee bag on your head.” Then she laughed uncontrollably for a few minutes.

I had many other memorable experiences but these are some of my favorites.

Some stories about change

I am in the business of change. People generally want their lives to change and are looking to me for help. Ironically, I find change difficult.

My wife likes to ask, how many Dettweilers does it take to change a lightbulb? Answer 1: Change? Change? Answer 2: 1 but I liked the old one better. Answer 3: 2. One to change the bulb and one to administer CPR after he accidentally electrocutes himself.

Often change occurs slowly in incremental steps. Sometimes it is rapid. Here are some stories about change.

In the spring of 1968 I was sitting on the lawn in front of the athletic center at the University of Minnesota with my friend Tom after an enthusiastic afternoon of handball. Tom’s dad was head of the Presbyterian Church in the US. He had told Tom that he and other religious leaders in the US were trying to convince Dr. King to cancel his tour of the South as they felt his life was in danger. Between the war in Vietnam, the killing of the Kennedys, the civil rights killings, the assassination of Malcolm X and the specter of Richard Nixon on the horizon, I said, “If he is killed I am going to Canada.” Dr. King went on the tour and was assassinated in April in Memphis. My wife and I, not wanting to raise our children in a country so racked with hate and violence moved to Victoria, B. C. Canada after I finished my Ph.D. in 1970.

Like many Americans I think I assumed Canadians were a lot more like Americans than they really were. Also we were not prepared for the hostility toward Americans that many Canadians felt. I began to get an inkling of this when I was told a joke by a co-worker during my first week as treatment director at the Pacific Centre for Human Development. It went like this.

There were three Canadian surgeons who each went to study in different countries. When they returned they sat down over coffee to compare notes. The first said that in Japan all internal organs are color coded so to do a replacement you just replaced yellow with yellow and so on. The second said that in Germany all organs were numbered so you just replaced a one with a one and so on. The third said surgery in the US was really simple. American bodies only have two moving parts, a mouth and an asshole and they were interchangeable.

I don’t think a day ever went by when I didn’t hear what was wrong with America from a person, the radio or a newspaper. This didn’t bother me too much since I probably agreed with their assessment of American foreign policy. What did bother me was the way in which the anger and hostility was directed not so much at the politics and government but rather at the American people.

And with my loud, extraverted personality and American accent I was often targeted as a typical American. And, like most stereotypes, there is some truth there. Canadians often describe Americans as brash, rude and arrogant. When I first went to Canada in 1970, I think I was living proof of this stereotype. Here is an example.

In the early seventies I was teaching at the University of Victoria and they were putting on Saturday courses at a College up-island. I was asked to teach one and the University thought it would be easier to send the three of us who were doing this up in a limo rather than pay for us to drive up individually.

So the first day the three of us met. Here is the conversation I had with Cary, one of the other teachers.

L: Hi, I am Larry.

C: Hi I am Cary. What department do you teach in?

L: Education this year. But I hate that department. It is terrible. What about you?

C: Education. (Dead Silence)

L: Boy I am tired. My son plays hockey on Saturday at 5 in the morning. What a stupid sport.

C: I coach youth Hockey.

I had dug a deep hole but if there is one way to connect with a Canadian it is to criticize America or Americans. It is the second most enjoyed sport by Canadians after Hockey and it runs all year. Not to mention that there is an endless supply of material for them to work with.

L: I came here from Minnesota but I really was glad to leave. The weather was horrible and I didn’t like the people very much.

C: My mother is from Minnesota.

Sometimes I shudder when I look back at the person I was then, a truly ugly American, but Cary was extremely forgiving and we became close friends on those rides up and down the Island. He and Judy and I, a Canadian, a Brit and an American, were a bit embarrassed by the fact that we were riding in a limo on that first day. The next week it was a little easier and on the third Saturday we asked him to wash it during the time we were teaching because we thought it was dirty. Eventually we began bringing wine and food and we would eat, drink, tell stories and laugh all the way home. And, more importantly, I began to realize that the Canadian character, emphasizing self-effacement, politeness and interpersonal restraint (a lot like Minnesotans actually) might be something I would want to emulate, eh.

I soon took it upon myself to be a little less outgoing and developed a Canadian accent, dropped “huh”, added “eh” and began to try to assimilate. This must have happened somewhat unconsciously because I took my kids to Disneyland in the early 80s and after talking to a woman in line for a few minutes she asked me, “Where in Canada are you from?”

This led to a lot of funny situations, especially in my private practice. I had become Canadian enough that people couldn’t tell I was a Yank. So clients would come in and rant and rave about Americans and at some point I would have to say, “You know, I am an American.” Often they were shocked as I had become so good at passing as a Canadian.

The truth is that Canada did change me. It was there that I learned so much about myself from many wonderful friends, teachers and students. However, as early retirement loomed, we decided to cast our fate to the south. America, with all its faults was our home and we just felt more at ease there among people from our own culture. This is really hard for Canadians to understand. On paper Canada seems such a better place to live. But we are Americans and we feel more at home here.

I spent the first 27 ½ years of my life as an American. I spent the next 27 ½ years as a Canadian. I have spent the last 20 as a New Mexican, in a state that is an entity unto itself. I love it here but when I die I want my ashes spread on the west coast of Canada because that is where I learned how to live life.

My experience with the Victoria Family Violence Project required me to learn quickly on the job. When the director, Alayne Hamilton, first asked me to consider the position of consulting psychologist, I dismissed it out of hand as I had no experience with abusive men or group therapy. She persevered and eventually I went to Ahimsa House, home of the Project to talk to her and Mike, one of the men working there. I demurred but Mike said, well we need a licensed Psychologist working here or they won’t fund our program. You are the only psychologist in town we are willing to let in this building so we are not letting you out of the building until you agree.

In order to learn more about the program, I apprenticed myself to a lay leader in what they called Phase I, the entry level to the program. The idea of a Ph.D. Psychologist apprenticing with a lay group leader who installed cable during the day and had never finished high school raised some eyebrows but we worked well together and I learned the basics of the program during my twelve weeks with this group. At the end of the group I told him I thought he was gifted in this area and I hope I had some influence over his eventual enrollment in and graduation from the Social Work program at the University. Concurrently, I was accepted into the therapeutic group which was being run for the lay leaders, all of whom had been through the program.

The leader of that group was a professional therapist who had never received a degree but was gifted in his work. I learned more about leading groups from him than anyone else I have ever known. After ten weeks I was ready to start my own group. My partner Wendy and I became so good at sharing this role it often seemed as though we were two heads on the same body.

We led groups of 6 to 8 men who were attempting to change their lives for the better and to stop the violence that had so dominated their lives in the past. One of the things we tried to teach them was to change their communication patterns by expressing their feelings to their partners rather than expressing judgments or controlling statements. One night the following conversation took place between two of the guys. I will refer to them as Tom and Jerry.

Tom said, “My wife won’t let me express my feelings.”

Jerry said, “What do you mean?”

“Well I told her I feel she’s a slut and she got mad and told me to shut up.”

“That’s not a feeling.”

“Yes it is,” he said somewhat agitated.”

“No, that’s a judgement and an insulting one as well.”

“No it’s a feeling.”

By this time both guys were getting pretty mad. As the banter continued and tempers begin to flare I found myself splitting into three people. First there was fearful Larry who was looking for the fastest way to the door. Second there was Aikido Larry who was thinking about which technique he would use when one of these guys came after the other. Lastly there was adult psychologist Larry who said, “Let’s examine this interaction.” I managed to put my fear and distracting thoughts aside in order to focus on the job to be done. This is a core concept in the Japanese approach to problems known as Morita Therapy.

I asked Jerry to demonstrate a feeling statement to Tom. With a malicious grin and a gleam in his eye he said to Tom, "I feel you’re an asshole.” I thought, uh oh, here we go.

After a brief pause Tom said, “Okay I get it." That was the closest I ever saw anybody get to coming to blows during my five years working there. But he did get it and became one of the best communicators in the group. An unusual way to facilitate change but it worked.

There was one guy in the group who was particularly difficult to deal with but we all really liked him. In his case, change was slow. He had a pretty good handle on his anger at this time after having been through the program twice but he really got upset when he thought something was happening to his daughters, both of whom often found themselves in dire straits.

On the last night of these groups that ran for six months, we would meet and discuss how we all had changed and improved over the period of the group. When his turn came he told a story about how he had dealt with a man who was harassing his daughters. It had angered him so much that he went up to the man’s third-floor apartment, grabbed him by the feet and hung him over the side of the railing and told him to stop bothering his girls. This was the last night and I didn’t want to open this up, process it and show that, in fact, that it was not completely congruent with the non-violent philosophy of the family violence project. So I just asked a simple question.

"How is this an example of the improvement and change you’ve experienced as a result of this program?”

“Oh hell, before this program I would’ve dropped him.”

I once had a student we will call Julie whose parents had come from Greece. After she had left for college, her grandmother moved from Greece to Canada when her husband died. She stayed with my student’s parents and didn’t do much of anything except wander around the house in her black garb, watch television and cook. After about six months she called Julie and asked her if she would take her out to buy some different clothes. This was quite a surprise to Julie. Also grandma wanted to know if she would help her enroll in English classes at a local college. A bit stunned she did both. Over the next few months she noticed a radical change in her grandmother. In addition to changing her clothes and going to school she began taking driving lessons. When Julie asked her grandmother one day why she had made such a big changes, she replied, “Oprah.”

Years ago I owned a house in Victoria B.C. that had been built in 1910. It constantly needed repairs and I had a fantastic handyman named Burt who would do the work. He always asked me to help, mostly because he liked the company and not for my skills at home repair. One time he and his wife were with me and my wife at a friend’s house. I asked him how much it would cost to repair my front porch. He replied, “400 dollars.” I said, “What if I help?” His wife answered quickly, “600 dollars.”

Anyway, Burt liked to drink. He never drank on the job but his binges were legendary. I called him one day to tell him I was getting new gutters on the house and I just couldn’t get the old ones off. He said they were going out to dinner and he would stop by afterward to look at it. Around nine that night Burt and his wife showed up and he was three sheets to the wind. It was windy, dark and pouring rain but he said, “Bring a flashlight, hammer and ladder.” He climbed up, looked at the gutter and asked for the hammer.

I said, “I have been thinking about all the ways to get this down and I just can’t figure it out.”

He reared back, swung the hammer and the whole gutter flew off into the yard. He said, “That’s the trouble with you f…ing intellectuals, you think too much.” No one has ever confused me with an intellectual before or after that incident but it was definitely an example of the superiority of action over thinking, at least in this case. In Japanese psychology, thoughts and feelings are seen as fleeting and not under your control and the fastest way out of a bad state is to do something. This is very different than western psychology.

Burt taught me a lot about home repair but that night he was definitely my action guru.

On another occasion I was talking to my mentor in Seattle when he told me he had been to the 100th birthday party of a famous Jungian analyst. He asked the birthday boy what he had been up to. After hearing a long list of projects, plans and activities he said, “Joe, how do you do all of that at your age? I get tired just thinking about it.”

Joe answered, “I don’t think about it.”

So now when I really need to do something I try not think a lot about it. If I can just get started, it usually takes care of itself.

A dramatic and fascinating example of change being inspired by a complete stranger was described to me by a former student. This woman, who we shall call Eleanor, was at a major decision point in her life when this event occurred. She told me about it in a career and life development course I was teaching in which she was a student. The students had completed several inventories designed to indicate appropriate career paths they might follow. She had the most interesting test results I’ve ever seen. I said to her somewhat jokingly, “It looks like you could either be a CPA or a counselor.” She told me that, in fact, before coming to graduate school in counseling she had been debating whether to become an accountant or counselor. She clearly had a wide range of abilities.

One day while she was in the process of trying to figure out which path to follow she was leaving the grocery store with her hands full when a stranger opened the door for her. She smiled and said thank you, and he said, "You should become a counselor.” She stood there stunned and when she turned around he was gone.

She went back to school, completed the prerequisites for graduate school and counseling, and enrolled in a graduate program with a specialty in grief counseling. Today she works as a grief counselor and is known in hospice circles as the "angel of death.” She seems to have the ability to walk into a room, sit down next to person who is dying but can’t let go, place her hand on the person and within a half an hour the person has let go and is gone. She has found her calling thanks to a stranger’s comment.

This is a most remarkable woman. She suffers from a serious disease but never talks about it or uses it as an excuse to avoid difficult situations. She has now finished her Ph.D. and will continue with her life’s work, helping the dying and the grieving. She works a lot with immigrant families and told me she always takes her shoes off when she enters a trailer or small home. I assumed this was a sign of respect. She said, "No, I am often the tallest person in the house and I don’t want them to feel small.”

After reading about the importance of action in Japanese Psychology and the importance of starting small I was reminded of a story I heard Bill O’Hanlon tell about Milton Erickson, the famous psychiatrist who was best known for his work in Hypnosis and his somewhat unconventional (at least for his time) approach to clinical problems.

When one of his students heard he would be visiting a large U.S. city where his depressed aunt lived, he asked Erickson if he would stop in on her. He agreed and when the aunt opened the door he found himself in a musty, dark house with all the curtains pulled confronting a woman who appeared to have nothing to live for and who only left the house to attend church on Sundays.

After speaking to her he found there were two things that gave her life meaning, going to church and growing African Violets. In his own inimical way he said, “You know I don’t think you are a very good Christian and I don’t think your flowers serve much of a purpose either.”

Stunned, the woman asked, “What do you mean?”

“Well, a fundamental tenet of Christianity is caring for others. You don’t do anything for anyone else and you are the only person who gets joy from these flowers. I am going to give you a task but I seriously doubt you can do it. I want you to look into the church bulletin and see if there is anyone who is suffering or grieving and send them one of your plants. Again, I doubt you will do this.”

I guess the challenge was too much to resist so she did it. The response from the recipients and the pastor were so positive she did it again. Soon she was sending violets to anyone she heard of who was in need. When she died, hundreds of mourners showed up to honor “The African Violet Lady”, a person they saw as a caring and generous woman.

And it all began with a challenge and one small act of kindness.

Except for one semester, I was a student in University from the fall of 1960 to the fall of 1970. I saw many changes during that period, one of which was the introduction of drugs to student life. By the end of the decade I was a pretty heavy user of Marijuana and dabbled in other drugs. After I moved to Victoria and took my first job I continued to use drugs recreationally.

Shortly after Ishiyama Sensei arrived in the mid-seventies and became our Aikido Sensei, he announced we were going to do a demonstration at the university. We arrived, changed and went onto the mats to warm up. He approached me and told me I was going to do the knife attacks. This was fine with me because we had always used wooden knives in practice. He then went to a small box on the edge of the mats and extracted a long, very pointed metal knife. As he handed it to me I asked, “How do you want me to attack you?”

“Any way you like,” he responded.

I realized at that point that if either of us made a mistake, I could die. So I did my best to attack at full speed and with lethal intent and he countered every attack. It seemed like it went on for hours. That night it was broadcast on the local TV station and I realized it was only about three minutes. But I knew at that time that I wanted to experience every moment of my life with that same awareness and intensity. I never used drugs again.

In 1981 I was approached by my Dean regarding a pilot project in Infant Day Care. In Victoria, B.C. there were no infant day care centers (centres!) and the government was about to initiate a program designed to encourage the establishment of infant day care. The College Day Care Centre was going to be one of the first and he planned to expand our Day Care Worker training program to include infant care. He wanted me to head up the creation of the program.

I said I would do it but I hadn’t read any research on the subject in 10 years since my graduation from the Institute of Child Development at the University of Minnesota. I asked him if he would send me to Stanford for a month where the author of the textbook I used in my Child Development class was a professor. He agreed.

I contacted the professor and she agreed to mentor me in this endeavor if I would keep a record of my findings and give a copy to her so she could use the information for her next book. This sounded like a good trade to me. Summer came and I was off to Palo Alto while my wife stayed in Victoria with our two sons. Our trade was that she would fly them down at the end of a month and the boys and I would visit relatives and generally enjoy California, Oregon and Washington while she had time alone. So the time came and I drove down to Palo Alto where I would stay with my good friend Carol for a month.

When I got there I was suddenly overwhelmed by the immensity of the commitment I had made. I had not done anything like this in 10 years and I didn’t like doing it back then. Also, it was the hottest summer in Northern California history and the first time I walked into the Stanford library I felt smothered by the oppressive heat as there was no air conditioning. Additionally, I was not in the best emotional state as my wife and I had recently reunited after a separation that had really knocked the wind out of my sails. And, most importantly, being a Cal graduate, I was feeling guilty for consorting with the enemy, Stanford.

My first visit to the library lasted about an hour and I left frustrated and angry that I had put myself into this situation without really assessing how difficult it would be for me. I missed my wife and boys, was not really that excited about the research and remembered that after finishing four years of graduate school, I never wanted to see another journal article as long as I lived.

But I had a job to do so the next day I promised to stay until noon. Reading about infant perception in the morning, I found myself beginning to get interested in the amazing things researchers had discovered about infants over the last 10 years. The next day I stayed all day and soon I was going in at night and on the weekends. I was amassing reams of note cards and when I met with the prof at the halfway point she was delighted to see my work and said I had saved her many hours of work that she could now spend with her three young children.

This is a good example of some of the principles of Kaizen, another form of Japanese psychology. I started small, gradually increased my time on the project, kept with it and the project overcame my emotional state. It really became my life. More importantly, it proved to me that I could do a very good job on a project that had to be its own reward. There was no prize, no money or pat on the head when I was done. Finishing the task with thoroughness and integrity was the only reward.

My clinical supervisor in Seattle once said to me, don’t think of the Psyche as part of you, think of yourself as part of the Psyche. In the same way, this project was not part of my life, I was part of it. I was an employee of the project. It had a life of its own.

There were other benefits as well. I got to know Carol really well and we remained good friends, exchanging letters at Christmas and at our Birthdays. One of the first things she told me, having been born on December 25th, was, “I will not accept one card. You have to send two.” We were on a pretty tight budget but occasionally we would go out to dinner. Her boyfriend had recently left her and she would offer to pay if I promised to walk by his house with my arm around her feigning mad love and affection. Also, I joined the Stanford Aikido Club and practiced every day there was a practice. When I finished the project, the boys came down and we had a great vacation together.

When I returned we set up the program and the Day Care became a fantastic resource for the community. The people who actually made this happen were the wonderful teachers in the training program and the exceptional day care supervisors at the centre. Also, I had a lot of new material for my course in Child Development. I will always be grateful for the experience this project afforded me.

Sometimes life wakes you up and change is immediate. My friend Ron is a great example of this. Ron’s family owned a very profitable furniture store. From an early age Ron showed great ability in art and design and was a genius working with his hands. He once showed me a report card from a prestigious private boy’s school which he attended. All the grades were rather mediocre except art. He excelled at art. He also showed me a picture of a beautiful boat he had built while still in elementary school. It was a work of art. However, Ron’s parents had other plans for him. They wanted him to become an architect and a professional of whom they could be proud. So even though his academic record was not astounding, off he went to study architecture at University. Not surprisingly, he flunked out.

Ron may have been the most introverted and shy person I have ever met in my life. Upon returning home after failing in University, his parents took him into the business and made him the director of personnel. There could not be a job on earth for which Ron was more poorly suited. Fortunately, he married a woman who was very supportive and realized he could not survive in this job. One day, after waking from a terrible nightmare, he resigned his job, sold his stock and begin a business building wooden toys for children. He would isolate himself in his garage while doing his woodwork and his wife would handle all sales from the kitchen of her house. She served as the business manager, doorkeeper and was a welcoming presence who always seemed to have something delicious to offer you while you were picking up toys. At some point they began to build a boat. After years of work it was a beautiful sight to see. Eventually they divorced and Ron moved to a local island where he now builds boats that have been commissioned by people who value his unique ability. What would his life have been like if his parents had seen this gift and nurtured it?

If you were to walk into the office that my wife and I use for our psychotherapy practice, you would see lots of turtles. Turtles on the desks, turtles on the tables, a turtle candle holder, turtles in the windows and turtles on the floor. Not live turtles but every kind of turtle you could imagine. You would even see a turtle painted on a drum on the wall and a turtle night light. There used to be more turtles but my wife said, “Enough is enough. We are taking some of these home.” She has replaced them with shells and stones in the same places. She has her magic and I have mine.

When I taught and worked with the First Nations Salish people of Vancouver Island they told me the turtle clan was the healing clan and that I belonged to that clan. This was an incredible honor so I started collecting turtles. People saw my turtles and starting giving me turtles so I have a lot. People have brought them from all over the world.

I have turtles everywhere to remind me to slow down. My nature is to go fast, to want to finish everything before I need to and come to closure too early. There is also a practical issue here. I do not have the physical abilities I had when I was younger and when I get ahead of myself I tend to break things, harm my person and otherwise cause havoc.

My mother was the same way. She fell many times in her 80s because this previously active and athletic woman just could not slow down. She would stand up from her easy chair, set off at breakneck speed only to trip and fall. On one Super bowl Sunday I got a call from her residence just as the game was going to start. She had fallen and they could not stop her nosebleed due to her use of blood thinners. The woman said that my mother had asked her not to call me because she knew I was watching the game but that they were really worried.

I drove rapidly to the residence where I found my mother covered in blood and rapidly swelling and darkening around the eyes. I did not feel adequate to deal with this so I called 911 for an ambulance to take her to the hospital. When the first responder walked in he looked at the game on the TV, then my mother, then me. "I gather you are rooting for different teams,” he said.

We all went to the hospital and she sent me home and said, “Don’t come get me until the game is over.”

At the beginning of the final quarter, the hospital called and the nurse told me I had to come get her NOW. They needed the bed. I guess Super bowl Sunday is a high volume day in the ER. The next week I bought a TiVo box.

I used to take her to the Coumadin (blood thinner) clinic to get her blood tested. One time she registered very high blood pressure. “I am a nervous Nelly and I always will be,” she said. “And I gave it to him.” Then looking at me pensively she said, “He doesn’t seem to be like that anymore.”

I looked at the nurse and said, “Thousands of dollars in therapy.” She said, “Me too.”

One last story about change. My brother and I were extremely close. I was five years his senior and from the day he was born I felt responsibility for his safety and well-being. In 1965 my wife and I were living in San Francisco taking courses at S.F. State and preparing to move to Minnesota where I was to begin my Ph.D. studies. He was still at home in L.A. with my parents. Shortly before Christmas my father called to tell me that my brother had acute Leukemia and that although he was undergoing new treatment (a variation of which saves children today), he was not expected to live. Over the next six months he was in and out of hospital, suffering intensely through repeated relapses and remissions. My life vacillated between the hubris of entering graduate school and the depression resulting from the impending loss of my best friend. I think I engaged in a lot of denial. Susan says we visited him once in hospital while he was sick but I have no recollection of that. The day finally came when my father called to tell us to come to L.A. to say goodbye.

It was the sixties in San Francisco and compared to my friends at home and my father’s contemporaries, I had long hair. Today it probably would not even qualify as long hair but it did at that time and it identified me as belonging to a certain cohort that was not popular with my parents’ generation. Whenever I would go home my dad would offer me money to get it cut and I always refused. I think that although this was a version of what Erikson calls a negative identity (identity through opposition) it also was symbolic of the emergence of my own identity, separate from my family and the dominant culture.

As my wife and I were getting ready to go to the hospital to say goodbye to Steve my dad said, “I want you to get a haircut before you see him. I want him to remember you as you were.”

I was completely paralyzed. I had to choose between being who I was at the time and pleasing my father, who I knew was in a state of total despair. So I agreed. After the haircut, as I drove up the driveway to pick up my wife on the way to the hospital she came out of the house with tears running down her face. “Steve is dead,” she said. I never got to say goodbye to the second most important person in my life. Tears form in my eyes as I write this fifty years later.

I was psychologically sophisticated enough at the time to know that the real reason I was sent to the barber was so that I would not embarrass my parents. Although not being able to say goodbye to my brother and my best friend was a result of parental narcissism, in some ways it was a powerful experience in the activation of what is called in Psychosynthesis, my own internal unifying center.

I vowed that day that no matter how my future children presented themselves to the world and no matter what choices they made in life, I would support them for themselves and not how they reflected on me. Being my parents’ child, I couldn’t always do that but the two fine men I see today are proof that my wife and I, nutty as we were in those early years, got that part right. I remember when my youngest son was about eight, my wife said to him, “You really like yourself don’t you?” He looked at her like she was the dumbest person on earth.

“Of course,” he replied. She looked at me, smiled and said, “If he only knew what we have had to go through to get to that place that he takes for granted.”

Although I held this against my father for years, when he was dying my mother asked us to come to L.A. to say goodbye to him. She said she didn’t want the experience with Steve to be repeated and that she was the one who wanted me to get a haircut and had regretted it ever since. She knew I blamed my Dad and that she didn’t want him going to his grave with that between us.

I think that my wife and I, coming out of very different but equally dysfunctional families, have been our own best parents. Even during our worst times together we often have been able to sidestep our own narcissism and support what is best for the other. My wife sometimes says that I saved her from her family but I often wonder about it when I see the humane society bumper sticker, “Who rescued who?”

Psychosynthesis

In the early 70s my friend John gave me some information on Psychosynthesis. After reading a few articles, I became fascinated by the approach to psychotherapy and life in general. Let me lay out some of the theory.

Think about how you act in different situations. For example, at work are you one person and at home someone completely different? When you are with your parents or other authority figures do you behave differently again, perhaps like a compliant child or an obstinate rebel? Are you the outgoing leader with some friends and the passive follower with others? Like the famous Dr. Jekyll, on some days are you the perfect mate or parent and on other days the diabolical Mr. Hyde? Do you sometimes wonder, “Why did I do that?” Do you find yourself joyful one moment and in the depths of sadness in the next with no idea of why you experience such intense fluctuations? In Psychosynthesis we call the people you become in these different situations subpersonalities. In other words, you assume a different identity in each situation, often without even being aware of it.

Unfortunately, the beliefs, thoughts, feelings and expectations that motivate our behavior when we are “in” one of these subpersonalities are often unconscious and unexamined and can be completely different for each subpersonality. This leads to splitting and internal conflict between the different parts of ourselves and we seem to be in a state of war with ourselves and others. These subpersonalities have formed as a result of early experience and probably served us well in our attempt to survive and even prosper in our families and culture. However, in adulthood these patterns that reflect our adaptation to what and how others wanted us to be do not reflect our true nature nor are they effective in the world we now inhabit. In fact, they may be quite destructive and counterproductive. For example, someone who complied and was always nice in order to avoid physical abuse from an alcoholic father may find herself constantly bending to the whims of others and not looking after her own welfare. This kind of person often asks, “Why do I keep doing this.”

Although this is not a healthy or happy existence, in our culture it is “normal.” Many of us live in a trance as we follow the dictates of these parts of ourselves that do not reflect our basic nature or our deeper desire to live in harmony within ourselves and with others. While in this trance we can experience addictions, compulsions, poor interpersonal relationships and a general unhappiness that can appear as depression, anxiety or as other psychological symptoms.

Psychosynthesis is a process that carefully opens the doors to the unconscious realms and shines a light on the dark secrets that keep us prisoners of our past. As we examine the genesis of these subpersonalities and discern which aspects of each subpersonality are congruent with our true nature and which are not, it becomes possible to reconstruct ourselves in harmony with our true selves so that we can become whole people who interact in a healthy manner with both the world around us and the world within.

We all come into this world potentially whole. By this I mean that we have the possibility of living out a destiny that is congruent with the gifts that reflect our own unique being. If you are comfortable with a spiritual perspective, you might conceptualize this as following your soul’s journey. If you are not comfortable with this approach, you might look at this way of being as living in harmony with your own intrinsic nature or even your own genetic code.

If you have observed very young children you probably have noticed how unique each child is, even shortly after birth. Some are very wary and observant of the world around them and others are virtually oblivious to their environment. You may have noticed that some are “people oriented” and some are “object oriented.” As a parent, it was a shock to me that this uniqueness surfaced very early in my children and seemed totally independent of and resistant to environmental factors. One would wake if a pin dropped and the other would not be awakened by a train barreling through the front room. One has always been fascinated by ideas and the other by concrete problems to be solved. Effective parents see these unique traits and abilities in their children and engage in mirroring their children. In other words, they see that their children have certain abilities and dispositions and they actively recognize and foster, or at least accept, these aspects. When this happens we say that there is an empathic response from the parent to the child’s authentic self. This does not mean we cannot set limits or teach our children good social skills. It just means that good parents have a basic respect for who the child is as they engage in the difficult process of preparing children for adult life.

Unfortunately, most of us do not experience perfect parenting nor are we perfect parents ourselves. When, as children, our abilities and feelings are not recognized or actually are demeaned or punished and we are dismissed, shamed or otherwise experience an empathic failure, we learn very quickly what is acceptable and what is not. For a child, rejection by a parent is terrifying and, in the child’s mind, can be experienced as life threatening. In Psychosynthesis we call this the fear of nonbeing. As a response to this and other fears we develop subpersonalities that help us cope with the world around us and insure our survival. This is why we call these adaptations survival subpersonalities.

A common example is the subpersonality of “The Pleaser.” If parents only mirror and shine on their child when he or she is compliant and helpful and meets the parents’ expectations, the child may develop a subpersonality that as an adult requires the person to be helpful and giving in order to feel any self-worth. The person may also experience an inability to form boundaries, say “no” or know what he or she actually wants in life. Another child might respond to this expectation by developing “The Rebel,” whose identity and self-esteem is dependent upon constantly being in opposition to authority and others’ expectations. In fact, both of these subpersonalities could exist in one person. The important factor here is that we, as adults, often are not aware of the unconscious motivations and feelings behind the behavior we exhibit when we are “in” these subpersonalities.

Each subpersonality has its own way of interacting consciously with the world but there are two unconscious aspects of each that are very important. The painful, shaming experiences of childhood are pushed out of our conscious awareness and into what we call the lower unconscious. Outside of our awareness, these unconscious memories and experiences often drive the behavior we exhibit when we are acting out of that subpersonality. In fact, at its most extreme, the main goal of the subpersonality is to avoid all feelings and memories that resurface in situations that resemble the original wounding experience and, in the mind of the inner child, activate the threat of nonbeing. On the other hand, those gifts and unique aspects of our being that were not accepted and for which we were shamed are also repressed into what we call the higher unconscious. In this realm such denigrated characteristics as intuition, sensitivity, creativity and artistic ability may reside completely hidden.

The initial work of Psychosynthesis involves examining each of the subpersonalities while delving into the repressed unconscious experiences that led to their creation. The process of uncovering the painful experiences as well as our true gifts can be lengthy and intense but very rewarding as we discover the motivation behind outmoded, destructive and maladaptive behavior, thoughts and feelings contained in the farther reaches of the subpersonalities.

As we examine how the subpersonalities were formed, how they have evolved into adult subpersonalities, how they form alliances between each other and how they experience conflict with each other we see that some aspects of each subpersonality may be helpful to us in our journey to wholeness and happiness. It also becomes clear that other aspects, useful in surviving our youthful fears, are no longer helpful, limit our ability to function and are downright destructive.

Most importantly, we want to integrate the positive aspects of each subpersonality into our everyday life. This process is called synthesis. We want to synthesize the many subpersonalities into one whole personality which, although it may behave differently in different situations, always reflects the true wholeness of the person we really are and helps us to reach our individual destiny. Our behavior becomes a product of conscious thought and feeling rather than being driven by unconscious shame and guilt and the avoidance of nonbeing. We refer to this ultimate state as functioning from the authentic self.

As memories surface and the unconscious material becomes conscious, a sense of “I” begins to evolve. In other words, an observer that is independent of childhood or cultural conditioning begins to surface and we begin to see who we really are, how we actually experienced early life and how we want to live life now, in harmony with but not bound by the expectations of others. As Psychosynthesis progresses, it becomes clear that the “I” is a reflection of a deeper aspect of you, your self. The self is the ultimate expression of who you are and, if you have a spiritual approach to life, a representation of your soul. If you are not comfortable with this concept, think of the self as the totality of all of your potential and experiences which possesses the innate knowledge of exactly how you should lead your life.

In Psychosynthesis we speak of the will, which provides the impetus for our behavior. The will of the survival personality drives you to respond to life in a way that avoids re-experiencing the wounding of your childhood and the fear of nonbeing. As we age, these responses become less and less satisfying and eventually become counterproductive. Their ineffectiveness and the unhappiness that accompanies them is often the reason we end up in psychotherapy. The “I” has its own will and as it becomes stronger during the process of Psychosynthesis, it is able to direct your behavior in a way that is more congruent with your nature than the dictates of survival personalities. Ultimately, you may experience the will of the self which can appear as a calling or a motivation to action that you cannot possibly ignore regardless of how foolish it may seem to others.

As the “I” strengthens and the self becomes clearer, it becomes possible to disidentify from each subpersonality. In other words, we can still inhabit the subpersonality but the behavior we associate with the subpersonality is now serving the healthy needs of the self rather than keeping unconscious fears at bay. For example, one may begin to parent in a way that serves the needs and healthy authentic development of your children rather than serving your own primitive need to feel safe by being in control or serving the need for your children’s culturally sanctioned accomplishments to augment your own self-image. You may begin to do your job in a way that makes the most sense to you and allows you accomplish more than when you were working primarily for the approval and adulation of your coworkers and superiors. On the other hand, you may find that as the need for the approval of others wanes you feel a desperate need to explore a career that reflects your basic nature and not the expectation of parents, spouses or the culture in general. Be warned that such major transformations, although personally healthy, can be very disturbing to the others in your life. This is not a process to be taken lightly.

Although dredging up the past and recovering memories and feelings that are painful can be very unpleasant, the freedom from unconscious control allows one to fully function in the present without the need for validation from others or the need to meet unrealistic expectations of yourself and others contained within the unconscious areas of unexamined subpersonalities. It becomes possible for you to be a happy, satisfied and whole person just being who you really are.

I have been asked, “Isn’t this all about me? Is this not a selfish, self-absorbed and narcissistic process in which I am involved?” My experience has been quite the opposite. When we are operating from the needs of survival subpersonalities, our motivation is unconscious, driven by unrealistic demands and fundamentally designed to keep us safe from our fear of nonbeing. We behave with hidden agendas (often hidden from ourselves), we blame others, project our feelings and motivations onto others and are generally unhappy whenever the world doesn’t live up to our expectations. Living from the self allows us to moderate the need for external validation, relate to others in an authentic, altruistic and empathic manner and to be fundamentally satisfied and happy with life. This is the beauty of Psychosynthesis, a path to self-acceptance and harmony in both the internal and external world.

Some Useful Psychological Concepts

The Guilt-Resentment-Persecution Triangle describes the dynamic of many relationships. The idea here is that if you use guilt to convince someone to do what you want them to do they will do it but feel resentment. Sometimes the resentment is conscious and sometimes unconscious. Resentment then morphs into persecution. This can take many forms. One of the most common is passive aggressive behavior. Forgetting, postponing, or just plain not doing are examples of this behavior. I knew someone once who was a master at this. His wife kept on asking him to put in skylights that they had bought and he kept agreeing but never did it. Finally, she erupted, showed him where to put them in and demanded that he do it, shaming him in the process. He finally did it but he “accidentally” put them in the wrong places. The example of the boy I forced to learn letters earlier was also exhibiting passive aggressive behavior when he learned his letters and them presented them to me in an insulting way.

The Victim-Rescuer-Persecutor drama is also a useful way of seeing some relationships. When one sees oneself as a victim it is often assumed others fall into one of two categories, rescuer or persecutor. And if you are not a rescuer you are definitely a persecutor. Although there are real victims out there, someone who continually takes the victim stance often is not willing to take responsibility for his or her behavior and blames others for the consequences of that behavior. Heaven help the person that points out that this person is often responsible for his or her own predicament. A common pattern seen in narcissistic individuals begins with the narcissist feeling like a victim because others are not giving him the constant validation he needs and feels he deserves. This validation actually serves the purpose of fending off unconscious feelings of inferiority and inadequacy. Usually, when validation is not forthcoming the narcissist then feels justified in becoming the persecutor and will attack those who hold him responsible for his attitudes and behaviors. Unfortunately, there is usually someone out there who, for his or her own conscious or unconscious reasons, will step up and rescue the narcissist. This can be called collusion. One need only read the entertainment or political news sections to see this drama replayed over and over.

Unconscious empathy is a skill that some people possess without even knowing it. It involves unconsciously picking up what another person is feeling even though the other person may not be expressing it. The feeling is then perceived as coming from the receiver. Have you noticed that sometimes after speaking with or spending time with a particular person you feel angry or depressed or inadequate? While this feeling may belong to you, sometimes you are unconsciously picking up what the other is not willing to recognize in him- or herself. While this is a great tool, especially if you are a therapist, it is also a curse. People with this skill, often called “sensitives”, need to learn how to discriminate between their own feelings and the feelings of others not being expressed. Psychological boundaries that protect us from unconscious assault are also important to develop.

Much has been written about the concepts “Masculine” and “Feminine” and the differences between them. I do not think these are particularly helpful concepts in the 21st century. They often suffer from overgeneralization or stereotyping and tend to be used in a pejorative manner. I think the concepts of Eros and Logos are more useful. Eros is the domain of feelings, connection, empathy and intuition. Logos is the domain of thought, logic and rational analysis. Both are necessary but in the past the former has been ascribed to women and the latter to men. Traditionally, men who live in the world of Eros are seen as sissies and women who live in the world of Logos are seen as unfeeling and cold. Although everyone usually favors one of these approaches to life over the other, it is a balance that is necessary, both in men and women. Different situations require different solutions.

A third principle that is neither Eros or Logos is the Power principle. The Power principle is neither relational or logical. The fundamental axiom is “might makes right.” I am bigger and more powerful so you will do as I say. History is replete with examples of this principle and it usually doesn’t end well for the powerful, even if it takes generations to overcome the oppressor. It is particularly destructive in relationships between people and especially damaging to children. Also, like guilt, it engenders resentment and eventually retaliation, if possible.

The Inflation Deflation cycle is a useful concept to understand mood swings and such concepts as narcissism, depression and anxiety. A simple analogy my supervisor once used is helpful understanding this cycle. Think of your personality as a balloon. A balloon that is underinflated will not support itself. It just lays there. A balloon that is overinflated is very large but very thin and can be popped easily. The key to a healthy personality is to have a balloon that is just the right size to support itself but not so big that it pops easily when life does not support your self-concept or inflated ideas you have about yourself. Many people oscillate between these two states depending on the feedback the world around them provides.

Good parenting is about helping a child develop a personality that can support itself and be content in the world and at the same time not be so big that it ignores the needs of others and is self-absorbed or narcissistic. Narcissism is the psyche’s way of blowing up a big balloon to cover the unconscious little, flaccid balloon that is the true nature of the narcissist.

How do we encourage and support our children in their quest to be themselves and be effective in the world without creating a narcissistic monster? Here are some ideas.

Parenting

Parenting is a very difficult task. This statement will, of course, surprise no-one who has actually tried it. In the fifty years my wife and I have shared the title of parent, we have, like everyone else, learned gradually through trial and error what it means to be good parents. We are still learning. I sometimes wonder how parents cope with the number of books, courses and "experts” who are willing to tell them how to raise children. It must be very frustrating, especially since many of the experts seem to disagree with each other. My daughter-in-law said than when she expressed her fears about parenting to her grandmother she replied, “There are probably 100 ways to raise children and 99 of them are ok.” I spent a lot of time working with parents both as a teacher and a therapist. Here are some of the ideas I thought were important.

There are two things you can do to begin becoming a better parent. First, find some way to rediscover the memories of your own childhood. When did you feel good about yourself? When did you feel bad? What would you change about your parents and what would you leave untouched if you had your childhood to do over again? Parents who remain naive about this part of their lives are likely to re-enact the negative aspects of their own childhood in some way with their own children. Through reading, reflection, discussion or therapy you can re-parent yourself and break the cycle of abusive or ineffectual parenting that is often passed from generation to generation. Secondly, familiarize yourself with developmental psychology. Find out what needs and behaviors are normal for children in your child’s age group. Often, what may seem strange or unruly to parents is normal for children in a particular age group. In addition to these two fundamental tasks, there are a variety of parenting techniques and ideas that I have found to be very helpful which I will present in the following pages.

It seems to me that the most important thing you can do as a parent is to recognize who your child is. What is his temperament? What are her interests? What are his strengths and what are his challenges? Above all else it is important to recognize that this is her life and not yours. Children should not have to live out their parents unrealized dreams and aspirations. My previous story about Ron is a good example of this. Given this assumption, there are some useful tools for helping children to develop within a family and culture while still maintaining their own identity. Let’s look at the four strokes first.

A stroke is something you experience from the environment around you. A positive stroke such as a smile or praise feels good, while a negative stroke, such as criticism or a spanking, feels bad. A stroke is said to be conditional if something has to be done by the child to receive it. On the other hand, unconditional strokes are not related to the child’s behavior. For example, if the child takes out the garbage and mother says, “Thanks a lot,” this is a conditional positive stroke. Sending a child to her room after she teased her sister is a conditional negative stroke. In both cases, the stroke was a result of some specific act. In one case the consequence, or stroke, was positive and in the other it was negative. "I love you” is an unconditional positive stroke since your love, which feels good, is not connected to anything the child has done. If you are in a lousy mood and you say to a child, “Get lost,” this is an unconditional negative stroke. This remark feels bad and is in no way related to anything she has done. What are the effects of these different strokes?

The receipt of unconditional positive strokes is absolutely essential to the formation of positive self-esteem in a child. The message conveyed is, “you are o.k. for who you are; no matter what you do I will still love you.” Many parents who were abused or neglected as children have never experienced this kind of stroke and, as a result, don’t understand the importance of letting their own child know how much they care for her. For many parents, their own unhappiness may be so great that they cannot express love or appreciation to anyone. For these kinds of parents, repairing their own self-esteem through therapy is the first step towards being able to give positive strokes to their child.

One of the most meaningful ways you can deliver unconditional positive strokes to your child is to spend time doing what she likes to do. This may be swimming, reading a book, going for bike rides, preparing a meal together or just hanging out. Children invest their parents with a lot of power. You are very important to your child. Spending time with a child doing what she likes to do gives the child the message that you consider her needs important and that you like her. This is a message that enhances her self-esteem. Of the four strokes, this is the most important for children to receive from their parents and is, unfortunately, the least common. Unconditional positive strokes by themselves are not enough however. This does not prepare a child for a world in which there are limits and can lead to an inflated sense of self, sometimes termed omnipotence or narcissism.

Conditional positive strokes, while they also enhance self-esteem in the child, act as reinforcement of behavior that is considered acceptable, appropriate or pleasing by the parents. For example, when you say to your child, “You did a good job,” or “I really appreciate you taking your dishes to the sink,” or “Thank you for picking up your clothes,” it not only gives her a feeling of accomplishment and self-worth, but also serves to increase the behavior that earned the stroke. We will talk more about this later.

The conditional negative stroke, or punishment, as it is more commonly known, is, unfortunately, the most common tool parents use to try to influence their children’s behavior. Parents tend to use punishment because it is fast and easy and often puts an immediate end to an unacceptable behavior. However, in the long run, punishment often does not work. While punishment teaches a child what kind of behavior is considered inappropriate, it does not necessarily teach her what is appropriate. For instance, if you punish a child for whining, she doesn’t really learn another more constructive way to ask for things she wants. In the end she probably will whine because it occasionally pays off, making the punishment worth suffering. Punishment also has the effect of arousing a child emotionally and she may get upset, angry, or fearful. Stirring up these intense negative emotions does nothing to help a child learn appropriate behavior and, when the child begins to associate these feelings with the punisher, she may form a negative image of the parent in her mind. The child learns to fear, avoid and lie to her parent. Furthermore, punishment, especially physical punishment (e.g., hitting or spanking), models negative behavior. If a child is hit every time she does something a parent doesn’t like, the message is: “If you don’t like what someone is doing, hit her.” Punishment is also likely to result in revenge. The punished child may see herself at the losing end of a power struggle and try to find a way of getting even, often by repeating the behavior she was punished for in the first place. Prolonged or severe punishment will result in the formation of a negative self-image as the child incorporates the belief that she is bad. Punishment may sometimes be deemed necessary by a parent, but is often overused in our culture. We will discuss some alternatives later.

Because of our own inability to deal with a child or because of problems in our own lives, we may feel compelled to deal out unconditional negative strokes to our children. Sarcasm, critical remarks about a child’s character (“You are a bad child.”) or the use of undeserved negative strokes of any kind is abuse. This is devastating to the self-esteem of the child who receives it. Since the negative stroke is in no way related to the child’s behavior, the message to the child is “you are not worthwhile no matter what you do.” Many parents will recognize this kind of stroke from their own childhood, and should eliminate it from their own parenting. Unlike punishment, which may be unavoidable, abuse is never appropriate.

Knowing that negative strokes are to be avoided, how can we as parents deal with misbehavior? There are essentially three options we have open to us in these situations.

The first option is for a parent to change herself or her attitudes toward her child’s behavior. It is important for parents to realize that their thoughts about how children should behave are based mostly on their own specific experience in a family and in a culture. Sometimes, these expectations are not realistic and behavior that you consider inappropriate may be entirely normal for a child of a given age. This is why it is important to have some knowledge of developmental psychology. Find out what is normal for children the same age as your own. For example, if your two year old daughter is constantly saying “no!” is getting into everything and is generally driving you crazy, you may have to give up trying to control her every move through constant punishment and accept this as normal for a child of her age. This doesn’t mean there shouldn’t be consequences for her behavior, but it is extremely important to remember that, in most cases, what you are seeing is not deviant nor aimed at you personally. This is particularly important to keep in mind when dealing with adolescents who have a natural bent toward independence and question all forms of authority. I have found pediatricians, day-care supervisors, parenting courses and other parents to be helpful sources of information about normal, age-appropriate behavior.

Changing yourself or your attitudes will not always be the right choice and may lead the child to an unrealistic belief that the world will change to meet her demands. If this is the case, one of the other two options will be more appropriate. However, examining your own behavior and attitudes is always a good place to start.

The second option involves changing the environment. To return to the example of the two year old, this approach would involve accepting her curiosity as normal and moving everything breakable or dangerous in the house above the child’s reach. Eventually she will lose interest in these objects and also learn what she can and can’t touch. Sometimes children are in classrooms or schools that are not suited to them. This is another situation in which you might like to change the environment. Again, this may not be the best approach. In some cases it may be best for her to learn to cope with less than perfect situations and realize that the world will not always accommodate to her.

The final option, the one which parents most frequently turn to, is to try to change the child, usually in the form of punishment. While this particular response is relatively easy and quick, it is not very effective and has, as we have already seen, many negative side effects. As an alternative to punishment, there are several ways we can modify behavior. Let’s look at them.

As a preventative measure, I would suggest that the most important thing a parent can do is to provide a good role model for the child. Behave as you would like the child to behave. Children learn best by modeling. If they see violent, negative behavior, that is what they will model. All the parenting skills combined cannot undo bad models.

It is also important to state limits clearly. Often children will misbehave just to find out what the limits are, their thinking being, “How far can I go before she will react?” Limits must also be consistent. If, for example, it is o.k. to throw toys on one day, but a punishable offence on the next, the child learns that the world is an unsafe and unpredictable place and will probably act out her anxiety in some way that you will find unpleasant. This is not to say that limits can’t change. When you realize that a limit is unrealistic or unfair, it is time to change it. When dealing with older children, for example, good parents will listen and try to come to some mutual agreement about fair limits.

The most effective way of changing behavior is through conditional positive strokes or positive reinforcement. Many children misbehave in order to get attention. The theory behind positive reinforcement is to grant children the attention they desire when they are behaving appropriately and to deny it when they are misbehaving. In other words, reinforce appropriate behavior, ignore negative behavior. A former student of mine who taught dance to school-age children told me about a child who was a constant source of disruption in her class, He would stand in the back row of the class gyrating and making strange sounds. At first, she would stop the class and admonish him, but this had no effect. This behavior became more frequent and disruptive as the class progressed. Finally, at the end of her wits and having turned into a screaming banshee, she decided he had to go. As a last resort, however, she decided to try positive reinforcement. She completely ignored him when he acted up in class and paid attention to him only when he was acting appropriately. Amazingly, within about two weeks he was one of the best members of her class. The secret to her success was a process called shaping. When we shape a behavior, we begin by reinforcing any small approach to the expected behavior. In this case, she began by reinforcing him when he was standing still and paying attention. When the initial task is learned, the child is reinforced for gradual improvements and failure or negative behavior is ignored until the final goal is reached. Thus the child experiences positive strokes for attempting to change rather than experiencing punishment and failure.

Changing a child’s behavior is seldom as easy as was described in the above example. One of the problems with children who misbehave for attention is that they have learned that the only way they will get attention is to misbehave. Often, a child will decide that a negative stroke is better than no stroke at all. In these cases, the continued negative responses she receives lead to the development of low self-esteem. Furthermore, children with very poor self-esteem sometimes reach the point where negative responses from others take on the role of positive reinforcements. In other words, the child’s attitude is, “I only feel good when someone is treating me badly.” Life for these children becomes one attempt after another to get someone to yell at them, hit them or otherwise respond negatively. Parents, not knowing any other response, deliver negative strokes thinking they are punishing the child when they are, in fact, reinforcing negative behavior and solidifying low self-esteem.

People with poor self-esteem are destructive to themselves and to others. When I worked in a residential treatment center in the early 70’s, we admitted a boy who was the angriest, meanest six-year-old I had ever met. His favorite pastimes were setting cats on fire and smearing dog feces inside little girl’s mouths. He was the product of a violent and alcoholic home and his whole life seemed to be dedicated to enraging adults to the point where they would become abusive with him. I decided to implement a plan which consisted of completely ignoring him until he did something positive. This plan was to be carried out by all staff members at the center. About five minutes into the plan, he broke a window. He was ignored and, to his amazement, no one responded. Realizing something was amiss, he found the smallest, most defenseless girl in the center and began pounding her mercilessly in the face. Obviously we had to immediately stop him and find some consequence for his behavior. I’ll never forget the grin on his face as I marched him away to his room. He had won.

There are two factors which contributed to this boy’s behavior. The first is the need for attention which we have already discussed. Children must feel they can affect the people around them. If they cannot affect you in a way that results in you giving them positive strokes, they will find out how to produce negative strokes. The second is the need for power. Children who feel powerless in their lives will attempt to gain power by acting in ways that are destructive to themselves and to others. How can we as parents ensure that our children have a feeling of power over their lives? With young children, this can be as simple as letting them pick out their own clothes, or which bedtime story to read. As they get older, you might let them set their own bedtime and decide which TV shows they want to watch. Responsible parenting allows you to gradually give a child more and more control over her own life. Children who know you respect and trust them will respond in kind. A child who receives your trust will be trustworthy herself.

Parents sometimes allow children too much power. Children should not be allowed the freedom to decide to stop brushing their teeth, eat unhealthily, verbally or physically abuse others, miss sleep or participate in dangerous activities. This is neglect and can result in omnipotent children who have little regard for others and believe life should meet all of their expectations. The proper balance of autonomy allowed and limits imposed is something we all have struggled with as parents. Children need power over some aspects of their lives, but they also need to feel safe in the hands of a parent who is in control of herself and the welfare of the child.

I would like to make one last comment about power. Beware of power struggles. Try to avoid them by planning ahead and seeing what difficulties will arise in situations you face. Don’t get into battles you can’t win. Decide what rules and limits are really important. Be really clear about them and don’t back down. Everything else should be negotiable or flexible, depending on the situation. Although children understand and respect strength in parents, they also place great value on fairness. It is wise to avoid power struggles but we all eventually find ourselves in these battles which constitute the worst (and sometimes the funniest) memories of our parenting lives. Try to have a sense of humor.

Another alternative to punishment is the use of consequences. Consequences can be natural or logical. A natural consequence is a consequence that occurs directly as a result of a child’s behavior and without the parent’s intervention. If you go out in the rain without rain gear you will get wet and cold. If you do not eat dinner you get hungry. I do not recommend the following technique but it was an interesting example of learning as a result of natural consequences. When my son was about nine or ten months old, I was trying to teach him to stay away from hot things. I would point to the stove and say, “Hot!” He would put his hand on a cold burner and say “Hot!” very pleased with himself. I used lots of different objects to try and teach this, all to no avail, since nothing was ever really hot. One day I was sitting drinking a cup of coffee and he walked up to me. I pointed to the coffee and said “Hot!” Before I could stop him he stuck his finger into the coffee, immediately withdrew it and yelled, “HOT!” From that point on he always avoided anything I told him was hot. Again, I do not recommend this procedure, but it does exemplify the principle of natural consequences.

Often behaviors do not have natural consequences, or the consequences are so awful you cannot let a child experience them. For example, you do not teach children about not going in the street by allowing them to be hit by cars. You can, however, apply logical consequences in these situations. Logical consequences are consequences which make sense to the child and are linked in some logical way to the behavior. Spanking, for example, is not logically related to any behavior, nor is being sent to your room without dinner because you swore. Not getting desert because you did not eat your meal, however, is a logical consequence because the consequence is related to the behavior, eating your meal. When I was trying to teach my one-year-old son not to go in the street I used logical consequences. I would hold his hand, walk with him to the curb and say, “No street.” He would look at me like I was crazy and say “No street.” I would then let go and if he walked into the street I would pick him up, say “No!” firmly and take him into the house. He would protest but we would stay inside for a while just to make the point. Going inside is a logical consequence to not behaving safely outside. I repeated this each day, each time moving farther away as he reached the curb, turned around, smiled and said “No street.” When I felt that he had learned not to go in the street, I let him wander while I sat on the porch and watched. One day he began to walk toward the corner about a half a block away. My wife started after him but I said, “Let’s see what happens.” When he got to the corner he turned his head, smiled, said “No,no,no!” and came back. Needless to say, he got a lot of positive strokes for that decision.

In the end, you may have to resort to punishment, but it should be your last option. If you do resort to punishment, make sure it is being carried out for the child’s good and not yours. In other words, the punishment should teach the child about limits or consequences and not be just the result of your frustration or anger. Avoid physical punishment. This is bad modeling and is not necessary. Lastly, it is important to separate the behavior from the child; make sure the child understands that, though you may not like what she is doing, you still love her. Improving a child’s behavior at the expense of her self-esteem is a hollow victory.

It is important to not confuse reinforcement or positive strokes with bribery or natural and logical consequences with threatening. Reinforcement is spontaneous or part of a contract. For example, we may reinforce a child who has just brought home a great report card or a child may earn a certain amount of money by completing tasks for which she is responsible. We may spontaneously reinforce a child because she has done something that we have decided is appropriate or more mature than we previously accepted. For example, a child may begin to baby-sit her younger sister when you go out. These are all things that are good for the child. On the other hand, bribery is a calculated way to get a child to do something for you, usually after the child has started misbehaving. For example, a child starts to scream in the store and we say, “Be quiet and I’ll get you a chocolate bar.” The child learns, “If I misbehave long enough I will eventually get what I want.” If we are going to reward a child for good behavior, it should be spontaneous or agreed upon before you go in the store. If the child misbehaves, no reward will be forthcoming.

Threats are not very effective because, like bribes, they are usually made after the negative behavior begins. In addition, threats are often seen as a challenge by the child, who may think to herself, “Let’s just see if she means this.” Also, parents often threaten consequences that cannot be carried out, or that hurt the parent more than the child. If I want to go shopping and tell my toddler that she will be taken home if she misbehaves, I am actually giving her a wonderful way to avoid shopping and setting myself up for a disappointing day or an opportunity to go back on my word. Before getting into potentially troublesome situations, be really clear with your children what you expect of them and what will happen if they do or do not meet your expectations. Do not make the child wait too long for positive consequences and if you resort to a negative consequence, it should be clear why this is happening.

This reminds me of an experience I had with my youngest son. Threats are almost always a bad idea with children. Threats you can’t carry out are even worse. It was Halloween and we were going to take the boys to a party at our oldest son’s school after dinner. We were having shrimp salad and my youngest son refused to eat any. So at first I told him we wouldn’t go until he ate two bites. He refused. Now I had really set myself up here in a power struggle I could not win. We were going no matter what. So I backed down to one bite. Still no agreement. So I picked up a shrimp, stuffed it in his mouth, picked him up and loaded him into the car. At the party he ate candy, bobbed for apples, played games and generally had a great time. When we came home we put them to bed and he was so exhausted he was sound asleep before I could even kiss him goodnight. As I leaned over to kiss him, his mouth opened and there on his lower gum was the shrimp.

Parents ask a lot of questions about discipline. Instead of thinking of discipline as punishment, it is helpful to think of it as teaching children how to govern their own behavior. The child who has experienced unconditional love, conditional positive strokes, limits, good models and a minimum of negativity is not going to need to misbehave for attention or to prove her own power. However, all children (and adults) misbehave. What is important is our reaction to that behavior.

We said earlier that there were three ways to respond to misbehavior: Change yourself, change the environment or change the child. All three approaches are appropriate in different situations. It is important to decide which one is best in the particular situation in which you find yourself. Elizabeth Creary, in her book Beyond Spanking and Spoiling, says that the best way to answer the question, “What should I do?” is to ask yourself another question: “How can the needs of the child and my(our) needs get satisfied in this situation?” Considering only your own needs produces a child who feels unloved and unseen, while considering only the child’s produces a spoiled child who does not understand how to get along with others. The goal is to work toward a compromise which will lead to a situation in which both your needs and the child’s needs can be met. To do this you may have to change yourself or your expectations, change the child’s environment, or you may have to change the child.

Children are not machines–you cannot learn how to “fix” them in courses or books. Although these sources of information are helpful, you cannot apply pat, simple solutions to complex problems. Bruno Bettleheim, in his book, The Good Enough Parent, says the key to being a good enough parent is to first understand why the child is doing what she is doing. He maintains that, based on the child’s experience and level of understanding, everything a child does makes sense to her at the time. According to Bettleheim, the first step in dealing with a problem is to understand the child’s perspective. Why is the child doing what she is doing? Is she scared? Is she desperate for attention or power in her life? Is she just acting like a normal four-year-old? This approach requires us to listen to children. Although I have not addressed this topic here, it is extremely important and entire books have been written on the subject. I enthusiastically recommend learning how to listen to your children if you have trouble in this area. Secondly, he advises us to try and remember what it was like to be a child, to try to imagine what our own responses might have to the situations that cause problems for our children.

Closely related to this idea is the concept of mirroring. Mirroring entails recognizing what your child is feeling or thinking and reflecting it back. This process begins with comforting an unhappy baby, returning her smiles and gazes and engaging in loving conversations with the cooing and babbling infant. Later we can show children that we understand why they are unhappy or angry even though we may not alter our limits or environment to satisfy the child’s desires. A friend of mine once told me of an experience with her two-year-old granddaughter who was staying with her while her mother was delivering her second child. At one point during the week the toddler picked up a doll and started banging its head against the table while repeating over and over, “No want baby!” My friend said, “I know you are angry and it is ok to be angry about having to share mommy, but it is not ok to hit the baby. Mommy and Grandma will love you just as much now as we did before the baby came.” This process of mirroring tells the child her feelings and perceptions are valid even if her behavior is not acceptable. It tells the child she matters and is worthy of existence in this world. Mirroring helps to form a sense of self which will help a child to make healthy decisions later in life.

If we are able to do these two things, understand the child’s motives and feel what the child feels, we will most likely make the right decisions. Trust in your own intuition and your ability to become better at this very difficult task of childrearing. Integrate the information you feel is helpful with what you know in your heart is right for you and your child. Remember that, no matter what else happens, if your child leaves childhood knowing you love her and will always love her and has been given the tools necessary to negotiate the perils of life, you have been successful. She will accept herself, will be able to love others and pass this gift to her own children.

White Seal Speaks

On March 12, 1862 the steamship Brother Jonathan arrived in Victoria, British Columbia, Canada from San Francisco. It brought with it a most unwelcome guest, Smallpox. When the disease began to appear in the locals, the government moved to inoculate as many people as possible. As many white people as possible, that is. When native people camping near Victoria became ill, they were forced to leave and return to their villages. There was no attempt to vaccinate them. Between April and December of 1862, half of the indigenous population between Victoria and Alaska perished. Later, more died.

Around the same time, the government started sending boats into the inlets where native villages lay. They would tell the inhabitants that they had one hour to get their children ready to leave for residential schools run by the Catholic and Anglican churches. There the children lost their families, their names, their language, their culture, their religion and in many cases, their innocence and virginity. All of this in the name of “civilizing the Indians” and bringing them to Jesus. After my wife read this she said, “They didn’t lose it. It was stolen.” A moving story was told to me by a man whose grandmother experienced this travesty. When I said, “You should write down her stories,” he replied, “She says you have stolen everything else from us, you can’t steal our stories too.”

This history, and many more injustices, were on my mind when I first arrived at the Red Lion Inn in Victoria on a crisp fall morning to begin teaching a basic counseling skills course to some of the Salish people of Vancouver Island. Never in my life have I met a kinder, more welcoming group of students. After all we had done to them, they still made me feel welcome.

The tribes, or bands, had horrible social issues. Drug and alcohol abuse, family violence, sexual abuse and suicide were rampant. Each band had a social worker who had to deal with these problems. Often the workers had no training and few resources and were overwhelmed and desperate for help. From this need sprang the Camosun College Native Band Social Worker program. I was chosen to teach several of the courses, beginning with Basic Counseling Skills, a week long all day program of instruction.

I remember unloading my station wagon that was packed with boxes of reprints and then carefully reviewing my presentation schedule complete with exercises and role plays before arriving at the classroom promptly at 9:00am. No one was there. Around 9:30 people began to straggle in and at 10 I began. At lunchtime I carried all my boxes back to the car unopened and returned them to the college. It was clear to me this was nothing like any group I had ever taught before. What did I have to offer these people? The problems were horrendous and I was lost as to how to approach the topic in a way that made sense. I should have known then that I would learn much more from them than they would learn from me. In retrospect, teaching in that program was one of the highlights of my life.

The indigenous people of Canada like to be referred to as First Nations people and they do have their own nations. Nothing was more moving than watching some of my former students graduating from University with degrees in social work wearing the beautiful beaded and buttoned capes of their people. While other students were introduced by their name only, the names of First Nation students were followed by phases like, “From the Salish Nation” or “From the Haida Nation.” It seems to me this communicates that, “Yes we are part of Canada but we are our own people.” This, in spite of all we have done to try to destroy that identity.

My first lesson was about the First Nations concept of time. At the end of the day I asked if we could start on time the next day.

“What time?” one student asked.

I said, “How about 9:30?”

He said, “9:30 white man time or Indian time?”

“What is the difference?” I asked curiously.

“White man time, 9:30. Indian time, see you for lunch.”

Everybody laughed and we decided that 10:00 white man time would suffice. One wonderful elderly lady said, “Yeah we got to go to the Bingo tonight so we can’t get up too early.” Everybody laughed again and then let me in on that well known First Nations disorder, Bingo Addiction.

The older lady then said, “Larry, you hear about the two Indian boys lost in the woods?” “Nope,” I replied. One says, “We are lost, do you think we should pray?” The other says, “Sure but I never been to church.” The first one says, “I have lots of times and I know what they say.” “OK then, pray.” The first one screws up his face and in the loudest voice says, “Under the B!”

For my first exercise I chose reflective listening, a style of listening that shows the other person that you hear them, understand them and have empathy. My first attempt went something like this:

Ernie (a chief): “You know about 5 years ago I quit drinkin’. Me and my friend Paul was out on my fishin’ boat one night and we drunk up a storm. Then next day I woke up and Paul was gone. Overboard in the night. I still cry about it.”

Frankie (a wonderful young man who I will talk about later): “Ernie it sounds like you come here with a heavy heart.”

Never in all my years of teaching counseling skills had I seen people so naturally listen and speak from the heart. I had nothing to teach them about this.

After a long discussion about what was troubling them most, I realized they were frustrated by their inability to stand up to the white bureaucrats who controlled their lives. Assertiveness and outspokenness are not valued traits in their culture but are essential when dealing with government agencies and what they would call “European culture.” They found the course useful and I will never forget the stories they shared with me as I learned who they were and what they needed from me. Their kindness to and tolerance of me, a representative of a race of people who had treated them so badly and knew so little of their culture moved me deeply. They invited me back to teach Child Development, the next course.

One of the funniest stories was told by a woman from a village so remote you had to fly in or travel by boat to get there. She said as the plane flew in it would pass over hot springs frequented by “white hippies” bathing nude in the pools. The people of her band called them the white seals and it was a local custom to report on any white seal sightings after landing. Hence the title of this piece.

One of the reasons direct communication and assertive behavior was difficult was that much of the communication between them was indirect or spoken in metaphor. Assertiveness, confrontation and in some cases even eye contact were considered rude. This left them vulnerable to being steamrolled by the white authorities and was often confusing to a culture as direct as ours. One of the best examples of this was the avoidance of eye contact as a sign of respect. Many of my students remembered being beaten because they would not look a nun or a teacher in the eyes for fear of appearing disrespectful.

Once we had to make an important decision. We sat in a circle and I laid out the problem. One of the students started by telling a story about his sister. The next described a fishing trip. This went on as each told a story. I became more and more confused and frustrated and was about to demand that we deal with the issue at hand when Chief Josephine said, “Well, I guess we have arrived at a decision.”

Stunned, I asked, “When did that happen and what was the decision?” They all laughed and one of them said playfully, “Oh, you white people are so stupid.”

Somewhere in all that metaphor was a discussion and decision about the topic but I’ll be damned if I had any idea what it was.

On another occasion I was teaching a course at the College and there was one First Nations student in the course. I assigned a paper that required the students to describe how their parents had disciplined them as children and the effect it had on them. The lone Salish student came to me and told me she couldn’t do the paper because she was not raised like that. She explained that if a child misbehaved some adult or elder would take them aside and tell them a story, most likely with that pesky trickster Raven at the center. It was up to the child to realize the meaning of the story and apply the moral to his or her own behavior. So she wrote a beautiful paper relating stories she was told and how her behavior changed in response to the stories.

At the end of one course I taught, the students asked me when I would have their papers finished and grades submitted. I said, “Well, you know, I have to go fishin’ with my brother up in Uclulet and then I have to go huntin’ with my dad. Also, my cousin wants me to help him clear some pasture….”

Amid howls of laughter, one of them said, “You really understand us don’t you?” I hoped I did.

Those courses and the education I received from those people prepared me for one of the most meaningful experiences of my life. After I had taught the courses, I received a phone call from one of the First Nations employees at the College. She had relatives in the course and said to me, “Larry, my sister’s son is in terrible trouble and I know you understand our people. Could you help him?”

I agreed and soon met with the boy. He was about 17 and what transpired between us is confidential but let me tell you he was in about as much trouble as you could imagine. I can also say that my attempts to help him failed miserably. The rest of the story I can tell because it appeared in the local newspaper.

At some point he got loaded up on drugs and alcohol and robbed a convenience store at a gas station. He beat the attendant so badly he was in hospital for weeks. After his arrest it looked as though he was on his way to adult prison. Soon after this happened I received a call from the chief of his mother’s tribe who asked me if I would write a letter to the judge pleading with him not to send the boy to prison but rather to turn him over the elders of the tribe. The judge agreed.

One of the issues he faced was the fact that his father was white and his mother was First Nations. As a child he was beaten by the white kids for being First Nations and beaten by the First Nations kids for being white. So this action by the elders solidified his identity as a First Nations person. They told him, “You are one of us.”

The boy was taken into the tribe and they began teaching him the old religion and the respect for nature and life in general that were so central to the culture. Then they placed him on a rural trap line for the winter where he had to practice the skills they had taught him and to survive on his own, completely sober. At the end of this experience they held a Potlatch, a ceremony in the long house or big house in which gifts are given by the host to others in the tribe. These were outlawed by the early white government as part of a heathen culture and only recently have been allowed as part of First Nations heritage. Really, what good capitalist gives away what he owns to his neighbors?

In this case, however, the recipient of the gifts was the young man beaten by my client. Each member of the tribe donated money to cover expenses and lost wages. Then each member stood up and expressed the shame they felt after hearing of the treatment he had received from one of their own. Then the young man who had beaten him stood up and expressed his shame and they embraced. The last I heard of this fine young man thirty years ago was that he was helping First Nations youth around the province in a program aimed at preventing drug and alcohol abuse.

We often talk about shame as a bad thing. In this case it served to solidify this boy’s identity as a member of the tribe and emphasized the fact that he belonged and was truly a member of a race and culture with values and expectations. It gave him an identity not as a “half breed,” but as a proud First Nations young man whose behavior reflected on his brothers and sisters in the tribe. That may have been the most important letter I have ever written.

Another moving experience happened during the first course I taught. On Wednesday one of the younger members of the group, Frankie, approached me and said, “I like you Larry. I want to explain to you what it is like to be an Indian.”

He suggested we go over to the shopping center and buy a couple of hot dogs then he would tell me what he wanted to tell me. There, in the midst of middle class white people going about their daily business I had one of the most moving experiences of my life.

He began by saying, “I used to hate myself for being Indian. Then I hated white people. Now I don’t hate anybody.”

He talked about his life as a child and the difficulties of growing up First Nations in white culture. At some point in his adolescence he entered a program that had the purpose of teaching young First Nations boys the old culture and the values that were so central to his people before we showed up. It transformed him and he became the proud young man he was at that time with a purpose in life based on love and respect and not on hate. I will be forever grateful for that experience. Sadly, Frankie died young but his memory lives on as an inspiration to those who want to live a purposeful life.

At the end of that first week, I was overwhelmed with gratitude and aware that somehow these people had changed me. But I was wondering if I had achieved anything of substance when Chief Ernie walked up to me, grabbed my hand and said, “Thank you Larry. I think what you have taught me will really help me help my people.” I only hoped the same was true for me.

One last thought

Anthony Sutich, along with Abraham Maslow, founded the Transpersonal Psychology movement. While in graduate school training to become a psychotherapist, he was diagnosed with an arthritic condition so severe he was given the choice to spend the rest of his life either sitting or lying down as his joints were well into the process of becoming completely immobile. He chose to lie down. I met him at a conference in the early 70s and you would sit behind him and he would talk to you through his frozen jaw while looking at you in a mirror mounted to the side of his gurney. He worked as a therapist and helped many people, probably as much by inspiration as by psychotherapy.

Later in life he decided to return to school and finish his Ph.D. He finished the work but became very sick and was not present when his committee met for the last time and granted him his degree. That night the chair of the committee had a dream in which Anthony came to his bedside walking. “Anthony, you’re walking” he said in the Dream. “Yes,” Anthony replied. “I have died but I want to know if I passed the final review of my thesis.“ "Yes Dr. Sutich,” replied the chair. "Good and goodbye” answered Anthony. The chair was then awakened by the phone. It was Anthony’s wife saying, “Anthony has just died.”

Whenever I am having a bad day or the world is not behaving in the way I want it to (this seems to happen a lot) or I feel frustrated, angry or hard done by I think about Anthony Sutich who gave so much to so many people and will be remembered for his kindness, indomitable spirit and for accomplishing so much in spite of probably having a lot of bad days.

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xephinatheeleven · 7 years ago

Text

The Imposter

Word Count: 8,697

Summary: When a new video is being filmed, Virgil is mysteriously late, and when he does arrive, there’s something off about him, as if he were lying...

Warnings: Panic-attacks

Pairings: Platonic Only!

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This was it, after weeks of research and watching the other sides, Deceit was finally ready to get his revenge on them. Thomas may be a moral person, but it was clear that he had chosen the wrong trait before; Patton didn’t hold enough sway over the others to be used as the puppet to take control of their host’s entire personality, but there was one who did have such prestige. When Logan left, he became the voice of reason, when Roman was shouting for Thomas to go through with an idea, he could stop the YouTuber without even raising his voice, Patton wouldn’t dare calling him out, for fear of losing his friendship, and he just so happened to be the one who the snake-like aspect hated the most. Virgil. That’s whose place he should have taken to begin with, but he had never expected a dark-side to have such a hold on Thomas’s emotions.

Anger welled up inside the duplicitous facet; Anxiety should be by his side now, the two of them working together to take the power away from the other three main personifications, but his old friend had betrayed him. The apprehensive persona had allowed himself to become brainwashed into thinking that their host and the other archetypes considered him family. They had tricked him into thinking he was accepted as one of the mains, and yet they still called Deceit the liar.

Once and for all, he was going to take control as the most powerful and dominant embodiment, then Virgil would have no choice but to see what the others had done to him, and how they really felt. When he came to his senses, the anxious emotion would turn his back on his so-called family, and when he did, he would be a valuable asset. With his abilities of inflicting fear and adrenaline, partnered with the power the devious character would have over the others, they would be an unstoppable team.

Now would finally be his chance to make Virgil pay for abandoning him, and take all the power away from the mains, and the untrustworthy side knew just how he was going to pull it off. The others were more susceptible to his lies when they were physically manifested, so it would be easy enough to trick them, after all, had it not been for the one he intended to stand in as, they may never have figured out he wasn’t really their moral counterpart. The first part of his plan however, was going to be the most difficult; he had to get the real fight-or-flight reflex out of the way until the deceptive trait was certain he had switched allegiances.

Even with Thomas knowing of his existence, and without having the others in his grasp, the dishonest figure still had enough influence to shut them up, and in this case, he was going to do so physically. With just the right amount of energy, he would still be able to hold up his façade as his gloomier companion, while keeping the real him trapped safely in his room, where he couldn’t interfere with Deceit’s plot to seize authority. Now all he had to do was wait for the right moment to strike, Anxiety was usually the last to show up for most any filming, so as to minimize his screen time. That meant, all the liar had to do was lay low until the other three synced into the real world, then keep the youngest of the mains in his room and take his place. He knew the darkest of the four far better than he did Morality; therefore, acting like him would be easy, and if he forgot something, he had jotted down a few notes on his hand. It was so simple, so flawless, that there was no way they would be able to figure him out this time, he would have them cornered.

Virgil was aware that the other aspects had already gone to the real world for the video, but as per usual, he was hanging back until he was needed. It wouldn’t be long now before he was summoned, so the negative facet reached for his jacket, which hung from the back of his desk chair, but before he could take it, it vanished. The only way that could happen was if one of his colleagues had called it to them at will, probably to lure him to the filming, although it was certainly a new tactic, probably one of Princey’s ideas. Shaking his head and ready to scold whoever had taken his coat, Anxiety attempted to sync into the real world himself, but quickly found that he had been cut off for some reason.

Trying to lure, and then trapping him as some sort of joke was a new low for the others, and something he hadn’t expected them to do. Virgil was sure they had no mal-intent in doing so, but that didn’t make it any less annoying to him. Sighing, he walked for the door. If he went to the control room, he would be able to manually convince Thomas to summon him. A wave of anger crashed over him as he tried the handle, only to find that it had been locked, whatever kind of antic this was, it was going too far.

The fury he felt however, slowly began to ebb as fear took hold of him at the realization of two things, even if this was a prank, the others were putting their host, and by extension, themselves at risk by distancing him from his fight-or-flight reflex. The other part wasn’t nearly as rational, but scared him all the same, overpowering the more important concern. Being trapped in the enclosed space; he could almost feel the walls pressing in on him as his claustrophobia took hold.

Patton was beginning to become concerned, the video filming had started some time ago, and while Virgil was usually the last to show up, this time was different. Multiple points had already gone by in which his darker son would have ordinarily jumped in to offer his argument, or at least make some sort of sarcastic comment on the matter at hand. Morality knew however, that he hadn’t ducked-out again, seeing as he had no known reason too, and Thomas wasn’t acting disinterested and careless. Actually, that was part of what had him so worried, their host seemed even more worked up than usual.

It was understandable though, because this time around, the debate was focused on what the next step in the life of the online personality should be. Logan was arguing that he should go back to school; meanwhile, Roman was insistent that he try out for the role of Captain Von Trapp from The Sound of Music. The father figure was yet to choose who he would side with, and wanted to hear Anxiety’s opinion before he did, but in the end the eldest trait would support Thomas in whatever he decided to do.

Patton let his mind drift from his thoughts as he did his best to focus on the altercation once more, and apparently it was Logic’s turn to have the floor. “As we all know Thomas has been considering starting some new courses to expand his knowledge, and with the fall semester beginning soon, now would be the ideal time for him to go through with that plan and start on a few new classes.”

Princey scoffed, waving off the idea, “A new performance will be hosting auditions in Orlando soon, and Thomas would surely get the part of the Captain if he tried out. That’s not to mention that it would do him good to get back into musical theatre after his last blunder when he forgot the song!” Their host cast a glare at his fanciful side, clearly not pleased by the reminder of his last attempt of being cast in a play.

“Maybe it would be better if he just focused on his YouTube career,” They all whipped around as Virgil’s voice joined in on the conversation, it was an odd time for him to show up, but Morality was happy to see him all the same. “You wouldn’t want to let you fans down, would you Thomas?”

Patton was a bit taken aback by the crass question, the youngest aspect’s voice was reminiscent of the way he had spoken before the others had accepted him, that being said, he knew he had to step in. “Now kiddo, I think it’s been made clear to all of us, that Thomas’s fans will support him, no matter what he chooses to do.”

Before he could say anymore, the intellectual facet interjected, clearly not having picked up on Anxiety’s tone, “Patton is correct. Besides, I have already run the calculations; Thomas would still be able to maintain his posting schedule, even with some of his time being taken up by school-work. If he were to take on rehearsals however, it would take up more time than he has to spare if he wants to keep making these videos.”

“Alright Neil deGlasses Tyson, but the fans have also said that they want Thomas to be happy, and we all know how much he enjoys acting.” To emphasize his point, Roman waved his hands around at the group, “and just like with previous videos, it could give him some interesting stories to tell later on.”

The YouTuber nodded in agreement, “this is true. Sure the viewers would have to wait a little longer between uploads, but that would allow me to focus on quality over quantity.”

The rational persona straightened his glasses before addressing their host, “you do that already. Your audience is more than satisfied with the current caliber of the content you create now. Knowing that, maintaining the posting schedule you have now would be the best option, while still allowing you to take up a few classes. If you were to go through with that plan, then you would also be able to fill your videos with more facts and references, therefore increasing the overall quality as well.”

“Does Thomas really need the stress of another activity just now?” Something about the attitude and mannerisms of the gloomier side set off red flags in the mind of the usually cheerful character. Virgil wasn’t acting like himself; now-a-days he often tried not to be as harsh, he was still truthful, but attempted to make points in a less destructive way than he was now. “He already gets anxious when it comes to making videos, and he almost always has to push back the release dates as it is. Adding more to his plate would only feed into that.”

The online personality hung his head at the statement; but neither Princey nor Logic seemed to notice as they continued to bicker, only stopping when Thomas himself intervened. “Perhaps Virgil is right, I have been trying to focus more on my mental-health recently…and taking up new responsibilities could set me back.” As he paused, the trait dressed in black and purple appeared contented that the debate was now swinging in his favor. “For the time being, it might be best if I hold off on any new obligations.”

Logan and Roman both gave the online personality a startled glance before turning to Patton, as if asking him to do something. They seemed to have come to the same conclusion that the moral attribute had; inactivity, and sticking with exactly what he was doing without taking any risks, would lead him nowhere. He wouldn’t grow as a person if he wasn’t willing to accept any new challenges in life.

“Son, I’m not so sure that’s the best idea,” Deceit couldn’t help but feel smug, everything was going exactly to plan. He had managed to get Thomas on his side, and by the looks of it, the other three were grasping at straws to try and get him to change his mind. “Staying right where you are and where you feel comfortable at the moment isn’t going to make things any better. We’ve discussed this before, change can be a good thing, and in this case, whether you were to chose to take new classes or audition for the play, it would lead you down a new path, and either one would be better than doing nothing at all. You could make new friends, learn, come up with new ideas, and overall grow as a person if you just take the next step, but if you stay in place, you may never know what opportunities you missed.” The snake-like aspect wasn’t concerned by the words of the father figure, after all, he hadn’t been a strong enough pawn before, and the others didn’t listen to him them, so why should they listen to him now?

The YouTuber’s soft and almost scared voice jarred the liar from his thoughts, “I know change can be good, but missed opportunities can apply to any part of life. If I were to choose either of the other options…I could be so busy that I lose the friends I have. I could lose my fan-base and by extension my financial income, I could-”

“Thomas! Stop!” Patton couldn’t bear to listen to any more of this harmful talk, “what is going on? This isn’t like you…is there something more going on that you aren’t telling us about?”

“That is a fair question; you are coming across as a bit more pessimistic than usual.” At Logan’s concurrence, Morality noticed it, the one indication that something was very wrong, and he was astonished that the anxious personification hadn’t picked up on it, Thomas was shaking, and it had only grown worse as the debate progressed. Their host started to tremble when he was falling into a panic-attack, and the last time that had happened was when he, along with his creative and logical counterparts had become corrupted in the Accepting Anxiety videos. Patton was certain that none of them were corrupted now, so there was only one facet capable of causing such a reaction within Thomas.

“Thomas, listen to me and me alone,” the voice the moral embodiment now took on was soft and gentle. “I don’t know what is going through your head right now, or what is causing it, but you're beginning to panic, so let us help you calm down before we continue with the video.” The online personality didn’t respond, and Patton’s paternal instincts were starting to kick in, he had to find a way to stop this. He didn’t want to go through with what he knew he had to do next, for fear that it wasn’t him, and the accusation would be unjustified, but with the rest of them having no reason to be scared, there was only one side with the power to be doing all of this. Taking a deep breath, he leaned past Roman to speak directly to the one in question, his voice merely a whisper so as not to alert anyone else. “Virgil, I don’t know if this is your doing or not, but you are the only one who can stop Thomas from going into a panic-attack, so please, help him.” Morality was unnerved by the almost malicious look the other gave him, but there was nothing else he could do but let the attack run its course and offer what comfort there was to be given.

Virgil paced back and forth across his room, he had tried everything he could think of to get out, but nothing had worked. He was beginning to wonder if the others had something against him, or if he had upset them in some way, because this had gone on for far too long for it to just be a joke anymore, and the idea terrified him. He wracked his mind, searching for any reason that the others may be angry with him, or for a situation in which his words or actions could have been misinterpreted as ill-will, but nothing came to mind.

Anxiety had no idea as to what could have brought all this on; he shivered, partially from the thoughts, but also because he was cold without his jacket. That was the part that didn’t fit, if they just wanted him out of the way, then why take his coat? Thoughts rushed into his mind at the speed of light, the outfit idea had been a bit out there, he’d said that himself before revealing it, maybe they had taken the jacket to make fun of it. No. The others had accepted him, and they would never act so lowly, especially Patton, at the thought of the eldest trait, the youngest couldn’t help but feel guilty. How could he accuse his family of being so petty, but that was the worst part about fear, it was irrational, and try as he might, he couldn’t do anything to ward of the dark thoughts.

Sitting on his bed, he placed his head in his hands, trying to make sense of what was going on, and what to do about it, but the thoughts were interrupted by a single line, as if someone were talking to him. “Virgil, I don’t know if this is your doing or not, but you are the only one who can stop Thomas from going into a panic-attack, so please, help him.” The words were closely followed by a torrent of unease, it had been weak, probably for the same reason he couldn’t leave, but his name being said tugged at his as if he were being summoned, seeing as that was how they were often called to the real world, that much didn’t surprise him. What caught him off guard was the fact that it had been Morality’s voice, and it had sounded as if he had been speaking directly to the negative emotion.

Suddenly, understanding crashed over him like a tidal wave, it wasn’t Thomas, Patton, Logan or Roman that were keeping Virgil from the filming, which explained everything from the entrapment, to the theft of his jacket. The others thought he was there, just how they had thought the father figure was there in the Lying video, Deceit had taken his place, and the panic that Anxiety felt from being locked away and cut off from his family was taking its toll on their host. Now that he knew what was actually going on, the real fight-or-flight reflex just had to find a way to get the others to realize that the deceptive aspect was pretending to be him, while still being stuck in his room.

His room! That was it, when he had left before, the others had come to his room to find him, and if he did that now; Thomas would stop panicking all together and begin acting careless and out-of-it. If that didn’t reveal Deceit’s presence to the others, they would come to his corner of the mind-palace to see what was going on, and when they did, the real Anxiety would be waiting for them.

As much as it hurt him to do so, because of how close he had grown to the others, Virgil closed his eyes, and in his mind, he could see his family. Reminding himself that it was for their own good, he sighed, turning his back on them and walked into the infinite black void until the others had been lost from sight.

Patton watched on in horror as Thomas’s breath quickened with fear, and despite their best efforts, there was nothing he and the others could do to calm him down. Meanwhile, it sickened Morality to watch his youngest son sit back and do nothing, and once again he felt as if he were looking at someone entirely different from the Virgil they had come to know and love.

Why would he do something like this? The answer popped into his head, even if it didn’t explain their current situation; Anxiety wouldn’t do this, he hated panic more than any of them. Even having said it himself after he had rescued them from his room, “being anxious about the idea of growing more anxious. Yeah, that sounds like me.” He often worked to fight off panic-attacks, so there was no reason to think he would cause on now.

The eldest facet was ripped from his thoughts as Roman’s exasperated voice pierced through the air, “Virgil what are you doing? If this is some sort of joke, no one thinks it’s funny, stop this!”

The darkly-dressed persona shocked them all with the wicked smile he portrayed, “a little blood pumping is good for the circulatory system.”

“I believe that the rest of us are in agreeance, that a panic-attack is more than the amount of fear to which you are referring, and were you not just arguing that Thomas’s mental health was a concern of yours?” Logan appeared to be just as put out by the predicament as Princey was. “The others are validated in their statements, enough is enough, and the sooner it is brought to a close, the better.”

Logic hardly had time to finish his input before their host stopped shaking, and his breathing slowed back to a normal speed. Patton saw the relief that came over the other two, but he couldn’t share in the feeling as he noticed the apprehensive expression Virgil now wore. Something told the fatherly attribute that the one sitting on the stairs had nothing to do with the most recent development.

Clearly the others weren’t aware of the change that plagued the youngest side as Roman spoke up, “thank you.”

“Agreed, although, I would say that went on for much too lon-” The intellectual was cut off as Thomas wondered aimlessly from his spot in the direction of the kitchen. “Do forgive my forwardness after such a stressful ordeal, but where are you going?”

“Hungry,” the single word was the only explanation the online personality gave as he took a bag of chips from one of the cabinets.”

The traits looked at one another in confusion, and this time, Anxiety was right along with them. What added to his confusion though, was that a part of the switch in Thomas’s emotions felt vaguely familiar to Morality. “Kiddo…if you are feeling better, perhaps we should finish the video so you can get some rest.”

The YouTuber brushed off his suggestion, “I’ll get back to it in a bit…actually a nap sounds good; maybe we can finish the video later.”

Logan furrowed his brow, and didn’t even bother to straighten the glasses, which had become askew with the events of the last few minutes, “we were nearly to a conclusion. It would be much more efficient to go ahead and complete the filming.”

Thomas shrugged, walking back to his place, bringing the chips with him, “if you guys want to…where were we?”

The Prince was the first to jump at the opportunity, “you were just about to decide to audition for The Sound of Music.”

“Now it hasn’t been completely taken off the table yet, that he may take a few new classes.” Patton’s eyes were trained on the online personality as the academic aspect added to the debate.

“Well a play sounds like more fun…” Thomas trailed off as he stuffed a few more chips in his mouth. Despite the fact that the scales were now tipped in Roman’s favor, he didn’t seem pleased with the chance at victory, merely concerned. Their host hadn’t used any of the previous arguments that had been made, to come to his conclusion, almost as if he had made the decision without much thought at all, as if he didn’t care.

Logic apparently caught on as well because he didn’t continue to try and defend his point, “pray tell, are you feeling all right Thomas?”

“Sure I guess.”

He reached for another handful of crisps, but the fanciful manifestation stopped him with some rather forceful words, “put them down!”

The online personality did as he was told and quickly dropped the bag, “okay.”

Morality was finally able to come up with an idea as to why he was experiencing such a strong sense of déjà vu; he wasn’t certain, but he had an idea of how to figure out if his hunch was right. “Thomas, do me a favor and answer me this question,” he paused briefly. “Did you remember to lock your car earlier?”

They gazed at the moral facet in bewilderment, but his logical and creative counterparts expressions changed to understanding at the answer their host gave. “I probably did, I’m not sure, but probably.”

Logan took in a quick breath, his words hardly audible, “weaker memory…”

Patton picked up where the other left off, “not much of a filter.”

Roman apparently was coming to the same conclusion, “and getting over a panic-attack in record time…no fear.” All three of them turned to look at Virgil, “what is up with you today, first going overboard, and now taking his worries away all together.”

Anxiety rolled his eyes, an unsettling nature to his voice as he all but growled his words, “I thought this is what you wanted.”

“Virgil, you know full well that we meant for you to stop the attack, not leave him completely without his defenses.” At the contribution of the factual character, the one in question was becoming visibly uncomfortable.

“Why do you all assume this is my doing? I thought we had come to an understanding, so why are you resorting to petty accusations?” Even though there was no reason for it, the fight-or-flight reflex had apparently chosen to react with anger, but something told Morality that it was just a façade.

Princey was quick to defend himself and the others, “we are all trying to help Thomas, just as we always do. You are the one accusing us of asking for this and being petty.”

Virgil glared at him for a moment longer before turning to the lighter personification, desperation shining behind his eyes, “Patton, you're the cheerful one. Surely you think Thomas would be happier without all the worries that I provide, don’t you dad?”

The way the youngest of the four said the last word made him certain of what was going on, and that he had been right all along. The figure that sat before him now was not Anxiety. With that in mind, Morality knew the one in place of his friend would never let him out right reveal who he was, but he had an idea as to how to get the others to see what he saw. It would hurt him endlessly to say it, it would haunt him for days, and if he was wrong; he would never forgive himself, but it had to be done. “We have already decided that Thomas is not better off without his fight-or-flight reflexes, and if you haven’t figured that out yet…then you are no son of mine.” The moral side was hardly able to choke out the words, but he knew the statement had worked, as both Logan and Roman gave each other a startled but knowing look.

Before they could say anything however, Virgil snapped back at him, “not your son?” He let his hateful gaze sweep around all three of them, and for a brief moment the paternal attribute wondered if he had just made the worst mistake possible, but the words that followed caused relief to crash over him like a tsunami. “I knew you all hadn’t really accepted me, and why should you? I’m just a dark-side after all!”

Logic was the next to speak, but his words were directed at their host, “Thomas, perhaps it would jog Virgil’s memory of his importance if we went back to his room and allowed ourselves to become corrupted. If he had to save us, then maybe he would remember how important he is by helping us.”

Anxiety’s stand-in opened his mouth to say something, but the YouTuber beat him to it, “sure, let’s go.” As soon as he said the words, all five of them began to sync out of the real world, but Morality didn’t miss the look the anxious persona gave him as they did so.

Moments later they were all stood in the darkened version of Thomas’s living-room with cobwebs hanging from the banisters, rock-band posters on the walls, the mildly-terrifying spider curtains, and other belongings of Anxiety’s littering the surfaces. Patton’s eyes however, were drawn to a frame on the bookshelf behind the dining table, in it was the card he had made for the gloomier archetype after the others had accepted him.

Virgil felt the presence of the others downstairs, and trying the handle again, he found the door was finally unlocked. Being in his room must have weakened Deceit to the point, that he could no longer keep him trapped. Quietly, so as not to alert his adversary, he stepped out into the corridor; Anxiety knew he would have to work quickly before the others became corrupted by his corner of the mindscape.

Making his way down the stairs, the youngest of the main traits placed a finger over his lips, so the others would know not to reveal his appearance. Before he could do anything though, alleviation washed over him; Thomas’s eyes were losing their distant look as Virgil regained his position in their host’s personality. His family caught on, and continued looking at one another, pretending not to notice him, so as not to make the malicious aspect aware that anything had changed.

The darker manifestation didn’t speak until he was only two steps above his former friend, “if you value your own well-being in any way, you will get out of my spot and stop trying to impersonate me.”

The liar was startled enough by his sudden appearance, that he fell off the stairs and into the area between where each of the others were standing, allowing Virgil to take back his rightful place. Deceit glanced up at him, obviously trying to maintain his hold on what little shreds of pride he had left, “ah, Virgil…how wonderful it is to see you.”

“Your lies don’t work on me, now as I said, if you want to leave my room with no broken bones, you’ll stop trying to impersonate me. Oh, and give me my jacket back while you're at it.” Anxiety held the gaze of his look-a-like, then with a snap of his fingers, his form changed back to his snake-ish appearance, continuing to glare at all of them. Virgil was losing his patience, as he growled the words again, “and the jacket.”

The untrustworthy facet threw the black and purple fabric at him with such force, that if it had been any heavier, it would have knocked him backwards when he caught it. “There you go, because I just wanted you fabulous coat so badly.”

Placing the jacket back around his shoulders, the fight-or-flight reflex ignored the hiss from the defeated side. Glancing around, he saw the dark-pigmented make-up accumulating beneath the eyes of each of the other embodiments, and surprisingly it was the darkest on Deceit. He had expected another dark-side to be able to hold out longer than the others, but if he had to guess, he would say it was the display of strong emotion that caused the eye-shadow to intensify. “We will continue this conversation in the real world, you’ve all been in here too long already, and it’s not safe anymore.” He looked over to their host, “Thomas, I trust you will help me get them back unharmed.”

He swiftly nodded in agreement, “I think you're right, we have things we need to discuss, but it’s high time we were getting back.” The online personality repeated the breathing technique Anxiety had taught him the last time they had all come to his room. As he did so, one-by-one, the other traits began to return to the sanctity of the real world. A final glance passed between the observant character and his host before they followed closely behind the others.

When they appeared, the logical, moral, and creative aspects each wore varying expressions of relief, which quickly turned to irritation as their eyes rested on the duplicitous figure standing in the middle of the group. Before they could say anything though, Thomas’s voice broke the silence, “it’s good to have you back Virgil.”

He let his eyes rest on each of them, purposely passing over Deceit, “honestly, it’s good to be back.” Now he let his gaze stop on his treacherous counterpart, “are you going to explain what the heck that was?”

There was concern behind the eyes of the liar, as if he were worried about what the others were going to do with him, but he had no way of knowing if the feeling was real. “I just know you so well Virgil, and I wanted to see if the others here would believe I was you.”

The one dressed in black and purple couldn’t help but scoff, “sure, so in translation, you wanted to take my place to try and sway Thomas’s decision-making, to take the power away from us, right?” The sarcasm was thick on the last word, as he already knew the answer, but he wanted to see how Deceit would react to being called out directly.

“No, not at all, whatever would give you an idea like that?” There was a mocking tone in the devious facet’s voice.

At the question Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, as he always did when he was reaching his limits with ridiculous situations, Patton looked like a disappointed parent, and Roman merely glared at him. Virgil’s gaze was steadily rested on him however, “there was a time when I considered you my friend, I tried to help you redeem yourself the same way they helped me.” He gestured to their host and the other sides, “but that was a long time ago, and now you’ve attempted on multiple occasions to hurt my family in one way or another, so there is something you need to know.” Anxiety made sure Deceit was looking at him before he continued, “as long as I’m around, trapped or not…I will always find my way back, and my family will always be defended. Any time you try to cross them after this…you’ll have to answer to me, and I’m telling the truth when I say, it won’t be a pleasant experience for you if it comes to that.”

The dishonest trait moved forward until he was standing at the base of the stairs, just a few steps below him, and only a few feet away, when he spoke his voice was just barely loud enough for the others to hear and guttural. “Ooo, I quiver with fear!” Virgil noticed the anger in the others as the last word was spat in his face, but he wouldn’t be intimidated that easily.

Before the rest of them could say or do anything, Anxiety sprung forward from his place with lightning-fast reflexes as Deceit was moving back to the center of the group. Grabbing him by the chain that clasped his cape, he pulled him closer until they were nose to nose, and as he did so, the darker characteristic became certain that the fear in the eyes of the other was real. “You would be wise to heed my warning.” He could feel the others’ eyes watching the two of them intently, but for the moment he didn’t care; his focus was on the singular personification. “I’ll remind you, just in case you have forgotten…I embody Thomas’s fight-or-flight reflexes, so if you try to hurt my family again…just keep in mind who you will be fighting at the end of it all.” To add emphasis to his final statement, the youngest of the main aspects released his cape in such a forceful manner, that his rival stumbled backwards a few paces, and he returned to his spot, staring down at him. “Don’t make me have to keep that promise.”

It took a few moments, but eventually the liar regained his bearings, and it was clear he wasn’t ready to give up just yet, “family? Oh, I should have known, considering how well they’ve treated you all this time.” Normally Virgil wouldn’t have dignified the jest with a response, but the accusation had brought Morality to tears, and that was enough to justify continuing the dispute.

He was about to speak, but the fatherly facet beat him to it, “V-Virgil…we are so sorry about what happened in the past…n-never forget that…please,” Thomas and the others nodded in agreement at the plea.

Anxiety looked over to his best friend, his voice much more gentle as he addressed him, “you are the last one who would ever need to apologize to me.” He faced the rest of them with the same unthreatening poise, “none of you need to…I am well aware of how you all feel about me now, and that’s all that matters.” When he saw the relief in their eyes, his returned his attention to the one he had at a time called friend, his voice reverting back to what it had been before. “They would never lie to me, and I know without a doubt that they have accepted me as I am! I tried to get you to see reason, to let me show you what they showed me, that family means far more than power…but you rebuked it, and until you can learn the lesson that I had to learn the hard way, it would be in your best interest to avoid me.”

“You’ve always been so strong Virgil, so it would never make sense for you to be on the weaker team with me and the other dark-sides. Stay with the strong ones,” he had to consciously keep himself from shuddering at the reminder of his previous allegiances as Deceit for an unknown reason, gestured to Patton, “even the one who had the strength to convince you to do what was right in talking to Joan. The one you all listened to during that video.”

It took all of his will-power not to lunge at his newfound enemy, but one thought actually made the darkest of the mains laugh. Roman however, didn’t see the humor in the situation that he did as he had his arm around the persona, who was sobbing softly, “what’s so funny? He just out right insulted Patton!”

Virgil smiled at his adversary-turned-friend, “no he didn’t. He may not even realize it, but for once, Deceit actually told the truth,” they all stared at him in bewilderment and waited for him to explain. “He’s right, I am on the stronger side, and Patton did convince Thomas to do what was right when it came to talking to Joan. If I recall correctly he said, ‘simply put, Deceit is and inner coach with the one intension of self-preservation.’ To which Thomas responded with, ‘well, this time around, I’m going to tune out that inner coach and set things right.’” Anxiety put a strong emphasis on the last word, looking around at all of them before placing his attention back on the dishonest trait. “You may have looked like him at first, but it was Patton who actually did convince all of us to do what was right in that situation…and if memory serves, the one we didn’t listen to was you, and all for a few simple reasons. We know Patton is moral, he’d told us before that lying is wrong, and he would never go back on his word and tell Thomas to lie to one of his best friends…in fact had he been there all along, that debate never would have gone down. We would have agreed not to lie to Joan in the beginning, and once you take all that into consideration, it really boils down to only one reason…we respect Patton, because he has proven time and again that he is worthy of it…you on the other hand, have yet to earn that right.”

Deceit acted as if he wanted to say more, but obviously realized that he was out-matched. Whipping his head around like a cornered animal, trying to look at each of them individually, he struggled to speak, “well…I…I won’t be back…and I-”

“Like I said, you’d be wise not to come back, at least not until you understand that family and friends are more important than power.” Virgil held his gaze until the liar finally admitted defeat through his actions, and left without another word.

A few seconds of silence ticked by, and the fight-or-flight reflex realized he was still standing in a defensive position; he sat back down on the stairs so as not to seem threatening to those who didn’t deserve it. Logan was the first to find his tongue, and even he still sounded awed, “Virgil…that was impressive.”

The comment seemed to snap Princey out of his trance to some extent, but his voice was still a distant whisper, “I can’t believe I had to be defended like a damsel-in-distress.” He appeared more amazed than disgruntled as he turned to face the youngest aspect, his tone growing a bit stronger. “Even I have to admit…that was almost worthy of a knight-hood.” The idea was one that left him at a loss for words, Roman considered himself a knight, so to say something like that was putting Virgil on a higher pedestal than he ever expected.

Thomas was clearly still shaken from the whole situation, but did manage to speak, “You did the right thing Virgil…I know Deceit was at one time a friend of yours, but I’m happy to see that you know how much we all truly care about you.” The online personality looked to the floor, “we were so destructive in how we treated you in the past, and I apologize for that…you’ve proven again that you are a good guy.”

The words still hung in the air, but before he could respond, a forced slammed into Anxiety in a blur of grey and blue, causing him to fall back against the stairs. Arms wrapped around his shoulders as he managed to right himself, and he could just barely hear the soft sobs coming from the eldest facet. His heart broke; the malicious figure had gone after Patton twice now, and for what reason? Mortality was the kindest and most caring of them, so why pick him as a target? After all, if it weren’t for the one embracing him now, the gloomier persona more than likely wouldn’t have been here to guard the others, he hated to think about it, but he probably would have been working in tandem with the liar.

Lightly returning the hug, he could just make out the few words his friend managed to choke out through his tears. “I-I’m so p-proud of you kiddo…I-I knew you c-could never b-betray us.”

The darker character didn’t know how to take the praise that was being handed to him, and questions raced through his mind from the most recent comment. Clearing away the thoughts with a deep breath, he knew he had a more important issue to address, “hey Pat…it’s all okay.” Anxiety had never been the best with sympathy; still he had to try something to calm down the lighter side. “Listen, we’ve all made mistakes in the past…and I can’t believe I’m the one saying this, but all that matters is here and now.” He paused briefly as Patton pulled back to look at him, “I know you all feel bad about what happened, and that you do care about me…you're my family, and trust me, I’m not going anywhere. As long as you guys are around, I’m going to be right here with you.” The moral attribute smiled at him through his tears before returning to his place in front of the backdoor.

“It’s good to have you back Virgil…and thank you for everything you do for us.” Thomas was obviously still too astounded from the recent events to say much else.

Logic must have picked up on his discomfort with the compliments, because he swiftly changed the subject. “What I wish to know is, where were you for the bulk of the filming, and why did you…in terms, duck-out again?”

The comparatively-negative trait sighed, he hadn’t been ecstatic about leaving as he did, but the others deserved an answer. “Deceit locked me in my room to keep me away from the video, to try and take my place, much like he did with Patton awhile back.” He picked at the carpet from the stairs nervously, “before I go any further…I owe all of you an apology, well technically three.” The four of them looked at him in confusion, waiting for him to continue, “I misjudged you. When I found out that I had been trapped in my room…I-I immediately jumped to the conclusion that you were pulling some sort of prank on me, or worse that…that you had turned your backs on me, so I’m sorry I even considered that any of you would act so lowly, and that also leads me into my second apology. In thinking that I had been abandoned, and being locked away, I began to panic…which I now know took its toll on you Thomas, so yeah…I’m sorry for those things. As for the leaving, I did have a reason for that as well, but I apologize for that too, because I know that couldn’t have been an easy situation to deal with…again.”

Logan was the first to voice the question Virgil guessed they all were wondering, “was it the panicking that caused you to leave, because if so, that was a bit of an extreme solution.”

Anxiety smiled, “no that’s not the reason, I could have calmed Thomas down without having to go that far. I actually left so I could reveal Deceit’s presence.”

Roman spoke with no sense of sarcasm or distaste in his tone, “I’m not sure I follow. You went from thinking it was us to knowing it was Deceit who had trapped you, how did you jump from one conclusion to the other?”

“While I was trying to effectively stop Thomas from going into a panic-attack, a weak link made it through Deceit’s barrier. It was a single line using my name, making it feel as if you guys were trying to summon me, but it was like you were talking to me as if I were already there.” He turned to face Morality, “you were the one that out-right addressed me and clued me in on what was really going on. What you said was, ‘Virgil, I don’t know if this is your doing or not, but you're the only one who can stop Thomas from going into a panic-attack, so please, help him.’ That was what made me realize that there was someone with you who had taken my place, and I don’t care who it is, if they’re trying to impersonate me, that’s not a good thing. To keep me locked up is to distance Thomas from his fight-or-flight responses which would be putting all of you at risk.” He looked to the others, “and since I couldn’t get to you, I found a way to bring you all to me. I knew that if my presence were gone, you would all turn to me to figure out what was going on, and in doing so, you would realize that it wasn’t actually me.”

“Clearly it was an effective tactic, seeing as it most certainly caught our attention.” Logic glanced over to his paternal counterpart, “although, I believe Patton was suspicious that it wasn’t you long before that, am I correct?”

The fatherly aspect looked like a deer-in-headlights for a moment before replying, “I-I wasn’t certain what it was at first, but I knew something was off from the beginning. Deceit would have fooled me too had he tried to do this a year ago…his impersonation of you Virgil, was more defensive and harsh…”

As he slowly stopped, the darker facet picked up where he left off, making sure that his tone was gentle so as not to upset Patton further, “so basically how I acted when I was his friend, back before you all accepted me?”

Morality nodded sheepishly, “what really gave him away were a few things. One, he didn’t notice that Thomas was shaking and starting to panic, something you would have noticed and tried to stop. Then when you left, Deceit attempted to play it off as if we had wanted your presence to be gone…then he asked me as the ‘cheerful one’ if Thomas would be happier…without his worries…” The way the eldest trailed off his sentence made Virgil wary.

Roman was quick to interject however, clearly picking up on the same change that he had, “What Patton did next was noble, and had it not been for that, as much as I regret to say it, we may not have seen what he saw.”

The moral side gave Princey a grateful yet saddened look, “I…I wasn’t certain…that’s what pained me the most, but I took a similar risk to the one you did in the Lying video, by telling the others that I wasn’t your friend, to show the others that Deceit was there.” He sniffled before continuing, “I made an accusation against you…I mean fake you…”

Anxiety could see the fear in his eyes and did his best to diffuse it, “Patton, you know you can tell me anything, and we all know you wouldn’t make an accusation against one of us without good reason. That’s not to mention that you were right, and if you tell me what you said, I know you aren’t saying it to the real me.”

The kind emotion didn’t meet his gaze, as if he were afraid that if he did, Virgil would feel as if the words were actually angled at him. “I said…I said, ‘we have already decided that Thomas is not better off without his fight-or-flight reflexes.’” He paused, wiping the tears from his eyes with the sleeves of his cat-hoodie, “‘and if you haven’t figured that out yet…then you are no son of mine.’” A sob racked the frame of the lighter trait as soon as he said the words, but spoke again before the anxious persona had a chance to react. “I-I’m so sorry Virgil…if I had said that to the real you…I would have never forgiven myself. I-”

Patton was beginning to tremble, just like their host did when he became panicked, so the youngest cut him off. “There’s nothing for you to apologize for, you didn’t say it to me, and there’s no use in getting worked up over what could have happened, for two reasons. One, like I said, you didn’t say it to me, and two, I wouldn’t believe you if you did.” Morality dared to look up at him, “First of all, I’ve given you no reason to say that to me, and next, you saw me as your son from the beginning, even when I acted the way Deceit did earlier. That being said, I wouldn’t believe you if you said I wasn’t your son, because I know that you love us all unconditionally, and nothing would ever change that.” Patton actually managed a genuine smile as Anxiety continued, “I know you are all my family, and no amount of lies, light-hearted insults, or fears is ever going to change that.” A playful grin made its way onto the face of the normally-gloomy side as he heightened the pitch of his voice and spoke more through his nose, using one of Thomas’s famous impressions, “because Ohana means family.” He let his tone return to normal as the others gazed at him with shocked smiles, “and family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten…or in this case nobody gets pushed away.”

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