stained wrists

they never told me that falling in love would feel like falling off of a 24-story building if it goes wrong, that you are always the heartbroken, never the heartbreaker, that “i love you” and “im lonely” are more often than not the same thing. they don’t tell you that most nights you won’t sleep, and if you do, you’ll wake up screaming his name, or that you will stop eating, because you think maybe if you lost weight you’d be worthy of his love and attention. they tell you that falling in love is special, and amazing, like nothing else you will ever experience. but how special and amazing is it when im lying on my bedroom floor, numbed by the pain he left in his wake, with blood stained wrists and the effects of alcohol clouding my thoughts? they tell you the first time you fall in love, you won’t ever forget it, and maybe they’re right about that, because it’s been over two years and i still haven’t forgotten the way your hands burned my skin when you touched me.
—  the things they don’t tell you about love
- Growth - (a Stony fanfic)

(“Soulmate"AU where you get a tattoo for every person you fall in love with)

Pepper’s tattoo is on her hip. Well, the one that isn’t faded yet. 

There are five dull, grey ones scattered across her body, seemingly random and different in shape and size, but what do they matter? They’re done.  It’s over. The only one she looks at these days are the sunglasses on her hip. They’re big. Obnoxiously big and shiny and she knows who they’re for, of course she knows. Tony has a little stiletto to match, right there on his ankle, bright blue and sparkly and the first time he showed her, she nearly apologized. It’s hideous and the both know, but it means love, so who’s gonna complain? 

Understandably, no one is happy when the sunglasses start losing colour. At first, it isn’t even visible, the fade from black to grey barely noticeable, but then the grey becomes off-white and the glass loses its shine and Tony leaves, a bright blue stiletto still sparkling on his skin.

But Tony is fine, he said. Its fine, he’s fine - he’s always fine.

And Pepper sighs and strokes the steering wheel on the back of her hand that just appeared the day before.

Tony is fine.

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no one ever tells you how badly falling in love can mess you up.
no one wants to talk about how if it all goes wrong you’ll wound up on the bathroom floor with blood stained wrist and blood shot eyes.
no one ever tells you that you’ll end up drunk every weekend because the thought of the way he traced his thumb across your hand or the way he said you’re beautiful made you want to feel numb.
no one tells you you’ll cry yourself to sleep every night wearing his hoodie because it’s the closest you’ll ever be to him again.
no one tells you that love fucks you up inside.
no one tells you.
—  Excerpt from a book I’ll never write // no one told me

for the wildflowers:

i. because they named you untamable
and asked you to bloom pretty
and painted you in wheat fields
looking at home in the wind
but the world doesn’t always see you for who you are
and the world never saw you
like i did on a tuesday morning
rising from the cracks in the sidewalk
blossoming towards the wrong face of the earth
the only thing unhomely in this burnt down city
that has never known roots like a forest does
and i could’ve plucked you
but somehow i knew you won’t like
the inside of my lover’s hands as much as i do
so i left you like i found you
and hummed a prayer to the rising sun
that the birds sing you hymns that might
take you far away from your
fallen dreams of flight.

ii. because i
saw you, i see you, and i know
the world doesn’t always see you
for how you want to be.

iii. you pull at your sweater
tugging it just where your
palms end, and start the cycle of
asking the universe for redemption but that
is for another night, so now the moon
tells you to stop, to pause, to wait
but patience only favors the kind
and gravity has never been kind to you
so you unravel all that you have
woven to protect yourself from
this burning heart, a gift that the stars
forgot to take back
you keep curling and uncurling your fists
as the knots come tangled
in your fingers 
your wrists stained from
where you hid, where you clothed
your grief. grieve. grieved. grieving such that
sometimes your life feels like
a graveyard and you wonder if you
are death.

iv. i found you
lost to the winter chill
like a wildflower on the edges
of a blurry tuesday morning.

- vans.


Jongdae and his foreign girlfriend going in vacation together to her country so he can also meet her family ;) it would be nice to read about all the cuddly/warm moments during the trip and vacation time <3

Disclaimer: I don’t own the gifs/ images used.

Originally posted by achenlove

Moments can be many different emotions: sadness, despair, happiness, love or lust, but in the end - every single moment will inevitably end, like stars that burn in the sky, or candles that flicker and dance in the darkness of a room. Though, even when moments fade like Polaroid photographs, memories can replace them, and engrave long-lasting images in the brain of beauty or disaster for those who are given the God-given gift of a good memory.

Taking your boyfriend to Wales was one of those things - a moment, or so, that’s how it felt. From the airplane ride to the stay, to the long walks and family gatherings until the moment you departed back to South Korea. It felt like literal seconds ticking by.You only ever really realise how precious and beautiful those seconds are when time starts running out.

Time ticks against your wrist from the moment you landed in the North of Wales, it plays against your mind like a constant, antagonising ringing - but this is all for Jongdae, because only moments and fate will count until the final flight.

The trip started in the cool, chilly coastline of Colwyn Bay where your home is situated. Your family is big, but they’re full of love and support, and from the moment Jongdae steps in the room and shyly introduces himself in English, you can just tell how much your family adore him. Your parents admire his drive and passion not only for working but for you, and your siblings could die for his aegyo and childish antics - you, yourself couldn’t help but smile as he and your younger siblings unite together to prank you. You couldn’t be annoyed - not even a little, not when his smile was so alive and passionate his get your heart ablaze.

Life is short and cruel; you make Jongdae pose in photos with you to aid an older, worn down version of yourself, to remind you of the “good old days,” the days you can be around the one you love and not worry for tomorrow; only for today.

You travel around the enchanting countryside, introducing Jongdae to the hills of Snowdonia, and the alluring landscape of Llandudno in bright yellow wellies and big, warm coats. Though the heat of the clothes isn’t the only thing that keeps you warm - it may sound cheesy, and Jongdae would laugh at you for thinking such thoughts - but nothing can make you more mellow or warmer than watching the happiness in his eyes that radiates from his orbs to his grin.

Though exploring the country isn’t the only thing you do in your home town. Jongdae takes you back to your rebellious teenage years; kissing in corners when no one’s watching and whispering sweet nothings when no one is listening, and when no one is around at all you take advantage of the satin bedsheets where he, and only he, can make you whimper, moan and writhe.

With each distracting second of your day, it keeps you distracted from the insecurities and anxieties that you have - not looking at the ink that stains beneath your wrist watch that hides the image you only wish you could remove. You hate the way your Mother looks at you pitifully because of it, or the way your Father purposefully acts as though  it isn’t there, it’s like a time loop of pain and agony every time you come home.

And when the final day draws to it’s end, you sit on the plane with Jongdae, your heart pounding as the flight takes off like the final take of memories.

Jongdae talks animatedly about the trip, the unforgettable moments; though all you can do is smile and hold back the teardrops because you know his unconditional memory issue.

Back in Korea, you sit in a pearly white room, glazed eyes watching the seconds tick down on the final day inked on your skin.


You walk towards the cubical,


You gently pull back the curtain,


You step inside,


The bed dips under your weight as you take a seat on the hospitalised bed,


“Who are you?”

“It’s me, Jongdae, it’s {y/n}.”

And the number reverts back on your hand to 365 days.

Note: I felt cynical - please don’t hate me. Idea came from an AU prompt I read and I altered it to kind of make it a soulmate AU where the reader has a tattoo on their wrist counting down the days they have left with their soulmate. So Jongdae, unfortunately, only has a year until his mind resets because idk I felt like making angst. Tell me what you think, I’m usually not good at angst drabbles. Danke! (Also thanks to @stitch-xiu-up who I woke up just to help me with this and edit it. Goodnight) 


Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam, Cas

Word Count: 1737

Summary: You are in the midst of a battle with some demon and you have to make a dangerous choice, you figure Dean might get pissed but you would rather have him mad than dead. 

Warnings: canon typical violence, naughty language, kissing, PDA, none really just fighting some demons and some cute Dean x reader fluff 

A/N: This is for anon who requested, As for a request can you do one with Dean x reader where the reader almost dies doing something like jumping in front of Dean to save him and she expects him to be mad but he just hugs her or something fluffy like that?

Glancing back over your shoulder you tried to make a mental note of where the rest of team free will was stationed. You knew that Cas was crouched down low next to the back wheel of the run down Ford pickup about 100 yards to your left, Sam was waiting somewhere inside of the semi-collapsed barn structure behind you, and Dean, well you knew where he was. Inside hopefully with the head demon lured into the pre-drawn devil’s trap.  

You lifted your foot slowly, carefully making sure that when you put it back on the ground you limited the pressure underneath it, doing your absolute best to not make any excess noise as you made your way up the half rotted stairs. You strained to pick up on the sound of a demon shrieking behind the door of one of the rooms upstairs but it was deadly silent which was ominous, most of the time demon’s had a lot to complain about once they were trapped. 

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Hold On To Let Go Chapter 2

 A/N: This chapter was written in an hour, at an hour far too late for me to be awake. Forgive me for any spelling or grammatical errors. Tell me what you think! I live for comments and reblogs!

Warnings: Mentions of homophobia, slight internalized homophobia.

Shrill alarm noises woke Thomas, a soft groan of exhaustion joining in the chorus of electronic beeps. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, dark green ink catching his eye. He held out his forearm, inspecting the new markings. He had told his soulma- Alexander. He had told Alexander that he didn’t know any Thomas Jeffersons the previous night, and then washed off their conversation.

The new markings scrawled over his arm, obviously rushed, looping and spiking in parts. It wasn’t new, and had been smudged by sleep, but he could tell that it was to cover something up. A regretted message that would have taken too long to wipe off, perhaps?

Setting those thoughts aside, Thomas rolled out of bed and grabbed a nearby pen.

Hey, were you writing something earlier?

After a few moments of staring at his clear forearm, a stark contrast to the forest green scribbles on his other arm, Thomas tore his eyes from the short sentence he’d written. He didn’t need to talk to Alexander- and Alexander probably wouldn’t want to talk to him. Not when Alexander found out who his soulmate really was.

In the soft gleam of the early morning sunlight, Thomas could nearly imagine Alexander’s reaction. He would tell Alexander in person. He would pull Alexander away from the crowd of people in the halls- no, that wouldn’t work. Alexander would simply be led to believe that Thomas was out to hurt him again. He needed to do this right.

Perhaps Thomas could simply write it down on his arm? A simple message in the magenta ink he favored for their conversations? That wouldn’t work either, would it? He had never been able to scrawl his own name onto the dark skin of his arm. Why would he be able to now? Would he have to resort to writing ‘So you know that person who you said makes your life a living hell? Well, that’s me, and gee, I really am sorry for causing extreme emotional and mental stress on you these past few years, but maybe be my boyfriend?’? No, he couldn’t do that. Not to Alexander.

Everything had to change, now. Now that Thomas knew that the boy he loved, the boy who picked him up when he was down, an action Thomas typically did for the other part of his soul, was the one who he’d been hurting. The scrawny teen he’d hated, despised, even, who he had just the other day pushed to the ground and laughed as he cried- that was the same person who had written on their arm for his help.

Thomas’s parents had never particularly been kind to…those of the same sex persuasion. They had taught him most of his life that gay people (or ‘The Homosexual Sinners’, as they had put it) were wrong. That same-sex soulmate couples were freaks, or liars. And he had believed them. Never having been able to fully describe himself to his soulmate, Thomas hadn’t known…hadn’t known that the same boy he’d called slurs had been the one he loved. But that was different, right? Even if he was destined to be with…him…that didn’t mean that he was gay, right?

It was different when it came this soulmate. Maybe it just didn’t matter. Maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe it had been another thing altogether to have a soulmate of the same gender. That was possible, right? He didn’t need to love his soulmate. His soulmate could simply be someone who was incredibly similar to him.

But that line of thought, of course, brought unwanted ideas. If Alexander was incredibly similar to Thomas, then in what ways were they truly different? Sure, in matters of where and to what families they were born they could not have been more separate. But what about personality? He had seen Alexander in debate class, hell, he’d even gone against him once or twice. The other teen was ruthless, each words spilling from his mouth like a waterfall, sentences cascading into the air.

Not quite different from Thomas.

Fairly similar, actually.

Too similar.

Shaking his head, as if that would empty it of these thoughts, Thomas ran to the bathroom. He grabbed a handful of tissues from the counter and ran them under warm water from the faucet. Turning off the sink, he rubbed the tissues against the message he’d written minutes earlier. Thankfully, Alexander hadn’t answered yet, or seen it.

The small, pen-written message quickly washed off, only leaving a faint black smudge on his arm. Alexander didn’t need to know. Thomas could avoid talking to him. Avoid talking to his soulmate. Yes, it would be hard. But Thomas would find a way.

He couldn’t do this to Alex- his soulmate. Thomas didn’t want to do this to hi- them. He could live without his soulmate, after all. Life would go on as it always had. It had to. Thomas would stroll into school later this morning, shoes tapping on the linoleum. He would greet James and Aaron, smiling. Because he always smiled. He had to keep smiling.

They would find Alexander and…and they would…continue to be the kind of people Thomas had wished late last night could simply disappear from the face of the Earth. If only to help his soulmate.

And most importantly- he would not tell anyone of the events that had transpired late last night, with Alexander’s wrist being stained red. With Thomas’s heart being stained a temperature not represented by that same color.

Alexander would not know. If he didn’t know, it’d be much easier to live on, taunting and tormenting him. It would be easier, not easy.

Because no matter how many words Thomas wiped away with damp tissues, they would remain burnt into the back of his eyes until the day he died.

Nobody needs to know.

Delicacy || lee jooheon


he’s never smelled something this sweet. 

word count: 1116

a/n this is so much fun to write i love halloween also sorry i’m so behind i promise i’ll have 31 stories for october by the 31st hopefully maybe


He was surely going out of his mind. 

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You said that you’d never hurt me.
You said that you’d never fall for another.
You said that you’d never leave.
You said that you’d always be there.
But, where were you? Where were you when I was sobbing in the dark with my wrists stained red?
—  You said that you loved me too but I guess that was a lie
You see, the God-honest truth is that I have always been an accidental survivor. Never once been courageous. See, I throw a punch like a coward; only when my issues have their backs turned to me.
I always linger at the intersection between “Scarred Body” and “Screeching Brain”, laughing like I just heard a joke when they ask me where I’ve been because “out” is the only sufficient answer.
Out of here.
Out of luck.
Out of my mind.
Just out.
There are entire wars trapped in my veins and I am just a drummer boy here, innocent in red, in flowing red, in the red coming out my wrists, staining my white skirts turning them an ever dainty pink. A quiet pink that hides the red’s origins.
My first relationship was with the Hospital. We would meet up twelve times a month and french kiss til the screams in my head were finally quiet.
Where is the first-aid kit for nightmares that steeped into reality? The only bandaid my soul needs will not take my phone calls anymore. I can not blame her though.
No matter how strong the levees, flood waters do not ask permission when they want to drown people.
—  B. Damani || What Keeps Me Up At Night
hogwarts house aesthetics

gryffindor: laughter in the moonlight; angry tears and clenched jaws; daffodils; burnt wood still smoking into the dawn; love against hungry lips and desperate fingers; fear so crippling it forces the lungs to expand despite its readiness to sleep; moments alone on the rooftop, sharing a smoke with the sunset; hums because of nerves, glances at every which way because it’s all you can think to do

ravenclaw: being quiet, but never silent; too many mugs perched on a variety of surfaces; a chaotic cleanliness; whispers that are giggles beneath cool sheets, against warm fingertips; toes poking from under cooled duvets; deep inhales of the ocean air, long exhales of something heavy; too many pens, too many notebooks - never enough; roses pressed between nervous fingers, petals gripped but never ripped; lullabies without words; steps and twirls across every smooth surface; thin lace against bare skin; a promise kept silent because it wouldn’t be a promise otherwise

slytherin: happy smiles at the simple things - the simple factors hardly anyone cares to think about; jewelry spewed somewhere in a forgotten box; letters left unfinished on paper, but said through the mind; promises are oaths - oaths are nothing more than empty phrases to be desired; wet sand between toes on a breezy day; the warmth behind closed eyelids on a sunny day, just beneath the shelter of leaves; glances in between bookshelves; a breath let go into a winter afternoon; the feeling of leather brushed over knuckles; scars faded but felt; the hum of a car going somewhere far; back pressed to the wall, nighttime, eyes closed, fingers idle; stories trapped under the pretense of apathy

hufflepuff: a smile that never quite reaches all of the corners of her face; the way he tilts his head; rice, grain slipping between finger crevices; the anxiety of having to let go; post bath drowsiness; napping in the afternoon, curled up in an odd position; being held, being touched, being observed at a distance; charcoal stained wrists and palms - too many ink streaks kissing your fingertips; thoughts, thoughts, too many thoughts; resilience to bend in the face of all; an open window during the winter; laugh even when it’s not true to it can become true; flowers pressed and left to dry; the song sting of a mug; palms just straying for another touch

Overwatch AU: Claws That Snatch

Commissioned by @hardworkin-queerdo


Part 2 ->

Read on Ao3 here

It’s easy.

It’s always been just so easy.

For centuries the same song and dance.

A gentle smile, soft eyes, she wore a beautiful mask no one could see past. Not with every batting eyelash or coy laugh. She knew every technique and every move to never leave the evening alone.

And never go hungry.

It started out in ballrooms across Europe. Hiding a deviously fanged smile behind a beautifully decorated fan, there wasn’t a man alive that could resist. Not the way she spoke like silk and danced as if on air. There wasn’t a head turned in that room, and for a brief moment he found himself proud to catch her eye. Even more so when she agrees to leave this place for something more private.

Sometimes she would playfully refuse, egging him on, making him want her more, sometimes she would lead him away herself with nothing but a look and a smile.

If she were feeling bored that particular evening she would let his hands roam where he wanted. No man would pay any mind to her ice like skin or the peculiar dots on her neck, they could be easily mistaken for birthmarks rather than foreshadowing.

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You see, the God-honest truth is that I have always been an accidental survivor. Never once been courageous. See, I throw a punch like a coward; only when my issues have their backs turned to me.
I always linger at the intersection between “Scarred Body” and “Screeching Brain”, laughing like I just heard a joke when they ask me where I’ve been because “out” is the only sufficient answer.
Out of here.
Out of luck.
Out of my mind.
Just out.
There are entire wars trapped in my veins and I am just a drummer boy here, innocent in red, in flowing red, in the red coming out my wrists, staining my white skirts turning them an ever dainty pink. A quiet pink that hides the red’s origins.
My first relationship was with the Hospital. We would meet up twelve times a month and french kiss til the screams in my head were finally quiet.
Where is the first-aid kit for nightmares that steeped into reality? The only bandaid my soul needs will not take my phone calls anymore. I can not blame her though.
No matter how strong the levees, flood waters do not ask permission when they want to drown people.
—  B. Damani || What Keeps Me Up At Night

I was going to keep my blog trigger-free, but this was my first request and I don’t really want to turn my back on it.

As someone who has dealt with self harm nearly three years ago, I feel the necessity to write about this because every little thing helps. I will not romanticize it - this is a serious issue and should not be taken lightly or as something beautiful yet tragic. There’s nothing pretty or cute about inflicting pain over yourself, there’s only pain as a coping method. Therefore, I’ll be writing this reaction with the resource of my own experience, what I’ve seen and how I envisioned these boys.

As for the requester, I believe that you can be much stronger than what you think you are. Please, be safe and believe in yourself. Anything that you might need, just talk to me.



- He would surely be the most surprised one, albeit rather confused. You seemed a happy person for a vast majority of the time, something he had foolishly believed in.

- This blond boy would feel a pang of guilty in his chest the second he saw the bruises along your arms, invisible engines moving aggressively inside his brain as he finally realized why your sleeves were always so long.

- Most definitely, he’d cry. He would feel selfish for it too, seeing how he was breaking apart in front of you while your eyes merely swelled with some tears, only finally falling when, in a cracked voice, he asked you ‘Why would you do this to yourself?’

- He wasn’t supposed to know. The kiss just got too deep and his hand too prying. You knew it was inevitable but it did not make anything hurt less. You wanted to keep it all a secret until you could pull yourself together and rid yourself of all of those marks. This was not the way he should have known.

- For a while, he didn’t dare to touch you, feeling as if you might break apart the second his skin connects with yours. In his eyes, you were a very fragile being who was in need of the utmost protection, as if you were made of glass.

- When both of your tears dried and he had heard everything you were willing to tell, he carefully reached out to you and pulled you in an embrace, barely grasping the idea of what his role was going to be from now on. He just wanted to keep you safe from harm’s way, it was confusing to know what to do when you were the one doing harm.

- After the initial commotion had settled in, he would try to be in constant watch. Even by little things, like sending you your favorite sweets or make sure you sleep early, he will constantly be worrying, progressively trying to make your smiles reach your eyes - even if it meant tickling you to death.


- This girl would be ready for blood the moment her eyes settled on your bruises. Yet, the second that it took her to think that someone hurt you, was exactly what it took your expression to change into one of horror. Jaehee blinked rapidly before letting her arms fall to the side, a barely audible ‘No’ escaping her lips.

- You wanted to deny it, to claim that it was all a misunderstanding, but the girl was smart and quick to deduce what was happening, despite her original thoughts. She just looked at you as if you had committed the most unforgiving sin, making you feel incredibly small under her piercing gaze.

- Despite her words, her tone was not harsh. ‘I pledged that you’d never be sad again, yet here we are, MC. What am I supposed to do? Should I cry and tell you that everything will be alright? Am I supposed to turn my back and never come back? What did you expect to take out of this other than mental and physical scars that will be impossible to erase?’

- Breaking down into tears, you could only repeat ‘You don’t understand,’ with a hand clutching your stomach as if you might vomit at any give second. Her firm stare didn’t waver, but it glistened in the light penetrating through the windows and you could just make out her very own tears blinding her vision.

- Being one of the most rational out of the RFA, she’d try persuading you into having at least one hour with a psychologist, assuring you that you might come out feeling entirely different and with a new perspective on your life. Jaehee would be practical and do her best in helping you erase all the bad that seemed to haunt you, but it doesn’t mean that she wouldn’t have her moments when she simply didn’t want to nag you. She’d grab blankets and comfort food and a sappy movie and she’d just let herself be with you without thinking about what was underneath your sweater.


- From the moment he laid eyes on you all that time ago, he had been very evident regarding how much he had loved your body. This made it all more shocking to him when he saw your large sweater revealing a bit of skin in your arm as you tried to reach for one of the top shelves in his kitchen.

- His reaction wouldn’t be immediate. He’d watch intently as you grabbed the item and quickly fixed your sleeves, unknown to you that he was observing you by the door. He’d carefully make his way to your side, his usually caring features distorted into one as cold and emotionless as stone. ‘Jagiya,’ he’d mutter, one hand laid on top of your head as the other removed whatever you’d been holding from your hands.

- You didn’t think he had seen anything when his lips clashed against yours, but your mind turned pitch black when his hands sneaked through your sweater and touched the skin of your arms, making you wince visibly against his prying digits. He stepped back from you, having the only confirmation he needed that those cuts hadn’t been just a figment of imagination.

- ‘How long has it been since you began?’ he’d ask, a slender finger moving to collect the tear that was already rolling down your cheek. You’d reply in a soft voice, and his eyes would soften too, feeling the warmness of your hands touching his chest. He’d want to listen to your story - to everything he didn’t know and caused you to feel so lost. He wouldn’t cry while you watched, but as he laid you down on his bed after you had fallen asleep from tiredness, he’d shed some small, meaningful ones.

- The next day, he’d wake you up with your favorite breakfast, yet he wouldn’t be the type of person to bring the subject up ever again. That would be only after telling you to never cover you arms in front of him again - he wanted to see the scars heal day by day, helping you for as long as you needed.


- He would be beyond pissed. It wasn’t him to find out by sight or you to tell him, no, it had been one of his employees that had seen blood on one of your white shirts and immediately informed him.

- Jumin would call you to his office at some ungodly hour (basically right when he found out), your shirt laying on top of his desk and his complexion unusually red - you guessed he had been either crying or screaming. Your mind froze when you saw what had been laying on top of the desk, but you kept quiet and waited for him to speak. 'Explain this to me, MC.’

- You wanted to lie, to say that you had accidentally cut yourself, yet by the look in his face, you realized that he would not believe. For a while now, he had his suspicions. He’d wonder why you always stopped him when he tried to lift your shirt up, brushing it off as 'not being ready’ for the longest time. He was suspicious of your habit of using long sleeves and jackets, and why sometimes your eyes looked so red.

- Much like Jaehee, he’d suggest a psychologist, offering to pay for a private one and even accompany you if needed. He’d cancel anything he had for the next day, taking time to remind you how much he cares. That night when you told him, though, he’d be frantic and worried, searching for various opinions regarding your situation and the best ways to deal with you.

- He’ll instruct you to sit in his lap as you speak, his breath brushing against your neck and arms securely keeping you in place, afraid that you might just slip away if he dares to release you

Saeyoung (707)

- His reaction is a complicated mixture of all of the ones above. His instincts had been warning him that something was wrong for a while now, that your smile didn’t just quite reach your eyes. He’d encounter you in the act, a blade slashing your skin as you closed your eyes, not wishing to look at what you were doing. Saeyoung would drop the food he had been holding and run to you, immediately throwing the small object away from your trembling hands, his eyes instantly swelling up with tears as he stared at your arm.

- His mind would be racing and overflowing with guilt. He’d think it was because of the mess that he involved you in, blaming all of your pain in himself. He was crying before you had the chance to speak, his knees on the floor as he hugged your middle, repeatedly asking you why.

- Your fingers brushed his hair as your vision blurred with the overflowing tears, barely seeing the blood stained wrist. Similar to Zen, he’d wonder how you could harm such a beautiful body, and he’d plead you to keep your arms visible when beside him. Independently of how much it hurt him to see the marks, he’d want to see the progress, offering to apply cream every day.

- He would lack any type of rational thinking for the first days, and he’d probably just want to lay low with you, but as the idea sunk in and he made his proper research, he’d carefully ask you if you felt the need to consult any professional, but wouldn’t press you if you refused. He’d have a serious talk, telling you how much he loved you and how wrong you were by doing this.

- His kisses became more calculated, but they were still as passionate as it had always been. He would also take the time to cook you some proper meals, making sure you were well feed all the time. When you were away, you’d find an application installed on your phone, giving you two or three reasons of why he loved you throughout the day.

after seeing a post about describing the colour red without actually saying the word red, I became inspired & decided to write my own version.

it’s the colour of warmth, radiating from another person or living thing. it’s the colour of the blood running through your veins, as your heart begins to beat faster and harder. it’s the colour of love, of happiness. it’s the colour of being alive. it’s warm, like the feeling of the sun beating down on a hot summer day. it’s the colour of the sunrise in the early morning, & the sunset late at night. it’s the colour of boldness, of being old enough to make decisions on your own. it’s the colour of sunburn, which in fact isn’t nearly as painful as watching you walk away from me, from what you said once made you happy. it’s the colour of anger, of embarrassment, & of loneliness. it’s the colour that your cheeks go when there are tears streaming down. it’s the colour of the warm blood that trickles down your wrist that was once clean. it’s the colour of the scars running along your wrists, your hips, & any other place that seems reasonably easy to hide from the humiliation. it’s the colour of their lips after you realize that they’re doing perfectly fine without you. it’s the colour of missing someone’s touch & craving for their soft skin against your own. it’s the colour of your eyes once you wake up from a nearly sleepless night, after crying your eyes out, hoping that the person that once made you feel warm with happiness will come back. it’s the colour your eyes go after overdosing on so many goddamn drugs that at this point you’ve completely lost track of how many you’ve taken or even what time of day it is. it’s the colour of loneliness, of feeling nothing in your heart except for an empty hole which never seems to grow back in. it’s the colour of disappointment, of sadness, the look in your mothers eyes as she walks into your room to find you laying on the bed, motionless. it’s the colour of the blood that was once in your body, that has now left through the skin on your wrist to stain your bed sheets. it’s the colour of all the bad thoughts in the world, including the ones in your fucked up head, telling you to end it all. it’s the colour of the roses, which will be placed at your grave every single day by the ones who you never thought cared. it’s the colour of hurt, & of pain. it’s the colour of blood, which never quite stayed in your body for too long.

// a.h

Don’t hate on his new girlfriend, it’ll only break your heart more. Don’t stalk her over social media while questioning yourself why you weren’t enough. Don’t stain your wrists with blood just because he’s holding her hands instead of yours. I know it’s hard to see your ex fall in love with someone else but remember someday he’ll watch you fall in love again too.

An advice I got after my breakup// S.M

By @saniamushtaq123