#advice columns gone wrong

[mstornadox]

Decided to read The Ethicist column in NYTimes today. That was a mistake.

The reader asked how to interact with a neighbor who all ways tells them that she is praying for them. Instead of giving a nuanced and helpful response, The Ethicist tells the reader to suck it up and that the reader is the one causing harm:

The only reason you give for objecting to her prayers is that she has failed to comply with your wishes. Yet I don’t find that she has thereby treated you with disrespect, because I don’t see that you have the right to have those wishes complied with. You seem to be asking her not to do something she thinks there are compelling reasons to do. I’d have thought that this was disrespectful.

So. You can set boundaries, but if the other person has “compelling reasons,” then it is okay to ignore them. What a load of crap.

Gift link: https://www.nytimes.com/2024/12/18/magazine/neighbor-prayer-ethics.html?unlocked_article_code=1.jE4.ewh2.DZoXSJ1fwVSf&smid=nytcore-ios-share&referringSource=articleShare

[bloop-im-a-frog-now]

Sniffer Adventure and Pets

Pearl checked her inventory one last time.

“Sword, pickaxe, shovel, brush, golden carrots,” she hummed to herself. “Maybe I should bring a shield. Juuust in case.”

Once she crafted her shield, she beamed to herself and went out the door, the rumbles of the warden head vibrating her feet. She flew off and was ready to explore those warm ocean ruins.

She couldn’t get the two rarest flowers without some sniffers sniffing the seeds for her.

Tango had told her to head South, where most Hermits haven’t touched any warm ocean ruins. Most have gone North and West, where they could also get the mangrove wood and be left alone while grinding resources.

She threw a rocket to the ground, flying off as she held her Post Office cap on her head during the journey. Pearl didn’t want it to fly off and forever be lost. She loved the hat.

The first warm ocean she encountered didn’t have a lot of suspicious sand. Still, she brushed it, uncovering the mysterious items buried deep in it, like she was discovering fossils.

The first one ended up being a stick, an item very unnecessary for Pearl at the moment.

“What a shame,” she muttered to herself.

She brushed another suspicious sand block, muttering to herself “Sniffer egg, sniffer egg, sniffer egg” like a prayer that would be granted. Instead, she found an emerald.

“Aw man,” Pearl pouted. “I don’t even have a villager hall.”

She was hoping to use other Hermits’ villager hall this season. She kept the emerald for good measure.

“Maybe if I find gravel instead of sand?” She asked herself.

Right beside her was suspicious gravel, and she grinned.

“You cannot escape Pearl’s brush, you little gravel.”

She brushed it carefully, and saw something red being dug out.

She gasped. “Is this it? Did I finally found one?”

The more she uncovered, the more she realized it was a pottery shard. She let out a frustrated groan.

“I feel like I’m gonna find a lot of these pottery shards.”

And how she wished she was wrong. After visiting one-too many ocean ruins (it was more like two, but flying around to find them was worst than finding the mangrove forest), Pearl was almost ready to give up on this region of the world. She looked at the last suspicious sand and glanced back at her brush.

“One last try. C’mon Pearlie, just one last time. This time, it’ll be a sniffer egg. I can feel it in my bones.”

Despite her pep talk, she did not feel confident about the loot in the suspicious sand. Every centimetres she uncovered, her breath stuck in her throat, as if she’d be disappointed by what the sand would unravel.

She saw red, and inhaled loudly in the bubble column she used for breathing — a fatal flaw in her preparations was to bring water breathing potions. She closed one eye, as if the disappointment would be less grand if she didn’t fully witness it.

It could be another pottery shard, or it could be a smithing template. Pearl played on loop the mantra “sniffer egg, sniffer egg, sniffer egg” in her head, brushing like every mistake would cost her her life.

God she hoped it was a sniffer egg.

Suddenly, she saw green spots on the object, and she let out a squeal of joy. She brushed the rest of the sand away and admired the wonderful egg in the palms of her hands.

“What a beauty,” she whispered.

She slowly caressed it with her index finger, cooing at it.

“You’re gonna look amazing, and you’re gonna dig out sooo many flowers for me, and you’re gonna help me make money. Oh, it’s gonna be wonderful!”

The egg did not reply, but Pearl didn’t need a response. She gently tucked it in her inventory, swimming up to the surface until a huge realization struck her.

She needed two eggs to have more than one sniffer.

She groaned. “Damn you breeding mechanics.”

And thus, the search for a second sniffer egg began, much quicker than the first one. She didn’t listen to Tango’s advice and immediately went West, where there was a warm ocean biome that would surely have an ancient ruin in it.

When she spotted one, she flew immediately down, and gasped in excitement when she saw suspicious gravel and sand.

Her luck would definitely turn around this time.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” she whispered to herself as she brushed a suspicious gravel.

It gave her a pottery shard.

She inhaled sharply. “It’s fine, that’s okay, I can — there’s more! Just — brush these, it’s gonna be okay, you’ll find a sniffer egg. Yeah,” she nodded to herself, “the next one’ll be it.”

She had guessed correctly. She rolled on the ball of her feet in joy and took the sniffer egg in her hand, gently petting it.

“You’re gonna be amazing in my farm,” she whispered to it encouragingly.

It didn’t respond. Pearl didn’t really care, she swimmed to the surface and flew to her base as fast as she could.

She wanted to see those sniffers hatch, after all.

Pearl almost face-planted to her roof with how fast she was going. She threw open the door to the sniffer room, a nice bamboo and sand colour with green grass surrounding it. She took out the first egg from her inventory, and carefully placed it on the ground, making sure it wouldn’t fall and break once Pearl let go of it.

It was standing proud in her base, a nice splash of colour in a room that blended into itself. She hummed in satisfaction and placed her fists on her hips.

“Yeah, that'll do,” she smiled. “Now, time for little guy number two!”

She bit her lower lip as the egg touched the ground, hands so gentle with it, as if it was a block she needed to put at the perfect spot for it to fit with the rest of her build. She couldn’t afford to break it, those eggs were so hard to find, and she needed those flowers so badly.

She made sure the egg was balanced on its own before taking her hands off of it. She beamed when the two eggs stood proudly on their own in the green house.

“You guys will be adorable, I can already tell. Now,” she went towards her door, “I’ll go fix some redstone while you two hatch. Be good.”

She looked at them sternly when she said it and left the room to go downstairs, where her redstone was. The Hermit hummed as she thought. Etho suggested she put a player’s head on the noteblock to not hear the farm or the allays activating it.

She slammed her fist against the palm of her hand.

“Time to search for a player's head,” she declared.

As she went to do that, the sniffers in the egg slowly squirmed in place, getting warmed up to hatch. The cracks were already there when she came up to the farm, where her sniffers would dig out the flowers for her shop.

“You guys are already hatching!” She exclaimed, a wide smile on her face. “Wait up, I wanna see you out of your shell, don’t you dare do anything.”

She changed the head she already had on the noteblock only for a small snort to echo in the room. Pearl swivelled around and cooed at the sight.

“You guys are so cute,” there was only one sniffer hatched, cleaning itself from the juices of the egg.

The second one hatched right under Pearl’s eyes, and she gasped in surprise.

“Down right adorable,” she cooed again, and slowly approached the sniffer who had finished cleaning itself. “Hey there little guy,” she greeted, and scratched the top of its head.

It snorted and shook its head like it had water splashed on it. Pearl chuckled and scratched underneath its chin. Immediately, it fell on its stomach, eyes closed and let the Hermit pet it.

“Oh, you’re so adorable. You like Pearl’s scratches? Yes you do, oh you big guy.”

The second bumped its head against Pearl’s shoulder, making doe eyes at her, pleading for something. She laughed and scratched right between its ears.

“Aw, you felt left out?”

The sniffer fell right beside her, caging her between the two of them. She laughed and continued her pets, appreciating this last moment she’ll probably ever spend with her sniffers.

“You guys are so big for babies. Can’t wait for the money you’re gonna make for me.”

The sniffers simply snorted and let themselves be petted by the Hermit. This sniffer farm will be better than her last one, Pearl just knew it.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Jessica Valenti at Abortion, Every Day:

I don’t usually dedicate a whole newsletter to one issue, but what’s happening with anti-abortion strategy requires as much today. Despite their November wins, Republicans know that they’ve lost Americans on abortion rights—and that the issue continues to be Democrats’ most powerful weapon. It’s not just that 81% of Americans believe that the government shouldn’t be involved in abortion at all—which is incredible enough on its own—but that support for abortion is spiking in Republican stronghold states like Tennessee. Conservatives know that these kinds of numbers will make it very, very difficult for them to enact their anti-abortion agenda under the new administration without voter backlash. Whether it’s federal policies like Comstock or just run-of-the-mill anti-abortion legislation in the states, Republicans need to tell Americans a new story that goes beyond ‘abortion is murder.’

Enter conservative strategist Heather Higgins, CEO of Independent Women’s Voice (IWV), and her latest column at Fox News. As much as I hate linking to Fox, the piece is actually a super helpful look into what we can expect from anti-abortion messaging in 2025.

First, what’s important to know about Higgins is that she works specifically on making Republicans’ misogyny more palatable to women voters. If you go to IWV’s website, for example, you’ll see things like an anti-trans petition framed as the “Stand Up For Sisterhood Petition.” And after Roe was overturned, internal IWV memos were leaked outlining a strategy to use feminist language to downplay the negative impact of abortion bans. (Remember this absolutely bonkers ad? That’s her.)

Higgins is also a powerful player who Republican politicians listen to. You may recall that GOP leaders like Mitch McConnell considered moving away from the term ‘pro-life’ after being presented with polling that revealed it no longer resonated with voters. That, too, was Higgins. All of which is to say—she’s worth paying attention to. In her Fox column, Higgins digs deeper into the idea that ‘pro-life’ has a “toxic brand/perception”—largely because Americans see it as “support for only the fetus, not the woman.” Which is…correct! (I mean, really, it’s hard to claim otherwise when you have Republicans arguing in front of a federal court that women should be legally forced to lose limbs and organs before getting an abortion.) Higgins also suggests that part of the reason Republicans won in November is because they listened to her abortion messaging advice: She lauds Donald Trump for talking frequently about ‘exceptions,’ and other Republicans for claiming to oppose a national abortion ban.

[...] In other words, she wants Republicans to sound pro-choice. Otherwise known as lying. This is exactly what I’ve been warning about for months: That conservatives’ abortion messaging strategy for the new administration would focus on pretending to be as pro-choice as possible. We’ve already seen what this looks like in action. It’s Republican politicians framing their funding of anti-abortion crisis pregnancy centers as “support for women and families”—a way to feign caring about women even as they strip away our rights. Or conservatives’ cultural campaign against birth control, in which they dispatch ‘wellness’ or ‘tradwife’ creators to weaponize the very real issue of medical sexism to sow distrust in hormonal contraception. [...]

To be clear, conservatives co-opting feminist language is nothing new. You only need to look at organizations with names like “Feminists for Life” or “Independent Women’s Forum” to know that. And in some ways, this strategy has been a long time coming: Over the last ten years or so, anti-abortion activists have gone from calling women murderers to saying that women ‘deserve better’ than abortion. Don’t get me wrong, plenty of them still call women killers, but that’s not where the mainstream groups are anymore. At least, not publicly. These organizations may be working hard to sound feminist and woman-friendly, but they haven’t changed their beliefs, policies or extremism. They’ve simply dressed it up nicer. That’s why this strategy is an easy one to dismantle, if we’re willing to do the work. It’s easy to make fun of anti-abortion groups using feminist language. Because they are, of course, ridiculous. But we need to stop taking for granted the idea that everyone else understands the same.

Love this column from Jessica Valenti reminding us that there is no such thing as “pro-life feminism.” Certain anti-abortion activists are deceptively using feminist-sounding language to soften up support for regressive abortion bans.

[slashingdisneypasta]

(M.I.) Long AF update, and thanks to slxsherwriter I found the thing: first episode, 42:09. Knew I didn't dream that. (Sidenote: that incorrect quotes post with Greasy and the B99 quote "you can punch me, kick me..." etc...that's the kind of sub vibe I was getting from Smiley.)

Very, very light mention of suicidal ideation in this one

1976

It's late at night and The Cafe has parked itself on a stretch of desert highway. Ironically making you shiver as you think about those old tales of ghostly hitchhikers. As if anyone more dead than you is going to wander in.

The reassuring thought does absolutely nothing to make the quiet, empty building less creepy.

You know Blackie's nowhere around because the air isn't right. It's something you've started to notice recently, that you can tell whether he's hidden or entirely absent just from the atmosphere.

The Cafe always greets his return like an old friend. Not in words, of course, but there's a...a feeling after he's been gone for awhile. The whole place is suddenly cozier and, yes, even the very air seems to change with that split second he pops into being.

Right now, everything feels wrong and empty. You think about wishing him back, just to see if it works and stop the hairs prickling on your neck, but if Blackie's out that means you'll soon have a customer.

You'd rather they didn't show up until he's home. Just in case.

"Where's he gone," you ask the ceiling.

The tv flickers to life and your ears are assaulted by the tinny sound of multiple bells clanging...Dingdingding...

Naturally he's in a casino. There he is, wandering the crowd and handing out terrible advice. Why not give the machine a few more coins? Pull the lever again? Gotta get lucky sometime, right? Don't give up.

He must sense you watching him, because he glances unmistakably in the direction of the screen; flashing a smile in response to what he knows will be your disapproval. You roll your eyes.

The contrast between his crowded, lively surroundings and yours only serves to highlight the eerie feeling of the desert location. With that song about Phantom 309 playing in your head, you know you've got to get out.

"No offense," you say, heading to the kitchen door, "but I've got the worst case of the heebie-jeebies and I'd rather be there."

Saying it out loud makes you suddenly aware that it's been awhile since you even thought about leaving. No matter how often Blackie manages to grate on your nerves.

Thankfully, the building approves your request; turning your uniform to a fashionable little cocktail number just as the elevator you materialize inside opens, leaving you facing the gold and red carpeted hallway of what looks like an expensive hotel. You're always glad for the chance to wear something different, and your reflection across the way tells you that even with a more modest neckline, the black and silver looks stunning.

There are a couple of small potted plants at the end of the hall with gold tinsel ropes wrapped around their buckets. Matching the ones that circle the columns behind them, ending in giant red bows. Is it near Christmas? Have you lost another year without realizing?

You follow the clanging sounds into the casino, trying to spot Blackie in the crowd. For a moment, you worry you've missed him entirely, then you spot a familiar coat draped over a chair at a poker table. A familiar form sitting in that chair. And you're not going to think about the fact you recognized him from behind. It was the clothes. Not his hair, his posture...the line of his shoulders...

It wasn't any of that.

He turns his head before you even reach the table, and you wonder if he's developed his own sixth sense about you. And how? This casino isn't tied to The Cafe. You couldn't possibly be having any effect on the atmosphere.

"Joining the fun," Blackie asks when you sit down, practically lighting up at the thought.

"Not a chance." You lean in, lowering your voice. "But I am keeping an eye on you."

"Wise decision," he says just as quietly. "Some people have accused me of cheating."

You laugh, knowing he means you and that he's all but admitted you're right.

"I can't imagine why."

Glancing around the table, you startle at the hollow-eyed man sitting directly opposite. He's barely slept in days, judging by the dark circles and disheveled appearance. There's no question he's the one you'll be helping. There's also no question you'd have jumped out of your skin if he'd happened by The Cafe while you were alone.

He looks like death warmed over.

"Is he dangerous," you ask Blackie, directing his eyes with a flick of yours.

"No, just an addict about to lose the last of his savings the same way he lost his wife. I've got this one in the bag," he adds gleefully.

"I don't think so."

You assume this was originally going to play out with the poor man losing whatever he had left and then finding The Cafe while on his way to...well, it made you shiver just contemplating what someone that down on their luck might be doing so far out in the desert. Looking for privacy.

But now, you've given yourself a slight advantage. No need to wait around until Blackie's finished 'testing' him.

"Wanna bet on it?"

"No!"

Though even you have to acknowledge you're teetering right on the borderline everytime you let him goad you into competing. It's just...you've done all the gambling you intend to in your life. Or afterlife. You keep losing pretty big.

You make your way over to stand by the would-be customer, trying to figure out how you'll convince him to leave when he's barely paying attention to you. Despite the fact you currently look incredible and any other man would've taken immediate notice if you'd singled him out.

Blackie doesn't make things easy for you. And he has to be cheating, magically changing the deck to give himself an advantage. No one is that consistently lucky. At one point, he takes out a cigar after losing a hand, and you contemplate shoving it down his throat when he wins the next one. Realizing he's giving his victim just enough hope to keep trying. Enough rope to hang himself.

You glare across the table, getting a very self-satisfied smoke ring in return. It's annoying how cool that looks.

You're rapidly losing your advantage, here. You have to get the addict away from temptation. Taking your attention off Blackie, you settle it fully on the man next to you. Praying you've got enough feminine charm to make this work.

"What's your name, handsome," you ask while the next round is being dealt.

For a split second, you've got half his attention.

"Nathan," he mumbles distractedly.

Without bothering to ask for yours in return. You give it, anyway, trying to build a connection.

"Why don't we go someplace quieter," you ask, "maybe-" reassessing his appearance, you opt against inviting him for a drink "-have dinner, get to know each other a bit?"

Nathan finally looks over at that, quickly taking in the facade of glamour you've been handed.

"No offense, sweetheart, but you're barking up the wrong tree. I can't afford you."

Your face burns and you can't help glancing at Blackie. knowing he must've heard. The hand with the cigar is covering his mouth, visibly stifling a laugh.

Narrowing your eyes, you mentally project the word 'jackass' as hard you can. Hoping he'll somehow hear that. He draws on the cigar, holding your gaze with that evil little twinkle while doing so. Flustering you into turning away.

He's enjoying this way too much. And he's not giving you a chance. Blackie won't be letting go of Nathan until the man loses everything. Entirely too harsh of a lesson, in your opinion. It's a good thing you've moved to this side of the table, otherwise you would make Blackie eat that infernal cigar! It would be the greatest feeling in the world, even if you found thumbtacks in your chair for the rest of eternity.

You can only sit, watching anxiously as Blackie drops those crumbs of hope again and again. Nathan's not going to listen right now, not while he thinks you're a prostitute scouting out high-rollers. You've got no choice but to wait.

When he's finally left with nothing and forced to stop, he simply gets up and leaves; numb resignation in every line of him. You follow, unable to resist pausing long enough to flick your grinning nemesis sharply on the ear.

"Why not just take his soul," you snap.

That would really hammer home the cliché Blackie's playing up right now.

"That's gone, too, if you don't hurry," he says, cheerful even while rubbing the injury.

Quickening your pace, you finally catch Nathan in the parking lot. His car's seen better days and if you were the betting type, you'd wager it's secondhand and he's already lost a much nicer one.

"Mind if I hitch a ride," you ask, dropping into the passenger seat like a woman with no self-preservation instincts.

"I already told you-" he begins tiredly.

"I'm not hooking," you interrupt. "You look like you could use a friend and I know a great place to get a burger. On me," you offer, smiling hopefully.

You'd also bet that he's hardly eating.

Nathan shrugs, chuckling bitterly.

"Why not? You got some guy waiting to cut my throat, take my empty wallet? Saves me some trouble."

Okay, that's...maybe a little offensive that he's so convinced you're a honey trap. But, then again, you wouldn't trust the attractive stranger turning up at your worst moment, either.

He follows your directions to The Cafe, which you're sure is some combination of homing beacon and the building deliberately appearing where you say it will. The out-of-the-way location makes him speculate on your nefarious plans again.

"Place looks pretty empty," he notes suspiciously as the two of you step inside.

It's not. Blackie's here, you can feel him. You wonder how long he'll stay out of sight before turning up to ruin this attempt for you.

"My fault," you say, tying on the apron that's lying on the counter. "I got a little scared and abandoned my post."

"That's quite a trip," Nathan says with a low whistle. "You walk?"

"Taxi."

Once in the kitchen, you wish there was another cook so you didn't have to always do everything yourself. Then you immediately backtrack because the only way to get any help is to condemn someone. And right now, that would be Nathan.

"Ignore that," you tell The Cafe quietly, keeping an eye on him through the window. Raising your voice, you add: "How d'you want this?"

"Just ketchup and onions."

"Fries?"

"Nah."

When his food is ready, you bring it over to his booth with a cup of coffee. Eyes going wide at the sudden, stabbing pain when you sit down. Thumbtacks. Four, if your ass was counting correctly. Two on each side.

You center yourself with a deep breath, determined to ignore them and keep subtly flirting with Nathan. He's sadly open to the possibility you're a femme fatale out to kill him.

Whatever holds his interest.

"So, how'd a nice guy like you end up in a place like that?"

"What's your angle, here," he asks, exasperation evident. "I got nothing you want."

"No angle. I've known more than my share of gamblers and-" you shrug "-only the dishonest ones are lucky. You lost, that means you can't be all bad. I just think you need help. A second chance."

He scoffs at you, picking out a trailing piece of onion and popping it in his mouth.

"Naive, aren't you, kid? I'm all outta chances. My ex-wife said so."

"As long as you're alive-"

"Look, you're obviously younger than I thought, and this is gonna be a hard lesson, but, sometimes...it's better to give up. Stop chasing that second, third, fourth...dragging everyone down with you."

"No kidding," you fire back. "My ex-boyfriend died because he couldn't accept that. And took me right along with him."

You drop the last sentence casually for maximum shock value. Despite your fears, you're the only ghost in this building.

Nathan visibly pales.

"Ah, okay, sweetheart, I think I'd better be-"

The lights flash as the tv comes to life. Personally, you find the effect overdramatic, but The Cafe is like that sometimes. Showy. A bit of a diva. On the screen, you see Nathan's first descent into his gambling addiction. A tiny little victory that gave him a taste for more.

He watches in silence as the scene changes to one of his ex-wife begging him to stop wasting all their money. What about their plans to start a family? Three years play out in minutes; a highlight reel of bad decisions.

"I get that you've hit rock bottom," you begin. "And I'm absolutely not saying keep chasing that thrill in case things get better. I'm saying stop. Climb back out of the hole. Fix your life, start over. It won't be easy, but something tells me you like doing things the hard way."

"I-"

"Or you might find yourself in a real dead-end job," Blackie cuts in dryly, suddenly appearing in the seat just behind Nathan; leaning over the back.

The poor guy jumps, clutching at his heart. You tell yourself very sternly not to laugh.

"Your choice, of course," Blackie continues. "We certainly could use the help around here."

Nathan looks suspiciously between the two of you. Obviously remembering he saw you together earlier.

"I knew there was an angle," he crows, triumphant and suddenly nervous for a man so sure he was done with life. "You're the mafia boyfriend who's gonna-"

"Not my boyfriend," you say emphatically. "I'm the friendly ghost who's trying to save your soul-" you point to yourself, then Blackie "-and he's the literal pain in my ass hindering that."

"Guess you don't want me giving 'im this, then."

Blackie holds up a satchel. You eye it suspiciously.

"Depends what's inside."

"About...twenty thousand dollars, give or take. Got it off a complete shmuck back at the casino."

"That's-that's twice what I had," Nathan stammers.

"Alright, a few shmucks." Blackie sets the bag on top of the bench, giving you that too-innocent look. "Just lucky, I guess," he says pointedly.

When Nathan reaches eagerly for the money, Blackie pulls the satchel away.

"Uh-uh," he scolds. "Can't get something for nothing, there's strings attached. Use it wisely or you'll wind up right.back.here."

You're staring as he hands over the money. You can't help it. Mouth working silently while Nathan thanks first Blackie and then you before hurrying out without eating another bite. You barely manage the faintest response to your latest customer's goodbye.

Blackie had technically won that round...by letting you win. Implicitly taking Nathan's soul, as suggested, as soon as the other man accepted the money. Condemning him and offering redemption at the same time.

Actually, giving him back the money in the first place was-

"That was nice by my standards," you marvel when speech returns.

He switches seats, taking the one directly across from you. The burger is briefly considered then dismissed as he lifts the top; pulling a face at the choice of condiments.

"Maybe you're a bad influence."

He smiles and the thumbtacks finally disappear. You breathe a sigh of relief. Followed by another filled with regret as you look down at your dress. Knowing it will soon be changing like Cinderella's ballgown.

"Guess I've got no reason to keep wearing this," you say, plucking at the shimmering skirt. "Back to the usual."

Blackie gives a sudden start, casting a disgruntled look upwards.

"Or...we could...go out. Somewhere," he says, every word clearly forced.

"Careful, you'll give the place ideas."

"Too late."

Of course it's too late. The two of you get around that by steadfastly refusing to acknowledge any of the set-ups as dates. You're just graciously enduring each other's company to pass the time until The Cafe sets you free.

And maybe sometimes it's fun, with all the great places you've been trapped. The beach. A broadway show where the singers were so perfectly in-tune it was obvious they were only shadow puppets. That picnic lunch in the Tuileries where you had the entire place to yourselves...

But it's never Blackie's doing. Always The Cafe. You don't think he made the offer entirely of his own volition.

"Movie," you ask, seeing a way to beat the place at its own game just this once. "Is there anything good on?"

He tilts his head thoughtfully, considering. After all, he'd know the answer better than you.

"There's some Streisand thing a few people have been talking about. If that sounds interesting."

You nod.

"And how about a real theater? Sorry," you add, patting the table. "But this look requires showing off."

Once you've gone somewhere real, The Cafe can't lock you in. You'll be free to leave at any time.

You step out the door into an alleyway, just across from what turns out to be a fancy theater with balcony seating. And you don't question things too much when none of the other patrons join you in that balcony. Or how Blackie snuck those two bottles of red tucked in his coat past the ushers.

He gets away with things simply because he wants to. You're beginning to suspect The Cafe chooses people based on who can keep him at least somewhat in line.

"You're awful," you scold with a laugh. Overflowing with the joy of being a positive influence and having a real night out, you don't hesitate in taking the bottle he offers. Settling in comfortably with it. "Alright. I'll misbehave this time."

Oh. Dear.

You're suddenly aware of how that statement could be taken. So is he. Because he's not just looking at you. He's Looking. Capital L. Capital everything, really. A questioning, serious version of that heavy-lidded taunt he flusters you with so often.

And you're not entirely sure you won't just go along with the misinterpretation.

Or if it would even be a misinterpretation in the first place.

After all, some people might -in a moment of weakness- say he's actually...kind of...handsome-ish.

Those same people might be disappointed when he blinks, shakes his head, and the moment is gone. Not you, though. Just some people. People who weren't here for a casual, friendly night out.

A few minutes into the movie, Barbara's crooning her first song onstage as a barely sober Kris Kristofferson watches with every sign of already being head over heels. You're only halfway paying attention, enjoying what little of her voice isn't drowned out by the background chatter.

Your main focus is Blackie and the way he's tossing popcorn into the air, catching it in his mouth.

You wonder if he's even capable of getting drunk. His hand-eye coordination is still impeccable despite the fact you'd both kept turning up the wine at a fairly consistent rate. Chugging a little too fast.

"Show-off." You throw a piece at him, watching in tipsy delight as it rebounds off his forehead. "Hah!"

"Bet I catch the next one."

He readies himself to do just that.

"Betcha can't-Ah! You sneaky...devil something," You wag your finger at him. "Almost had me that time."

Even that sounds like an innuendo. As does his playfully wistful retort of 'someday.'

Obviously, he means someday you'll make a bet with him. Not someday he'll have you.

You chug a little more wine, trying to kill that pesky thought.

Onscreen, a curly-haired extra introduces himself as Marty and sits down to harass Kris. Insisting he 'sing a song for Sheila.'

"What an asshole," you remark.

"I dunno about that. I'd say he's got a certain cha- Oh! That's a broken nose," Blackie interrupts himself with a laugh as Kris swings at Marty.

"Pfft! No," you say, snickering too because Marty deserved it. "Actor stuff. Fake."

"It was definitely real," Blackie insists.

You throw more popcorn at him for disagreeing, taking him off-guard. It bounces against his nose.

"Didn't catch it. I win," you point out smugly

"Cheater," he says approvingly, upending the rest of his popcorn on your head as you fall to helpless giggles.

The best one yet XDD

I'm literally grinning from ear to ear while reading any of your updates but this one had me covering my face!! I need more of Blackie and Y/N having fun!! 💛💛💛

And oh yeah, Y/N, 'handsome-ish'. 🫥🫥🫥... Sure XD

Also- ALSO-

I see exactly what you did there at the end, M.I XD Very clever! 😆😄

[rune-writes]

His Creed

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV

Word count: 915

Rating: Gen

Characters: Hermes-centric

Notes: late entry for @applesyrcusweek Day 1: Hope/Despair. This is my first time writing Hermes. I hope I did him justice.

Read on AO3.

~*~*~*~*~

What does it mean to live? 

Their voices grated on Hermes’s ears: detached murmurs, as though the hippe they had just released on Lethe was nothing more than a simple creation deemed unsuitable for life on Eitherys. Yet, perhaps, that was indeed what was going through the minds of his researchers gathered around the lake that afternoon. Surely the creature which had rampaged across the water and killed more than a few of their subjects should not be deemed worthy to live. 

Hermes had seen his people bind the poor animal with magick, forcefully pacifying it and herding it away. They might have done away with the releasing of aether had they not sensed his presence and asked for his judgment. Any other person would have immediately waved them off, let them do what must be done. It was their protocol; Hermes knew it by heart. Yet he couldn’t help the pause. If only he could detect a semblance of recognition in those depthless aquamarine eyes, he would tell them to wait and let him examine it to see what was wrong. But the binding magick had sealed off any emotion the hippe might have felt. Its eyes had been as soulless as a doll. 

“Yes, you may,” he had quietly said, ignoring the pang in his heart whenever he issued the command. 

His researchers had nodded and bowed their heads, then taken the creature farther away into the lake. Not far enough, however, that Hermes could not see the entire process nor hear their hushed murmurs. 

It had been its final day of testing. Had everything gone smoothly, the hippe would have been deemed fit for life. They would have called the owner to pick up his creation and register its name. But now all that awaited them was a report of a failed concept.  

But was it truly a failure? 

As the hippe’s aether dissipated into the lake, leaving only little motes of light that would soon disappear with the flow, Hermes thought back to the times he had seen to the creature himself. He had taken a liking to it—to this beautiful wavekin with its tangled green mane and robust body. Strong, and regal. The fins on its head, chest, and flanks glimmered like rainbow even at night. Its pools of aquamarine shone with stark intelligence. Sometimes, it would let Hermes stroke the powerful column of its neck or nibble on the apple he had brought from his orchard. It was a good concept and Hermes had felt proud to have witnessed it. 

So then why had it gone berserk? 

His researchers stepped away from the remains of the hippe's light and returned to firm ground. 

“Such a shame,” one of them said. “But nothing else could be done when it had injured one of our staff.”

“That was the fifth attempt at a concept, was it not? Either they scrap the entire thing and start from scratch or…” He noticed his companion’s stare. “Have they done that?” 

“They have. Which is why they should follow our advice and submit a different concept. Clearly wavekins aren’t their forte. Hippes aren’t meant to be docile.” 

Their hushed murmurs faded into the distance as they went farther away from the lake. Hermes remained at his spot, staring at the now-empty water bed. 

He wasn’t quite sure how much time had passed. Perhaps a bell—or had it only been a handful of minutes? He should probably visit the injured staff, but his heart lay heavy. His hands flexed on his sides. So much power on this feeble flesh. To create and uncreate. 

Who were they to decide when someone—something—had no more reason to live? Was the briefest of violent impulses enough of a warrant to kill them? What about sloth? Greed? They said the star had no use for failed concepts, yet that dogma did not extend to the people themselves. They were beings created by Eitherys for Eitherys. How were they so confident in their hubris that they were perfect when each and every one of them were rife with flaws? 

A flutter of wings caught his senses, breaking up his thoughts. Hermes did not turn even when a familiar set of footsteps approached him from behind. 

“Hermes?” came the tentative voice of Meteion. 

The little bird came to his side and held onto his fingers. Hermes’s breath shuddered. He lifted his face, feeling the gentle breeze of Lethe slowly wash away his tears that refused to flow. Once the beating of his heart steadied and the pain subsided, he looked down at his familiar and smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. Meteion grimaced. Her small fingers tightened on his.

“I’m alright, Meteion.” He returned the girl’s gentle squeeze. “Just a momentary sense of melancholy.” 

“Has it passed?” 

“It has.” His smile didn’t falter, but both of them knew his words were far from the truth. There was nothing that could be done. It was in their teachings, and no matter what Hermes said, his words would always fall on deaf ears. 

He tugged at Meteion’s hand. “Come; let us go. I will need to see how badly wounded my staff is.” They should be at Anagnorisis or, had the wounds been more severe than any of them could handle, had been brought back to Amaurot. The heaviness still lay on his heart, but he decided not to look too closely. As such, he didn’t notice the troubled expression that graced Meteion’s features.

~ END ~

[loser-female]

I think we really start to pay attention to what kind of message are regularly sent to het/bi women on the subject of love, romance etc.

And when I say "pay attention" I mean "also including leftist messages", otherwise the analysis will always be incomplete. And I think this is why no one relates to the "men are dangerous!" Kind of thing.

As I said in a previous post, (I don't really have the time to go search fo the things I'm saying) women are constantly sold four things:

- Romantic relationship are the best achievement one can have;

- Men have changed and "think the patriarchy also harm them";

- Choice is everything that matters;

- 50/50 means equality

And when I wrote "sold" I mean it. Check every "feminist" advice column on the subject: you are sold that you can be an happy housewife with no income, still pay for 50% of the bills because men now are taking on responsibility.

But this isn't the truth. It's not that being an housewife is bad because it's morally wrong, it's bad because by eliminating your financial gain you are making yourself dependent on someone else. And if something happens, divorce (not necessary abuse, I will expand later), death, house on fire etc you will have to return to a career you left 20 years before with no qualifications. And there is nothing that damages you in a work setting like having holes in a resume. I know because due to my disability I have many.

The 50/50 model, that seems to be the default right now, doesn't account for the earning disparity, chore and emotional labour disparity. It just doesn't. And women are kept poor because they have been told that they need to "pay their share" otherwise they are "useless gold diggers", but they don't earn enough to sustain paying 50/50 in the bills, mortgage or loans. And I've seen multiple "stay at home mums" still having to pay "their expenses" with absolutely no income.

Women lack financial education to make correct choices on the matter, and are sold this idea of equality that is in favour of men.

And it's not true that men are taking on responsibility. Some men are, some men always did and maybe the % of men taking at least some chores has been going up, I don't really know. But they also think "women's rights have gone too far". They exploit women's work in the home because "they earn more", so they feel entitled to being take care of and slack the parenting and homemaking, especially if you don't work or earn much less than him, so he needs to pay more.

This is actually how inequality works in 2023. It's not because "women are stupid" or because of romance novels or anyway. Choice feminism told them that men have changed. But they didn't, and at the same time no one addressed the economic disparity in the household, combined with the emotional labour and the homemaking time a woman spend.

I know it sucks to talk about money, no one wants to do that. But once you do the math you really understand how many lies choice feminism has sold, but more important we need to start taking account on the financial oppression of women. Women in the world have much less money than men, which in a capitalist society means less power.

And less power means not being able to leave an abusive situation, because you can't afford it.

Not only that, you have been told that "women are favoured in courts"(not true, men who ask custody even if they have evidence and convinctions of abuse they still get custody). You get told that "abuse is your fault", that "if you open the relationship or watch porn" everything will get over. And it's always someone else.

I know how trauma works and y'all should have heard the sad excuses I made when I contested the definition of trauma on the things that happened to me, not even DV or sexual related.

"but others have it worse!"

"I'm not sure if this actually happened"(it did, I even have proof)

"it's my fault, I am wrong".

And all the lingo. Scratch the surface of "domestic violence awareness" and you will find such excuses. That you know they are excuses, mind you, but you cannot cope with what really happened.

Instead of a thing that's structurally a problem, abuse is treated as something that "happens to others" sporadically, that has nothing to do with women's systematic oppression. And when it happens you cannot believe it, because it always happened to "someone else", not you. And men successfully weaponised "therapy language" to claim they are the ones being abused. And they get believed over any evidence that says otherwise, because guess what, men wrote the laws that men constantly complain about.

I don't have a cool ending, but really, this is what I noticed.

[kandyrezi]

I saw your Grey Garden Main Characters Becoming Yandere Post and thought it was great! Can we have one for the Pocket Mirror Girls?

Prompt: 'Pocket Mirror' girls realizing they're yandere, with possibly them trying not to act on said feelings of obsessiveness/jealousy.

(a/n: thank you for requesting, i really enjoyed writing it! ❤)

(can be seen as either platonic or romantic.)

⌜goldia.⌟

• Goldia lives in a mansion far away from any nearby towns. There isn't anyone else to spend time with aside from her dolls, but pretending like they're alive gets to her after a while. She doesn't like her brother. Father is always away. And mother spends all her time in that room, hardly ever leaving. But she comes across you, living in a small cottage with your family – a little bit of a walking distance from her home when she went to pick hydrangeas for mother.

• She almost becomes lost, but you help her find her way back—and the two of you become fast friends. She brings you to her home often after that encounter, and you stay over countless nights, playing games throughout the day in her room, drinking tea, reading together, and having sleepovers once the sun sets. You're one of the very few (if not the only person) who keeps her... erratic mood swings at bay, almost like a column keeping a temple afloat.

• For the most part, Goldia is good at keeping any yandere tendencies hidden within her true feelings—but that doesn't mean she doesn't feel them any less strongly than any of... the other girls. She becomes overbearingly clingy, using any excuse she can to be near you, and becomes noticeably upset if she senses any inkling of rejection from you.

• She even starts to neglect her studies when she would rather spend time with you. She knows it's unwise, but after a while she would eventually snap back into reality when you express concern for her well-being.

• She was so agreeable and nice when you first met her. She even volunteered to look after you when you sprained your ankle on accident until you got better. But that was then. Now you're saying she seems like a completely different... almost hurtful person at times? You told her you can't attend the ceremony where she'll be giving her speech that her family is hosting, and she nearly threw a temper tantrum over it. She's never shoved you, or insulted you either for being from a lower-class family, so why was she doing it now?

• If she doesn't mend her behavior, then perhaps it's best your paths be split from one another, you eventually tell her.

• Eventually Goldia promises herself to give her friend more breathing room, to avoid being so overbearing and unkind... maybe then they can go back to what their friendship was like before...

• But it would all be for naught, on one day, when you end up disappearing without so much as a word or a trail. The more time passes, the more she feels only anger boiling, and takes it out on whoever is unfortunate enough—like her brother, Henri, or one of her tutors. Were you angry with her? She doesn't know. She becomes obsessive over you only after you're gone, idealizing the delusion you could've been happy together and comforted her when her family eventually is torn apart and stolen by that ancient demon, before she's also taken away to be locked behind four luminescent walls.

⌜harpae.⌟

• Harpae behaves as any good, proper friend should to you; listening to your troubles, spending time together in the lounge drinking chamomile tea, discussing academic writings, and so on... nothing seems to be wrong... on a surface level. Harpae reasons to herself you're completely capable of handling yourself, yet she secretly hopes you think of her as reliable, that you'll come to her if you need any aid, emotional comfort, or words of advice.

• She wants you to rely on her, and eventually her facade crumbles underneath her inferiority complex. She dodges any questions you have about her acting strange, possibly even becoming annoyed if you keep on persisting something is amiss, or think she might not be entirely truthful. It's improper behavior from a lady of her high-societal standing, but she hardly cares about that where it concerns feelings for her darling.

• She feels immeasurable (familial? sisterly? or another type of?) love in her heart towards you whenever she's needed. She is utterly in denial about behaving... unseemly towards you, and it would lean to her being a more of a delusional type of developing yandere for this reason.

• When she wants affirmation and acts on these feelings is when she lets you become injured on purpose. By... 'accidentally' letting you fall down a flight of stairs, then pretending you were just uncoordinated in your step, that the mansion is quite ancient and a mere loose board or a nail is what you stumbled over.

• She almost feels guilt for her actions, but those feelings quickly disappear when you thank her for the trouble of taking care of you with your sprained ankle. With a gentle smile, she would stroke your hair and promise to look after your whenever you need her to. (always. forever.)

⌜fleta.⌟

• Having been alone for so long – the princess with a smile sweet as sugar yet temper eruptive as lightning during a storm – Fleta is guaranteed to form an attachment if you withstood her mischief and antics, actually becoming her friend... well, more likely she 'claims' you as her friend. You don't have any say in it, really.

• Blinded by delusions and complete disregard for the feelings of others, she just does what she wants, however and whenever she wants. unlike the other girls, Fleta will not hold back on acting on any violent or obsessive impulses, intent on never letting you leave.

• She even lashes out at Egliette when told something she doesn't want to hear, and she will be pretty mean towards you if she doesn't get her way. Egliette can only placate her slightly, but the words of the doll queen will likely fall on deaf ears.

• If you express any doubt in her words about wanting to be your friend, after she insulted your clothing (referring them as 'rags') or saying you're terrible at playing games, she will deflect all of your questions, insisting she was just helping you out! If you thought that was already too much, she shows her true possessive side when you refuse her. She is royalty! You're just some commoner, a nobody! You're so bold as to reject her?

• She's offering you a place to stay with her forever and to be your friend... and you don't want it? Then she'll make you regret ever being ungrateful towards her and Egliette for the kindness they've both shown to someone so lowly as yourself.

⌜lisette.⌟

• For the maiden of horrors, any desires forming an unhealthy obsession mostly stems from loneliness. She may push you away at first, but when you don't see her as some circus freak to be locked away, but a sympathetic girl who desires for kindness and acceptance, something in her changes—for better, or... for worse.

• She's mostly on her lonesome, so when you do visit her frequently, and when you want to get to know the real her, the attachment she feels becomes imminent, inevitable. Because remembering the affection she didn't have during any of her lowest moments, and looking at you makes her want to hold and care for you. She is unlikely to act on any violent desires she might be hiding away, as such, doesn't really have a 'breaking point' either.

• Lisette would rather cut herself with her own scissors (she has both been at the receiving end of it by the hands of others, or done it to herself before as form of punishment—she's used to the pain.) than ever hurt you in any capacity. She knows the feeling of terror from being blamed and punished for every misdeed or wrongdoing. Lisette doesn't like the thought of seeing fear in your eyes. It reminds her too much of... a certain someone. (herself. her own wretched self.)

• That, however, doesn't mean she won't have the desire to hurt others. Probably not physically, but she might lash out at them out of rage. Goldia is the only one who's able to calm her down, if any of the other girls tried, she might see them as threats who would try to discreetly take her darling from her.

• Aside from Harpae, she's the only one who actually feels shame over any feelings of jealousy and possessiveness. She just wants to hold onto you, and never let go...

⌜enjel.⌟

• Enjel is not very good at keeping intense emotions under wraps, no matter how much she pretends otherwise. She will probably not hold back on any yandere desires she might have either. You don't know where you are. You're lost. Just like she is. You don't have anything useful she can take from you, so she's cold to you a first, only using you if she needs you to do something to aid her in her quest, like discreetly dropping that bobby-pin through the mirror, so Goldia has something to lock-pick herself out of the room she got locked in.

• Enjel as a 'person' has not existed for very long, so she is, at best, inexperienced, but at worst, naive to some things around her, despite the knowledge that has been bestowed upon her. This will inevitably, always, become her downfall in the end. (but she will realize this much too late.)

• You are the only individual she has had any close contact with (aside from that Strange Boy), so while it takes some time, she would eventually warm up to you, and without anything to gain from you, doesn't see you as a means to an end, rather someone whom she shares with a similar fate. Enjel contemplates between either leaving you stuck in the realm of the mindscape and just forgetting about you, or finding a way to bring you to the real world with her. Both choices are... a conundrum to try to solve.

• She told you to approach the brunette-haired girl with the pocket mirror and to gain her trust, so that the two... three of you can leave this miserable cycle of limbo. Her plan may have worked up to certain point... but she sees through life-sized mirrors, you're becoming too close with that girl for her liking.

("I may not be a part of you, but it feels like I've known you for longer than when I saw you in that orchestra room for the first time...")

• The jealousy is too much for her to bear. She only thought she didn't care about you, but her breaking point is seeing just how affectionate you and Goldia have become, like you had been friends for years in the past at one point. Enjel has nothing. Goldia had, and has everything in her life. And now she wants to take you from her as well?

• She doesn't care if you look at her differently because of it. She's doing it for herself, and for your own good. She only planned on taking her pocket mirror, but now she will probably end up killing Goldia with the scythe, not out of any planned tactics, but purely out of anger and envy. She threatens with killing you too, if you won't stop crying for the dead corpse laying on the glass mosaic floor instead of just listening to her. she has the mirror, the two of you (blind, naive fool. you were never going to leave together) can finally leave this cursed place—

• It will all be for naught. Because she will have doomed you both. That much becomes clear when you hear the echoing laughter of the maleficent one-eyed demon.

. . .

a/n: expectation: a harem of yandere girls. reality: a tragic love triangle between the unstable MC, reader, and the jealous pinocchio girl.

haha... (／ˍ・、)

[stardust-maple]

I've gotten a lot of replies like this since I posted this.

And I am sort of disappointed in how I explained what this was for before. But I'm also disappointed to get unsolicited advice from strangers about how to talk to my doctors.

You also seem to be wrong about how this chart works. My fault. Never explained it. But basically the "mine" column is for my own perceptions and scales. Because that's the range of pain I can be in. And the drs. Is for what to say to the Dr to translate it to their scale. The "mine" is the friends and family column. The " yeah man this is how bad it is today" column.

This is for a lot of things.

I made this after not being able to describe my pain with a number for a long time after having gotten covid. I got covid. I somehow was in so much more pain than I had been. it completely broke my perception of pain because I was in so much pain that I couldn't fully process it. I had never been at an 11 before, but I was suddenly at a 13. I was in more pain than was possible.

Unfortunately every time I checked the pain chart. I found that somehow my pain number had gone down even though I was in the same amount of pain. The numbers are based on function. The numbers are based on how much you can do.

So while I told everyone I was at a 3 I was in no less pain than when I had been at a 5. Because I had learned how to ignore the pain and continue working.

My PCP doesn't treat my pain. She doesn't treat my fatigue. But every time I go to the Drs office she asks me to rate my pain. This number is for the insurance company. And it is not an important one.

This is not the scale I'm using with my physical therapist or my pain management doctors. It's not for that. It was never for that. It's for talking to my PCP when I'm coming in for one of my checkups because she gives me prescription medication that she has to check in on to make sure I still need it.

And the number doesn't effect if I still need it or not.

A homemade pain chart is only good if everyone in the room knows what the numbers mean. I shifted the chart so my numbers communicate the correct thing to her.

I can do stuff. I'm not in less pain just cause I do stuff even though I'm in pain.

It allowed me to give a number to my family again. To be able to express my limits. Where I was.

It allowed me to reconcile the difference between what I could do and how much pain I was in.

When I was talking to people treating my pain, I ALWAYS looked at the pain scale THEY were working from or showed them mine. They ALWAYS knew what the numbers meant.

There are so many pain charts. There are so many ways of rating your pain. I cannot express how this was helpful to me. Constantly. Constantly it has been helpful to me.

So yeah. I'm not using this in the emergency room. I don't use this for non-chronic pain. My pain is constant. It doesn't feel like anything but itself. Acute pain feels so different.

This is a tool. It doesn't have to be perfect for it to be a good tool. It doesn't have to work for everything to be a good tool.

I'm not going to use this where it doesn't fit. Just like I'm not going to write an email in Latin to talk to a physics teacher.

Never have never will.

No one is using this in emergencies unless other people know what they're saying. No one has said that they're doing this.

And everyone is responsible for their own shit. It is demeaning to think that someone is going to sabotage their own medical care with this chart. Disabled people know what happens when you tell a doctor you're at an 11.

They know every doctor uses a different chart and that there is so much juggling going on every time you see a fucking medical professional. Cause they've done it before. They've messed up or heard the stories or someone else has warned them.

I'm sorry that you went through that. I'm sorry they didn't believe you.

And

I'm oh so sorry that I didn't put disclaimers on my Tumblr post.

I made my own pain and fatigue scale charts. Because I'm so adept at overcoming my symptoms the normal pain scale doesn't really work for me. I adjusted my numbers so that I could change the number into something I could tell a doctor when they inevitably ask me to rate my pain.

[Image Description: Pain Scale Chart with rainbow gradient background for each row, starting at red and ending at blue. Row 1: Mine Drs Pain Scale Description Row 2: 10 X I am not leaving my bedroom or bathroom, someone needs to bring me food and I need something to dull the pain or the pain will cause tears. Row 3: 9 X I am not leaving my bedroom and bathroom for anything other than food. Row 4: 8 10 Speaking is difficult. It is no longer practical to do activities outside of the bathroom or bedroom, but they can be done with assistance. Row 5: 7 9 Necessary care activities are sacrificed. Academic activities and social activities can no longer be tolerated. Row 6: 6 8 My pain is tiring. Paying attention is difficult. All activities require pacing and extra effort. Row 7: 5 7 My pain is so distracting it is making me tired. It is hard to think. Necessary care activities are no longer all doable. Row 8: 4 6 My pain is so distracting it is making me tired. It is harder to think. Necessary care activities are starting to be limited. Row 9: 3 5 I can continue to do most activities Row 10: 2 4 My pain bothers me but I can ignore it most of the time Row 11: 1 3 My pain bothers me, but I can ignore it most of the time. Row 12: 0 2 I am aware of my pain only when I pay attention to it Row 13: X 1 My pain is hardly noticeable Row 14: X 0 I have no pain. END Image Description]

[Image Description:

Fatigue Scale Chart with rainbow gradient background for each row, starting at red and ending at blue. Row 1: Mine Drs Fatigue Scale Description Row 2: 10 X Can barely sit up, needs assistance to get out of bed. Holding conversations is impossible. Laying down for most of the day is necessary. It is difficult to eat. Focusing is strenuous. Row 3: 9 X Able to walk and stand for short distances. Holding conversations is difficult. Laying down for most of the day is necessary. It is difficult to eat. Focusing is strenuous. Row 4: 8 10 Able to walk and stand for short distances. Holding conversations is difficult. Sitting for long Periods of time is difficult. It is difficult to eat. Focusing is strenuous. Preparing a meal isn’t possible. Row 5: 7 9 Holding conversations is difficult. Sitting or standing for long Periods of time is difficult. It is difficult to eat. Focusing is strenuous. Row 6: 6 8 Sitting or standing for long Periods of time is difficult. It is difficult to eat. Focusing is difficult. Preparing a meal is difficult. Row 7: 5 7 Standing or walking for long periods is difficult. It is difficult to eat. Focusing is difficult. Row 8: 4 6 Standing or walking for long periods is difficult. Focusing is difficult. Row 9: 3 5 Cooking for longer than 15 minutes is extremely challenging. Row 10: 2 4 Not everything can be done in the day. Activities are slowed down. Difficult mental challenges are sacrificed. Row 11: 1 3 Tiredness makes it difficult to enjoy fun activities. Row 12: 0 2 Things take more effort than usual, but everything is still doable. Row 13: X 1 Slightly tired but still able to carry on as normal Row 14: X 0 Not tired at all END Image Description.]

Feel free to use them yourself if you like them!

[clicked-in]

Why Men Pull Away And how you can tap into his deep desire for commitment...

Maggie was confused. Rick had blown her away on their first two dates. No guy had ever worked so hard to impress her.

And impressed she was. He was attentive, respectful, gentle and engaged.

But then, just when she decided she'd fallen for him...poof. He withdrew.

Now their roles had reversed. Overnight, she was working to get his attention.

Why do men do that? Why do men shut women out?

Certainly, not every man pulls away when things start to heat up, but a lot of guys do.

Enough, in fact, that this is a common question among the women I work with as a dating and relationship coach.

Guys come on strong, pursuing with enough passion to make Romeo jealous, but when they win the attention of their Juliet, it's game over.

What gives?

Look, dating's a tough gig. Yes, it's fun and exciting, but it's also nerve-racking.

At first, it's all about the chase. He's trying to get your attention, and you're deciding whether or not he's worth it.

That's the time in any dating relationship when both people are so wrapped up in the pursuit that they're hardly giving any thought to what will come next.

And then, the pursuit changes.

You decide you're into the guy, and he, having won your attention, has to begin the process of considering an actual, serious relationship. Does he want one?

More than likely he does, or he wouldn't have been chasing you!

But, wanting it and being fearless enough to really go after it are two different things.

So, what's a girl to do?

Well, first I'll tell you what you should NOT do.

Avoid These Two Common Mistakes

Click here now to make this method yours before you forget and miss this opportunity to transform your luck with men.

First, don't assume it's about you. It almost certainly isn't. He was into you before you decided you were into him. He's still into you, now.

Second, don't pressure him. This is where a lot of the advice columns get it wrong. They often say you should play "hard to get" or some version of it.

Instead, let him know you're interested in him.

Do it in ways that don't smother or push. (Text messages every hour, on the hour, for example, might be over-doing it.)

Why do men pull away and shut women out at this phase of a relationship? Because he's a little nervous. He's nervous about giving up the freedom of choice.

Don't change, be the woman he fell in love with

During the pursuit phase, it's desire that motivates him. As soon as he realizes this could be something real, his motivation shifts.

Suddenly he's thinking about the many options he will give up, and the lifestyle changes he's committing to.

(A lot of guys have an irrational fear that all their activities will all become feminized if they commit to a woman.)

When he's acting this way, you don't have to change what you're doing. When he acts distant, your best bet is to appear calm and comfortable.

Be the woman he fell in love with (carefree, confident, and available).

Don't freak out—that'll freak him out. Don't demand his attention—that'll send him running. And don't launch into a panic that he's seen some fatal flaw in you.

Because that thought process will put you in a negative frame of mind, and that's anything but attractive.

Always Assume The Best

Click here now to make this method yours before you forget and miss this opportunity to transform your luck with men.

He pursued you for the first few dates, hoping you'd decide you were into him. He's gone out on a limb before.

Now it's your turn. Give him enough space to feel comfortable while still letting him know you're interested.

Any guy who truly wants a mature, real relationship will come around as soon as he sees there's nothing there to be afraid of.

And any guy who's not ready for a real relationship wasn't the catch you thought he was, anyway!

Now, before you settle into "waiting mode," I'd like to share a shortcut that can pull him back and rekindle his passionate pursuit at lightening speed.

There's nothing wrong with being patient, but if you want to pour a little miracle grow on your relationship, here's what I recommend you do next...

When He Shuts You Out, Try This...

Survey research shows men would rather be respected than loved. It's wired into our DNA.

We feel an irrational need to earn your respect as an avenue to becoming worthy of your love.

Now look, as a male dating coach working primarily with women, I know how crazy this must sound to you. But it's true.

It's one of the few "secrets" that really can give you an unfair advantage with men.

Here's how this knowledge can help.

If you channel a man's deep desire to earn your respect in the right ways, he will bend over backward for you.

And the more he does this, the easier it becomes for him to see himself in a long-term committed relationship with you.

And his favorite way to earn your respect?

Click here now to make this method yours before you forget and miss this opportunity to transform your luck with men.

He wants to be heroic. He wants to solve problems for you, come to your aid, and prove himself useful.

It's not very romantic, but it's woven into the fabric of his DNA.

And that's why I've put together a video explaining this phenomenon further so you can tap into his hero instinct anytime you want, even if he's currently asking for space.

Click here now to make this method yours before you forget and miss this opportunity to transform your luck with men.

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Tags:

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[love-minor-poltergeist]

i love all your headcanons!! if your comfortable, could i request some ribby and croaks with a s/o, the frog boys are underrated in my opinion :3

A/N: Ngl, after watching their episode in season 1, these two have grown on me~

Now, with this batch, I decided to try and combine aspects from both the game and the cartoon! I’ve approached this with the idea that you and frog boys are in a vee/pivot poly relationship (aka you date both bros separately). If you have something else in mind, be sure to let me know so I can make adjustments!! 

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

Ribby and Croaks x S/O: 

You’ll never find a more protective pair of lovers than these two boys! They both had their fair share of rough experiences– growing up on the wrong side of the lily pad will do that to ya! The last thing they’d want for you is to get hurt or get pushed around by some brain-dead oaf like they did,

They’re 100% the type to unironically go “this guy botherin’ ya, toots?” in those throaty voices of theirs, chests puffed up and fists (er, boxing gloves) at the ready.

You’re genuinely the only person since their late Ma who can get these two knuckleheads to stop fighting long enough to get anything done. With you as their sweet little partner, the amount of bruises and black eyes Ribby and Croaks’ sport have gone down exponentially. 

They have designated date days for you! And if one brother can’t make it, he’d (begrudgingly) send the other to substitute! Though, do be careful. Ribby and Croaks might end up competing to see who’s the better boyfriend if they get too aggravated. Male frogs can be territorial, after all! 

Of the two brothers, Croaks misses being in the ring the most. There’s plenty to miss, too: the booming cheers of the audience; the sheer rush that courses through him with each punch; even the faint burn that throbbed within his muscles after matches. It was the perfect place for him back when he was a scrappy tadpole, and it’ll always hold a special place in his heart. Every now and then, you’d catch him training in a small, slightly dingy room he uses for workouts in their boat. 

While there’s no pressure for you to say during said workouts, Croaks would love it if you stuck around for his routines! Ever since they went legit, Ribby hasn’t been able to spend much time with him; his brother had always been the one to handle the business stuff, after all. Croaks misses having someone to talk to, so he’ll gladly let you chatter away as you help spot him or make sure he gets plenty of water in between sets. And once he’s done, he’ll make sure to reward you for your efforts with a playful, exaggerated kiss on your cheek; ignoring your squeaks of protest because of course he thinks it's funny to grab you while he’s still sweaty. 

Ribby, while just as rowdy as his taller brother, tries his best to look legit; ever since he promised Ma that he’d go straight, Ribby’s been trying his best to mirror the same charms and gumption like the bigwig business men of Isle III. This energy also applies to Ribby’s efforts at romance. He’ll try to follow the “laws” of dating he’s seen from newspaper advice columns or the radio dramas he’ll occasionally listen to during breaks. However, Ribby isn’t suave at all. 

If Ribby will get you a bouquet of flowers, he’ll end up tracking mud and water all over your floor; if Ribby invites you to the carnival, he’ll end up accidentally blowing all of his money on rigged games just to try to win that cute stuffed frog you were eyeing; hell, Ribby’s even tried to “sing” to you get your attention– and unless you’re another frog, it’s a rather… interesting sight to behold, to put it lightly. 

And no matter how many times Ribby messes up, he’ll still try again later. You deserve only the best, and if he can promise Ma that he’ll improve, then the same goes for you.

┕━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┙

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - September 5th

Happy Sunday!! Here’s what I’ve been reading this week. As always, leave your fic authors some love if you read and enjoy their stories! 

And for my friends on Twitter--STW is there now, with the weekly list and daily spotlights! 

**Indicates my recent favs 

~*~ 

The Straight Path (Until The End Of My Days) by RayShippouUchiha (Time travel Engame Fixit - 5k) 

“Buck,” Steve whispers then, voice low like a secret, “I don’t … I don’t think I want to live in a world without him. I don’t think I can.”

“Ah hell Stevie,” Bucky laughs, soft and fond and just a bit sad. “I always knew that.”

Every hour has come to this by BladeoftheNebula (Soulmate AU - 6K)

Tony's given up on finding his soulmate. His words are weird, he's getting older and really who needs to soulbond anyway?

the rain falls on the wrong year by Mizzy (Soulmate AU - 2K) 

Tony's soulmark is an abomination. If anyone sees his broken soulmark, they'll know Tony is broken too

see a thing a thousand times by Mizzy (Alternate timeline - 27k)

Whoever came up with the rule that SHIELD agents in modern times had to be a certain age should be shot. Obviously the solution is for Steve to travel back in time. (If only things were ever that easy.)

ask a hopeless romantic by imposterhuman (Journalist AU -5K)

Tony glared at his column, trying to come up with better advice than dump his ass. The same person, Loveless in Brooklyn, wrote him every week about, presumably, the same guy. Every week, Tony advised the guy to drop the idiot. Tony had been in enough (failed) relationships to know that it wasn’t worth it to waste your time on someone who didn't want you back. Harsh, but true.

If only he could convince himself of that; maybe then he’d stop sending longing glances to Steve Rogers in the art department and move on with his life.

Here, There, and Torn Between by Huntress79, JezebelGoldstone  (No Powers AU - 20K)

Someone else slides into the space right in front of Steve and he sighs, because that's one more person likely to get a drink before him. There are a lot of people, but no one's bumping into him yet. Which is why he actually notices a touch to the back of his hand where it rests on the edge of the bar.

He turns, and finds a man standing next to him. A man who is stunningly attractive. He's facing the barkeep, too, and his hand is resting on the bar close enough that it's brushing Steve's.

Steve just sighs and moves his hand. With Bucky still overseas, he's starting to take his talks about being careful while he's gone more seriously. Not because Steve thinks he needs to be more careful, or because he doesn't know how he'll get out of fights without Bucky beside him, but because now that Bucky's in constant danger he's got a bit more empathy.

There's a nudge at his hip, now, and Steve doesn't look. Can this guy even see that he's here? Does he even realize he's bumping into Steve? Honestly, past experience says probably not.

"Hey," says a voice close to his ear, "let a guy buy you a drink?"

***Has a bit of poly toward the end***

Open Field in Front of Him by orphan_account (Football AU - 66K) 

Steve Rogers's football season is functionally over after a loss to Rutgers, but he finds a distraction in Tony Stark (yes, THAT Tony Stark). A college AU Stony fic.

Brooklyn’s baby series by areiton (Silver fox/Twink Tony - 8k) 

He’d batted his eyelashes, once, just once and Steve had been gone.

[starlightswitch]

I Might Have Taken You Back

@flashfictionfridayofficial Unconsciously inspired (as in I was partway through writing it before I realized what I was channeling) by a Captain Awkward column.

I might have taken you back if–

You had gotten me a large flower arrangement from my best friend’s new florist business and paid the extra cost to have her personally hand-deliver it to my door.

You had called in to the radio show I always listen to on the way to work during their “Love Lessons” segment and asked for advice on what to do when you only realize what you had after it’s gone.

You had come to a football game and stayed in the stands to watch the marching band during halftime, and gone out after the game to meet the band and tell my sister how awesome she was– and then turned to me, voice breaking as you said how much you’d missed me.

You’d showed up at the place I like to go with my friends on karaoke night, and you’d signed up to sing and picked that song where the guy tries to ask the girl out again and tells her he knows he messed up and he wants another chance, and near the end of the song you slipped my name in.

You’d bought me that book I keep talking about getting where the author will sign it for you if you buy it direct from him, and you’d gotten him to write Justin wants you to know he’s very sorry.

You had baked me a fucking cake.

You had sent me a beautiful hand-drawn apology card.

You had showed up at my door and said “Can we please start over?” and it turned out that you had planned an entire replica of our first date, including going to the brewery and going to see the band even though they wouldn’t be at the same place this time.

You had sent me a link to a playlist, and the playlist was full of songs about having done a woman wrong and hoping someday she would forgive you, and the name of the playlist was just my name.

You had given me an actual apology, including an actual reason that made me say, “Yeah, I guess when you go through something like that, ghosting somebody for six months and then appearing out of nowhere to speak to them again is kind of understandable.”

That said, a how you doin text is not going to do it.

Love (in the most ironic of senses), Anabelle

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Pinky promise

Steve Masterlist - Full Masterlist

Summary: After the war, everyone returns home and tries to move on with life. Not you. You’re forced to go back to Brooklyn to take over your uncle’s bar with a constant reminder by your side that the man you loved didn’t come back to you. And her name is Sarah.

Pairing: Steve x Fem!Reader

Word count: 5.2k

Brooklyn. It has been a long time since you’ve been there. Last time you were there Sarah Rogers told you it was too dangerous for a pregnant woman to stay around. She had a point. With most of the good men taken by the war, only the shady types remained. Scum will always find a way to get out of order.

You took Sarah’s advice back then. You left town and moved in with your brother on his farm. He got out of serving under a law that prevented all children from one family to be taken away. Their two older brothers were already fighting in the war so you and your brother were left.

But that didn’t matter, after all, you were carrying a child out of wedlock and you know how that goes. The child’s a bastard and the mother’s a whore but there’s no name for the man that left you like this. Sure, you could call him an asshole or whatever else you could think of but you don’t think of him like that. You could never think of him like that.

He was just a good man with a savior complex and a heart too big for his body. Besides, he didn’t know.

...

Either way, you promised yourself you’d never go back to Brooklyn in fear of bumping into him. What are you supposed to say when you see him? Hi, long time no see, this is your child, now go be a dad. That’d be mental.

But apparently you aren’t in faith’s favor. When your uncle died, you were told that you inherited his bar. The same bar you had spent endless nights at with your friends. The same bar you had gotten your first kiss in. The same bar where he told you he had to go. That thing is a scar and a half but you could never hate it.

You adored going there, working there, drinking there. It was a safe haven but now it’s old columns with bullet holes and blown out windows that need fixing. It ain’t all that bad. Some sanding and a new layer of paint oughta do it. You feel a tug at your hand. As you look down, you meet the most beautiful blue eyes with golden locks of hair. She looks so much like him.

‘Mommy, I don’t like this place.’ Her eyes are wide like a deer in the headlights, scared by all the cars and people on the streets. She’s used to the peace of your brother’s farm and you understand that the pace of the city might scare her. You kneel down next to her and put your hands on her shoulders so that she puts all her attention on you.

‘It’s just the marching band coming to play,’ you tell her in a calming voice with a comforting smile on your lips, ‘it’s just tubas and drums and loud noises. You’ll get used to it. I promise.’ You watch your little girl raise her pinky up to your face. ‘Pinky promise?’ You smile brighter as you hook your own pinky onto hers. ‘Pinky promise.’ She nods proudly as you stand up to take your keys out of your pocket and unlock the door for the both of you.

‘Y/n, is that you?’

‘Bloody hell, it’s her!’ You turn your head towards the commotion and see two girls barreling your way, almost jumping into your arms. ‘Jesus Christ woman, I missed you,’ the blonde one cries out. The brunette lets go first and smiles down at the little girl.

‘Bonnie, watch your language around the kid,’ the brunette snaps at the blonde.

‘Sorry Connie,’ she lets go of you and looks down at the kid. You put your hand on your daughter's shoulder to comfort her in meeting new people. These girls are far from strangers to you but she’s never seen them before.

‘Sweetheart, these are mommy’s friends,’ you explain to her, ‘that’s Bonnie and that’s Connie. Bonnie, Connie, this is my daughter, Sarah.’ Connie squads down to shakre the little girl’s hand with a wide smile on her face.

‘Very nice to meet you Sarah.’ Bonnie follows Connie’s movements and shakes Sarah’s hand next.

‘Yes, nice to meet you Sarah.’

‘Nice to meet you too,’ Sarah says with a shy smile but she quickly hides behind you as soon as the women get back up.

‘Goss, you’ve got your mother’s looks,’ Connie tells her, ‘that’s a good thing.’ Bonnie nods in agreement.

‘You’ve got a point there,’ she says, ‘so who’s the daddy?’ You look down at the ground for a second, feeling your stomach drop. Sarah looks up at you with hopeful eyes but opts to answering herself.

‘Daddy’s fighting bad guys,’ she proudly tells them.

‘That’s right sweetheart,’ you assure her with a weakened smile. You quickly unlock the door to the bar for her and she runs inside, excited to see what it looks like from the inside. ‘We shouldn’t talk about this outside,’ you tell the girls ‘people talk.’ They don’t ask questions about your nervous stature, they just follow.

‘Sweetheart, why don’t you go have a look upstairs,’ you tell Sarah as you hand her the key to the apartment above the bar. The apartment that’s yours now. The girl nods excitedly and runs up the stairs, more than happy to escape the unknown faces of the women that suddenly embraced her mother. A breath of relief escapes your lips as you watch her go.

Connie and Bonnie follow you into the main area of the bar. For a second, just a second, it feels like it used to on those Saturday nights when the boys would take you out dancing but you’d always end up here when the night got colder. Your uncle would always give you the first drink on the house and you’d always cheer him on for doing so. It’s a shame he’s gone so soon.

Without really thinking about it, you venture to the table in the corner where you’d usually sit with Bonnie and Connie and whoever else wanted to join. When you look down at the wood, you can still see your initials carved into it. A faint smile thugs on your lips when you run your fingers over them. It’s been too long.

‘Spill,’ Connie demands when you’re all seated. She sounds rougher than she intended to. You can tell by the way she flinches ever so slightly. She always had a way of sounding a little too harsh at the wrong moments but you know it’s never meant that way. It’s just her tone of voice.

‘I wasn’t going to come back,’ you admit with a meek smile, ‘too many memories.’

‘But you did. Why? It can’t just be the bar.’ She’s right. It never was just the bar. Though coming back might bring shame to you and Sarah, the hope of running into Sarah’s father was still there. Maybe, just maybe, you wanted to see him again.

Bonnie leans her elbows on the table in anticipation, her head resting in her palms. She looks like she’s going to hear the greatest love story ever told. If only it were that way. You hesitate to tell them why. What would they think of you if they knew before? The three of you never really did talk about children or marriage. But the truth will out one way or another and you’d rather have it out on your terms.

‘You know, you’d think with the world changing so much, we would’ve gone past calling a child a bastard but we really haven’t,’ you say as you feel your voice starts to shake, ‘poor girl deserves a dad and the dad deserves to know he’s got a child.’

‘Who is it,’ Bonnie pushes. You look up from the table with teary eyes. ‘Steve.’ It’s like the world stops for a second as the two women give each other a confused look. It’s like they can’t comprehend it. Steve, your best friend, got you pregnant.

‘Wait, skinny Steve or buff Steve,’ Connie asks you. Now it’s your turn to be confused.

‘Wha-what does that even mean? I guess skinny Steve. Was there another Steve around,’ you ask them. They share another look that means nothing to you but there’s concern in their eyes and you don’t know why. It worries you.

‘Did you have a TV on your brother’s farm?’

‘No, just a radio.’ Bonnie runs her hands through her hair and leans back in her chair, astounded by what you just said but it doesn’t give you any clearity.

‘Oh, you have to be joking,’ Connie exclaims, ‘you don’t know?’

‘Don’t know what? What should I know?’

‘Do you know who Captain America is?’

‘Yeah, he’s everywhere. Posters, toys, everything,’ you say as you let out a nervous chuckle, ‘what’s that got to do with Steve?’

‘Steve is Captain America.’

‘Okay, now you’re just talking nonsense,’ you say as you get up from your chair and walk over to the bar, seeing if it’s alright. The two chase after you quickly.

‘We’re not,’ Bonnie claims, ‘the man had some sort of experiment done on him or something.’

‘Steve is Captain America? You mean the man that couldn’t even talk to women properly?’

‘Says the one who got knocked up by him,’ Bonnie comments, earning her a slap on the arm from Connie. ‘Ouch,’ she whines, ‘I was just saying.’

‘Just because you didn’t like him doesn’t mean she didn’t,’ Connie hisses quietly to Bonnie to make her shut up. You can’t help but chuckle at the banter between the two. They basically share one brain cell and it always struck you as adorable when they seemed to be opposite sides of the brain.

‘But why’d you let me go on the double date back then,’ Bonnie asks you, knowing full well that Connie had asked you first because she had already expected something going on between Steve and you.

‘I had nothing to worry about,’ you tell her as a nostalgic grin pulls onto your lips, ‘besides, I didn’t want to have to explain why I wasn’t drinking.’ Bonnie gasps.

‘You already knew back then?’

‘Of course I knew,’ you sigh, ‘but it wasn’t a stable pregnancy yet and I just didn’t know things would change the way they did.’ Connie grabs a barstool off the ground and puts it down, taking a seat on it.

‘So why’d you leave,’ she asks.

‘When Steve left, I was worried I’d have to be on my own raising a child,’ you explain to them, ‘then his mother suggested going to my brother’s farm for a while.’ You hear the stairs creak as Sarah runs downstairs calling out to you. You call back to her to let her know where you are. When she runs into the bar, you can’t help but stare at her adoringly. She’s just so damn stunning. She runs up to you and jumps into your arms.

‘How do you like it,’ you ask her.

‘It’s great,’ she says with glowing eyes, ‘but there’s too much space for the two of us.’ Sarah had only ever lived on your brother’s farm where she had to share a room with you. She had never lived anywhere where she had her own room.

‘We’ll make it work,’ you promise her.

‘Well, we should get going,’ Connie announces, hooking her arm onto Bonnie’s to stop her from protesting, ‘but we’ll come around tomorrow to help you clean this place.

‘That would be wonderful,’ you smile at them as they take their leave. When the door closes, Sarah takes your hand in hers and looks at you with seriousness in her eyes that you had only ever seen before when Steve talked about enlisting and how important it was to him.

‘Mommy, it looks like there’s someone else living upstairs,’ she tells you.

‘Well, that’s because my uncle left his stuff here for us,’ you explain to her as you put her down, ‘let’s go lock the door and then you can show me around. Yeah?’ The girl’s eyes light up again as she nods excitedly. You can barely lock the door with her pulling at your arm.

Before you follow her up the stairs, you take one last look at the bar. The memories you’ve made there are as thick as the layers of dust on the furniture. You don’t like to admit it but you’re glad you’re back and you know now, with your little girl already being so excited, that you two are going to be just fine.

...

‘Y/n! We’re here!’ You jump up from behind the bar, quickly patting down your pants to rid them of dust as you walk towards the front door to greet Bonnie and Connie. Bonnie flies around your neck as she did yesterday.

‘Hi love,’ you greet her with a grin that goes from ear to ear, ‘how are you doing?’

‘We’re alright,’ Bonnie says with a mischievous look on her face as she steps aside to allow Connie to greet you.

‘We found an old friend on the way here,’ Connie tells you as she steps aside to reveal a face you haven’t seen in ages. Gosh, if it were any longer you might’ve not recognized him anymore. He looks withered but the smirk on his face is ever present as well as the cocky look in his eyes and confident stature.

‘Are my eyes deceiving me? James Buchanan Barnes, how are you doing?’ You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him into a close embrace that he accepts gratefully. His arms snake around your waist as he pulls you as close as he possibly can.

‘It’s been too long, doll,’ he says and puts his hands on your hips to distance you from him. Just so he can have a good look at you. ‘Jeez, you haven’t changed since ‘42. You look stunning.’

‘You’ve got a bit more stubble on your chin,’ you tease, ‘and a haircut would do you wonders.’ He snickers as he briefly tickles your sides. You cry out a laugh and take a few steps away, lightly jogging towards the bar knowing he’ll follow.

‘So, I hear you’re the owner of this place now,’ he says as he follows with big strides, walking around like it’s still his go-to bar. You watch him as he has a look around.

‘I am,’ you say with a proud smile, ‘my uncle left it to me.’

‘He couldn’t have left it in better hands,’ he grins at you as he stalks over to the corner table, having a look at the carved initials on it. ‘Wow, they’re still here.’ You walk over to him, watching him drag his fingers over his own initials next to yours and Steve’s.

‘They are.’

‘Where’s the little one,’ Connie asks you. Your eyes shoot over at her right as she realizes what she’s just said. Bucky doesn’t know. Her hands move in front of her mouth.

‘Little one?’ As if on que, you hear the stairs creak under the weight of Sarah’s rushed footsteps. She told you yesterday that she was excited to see your friends again, even if she had been scared of them initially. You let yourself drop into a chair and hide your face in your hands as she steps into the room. You don’t have to see Bucky’s face to know that he looks shocked. Sarah looks exactly like Steve, how could he not be shocked?

‘Mommy, who’s that?’ You look up from your hands and gesture for Sarah to get closer but she looks nervous and stays where she is.

‘It’s okay sweetheart,’ you tell her as you reach out to her. She walks over and takes your hand, hiding behind it slightly at the sight of yet another stranger. ‘Sarah, this is Bucky. Bucky is a friend of mine,’ you explain to her, ‘Connie, Bonnie, Bucky, and I would come here a lot together.’ You look up at Bucky, trying to keep eyes from poking in your eyes and failing terribly. ‘Bucky, this is Sarah. My daughter.’ Bucky nods and makes himself a bit smaller, holding out his hand to shake Sarah’s hand.

‘Nice to meet you Sarah.’

‘Nice to meet you too mister Bucky.’

‘Just Bucky is fine,’ he tells her with a friendly smile.

‘Sweetheart, why don’t you go show Bonnie and Connie where we live now,’ you suggest to her, ‘I’m sure they’d love to see the drawings you put up.’ That’s all it takes for the little girl to grab Bonnie and Connie by their skirts and drag them upstairs, leaving you and Bucky alone for a few minutes.

‘That girl looks exactly like Steve,’ he exclaims. You shoot up from your chair and hurriedly walk over to the bar.

‘Really? I hadn’t noticed.’ You reach for a rag you had been cleaning with before your friends walked in, running it over the bar to take Bucky’s attention off you as your feel a lump form in your throat. However, Bucky doesn’t do well with being avoided. He grabs your wrist and takes the rag out of your hand, throwing it somewhere you can’t just reach.

‘I know you and Steve had a fling back in the day so I’m only going to ask this once. Is she Steve’s?’ He watches as your eyes fill with tears while you try to swallow away the lump in your throat. It’s as if all the hurt and hardships you’ve been through these past years while raising Sarah suddenly wash over you. You feel your shoulders start to shake as you take your bottom lip between your teeth to keep it from quivering. Bucky’s expression softens and he pulls you into a hug, gently rubbing your back until you calm down. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

‘His mother asked me not to,’ you softly stammer into his ear as a sob slips from your lips, ‘I thought he was going to stay.’

‘So did I doll, so did I.’ You push off him, holding both his shoulders to keep him away from you. There’s a pit in your stomach as you try to speak but the words don’t seem to be coming out quite right. It takes a few seconds before you manage to form a sentence.

‘You can’t tell him. Please don’t tell him,’ you hear yourself beg with a shaky voice. That’s not what you wanted to say. You want Steve to know but why can’t you do it?

‘I won’t, but there’s something you have to know,’ he tells you as he takes your hand and leads you back to the corner table. His hands take yours and his thumb gently drags over the back of your hand to keep you grounded. ‘Steve is seeing someone.’

He expected you to scream, or at least cry. But you just sit there, frozen, nodding ever so slightly to let him know you understand. Your feelings are on overdrive and at this point you’re not quite sure if you’re even feeling anything.

‘Mommy, are you okay?’ Your eyes dart over to Sarah’s. Your hands move to your eyes to wipe away your tears as you see Bonnie and Connie running into the room to grab the girl.

‘Mommy is fine,’ you tell her as she walks over to you. You pick her up and set her on your lap. ‘But sometimes even mommy has to cry.’

‘Please don’t.’ You push a smile onto your face to appease your little girl.

‘I’ll try not to,’ you tell her, ‘can you go upstairs with Bonnie and Connie a little longer? I have some boring adult things to discuss with Bucky.’ She nods and jumps off your lap, dragging Bonnie and Connie along like she had done mere minutes ago.

‘She is so much like Steve,’ you tell Bucky with a small smile on your face as your eyes linger on the empty staircase, ‘you know, on my brother’s farm she used to try to resolve fights between the animals.’

‘That does sound a lot like Steve,’ Bucky chuckles as he takes her hand again, ‘I hope she doesn’t fight as much as he does.’ You shake your head, a nostalgic look in your eyes. Oh how you remember all the times Bucky had to save Steve’s ass when he got into yet another fight. It got even worse when the two of you were fooling around and a man would look at you wrong. However, you did love him for it. Maybe you still do. You’re not sure.

‘I did want to tell him,’ you say, your voice surprisingly steady, ‘I was about to send him a letter when his mother told me it would be better if I left town.’

‘She told you to leave town?’ You nod.

‘Said it would be better for my safety and the baby and she was right,’ you admit, ‘but I’ve never been able to shake the feeling that I was keeping something from him.’

‘Do you want him to know?’ You nod again and look up at him with a smile.

‘You know, we didn’t have a TV so I didn’t know he was Captain America until Bonnie and Connie told me yesterday,’ you tell him, ‘but it makes sense.’

‘It does. He was always the best of us three.’ Bucky sounds proud as he says it, as he should be. Steve has always been a good man who doesn’t let his judgement be clouded by money and power.

‘She makes my life so much more meaningful,‘ you tell Bucky proudly, ‘I know I never wanted to be a mother but she changed everything. It’s like she’s got all Steve’s good parts but it hurts that she has to withstand name calling just because she doesn’t have a dad. She doesn’t deserve that.’ You look past Bucky onto the busy streets, watching as people walk by. Children are playing on the streets, women are going to the shops, men are reading the paper and smoking, and families... Happy, complete, families walk the sidewalks with smiles on their faces. They don’t have to worry about what others think of them. You wish it was like that for Sarah.

‘Do you want them to meet?’

‘I do but it isn’t fair to either of them to just put them in a room together,’ you tell Bucky, ‘I’d have to face Steve on my own first.’

‘That’s fair, do you want me to bring him around sometime?’ You continue to stare out the window as your eye suddenly fall on someone. You feel like all color is draining from your face. No, this can’t be real. Not right now. ‘Doll?’ You nod towards the window. Bucky turns around to see Steve standing right there, looking in with a grin on his face, happily waving at you. Of course, that would just be your luck. Bucky turns back to you.

‘I can send him away if you need more time.’

‘It doesn’t matter. I’ve got to face him sometime,’ you say with a meek smile. It wipes away when you flinch from the loud bang of the front door slamming against the wall. Steve runs into the room, still wearing a grin on his face.

‘Y/n?’ You get up from your chair to greet him.

‘Hi Steve, good to see you.’ In his excitement, he runs up to you and engulfs you in a hug like you’ve never shared before. He’s so much bigger than you now. It’s almost suffocating but that could also be the nerves. However, the feeling is familiar as is his smell. It’s comforting and warm. Your arms wrap around his waist to hold him close. You’re not sure if you ever want him to let you go but he steps back after a hug that lasts a little too long.

’Jeez, you’re still as beautiful as when I left,’ he smiles.

‘And I thought you were done growing when you left,’ you try to joke, pushing your anxiety aside.

‘I thought so too,’ he says and turns to Bucky to quickly shake his hand in greeting. ‘Did you know she was back?’

‘No, I ran into Bonnie and Connie today. They found out she was back yesterday,’ Bucky tells him. ‘They’re around here somewhere to help clean the bar.’ Steve nods at Bucky’s blatant lie but he doesn’t seem to notice.

‘So, you’re running your uncle’s bar now?’ You nod but Steve can tell that you’re nervous. Your eyes are still red and puffy and he saw you cry when he looked through the window. ‘Are you okay?’ You nod, averting your eyes from him.

‘Sit down, we have to talk,’ you say as you sit back down. He looks confused as he sits down next to Bucky in his usual place. It’s a strange sight. He doesn’t fit into the picture anymore. He’s gotten too big.

‘What is it?’ You take a deep breath.

‘Listen, I can keep running around this but that wouldn’t be fair to you-’

‘You’re making me nervous Y/n.’ His eyes shoot to Bucky but he isn’t giving him anything. In fact, he’s leaning back to show to Steve that this is something between the two of you. He’s just there for moral support.

‘You have a child.’ His jaw drops as he scrambles to find the words to say.

‘I’m sorry, I have a what now?’ Bucky leans forward and hits Steve’s arm.

‘You heard her,’ he snaps, ‘Jesus, don’t you see how much this is taking out of her?’

‘It’s fine Bucky,’ you assure him.

‘Did you know,’ Steve asks Bucky and you feel the situation slipping from your fingers.

‘No, I didn’t know but it isn’t my child.’

‘Stop it,’ you snap. The men look back at you and their faces drop as they watch tears slip onto your cheeks. You grab Steve’s hand from the table. ‘Yes, you have a child. Her name is Sarah Josephine Y/l/n. I couldn’t call her Rogers because we’re not married but I thought you’d like that name for her.’

‘I do, but why am I only hearing this now,’ he asks, obviously confused and stressed. Suddenly, there is the weight of being a runaway dad on his shoulders. Even if he didn’t know about the child’s existence up until now, he still doesn’t like it.

‘Your mother asked me to move away from the city for the safety of the child,’ you explain to him, ‘and I didn’t know how to reach you. I mean, damn, I didn’t even know you changed this much.’ Steve stays quiet for a while, looking at his hand in yours as your thumb gently strokes over his skin. Your hands had always been smaller than his and he always liked how they looked next to his but for some reason he feels strange because of your touch.

‘Can I see her?’ You look from Steve to Bucky, your eyes carry worry as you wipe away your tears.

‘I don’t know. She’s already met so many new people today, it might-’ Steve squeezes your hand gently and looks up at you with hopeful eyes. Eyes that she has never been able to say no to.

‘Please?’ You sigh, taking a second to collect yourself. Why did it have to be him?

‘I just need to know one thing,’ you state, not daring to look into his eyes, ‘I know you’re dating someone but if I let you meet her, will you stay in her life? Because I can’t introduce her to her dad and then tell her that she never gets to see him again. It would break her heart.’ His hand gently slips under her chin, pushing her head up slightly so she’s looking at him.

‘I promise.’ You take a deep breath and let go of his hand as you put your pinky up.

‘Pinky promise?’ A smile spreads on his face as he hooks his pinky onto hers like he had done a thousand times before. When he promised to pick her up from somewhere, when he promised he’d stay loyal to her when going out with Bucky, when he promised he’d come back to her after the war. That last one is the only one he hadn’t made true yet.

‘Pinky promise.’ You nod, a small smile on your lips as your pinky slips from his. He watches as you walk over to the staircase and disappear for a little. When you reappear, you’re carrying a little girl. Eyes as blue as his, golden locks draping over her shoulders, and a tiny stature.

‘Sarah, I want you to meet someone,’ you tell your daughter with a gentle smile, ‘this is Steve Rogers.’ You put her down in the middle of the bar, letting her choose what to do. You watch as her eyes widen at the sight of Steve. She knows of Steve Rogers. You told her about him.

As his eyes meet those of Sarah, he gets up from his chair so fast the thing falls onto the floor, scaring Sarah into hiding behind you. His eyes fill with hurt as he watches her hide and he gets on his knees to be more on eye level with Sarah.

‘But mommy, he isn’t scrawny at all.’ You let out a laugh and kneel down next to her, putting your hand on her shoulder.

‘Scrawny? Really?’ Steve bellows a soft laugh as you shrug.

‘He was really scrawny when he was younger,’ you reassure Sarah, ‘he just got bigger.’ She wraps her hands around your arm for security as she looks at him.

‘Are you so big from fighting bad guys?’ You nod vigorously at Steve in hopes that he gets the hints.

‘Yes,’ he says with a gentle smile. That seems to put Sarah’s nerves at ease a little. She takes a step away from her and a step closer to Steve.

‘Are you a soldier?’

‘I’m a captain,’ he tells her proudly. Sarah nods, pretending to understand him as she takes another step closer.

‘Are you going to stay? Because mommy told me you weren’t with us because you had to fight bad guys in the war.’

‘Well, the war is over,’ he tells her as he peeks past Sarah at you, ‘so I think I’ll stick around a while.’ Sarah takes the last few steps towards him and puts her pinky up to him.

‘Pinky promise?’ He smiles at her and hooks her pinky onto hers, marveling at the size difference of their hands. That’s his daughter. His little girl. And just behind her is her mother. You, the amazing woman that he admired from the second he laid eyes on you.

There’s nothing in this wide, wide world that could keep him away from the two of you. And as he looks back at you and watches a tear slip onto your cheek again, he knows you know too.

‘Pinky promise.’

[wild-at-mind]

https://xtramagazine.com/uncategorized/privilege-conflict-236673 OK I honestly hate this advice column answer, and feel it is leading to some toxic places. I wrote a goddamn essay of a comment which I will put under the cut, just because I think it’s important. Without going into too much detail, this is quite close to home for me. Tumblr keeps giving me ads for xtra magazine but this is the first time I clicked in and I’m going to hide the ads now, I’m not a fan and it’s not for me. My response, which I ended up needing 4 comments for:

1. I find this advice quite troubling, and there are many things that go unaddressed. For example, OP's reason for drifting during the pandemic was a very clear one: they had their first child. If the friend in question is childless, then this becomes the age old question (which disappointingly is not addressed AT ALL by Kai)- how does the friend who newly has children stay connected with their childless friends? If OP is a women, which the friend's comments suggests, she is likely to be doing much more than 50% of the childcare. I have not experienced this conflict in my own life yet but I have seen it discussed many times and both sides have reasonable grievances: the childless friends feel the friend with the new baby never has time for non baby related things any more, a lot of things such as evening events may be totally out for a while, and if meeting up the baby may have to come too a lot of the time which can be disruptive and a big change for the friendship. The friend with the child feels the childless friend doesn't understand the problems of always having to find childcare in order to do things, etc, and feels the childless friend thinks they are turning down too many invitations and it means they no longer want to be friends. Neither's feelings are wrong, but the fact that the child needs care will not change, and it will be a good long time before the child is old enough for childcare needs to not be a factor. This will always affect how much time the new parent has for their friends. Now, I know we don't actually know from this whether the friend has children, it is not mentioned. But from the information we do have, the fact the the OP needs to spend a lot of time doing childcare and this is unchangeable fact should be acknowledged. 2. The main thrust of this advice is that the OP is somehow looking at their conflict  in an overly white way. I understand why Kai wrote it this way, because it's kind of a right wing talking point, that people of colour will manipulate using their race and you can just ignore it. This is of course gross and no one would want to imply this. I do not think the OP wants to imply this and I think OP is already pretty aware of these dynamics. However, reading this you might think that friendships between white people and people of colour (or between a more marginilised and a more privileged person) could never, ever work. Despite the protestations to the contrary, I think this advice encourages an unhealthy amount of eggshell walking.                             The truth is the friend of the OP is hurting, and feels she has not been supported by the OP in her bereavements that happened during the height of the pandemic. Her feelings have gone unexpressed for a long time and have built. In one way the OP can never truly make up for this because she can't go back in time and be there for her friend during those times. Listening to the friend's grievances is difficult for her because they become very emotionally charged. Whether or not OP subconsciously is experiencing this as more difficult because the friend is a woman of colour, the outcome is the same, and OP will not improve anything by being a space for her friend to vent into. I fundamentally do not want the OP to get the impression from the advice given that it would be at all useful for them to attempt this, or that it would be a good thing for social justice or their duty as a white person. 3. I feel that Kai could have suggested something like: maybe the OP asks her friend to write her a letter, expressing all her feelings, and that she will read it and reply, also in a text medium. Sometimes text is easier when emotions run high. I don't know, maybe this is a very privileged suggestion of me or something, but it is clear that the OP crying and the friend shouting is not working for either of them. (Also re: crying- as a former constant crier who is now on the right meds and doesn't any more, I do NOT argue with the idea that my tears could leverage oppression against people of colour, and it doesn't matter what the reason for it is for that to happen, but......involuntary tears are for the most part treated as unprofessional in workplace scenarios, and embarrassing for all in the room. It can really suck, and OP I feel for you on that count. 2nd assurance that I'm well aware there are scenarios where tears from a white person could manipulate racial hatred, including if the tears are involuntary! Good thing I do not do it any more, this is a constant relief to me. Anyway..) The implication that white, middle class people are uncomfortable with yelling and plain speaking in interpersonal conflict is very strange to me. They may be uncomfortable with this in certain scenarios, but trust me my white middle class parents were perfectly fine with yelling at their kids. I don't know the OP's class background, but it sounds like her white parents liked to yell too. I understand the need to emphasise that yelling is not the worst thing that can happen, and that the friend may experience the OP's request for no yelling or swearing as a function of their white privilege. However I STILL don't think this was a boundary that was wrong for OP to try to set. 4. OP, please do not feel that the only 'right' thing in this scenario is for you to continue being friends, your friend is angry about you being out of touch when you needed her, and you will never truly be able to make it right but you must keep trying. This dynamic would be incredibly toxic for both you and your friend. I do think a sincerely expressed apology that expresses the facts without excuses would be a good thing if you haven't already sent one: 'friend, I am sorry I wasn't there for you when you really needed me. I regret this very much and I know you're still hurting. I really care about you and really want you to continue to be in my life.' Stick to the facts and don't self flagellate- despite what columns like this one suggest, people do not really want this. Do it via a text medium as it can be easier if things are becoming very emotional. It's not a solution, your friendship may still not survive in the end, but you will have said the truth of how you feel about your friend. From there, resist any attempt by your friend to bring you into a cylce of you listening to venting and becoming upset. This will not lead ANYWHERE good. You suffering does not help marginilised people.                              Relationships across privilege dynamics always need to have awareness, tact and self reflection from the more privileged person, but I honestly feel that when the 2 people become nothing more than those two roles, one oppressor and one oppress-ee, the friendship cannot survive. The theories your friend is using as a framework are real, but they are about overall dynamics and systems, and things will always be affected by more factors with two individual humans and how they relate to each other.                              Good luck, and my love to both you and your friend.                                

[akaashisupremacy]

How to Find Love

Summary: Iwaizumi is on a quest to find love with an old friend. What can he do to get there?

Iwaizumi x fem!reader/Oc || Read it on A03

Genre : romance, friends to lovers

Hajime Iwaizumi ran into the cafe, eyes wide and panicky. “I’m already twenty minutes late for the date.”

As he composed himself before he entered the place, he took a deep breath. He was determined to enjoy this date because it might be their last. Hiromi had never taken lateness kindly.

“Gomen, the meeting ran longer than expected,“ he said, nodding his head into a bow, too embarrassed to meet her eyes, “I’m so sorry.”

She looked up from her books with a weary smile. Beside her was a pile of four or five books, some of which were beginning to yellow, meticulously tabbed with colorful post-its.

“You still made it,” she said, closing her book “I usually walk out if my date was a full hour late.”

It was a Thursday. She had an afternoon at the library while he had an early off (if it wasn’t for his work meeting). Neither of them worked traditional 9 to5 jobs. He began to wonder if seeing each other would be easier if they did. Iwa was leaving on a Friday for Osaka for the rest of the weekend. He was a physical trainer for a professional volleyball team, which meant that he travelled with them during their season.

They called for a menu and began to order what would be their dinner.

“How’s work?” he asked, surveying her through the menu.

“It’s a lot of reading,” she gestured towards her stack of books, “But we’re at the beginning of a new research-heavy campaign so it’s normal. How about you?"

“Mmm…it’s still the start of the season so most of the team is quite healthy. Some of them are a little excited so we’re just trying to reign them in to keep them from straining themselves.” he said, thumbing through the pages.

He had settled for a hamburg curry rice while she had gone for a bowl of tuna pasta. She looked distracted.

“What’s up?” he asked, leaning into the table now that the niceties were done with.

“I like my job. I like my team. But why do I feel like I’m just grinding day in and day out." she sighed, resting her chin on her books, “There’s got to be more in adult life than this."

“You’ve got to find the reason out on your own because your employer won’t do it for you. Not that I’m qualified to give advice or anything.” he said, looking up from his drink.

“I know,” she murmured, her head rested between her folded arms “It’s just so difficult to find the energy for it sometimes.”

Iwaizumi nodded. He knew what she meant. No one job could fulfill all his desires for accomplishment. He liked his job, but it wasn’t a perfect job. He wished that he didn’t need to spend so many weekends away from home.

Man, this date was sobering.

“You sound burnt out. Maybe take it slower at work?” he quirked his head to match the angle of hers.

“What is it that you want to do that you’re not doing for work?” he asked. Despite less than a year in the workforce, she already looked so glum.

She pulled herself up and swept her books aside, “I don’t know to be honest. Within the next two years, I just want to be published in other big publications. It doesn’t have to be necessarily on food, more like the stuff I write for fun. The stuff I’m willing to freelance while I have a day job, y’know?”

“Like what?”

Their order had arrived. She stabbed her fork into her pasta and gently twirled it around.

“The New York Times has a column called Modern Love where you write a long essay about some type of love. It doesn’t have to be romantic. It can be platonic, familial, or even failed love as long as it is set in modern day. I’ve been meaning to write about my failed relationships.” she said thoughtfully.

Iwa choked on his first spoonful.

“Well, if this doesn’t work out, I can at least write about it. Get three hundred dollars and buy you dinner to thank you for the experience.” she laughed drily.

“Are you always this pessimistic on your first dates?” he coughed, taking a sip of water “Either ways, I’m glad to be of help.”

She perked up a bit and grinned. Her whole face lit up when she smiled. A wave of warmth washed over him.

“Send me a copy when you get published.” he added, “I want to see what you write about me.”

“I’m definitely going to writet that you were late on the first date.” she said without skipping a beat. She was grateful that they had chosen this cafe. There were not too many people even if it was dinner time, yet the ambient noise that filled the air kept their pauses from being too silent.

Iwa stopped eating and squinted his eyes at her, “You are not gonna let me live this down, huh?" She winked at him with a glint in her eye. He smiled in response.

He couldn’t care less about what the New York Times was but she was evidently fascinated by it. He wasn’t going to own up to uncultured swine he was on a first date. He had already been late.

“Anyways tell me more about this Modern Love.” he settled back into his dinner.

She pulled out her phone and began typing, “The Modern Love column came out with questions to help get to know someone. This could be a fun date activity.”

“Sure, you want to give it a go?”

She shoved the phone in his face and scrolled through the questions. “There are three sets of questions. Each set more intimate than the last. You can choose from the first set.”

Iwa lightly held the phone, his fingertips grazing the back of her hand. He chose the first question that caught his eye.

“Number 4. What would constitute a ‘perfect’ day for you?” he read out loud. Hiromi took her phone back and read the question to herself.

“What’s your answer?” she asked.

“I just got back, I hadn’t figured out what a perfect day would be like here.” he shrugged sincerely.

She snorted loudly, “What a cop out answer!”

Iwa looked up and thought for a bit, “A day spent walking around in the city…maybe a day that starts with a morning jog and a hot unrushed breakfast after. Catching up with friends sounds good too.”

Hiromi nodded. She was fully absorbed as he talked. It was like she was going through the scenes of his day in his mind as he described them.

“What about you?” he asked, snapping out of her out of her reverie.

“A day at the market,” she said quietly. ”Any market day is a good day really.”

“To be honest, it doesn’t depend on the activities so much at times. The people you’re with is definitely important. A day at the market can still be terrible with the wrong company.” she added.

“I wasn’t subpar last weekend, was I?” he asked.

“No...you weren’t.” she replied a little more shyly than usual.

They moved onto the next question.

“What roles do love and affection play in your life?” she read out loud, “Doesn’t have to be romantic again.”

Iwaizumi inhaled sharply. That was such a loaded question.

“If you’ll use this for an article and it gets published, you better buy me dinner someplace nice.” he tutted.

“Then make this one good.” she smirked.

Iwaizumi stopped eating for a few minutes to think through the question. Before he answered, he closed his eyes and breathed out slowly.

“It defined my entire career in volleyball. My best friend and I watched a game and we kind of chose to go into the same school team after that because we were both so obsessed with the sport. Our connection was almost telepathic. We barely used signals when it was just the two of us. We basically ran off instinct.” said he softly, his eyes reminiscing a different time.

“Although we went our separate ways after high school, I spent so much time in volleyball that it defined a huge part of who I was too. I mean, if I didn’t play volleyball, I would probably be in another sport, but I’d still think I’d be different, y’know?”

You could tell he was avoiding the word “love.” Iwa was not one to be vulnerable.

“In college when I was in my first serious relationship, it was the type of love that gave me confidence and assurance. But I guess it wasn’t enough…for me to say it deeply impacted my later choices on career and other decisions, unlike volleyball.”

“I can’t help but feel that any defining…relationship I have romantically will be weighed against with my time with volleyball…my first real love…" he tried to laugh it off, but you felt the weight off his words, “And I’ve been lucky enough to have enough love in my life that I don’t need to constantly be in a relationship to feel complete.”

A moment of silence fell in between the two.

“That’s a lot to heap on a relationship.” she whispered in contemplation.

Iwa awkwardly scrambled for damage control, “…no pressure.” was all he managed to say.

“So why try to date? When it’s so tough to find someone who can match up with volleyball?” she asked.

“Companionship?” he shrugged, “It’s still nice to date around.”

“And you’re…nice. I’ve been wanting to date you since we were in college. I’ve liked you for a long time…” his entire face flushed pink.

Her eyes fluttered wide open. Since college? Is he serious?

“Our friends were right,” she said in a hush, “You did have a thing for me. I thought they were just teasing us.”

“You had a boyfriend back then and when you broke up with him, I was seeing someone else.” he exhaled, looking her earnestly in the eye, “Wasn’t it obvious to you?”

Iwaizumi couldn’t tell if Hiromi just didn’t want to speak or was too busy contemplating. She was too stunned to speak.

“It felt like fate seeing you on the plane.”

A million things were going through her mind, she slowly opened her mouth, “Now that we’ve been on two half dates, what’s it like? Is this what you’d thought it would be?”

“College is very different from now, but the short answer is yes.” he nodded, rolling his shoulders back. “Everything just clicks. I’m so comfortable with you. It’s so easy for us to talk. I like you just as much as I did in college…I just really like you. Time hasn’t changed that at all.”

Hiromi looked overwhelmed. She was unable to look him in the eye. She was barely getting to know him romantically and he had long been decided about his feelings for her.

“Do you wanna ask if they sell alcohol here? You look like you need a drink.” he joked. Hiromi didn’t look like she heard him.

"This is so intense for a first date.” she shook her head in what seemed like regret.

“We can stop,” he gently interjected, “We can talk about something else.”

She finally looked up to him and whispered, “Hajime, you’ve just dumped a lot of pressure on me.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to do that,” he smiled apologetically, “Anyways, I’m aware that we’re both at different…stages of attraction. Besides, I think this would be way more awkward if we both were pining.”

“Wouldn’t that be sweeter?” she asked.

“Way too sappy for me.” he waved with his hand. Hiromi let out a small chuckle. Iwa secretly sighed in relief.

——————————————————————————— After dinner, they headed to the arcade to blow off some steam. Iwaizumi offered to carry some of her books to which he somewhat regretted. Her books were like rocks. How the hell was she lugging them on her own in the city?

“I could carry them on my own if it’s too heavy.” she offered.

Iwaizumi looked at her incredulously. She was at least half a foot shorter and much smaller in build. His biceps weren’t going to buck in front of her.

They wandered around the arcade for a bit, unsure what to do first. Iwa silently prayed they didn’t have to do any dancing. Just when they were about to decide on the claw machine, Hiromi pointed towards a small karaoke booth at the corner of her eye.

“Let’s go in there.” she tugged at his jacket.

Iwaizumi flipped through the songs. None of them seemed to be in Japanese. All of them were in English.

“Did you pick up a default english karaoke song?” she asked, browsing through the catalogue. The room was clearly designed for kids. It was so small their knees touched and Iwa could barely sit up without hitting his head on the ceiling.

“Nah,” he shook his head, “I don’t really sing…in English. Any suggestions?”

Hiromi typed in the number of a song.

“I’m about to introduce you to your first usable English karaoke song.” she grinned at him mischievously. Iwa looked at her suspiciously.

The opening notes started to play—some acoustic guitar and a trumpet. The song sounded…Mexican? For the longest time there were no lyrics on the screen. Hiromi swayed to beat as her eyes were glued to the screen. When the song finally began to hit what sounded like the chorus, the music paused for a second.

“TEQUILA!” she yelled into the mic.

Iwaizumi was so startled he jumped up and hit his head on the ceiling. Hiromi was giggling uncontrollably.

“That’s it?!” he exclaimed.

“Yeah,” she laughed, pressing the mic towards him, “You try on the next chorus.”

When the trumpets began playing, Iwa readied himself. The song hits its familiar pause soon enough and he pulls the mic closer to his lips.

“Tequila?” he said tentatively.

“With more conviction, Hajime!” she urged, taking back the mic. On the third chorus, she moved closer to him so they could share the mic.

The music hits its third pause, they looked at each other and yelled, “TEQUILA!”

They both grinned and laughed, almost as if the act of singing about alcohol was like a drink in itself. He could feel her shins pressed against him as she continued to sway for the music. A glint in her eye flickered as she nudged him to dance along with her.

Iwaizumi wasn’t going to refuse. Especially not on their first date. He swayed what he could on the tiny box while the song lasted.

————————————————————————— At the end of the night, they both sat in the train waiting to get off on their respective stops. The carriage shuttled back and forth, pushing and pulling their bodies back and forth into each other.

“Hajime,” she tapped him on his shoulder, “We didn’t finish the last set. Let’s do a quick one before I get off.”

He nodded, “Pick one we can answer with just one word.”

Hiromi swiftly browsed the list, before looking up.

“Finish the sentence, ‘Right now, we are both feeling…’"

Their faces were both so close they could feel the heat of each other’s breath. The back of their hands were touching, but neither dared to reach out or pull away.

“Hopeful.” whispered Hiromi, an evident earnestness in her voice. She was fighting off her shyness just long enough to look him in the eye when she talked.

Iwa smiled, “Smitten.”

Before she could react, the train jolted as it shuffled towards her station.The train stopped at Hiromi’s station and she got up from her seat, taking the books from Iwa’s arms.

He followed her to the exit and watched her as she got off. She gave a small wave from the platform while she watched the doors closed.

Iwa was tempted to press his hands onto the window, unwilling to end their time for the evening. His last sight of her was her smile when the train plunged itself into the night.

“Did he start out his day at the market with a morning jog?” she asked herself, watching the train swiftly pull away.

Iwaizumi took a deep breath. The night had gone differently from how he thought the date would proceed. For one thing, he didn’t expect to confess so early into the relationship.

He took his phone and curiously googled the questions she mentioned.

It turns out the title of the New York Times article was not “Questions to Get to Know Your Date” as Hiromi had led him to believe. Instead, it was titled, “Thirty Six Questions That Lead to Love”.

“Huh,” he said to himself. He shut off the screen to his phone.

36 was too much. In his opinion 3 was enough.

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

This is part 3 of a series on Iwa living in Tokyo after he moves back from California. Comment or message to be added to the taglist. 

Also, I’ve been feeling quite down lately, so say some nice things if you feel like it in the comments 😬✌️

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

Series taglist: @itstheee-ha-chan

[sketchguk]

a world alone; myg

➳ pairing: vampire!yoongi, street racer!yoongi x reader

➳ genre: modern vampire AU, street racer AU, bad boy AU, fwb AU, smut, fluff, angst

➳ wc: 11.3k

➳ synopsis: the rest of the world will pay no mind to yoongi’s gentle soul. they’ll take one look at his etched skin, bruised knuckles, and gnarly scar and write him off as the bad guy regardless of the faded heart he wears on his sleeve. they think they know everything about your best friend, yet they’ll never know about his bloodlust and his need for speed.

➳ warnings: explicit language, mentions of drug and alcohol consumption, heavy petting, blood sucking, menstrual blood, oral (f receiving), handjobs, fingering, unprotected sex.

➳ a/n: this is dedicated to my delightful destinee, @yourdelights​ 🥺💖 i was heavily inspired by Lorde’s music, and I’m dying for her comeback!! yoongi’s character was also based on jess’ character from gilmore girls (shout-out to vic for reigniting my love for that show @minsprings​ !!)

Your parents always warn you about hanging out with the wrong crowd. They’re under the false impression that anyone who surfs the internet for “fun” and recreationally smokes weed in their parents’ basement — two crimes worthy of capital punishment — is inherently the offspring of Satan.

It’s quite melodramatic to say the least, but they don’t even know the half of it.

Sure, you understand the consequences of drinking fireballs until your throat is raw and getting plastered beyond recognition. You can also see why it’d be a bad idea to stick and poke needles into one another’s arms or to have unprotected sex. It’s inevitably a part of suburban culture when there’s nothing else to do in this deadbeat town besides pray to a God who doesn’t even care to listen.

But if they think their advice is going to stop you from being a quote unquote deadbeat, they’re gravely mistaken.  

There’s no harm in a little bit of indulgence, right? Because if there’s one thing you can’t wrap your head around, it’s reasons to stay away from Min Yoongi.

They claim that the infamous bad boy is “nothing but trouble,” but to you, there’s absolutely nothing dangerous about his warm eyes and gentle hands. He may be a little wild and fluorescent in the dark, but under the moonlight, the way he wraps you around in his ink spattered arms makes you feel safer than no other. Although Yoongi is anything but perfect, you can easily acknowledge that.

Yoongi has his flaws. A million and one bad habits to kick. He has tired eyes, no doubt from his unhealthy lack of sleep. His caffeine addiction keeps him up at night, yet you can’t help but spur it every time you secretly drop by his place with an americano in hand. Not only is his hot breath laced with coffee beans, but on occasion, it’s unmistakably mingled with some potent nicotine. To be quite honest, the taste isn’t as bad as your parents describe it to be. You’ve been trying to wean him off of it though, and it’s been working for the most part.

Rather, in place of smoking a pack a week, Yoongi subconsciously bites his nails. Even though chewing off his cuticles isn’t a healthy substitute either, it’s certainly better than killing his lungs and filling it with smoke. You can also admit to biting your own nails out of fear or anxiety sometimes, but ever since you started to hang around the older boy, the habit has diminished significantly. Nowadays, your mouth is fixated on other things your mother wouldn’t be proud to hear about.

In the hazy, quiet of the night, when the rest of the world is fast asleep, you situate yourself on top of Yoongi’s lap, straddling him on either side of his thigh just like clockwork. The novel you were once reading is long forgotten from your dainty hands, too busy carding it through his dark locks and pulling at his roots. Your mouths are preoccupied with one another as he’s the one to bite your lip, and you’re the one to bite your tongue, holding back secrets he’s not ready to hear.

With parted lips and clashing teeth, Yoongi rolls his tongue around yours. In a fight for dominance, you’d gladly submit to him any day. A gasp falls between your teeth and a shiver runs down your spine as he trails his cold hands down your sides, rubbing circles into your exposed hip bones with his calloused thumbs, never daring to dip further south without your permission.

He peppers kisses down the column of your throat with his swollen lips, sucking bruises into the tender skin. Yoongi focuses his attention at the base of your neck, lapping at the pretty love bites adorning your clavicle. You brace yourself for what’s to come by squeezing at his broad shoulders. Growing restless, you begin to bounce on his lap, begging for him to use you at his disposal.

The faint glow of the overhead lamp illuminates his profile, his honey skin glistening in the low light. Your heavy lidded eyes wills itself to open up, meeting your sight with the man beneath you. While your eyes darken with lust, a clouded vision of Yoongi overcomes you ー his pupils shining with an otherworldly brilliance, a golden glare so intense that you fall prey to him every night.

Your sultry eyes are pleading for him to sink his teeth into your flesh, and who is Yoongi to deny you of all the finer things in life? He caresses your waist with a soft touch, gently squeezing at your sides as if he’s too afraid to let go, but Yoongi is vastly acute of all your reactions. So with the nod of your head and a whisper of affirmation, you confess that you want this ー him ー more than anything in the world.

Yoongi runs his tongue over the most sensitive parts of your neck, sucking on the prominent vein at the juncture of your shoulder. He slows down to massage his teeth into your skin, biting gently before piercing your jugular with his canine fangs. All the blood in your body rushes through your vessels, satiating Yoongi’s bloodlust thirst. You’re at a loss of breath, panting heavily as you overheat under the scope of his fiery glare and the electrifying graze of his extremities.

In any other lifetime, you would revolt at the sight of blood and its metallic taste, yet in this time and space, you would allow your best friend to do anything he pleases ー even if his greatest wish is to suck the life out of you. To Yoongi, your viscous blood is sickly sweet and beyond addicting. He doesn’t have a clue as to why he’d ever pick up another cigarette when you’re the only addiction he needs.

As the life drains out of you, one drop of blood at a time, you can feel yourself grow weaker in Yoongi’s arms. You fall limp, becoming a victim to his voracious fervor. But Yoongi understands your limits, being so in tune to your body, and he’s sure to stop before you descend into a comatose.

Your lungs are starting to cave inside of you as heavy sighs escape from your parted lips. Weakly tugging on the strands of Yoongi’s hair, you warn him of the dangerous territory he’s about to enter.

Yoongi suckles at your punctured skin, running his tongue over the point of contact before retracting his fangs and sealing the wound he had gouged with a kiss. He wipes his mouth clean of any residue with the back of his hand, whispering a thank you into the shell of your ear.

You nod your head and wrap your arms around Yoongi’s neck to catch your breath, barely even conscious of his soft coos and gentle caresses. Your head is spinning on an axis, but you allow yourself to fall deeper into Yoongi’s arms, fully knowing that he’s always going to be the one to catch you no matter what.

His sweet nothings reverberate around your skull ー a deep voice echoing like a polyphony, lulling you into your rapture. He brushes your hair back behind your head, and before you know it, your cheek is nuzzling into the cotton of the pillows as he lowers your body onto the firm mattress.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep for, but Yoongi’s delicate voice and quiet hushes bring you back to earth. You can feel his slightly chapped lips planting a kiss at the top of your temple and the soft tickle of his fingers tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Yoongi calls you by your name, fanning his breath over your plush cheeks until you stir back into reality. In your groggy state, your eyes unwillingly blink open, and although your vision is blurry, the sight of Yoongi and his precious smile is clear as day.

He helps you to sit up before passing you a glass of your favorite concoction. While you’re still stuck in a daze, your face instantly lights up at the sight of the tiny cocktail umbrella sitting at the rim of your cup.

“Small umbrellas bring big smiles,” he offers, “Drink up.”

It’s cheesy as hell, but you throw your head back to take a sip, making it all the more difficult for yourself when you can’t erase the larger than life smile from your lips. You’re instantly hit with the earthy taste of greens as there’s a mixture of kale, cucumber, and celery, but most importantly, Yoongi is sure to throw in a generous amount of spinach to replenish the iron that you’ve lost from his feasting. Even though most people would rather die than drink a blend of vegetables, you’re no stranger to Yoongi's Midas touch in the kitchen. He’s an expert when it comes to food, always going above and beyond without even trying. You can’t even fathom how a carnivore like him has gone as far as creating the perfect vegetarian steak as per your request – mentioned jokingly in passing, of course.

“You hungry?” He inquires.

You shake your head no, but he’s all ready to step back into the kitchen to prepare you a meal from the sparse ingredients in his low-humming fridge.

“Just want you beside me,” you pout, reaching for his hand, encouraging him to climb underneath the covers with you.

Yoongi gives into your wishes, interlacing his fingers with yours like it’s second nature. You lower your drink onto the stack of books designed to be a makeshift nightstand as he reaches for your paperback copy of Metamorphoses, lying precariously at the edge of the mattress. He settles beside you as you comfortably situate yourself across the bed, laying your head onto his lap and scrunching up into a fetal position.

Too wrapped up in your own world, you don’t seem to notice the presence of Yoongi’s ginger moggie until he’s curled up beside you, nudging at your bare arm, begging to be pet. You give into the scraggy feline, keeping busy, while Yoongi turns to your marked, dog ear page, finishing up Book IV with the story of Perseus and Andromeda.

Ideally, this is exactly how you want to spend the entirety of your Sundays. Although this is how your night always ends, it doesn’t always start off this way. Typically, you’re hanging around his apartment alone, pacing the age-old floorboards, biting your nails and waiting for Yoongi to arrive home safely from his lucrative hustle. You’d even chat it out with Yoongi’s kitten to keep your sanity intact, only to receive a hollow meow in return. Meanwhile, Yoongi spends his Sunday evenings doing all the things your parents warn you not to do. All in good faith, Yoongi earns some quick and dirty cash by participating in the underground street race scene. For you, it’s never been about the money, but more about his safety and wellbeing. And every week, with a few scratches in sight and give or take a couple of bruised knuckles, Yoongi returns home with a pocket full of cash like a double edged scheme. Regardless, you know for a fact that he does whatever he wants purely for his own happiness. It’s all for the cheap thrills, and if this is what he wants to do, who are you to stop him from doing so?

Yoongi rests his hand on top of yours to keep you safe when in reality, shouldn’t you be the one to do that to him? He’s reading the story out loud to you, and you’d probably never acknowledge this fact in the open, but in the repressed part of your subconscious, you’re more drawn to the deep lull of Yoongi’s voice than the enchanting story itself. The words go in through one ear, and out the other, but it’s not important because you’ve read this story at least a dozen times before. Instead, your attention is directed towards Yoongi and the subtle purse of his lips. Your eyes are fixated on the gentle slope of his rounded nose and the faint beauty mark that’s slightly off center.

It’s also hard to ignore the scar that cuts through the middle of his right eye. You don’t mean to stare, but it’s hard to believe that everyone perceives Yoongi as the tough guy because to you, he’s just… Yoongi.

Your Yoongi.

He’s the same guy who would save a stray kitten from the side of the road, befriending it and accepting it into his run down home despite the nasty claw mark that’s embedded into his face. And although Yoongi doesn’t have much to offer financially, he’d still give it his all to take care of the scruffy kitten. Per your informally formal one-woman petition, you’ve requested that Yoongi deem the domestic long-haired cat as San, and ever since then, he’s been inseparable with the little critter. It’s quite endearing to watch this man and his little bundle of sunshine cuddle like it’s nobody’s business or slow dance around the apartment with a cat in his arms in spite of his two left feet.

However, it’s upsetting how the rest of the world will never see the delicate side of your best friend in the same way you see him. Even now, as you lie in bed with him, fiddling with his pretty hands, you can never not think about how they fit perfectly between the spaces of your fingers, comforting you like no other man in your life could. You can’t even look at them without imagining how elegant they are when they’re dancing across the rusty and slightly out of tune grand piano in the corner of the room.

Even if his arms are inked in tattoos, the rest of the world will pay no mind to his gentle soul. They’ll take one look at Yoongi’s etched skin and write him off as the bad guy regardless of the faded heart that he wears on his sleeve.

“Remind me again why you like this stuff?” Yoongi wonders, placing the paperback face down on the bed. Your lack of attention causes him to call your name repeatedly until he finally resorts to poking at your sides.

“HUH?” You yelp, breaking out of your reverie, not fully comprehending anything he’s said in the last five minutes or so.

“Ovid.”

You lift yourself in an upright position, rolling your eyes at his blissful ignorance and lack of taste for Greco-Roman literature. “This is a relic of antiquity, and Ovid pretty much lays the groundwork for Shakespeare, bro. Pay some respect to his name.”

Yoongi breaks out in a smile at your term of endearment but shakes his head in utter disagreement. “You know I’m not a fan of Shakespeare,” he almost gags at the sound of his name. “I’ll admit that the dude has a way with words, and I applaud him for keeping up with the meter, but it’s just not my style.” Yoongi’s nose scrunches up in distaste, his eyes squinting shut.

“We literally wouldn’t have some of the greatest works known to humankind if Ovid didn’t exist.” Your arms run wild, waving in the air as if your points will come across stronger because of how manic you are. Perhaps you’re being a little too dramatic, but in your defense, Ovid is an absolute legend. “I mean think about it, we have The Tempest, Pygmalionー”

“Rousseau’s Pygmalion or Shaw’s Pygmalion?”

“To each one’s own, but you have to know that I’d pick Rousseau any day,” you shrug.

“Yeah, Shaw didn’t have that philosophical flavor, you know,” he chuckles. “I guess you have a point. Let’s not forget A Midsummer Night’s Dream though, a classic.”

An ear to ear grin spreads across your lips at the mention of one of your favorite works. You know that Yoongi is bringing it up for your sake more than his because of his strong hatred towards the brilliance that is Shakespeare. And you know for a fact that he likes A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but he’d never outrightly dare to admit how much he enjoys your book recommendations ー especially if they involve Shakespeare.

“I’m glad you see the error of your ways,” you smile smugly. “Besides, back to the point, Dickens was inspired by Ovid, and Oliver Twist is still your favorite novel.”

Yoongi clicks his tongue, completely defeated by your argument. “Hey! That’s not fair now. It’s basically a social commentary about my life. C’mon, you’re gonna pull that card on me now?”

“Exactly, so you’re not giving him enough credit,” you plead with a pout. “We read this when we were in high school, but I think you’d really enjoy it if you gave it another shot.”

Yoongi bites his lips and picks up the book once again in hesitation, observing it from cover to cover. He plays with the myriad of pink post-it notes that protrude from the worn edges, flipping through the pages and thumbing through all of your annotations.

“Fine,” he grumbles, placing the book back onto his bed. “I’ll give it another try, and I’ll have a full, in-depth review ready for you by this weekend but... you have to come to my race on Sunday.”

“Are you serious?” You ponder over his proposition.

“Yep, that’s the deal.”

Although you’re still skeptical about Yoongi’s side hustle, you’d still support him no matter what (even if it’s in stubborn petulance). Shrugging your shoulders and saying “what the hell,” you give in to his proposal.

Yoongi flashes you his infamous gummy smile, and a warm, fuzzy feeling blooms in the center of your chest. Call it what you want ー elation, glee, fondness, tenderness, something entirely nuanced, or perhaps something above and beyond all of that. Regardless, it’s easy to shrug it off when the feeling comes and goes every so often.

And shrugging it off is what you do best.

Nevertheless, Yoongi’s willingness to appease you causes you to squeal and ramble on about how excited you are for his commentary. Your mouth is too busy running while Yoongi stumbles across his tiny studio, slipping on his shoes and shrugging on his army green utility jacket. He reaches for your outerwear and your white high tops while listening intently to your excitement about the activities you have planned for this Saturday. He hums in affirmation as he slides his hoodie over your raised arms and tugs the black material over your torso, getting you ready to sneak back into your parents’ home.

“Mmm,” he murmurs with a smile plastered on his lips, “Can’t wait, babe.” He tries to conceal his joy as he ducks his head down, sliding your Converse past your ankles and tying the shoelaces up for you.

With your grasp in his one hand and his car keys in the other, he ushers you out of his apartment and into his run-down 1986 Grandeur Azera. The neon green digital clock on his car radio taunts him, blinking every few seconds to count down the limited time he has left with you before kissing your cheek goodnight, or rather good morning, and sending you off to the sheltered life kept under wraps by your overprotective parents.

Yoongi tries not to think too much about the impermanence of the greatest things in his life as the slow burn of sunrise peeks over the horizon. Rather, he’s focused on how the car ride is filled with some of his favorite sounds ー the low hum of old school hip hop playing through his vintage radio and the ring of your laughter resounding over his stupid jokes.

The weekend rolls around quicker than you expect it to.

Days in the cul-de-sac are abnormally slow, especially when you’re in the midst of June. With each passing day, sunlight drags on a little longer because of the impending summer solstice. From the confinements of your window, it seems like all you ever do lately is watch the golden sun rise and set over the lake.

On occasions, your eyes are drawn to the far distance where there are freight trains that chug across the railroad at the crack of dawn. You can’t help but think about the places they’ll go and the things they’ll see in cities outside of your own.

In all honesty, you should probably do something more productive with your days. While everyone you know is complaining about work or studying for a degree they won’t ever use, you’re too busy studying the floor. And although daydreaming about the bright lights and city sounds is a way to kill the time, you’d much rather do it with Yoongi at your side.

Each second that you spend with him is more precious than the last. It’s hard to contain your excitement over the little things like movie nights at the drive in with him because it’s pretty much the highlight of your entire week, hence why you drop by his workplace extra early today – a whole hour before his shift ends.

Your presence is made known to the entire auto shop when the shout of your name is amplified throughout the garage. Of course, you catch Jimin and Taehyung dallying around before they even take notice of you standing in the doorway. They race over to engulf you in a hug, nearly knocking the wind out of you.

“Working hard or hardly working?” You giggle at the two boys.

Jimin lies through his teeth, as expected of him. “Working hard, of course.”

He grabs the mysterious, white paper box from your hands, curious as to what’s inside.

“Cupcakes? For me?” Taehyung asks with innocence in his eyes. He doesn’t even have to wait for your response because the two boys are already ravaging away at the sweet delectables.

Surely you had the boys in mind having stepped foot into the antique bakery shop earlier that day, hence the extras. But earnestly, out of the kindness of your heart, your primary goal is to surprise Yoongi with his favorite red velvet cupcakes. At the same time, you wouldn’t deny its leverage as a way to sway him and his opinions on the awe-inspiring Ovid.

“Don’t eat them all at once, okay?” You warn the boys before wandering off to find Yoongi.

You first expect him to be in his office, doing paperwork of some sort, so you make a beeline towards the backroom. However, there’s nothing in sight of his office beside his cold coffee perched at the edge of his desk. There are also scraps of yellow notepad paper with lyrics sprawled across the pages and a framed photo of the two of you. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, but it’s still not what you’re quite looking for.

You make your way out of Yoongi’s office and down the hall, continuing your search for him. You come to a halt when your ears perk up at the sound of a kick drum and a bass guitar laying down the beats to an iconic Nas song. The faint sound of music slowly crescendos as you lead yourself to the source.

It should be no surprise to you that Yoongi is hot rodding his car and making last minute improvements for tomorrow’s race. Yet again, you find him with his head between the hood, either replacing the worn out brake pads or the loose fan belt (in which he’s shown you how to do a dozen times before).

Yoongi’s reactions might be a little slow for being a vampire considering he hasn’t acknowledged your presence just yet. Sometimes he’s a little short of hearing, especially when his radio is a tad too loud.

The only reason he turns around from the car is because his right hand man has gone unusually silent. Yoongi doesn’t even know how long it's been since you dismissed Namjoon, telling him that you’ve got it covered. Nevertheless, he’s grateful because he can indulge in endless discourse about Metamorphoses, his new favorite anthology, rather than botany which Namjoon never shuts up about.

Being so lost in conversation about literature, and with the cupcakes long forgotten, the two of you hardly even notice the time that’s gone by.

“Boss, we’re gonna clock out,” Namjoon interrupts the two of you.

“Clock out? Oh shit, what time is it?” A quarter to six.

“We’re gonna be late,” you worry.

Yoongi digs his hand into the pocket of his navy coveralls, dishing out a set of keys. He hands them over to Namjoon before coming to his senses, thereby chucking it to Jimin who is arguably more responsible.

“Don’t fuck up,” Yoongi warns them, albeit without any menace in his tone.

Yoongi tugs off his coveralls before grabbing your hand and heading towards his car, listening to the boys wolf whistle from behind him. He shrugs it off, but the smug grin he bites back says otherwise.

He opens the passenger door for you, allowing you to settle in first. Then he does a half run, half walk around the hood. Putting the car in reverse, Yoongi rests his hand behind your seat and throws his head over his shoulder. He drapes his wrist over the steering wheel and zips off into the quiet roads where you can both talk nonsensically as if there’s something to say.

Saturday evenings always start this way.

With two souls as hollow as the bottles you drain and a brown, paper bag full of snacks from the dingy 7-Eleven down the block, you and Yoongi would recline your seats far enough to comfortably watch the movie on the big projection screen.

This must be your week because not only does Yoongi confess his new found love for Greco-Roman literature, but he’s also willing to brave through a romantic melodrama with you ー A Walk to Remember, no less.

Yoongi takes a lot of pride in never having to cry, but this time around, he doesn’t hide the stray tear that rolls down his face. The crying quickly subsides, but still, he gladly accepts the tissue you offer him with no denial in his eyes.

While the end credits roll and everyone has a chance to exit out of the car park, Yoongi would feed you the remaining gummy worms until the bag empties out. Meanwhile, you’d feed him the rest of the chocolate you’d rather not eat. The two of you would also take the time to digest the movie ー tonight’s topic of discussion revolving around the fact that Jamie and Landon deserved better.

But once the coast is clear, your mouth always finds its way to his. And somehow, the two of you always end up undressed ー or at least with your pants pulled down to your ankles. Usually, it’s the both of you, but sometimes it’s one or the other. This time around, it’s just you.

Yoongi always knows how to take care of you, but there’s something telling you that tonight isn’t necessarily your night ー the need for an orgasm being his first priority but a second one for you.

“I wanna make you happy,” he pleads. A double entendre you fail to notice.

But no matter how blissful his lips feel against your cunt, you’re still hyper aware of how bloodthirsty he is at this moment.

He doesn’t even try to hide his enthusiasm as he laps his tongue around your entrance, licking up the residue you’ve pooled from your time of the month. His hunger is insatiable, and it’s evident from the way he puckers his lips around your clit, sucking on the tiny bundle of nerves.

His tongue delves between your folds, playing with your juices, and it’s absolutely intoxicating. Yoongi’s overgrown bangs are parted when your hands find their way to his hair. His line of sight no longer obstructed by his dark, gelled locks. Your breath hitches in your throat when Yoongi looks up at you ー his irises gleaming with gold.

A glob of spit forces its way down your dry throat as you try to overcome this heady feeling. Typically, you’re a woman of many words, but Yoongi obliterates every thought in your head with just a single swipe of his tongue against your heat. A string of curses warble from your throat as he’s relentless in his endeavor, pushing his tongue in and out of your walls, massaging the tender flesh until it's raw.

Your jaw falls slack as your mouth parts open to release a sigh. “Ngh, pl- please, Yoongi,” you stutter out.

“Mmm?” He hums against your folds, sending shivers up your spine.

Your thighs quiver as you fight the need to clamp your legs around Yoongi’s head, but he’s quick to spread them, wedging his tongue further into your tight hole. It’s slick with your arousal, and the squelch of your juices is amplified further with the intensity of Yoongi’s ravage.

You can feel yourself getting closer to your impending high as your walls clench tighter, but you take it like the good girl everyone knows you are. You’re overcome with desperation as your hips cant upwards, rutting yourself against his mouth. Yoongi flicks his tongue over your clit to coax you to your climax, stimulating the nub until whimpers escape from your pretty lips.

It feels as if you’ve lost all of your senses as you reach the edge of your release, pleasure rippling throughout your body. You can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut, and you swear that you can see all of the stars in the night sky. Your chest heaves in an attempt to catch your breath, and your heart races as you descend from your high.

But as always, Yoongi is right there to catch you.

He licks his lips clean to collect every last drop of your sweet nectar. He presses a chaste kiss against your overly-sensitive clit before repositioning your underwear back into place. Then, he peppers kisses up your body and burrows his head into your neck, whispering sweet nothings against the column of your throat, revelling in the afterglow. Once your heavy breathing slows down and your heartbeat plateaus, Yoongi looks up at you with the pretty brown eyes you know and love. And although you’ve recovered from your high, your pussy no longer pulsating, the warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest never dissipates.

Yoongi brushes his lips against yours before kissing you with fervor, saying all that needs to be said. Your mouths are having the unspoken conversation you’re too afraid to have when you’re both tongue-tied and trapped outside of your own mind. Whenever his lips meet yours, it feels as if the rest of the world is falling away at your feet. It’s comforting in a way that his words will never be.

But that’s okay because it’s precisely how you and Yoongi work.

He’ll hold you tight and kiss you goodnight, but you’ll just have to settle for that because the innermost part of your brain would rather wonder forever than know the disappointing truth about where you two stand.

You’re not quite sure why you haven’t been kicked out of the car park yet, but to be frank, you don’t really care and certainly neither does the security.

Yoongi is the first to break the comfortable silence. “You still coming to my race tomorrow?” His nose nudges against your cheek, and he lays a chaste kiss on your supple skin.

Your mouth presses together in a straight line as you contemplate your options. You’ve always been a little skeptical of his illegal pastimes granted that you’ve been raised to reprimand such activities all your life. But knowing Yoongi, you’d trust him with your heart and soul in his hands, and thus, you nod your head in agreement.

“Yeah, I’ll still come,” you shrug, humming in a low voice.

The two of you remain quiet in the backseat of his car, wrapped in the safety of one another’s arms, listening to the soothing melody that plays on the radio. Mindlessly, you trace the pretty ink on Yoongi’s forearms, running your finger over the ornamental designs.

“Is this new?” Your movements come to a halt upon spotting a piece of ink you’ve never noticed before.

Jamais seule written in a simple, fine line ink.

“Huh?” He asks, looking down at his wrist. “Oh yeah, Jeongguk did a custom for me earlier this week.”

In an attempt to hide your smile, you nestle your head into the crevice of his neck.

“What’re you smiling for?” A grin creeps onto his lips, but Yoongi doesn’t even need to ask because he knows better than anyone.

It’s just another reason to add to the list as to why there’s nobody in this world you’d rather be with than your best friend. At the thought of the tattoo, memories begin to flood your mind:

“Conjugate the verb parler in the imperfect tense.”

Yoongi refuses to answer the question. “Are you as hungry as I am?”

“Uhm, no? Yoongi, can you justー”

“My coffee’s getting cold. Do you want another cup?” Yet another excuse.

Your mouth opens up to refute, but he’s already on his feet, heading towards the coffee station at the corner of the cafe. Your hands cup around the mug that he’s left on the table, and you’re not surprised that the ceramic is relatively warm against your palms.

After spending the last hour studying for tomorrow’s French exam, you would have thought you’d make a breakthrough with Yoongi. But time and time again, he refuses to cooperate with you.

You don’t even know why he bothers returning to his seat when he doesn’t even care to study.

You let out a huff in another attempt to get him to learn. “Okay, let’s try this one more time. Can you conjugate the verb parler in the imperfect tense?”

“The coffee here is good, no?” Yoongi takes a sip from his mug once again, observing the hot liquid slosh around. The only thing he’s committed to is tiptoeing around his responsibilities (as well as his feelings, but that’s a whole other conversation).

“Look, I’m trying to help you study. If you don’t want me here, I’ll go. But if you want me to stay, then can you please focus and pay attention?” To no avail, Yoongi doesn’t respond.

“… Do you understand me?”

He doesn’t understand you. In fact, he’s on his phone, texting away and paying no mind to what you have to say.

“Bro, are you even listening to me?” You enunciate again with a scowl on your lips. Your jaw tightens as you pull out your own phone, angrily typing away at the keyboard.

You (1m ago): Yoongi, I want to help you study, so if you don’t want me here, I’ll go. But if you want me to stay, then can you focus and pay attention?? Please?? Do you understand me??

Yoongi (now): 🥺

Yoongi pouts and looks up from his device with sadness in his eyes. “I understand,” he mumbles under his breath. He finally puts his phone into the pocket of his hoodie and opens up his textbook, taking one step in the right direction.

You can’t say you didn’t try unlike all of your high school teachers. They’ve practically given up on the boy, seeing that he hasn’t shown up to class as he should. And when he does, he’s keeping it lowkey in the back of the classroom, sticking his nose in a new novel each week or scribbling away in his black, leatherbound journal. You’re not even sure how you got Yoongi to sit down with you knowing that he’s hard to get a hold of. But really, you’re just unaware that he’s afraid, always running away in the face of uncertainty.

Not even ten minutes go by before Yoongi is finding another excuse to fool around. It’s a whole new record, and you’re pretty proud of his accomplishment nevertheless.

“I’m sick of studying,” he groans with slumped shoulders.

“How can you be sick of studying? In the last hour, I’ve watched you make coffee and spin your textbook on your finger as if it’s a basketball.”

Yoongi’s lips press together in a straight line, but there’s no denying your observations.

“You’ve also tried to convince me that Tupac is the Mozart of our time. It’s not that I’m disagreeing with you, don’t get me wrong, but which part of this consummates studying?” You query with furrowed brows.

“Tell you what, let’s make a deal, okay?”

You shake your head at the thought of his proposal. “Oh, so you’re gonna bargain with me now?” Your voice is filled with exasperation.

“What do you think about ice cream?”

“What’s not to like about it?” Your arms cross over your chest as you lean back in your chair.

A wide, gummy smile spreads across Yoongi’s lips. “If we take an ice cream break, I swear that we’ll come back and study.”

A sigh falls from your lips because you’re not totally convinced, yet you ponder over the proposition. “I really doubt that you can keep your worー”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” He mimics the motion by tracing his finger over his chest. “I’ll even drive,” he adds.

Your eyes squint, still uncertain.

“I’ll treat you,” he offers.

“Min Yoongi, you are one convincing dude,” you chuckle.

Closing your textbook and gathering all of your belongings, you chuck them in the backseat of Yoongi’s car and head off to the ice cream parlor.

You make it just in time before closing, being the last two customers in store that they have to kick out. While you pick a flavor as peculiar as butter pecan, Yoongi decides on a fruity flavor ー orange to be precise. The two of you enjoy your dessert, licking away at the sugary mess before it has the chance to melt onto the black, leather interior of his car.

“Can I ask you a serious question?” You pry, looking over at Yoongi.

“Shoot.”

“Why is it that you’re flunking when you’re smarter than 90% of the people at our school?”

“Ah,” he shakes his head in disbelief, “It takes more than intelligence to act intelligently.”

You scoff in rebuttal. “Seriously? You can quote Dostoevsky word for word, and I’m sure you can recite the entirety of Crime and Punishment in your sleep.”

You can see him shrug his shoulders out of the corners of your eyes. “I really don’t see the point when I’m not going to go to college.”

“Okay, so what’s your big dream, then?” You ask with worry laced in your tone.

“I don’t think you necessarily need to have a big dream.”

A drop of your ice cream melts onto your hand, and you’re quick to wipe it away. You’re shocked to hear what he has to say because everyone in this deadbeat town has a dream. It usually involves getting away from said deadbeat town. “Okay, enlighten me then?”

“You just need to be happy.” He’s stoic in his response.

“Are you happy?” You ask. It’s a loaded question.

He shrugs.

It’s quiet.

Moments go by.

Yoongi’s the first one to break the comfortable silence. “They’re flunking me because I’m truant. I work in the auto shop outside of town, so when I’m not in school, I’m picking up extra shifts there. It doesn’t pay a lot, but it’s enough to keep me alive, you know? It’s enough to cover the car too.”

Another drop of ice cream melts onto your wrist. You don’t fail to notice the fact that he hasn’t addressed your question. “But are you happy? Is this what you want?” You try again.

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, pondering. “I’ve always thought about doing this, but... I want to drive out to L.A. and take my chance at music production or something.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Sorry, it sounds stupid, I know.”

A fond smile makes its way onto your face. “I think that’s so cool,” you reassure him.

He cocks his head to the side as he tries to hide the smile that mirrors yours, but you can see his hard exterior break down before your very eyes. Nobody has ever believed in him the way that you do.

His eyes sparkle in the moonlight as if the galaxy lays dormant in his lonely irises. “... But the thing is, I don’t know if I want to be out and about in this world alone.”

You’ve never seen Yoongi so vulnerable before, and you never thought you’d have the chance to see it. So you comfort him in the way that you know best.

“Jamais seule,” you offer in consolation.

Yoongi’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What?”

“Jamais seule,” you repeat once again, placing your hand on his shoulder. “It’s French for ‘never alone.’”

He chuckles at your explanation. “Are you trying to make this a teaching moment?”

You nod your head in response, a proud smile making its way onto your lips.

“Okay, then what about you, huh?” He inquires. “What’s your big goal then?”

“Me?”

He nods his head. Of course he’s talking to you, but you’re taken aback because nobody’s ever really taken interest in what it is that you want to do.

“Realistically, I guess I’d be a teacher? When I was younger, I was thinking about doing dance, but I think I should specialize in French or maybe even English? I want to learn other languages too, but I’m not totally sure if I can make a career out of it.” Your nose scrunches up at the uncertainty.

Yoongi orients his body towards yours, taking in your profile. “Fuck that. Learn all of the languages you want to learn, okay? But tell me what it is that you really want to do now, unrealistically speaking.”

You look over at him, and your heart swells up inside your chest. A warm, fuzzy feeling overtakes you as you brace yourself to share this part of your life because honestly, you’ve never admitted it out loud to anyone before in part because nobody has ever bothered to ask or even care in the way that Yoongi does.

“I want to be a flight attendant.” It almost feels as if a weight has been lifted off of your chest as you heave out a sigh. “I want to see other countries, experience different cultures, and meet new people. I just want to see what the world is like outside of this town, you know?”

“I know,” he mouths. His gummy smile resurfaces on his lips as he nods his head, listening to you speak so passionately about your dreams. “I think you’d make the best flight attendant in the whole world.”

In the entire cosmos, there’s a short list of things that you genuinely love. One being the delicacy of antique books, worn and torn with age, brimming with the faded passages of time, two being chips and guac, the magic elixir to instant happiness, and three being Min Yoongi.

It should be no surprise to you that you’d do anything in the world for your best friend, but hanging around the dirt drag to watch tonight’s race is the last thing you would ever expect.

As you approach the spectator crowd, the smell of burnt rubber and seared tarmac infiltrates your senses. There’s a cloud of smoke rings floating around you while the people huff and puff on their Newports and Marlboros. Some of them even offer you a lighter, but you politely decline.

It’s pretty obvious that you don’t fit into this scene. You’ve never even shown your face in this part of town before, but everyone else seems to know one another relatively well, hanging out on the hood of their cars and getting drunk off bottles of Smirnoff.

“Hey, princess, take a shot with us why don’t ya?” Someone whistles.

You turn your head to the side, only to find a group of girls eyeing you from head to toe. “No thanks, I’m good,” you offer with a timid voice, shrinking away at their electrifying gaze.

Yoongi pulls you closer to his side, wrapping his arm around your waist and squeezing his fingers into your hip bones. His eyes glimmer with gold as he shoots daggers at the group of girls.

“Don’t talk to anyone you don’t know, okay? Stick with Hobi,” he whispers to you through gritted teeth.

It’s not long before you come across Hoseok, socializing with a group of people who appear to be crossfaded. Yoongi pats him on the back, drawing his attention away from the dead end conversation.

“Hey!” Hoseok shouts with enthusiasm. He wedges himself between you and Yoongi, resting his arms around both of your shoulders. He turns your attention away from the group of people he was once conversing with, walking in the opposite direction. But once you step far away enough, out of reach from the crowd, Hoseok sighs in relief.

“Thank God for saving me, I literally don’t know how much longer I can talk to them for,” he shakes his head and rolls his eyes in spite of the happy-go-lucky personality you’re so familiar with.  

The blare of an air horn cuts through the bustling night, indicating that the race is soon to start. Yoongi cups his hand around Hoseok’s ear to tell him something in secret, and in response, he nods his head in affirmation.

Yoongi turns to you and flashes his sweet smile. “When I win, I’ll treat you to whatever you want, okay? Ice cream? Pizza? Tom kha gai from that Thai place you like? Name it and it’s yours.” Yoongi walks backward to take one last glance at you before tugging his headset over his ears and running off to the direction of his car.

You smile to yourself as the warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest begins to bloom once again.

You shout “good luck” to him as he steps away, but you know for a fact that he can’t hear you. He doesn’t need the luck anyways.

Hoseok taps on your shoulder, gathering your attention to lead you to the frontlines where you have a good view of the action. He fiddles with the device in front of him, tuning his CB radio, twisting the dial back and forth to find the right frequency.

“Agust D, this is J-Hope, OVER.” Hoseok shouts into his intercom with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Dude, we’re not gonna do this,” Yoongi complains through the static of the speakers. You can’t help but giggle at his response. It’s very characteristic of Yoongi, and you can already imagine the creases forming at the corner of his eyes as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Your eyes look over towards the two approaching cars, one of them being the black and yellow Grandeur Azera you know so well. Yoongi and his opponent toe their tires to the starting line, making sure it’s a fair game.

The host speaks through his megaphone, but it’s hard to hear over the screaming crowd. His words are muffled, and it’s nearly indecipherable, but he’s most likely explaining the rules and safety to everyone, or at least you hope he is.

Yoongi, being the cocky bitch he is, revs his engine over the voice of the announcer. Through his rolled down windows, you can see him tap his fingers over his mouth to let out a dramatic yawn. He even checks the time on his watch just to show off.

You shake your head at his overwhelming pride, and just in time, he looks over at you to send a wink. Despite the roll of your eyes, you can’t hide the heat that rushes to the apples of your cheeks.

The countdown begins as the announcer yells through his megaphone. The crowd amplifies his voice as they count alongside him. The two cars rev their engines, and it’s deafening to your sensitive ears.

An overwhelming sense of nervousness rushes through your veins, but you squeeze onto Hobi’s arm to anchor yourself. The thought of Yoongi getting into a fatal accident crosses your conscience, but you quickly wipe the image away from your mind. You trust Yoongi, and there’s nobody in the world who does it better than him.

In the blink of an eye, you nearly miss the cars zipping off into the dead of the night, too lost in your thoughts.

Looking over Hoseok’s shoulder, you can see the red and green dots floating across the monitor, the green symbol representing Yoongi’s GPS signal as he zips around the circumference of town. All the red symbols show the police hotspots within a 10 mile radius.

“Yoongi, right turn in 3 blocks,” Hoseok says into the intercom. According to the police scanner, the cops are too close for comfort.

“Yep, gotcha.” Yoongi’s voice sounds faded through the speakers.

In hopes of clearing the static, Hoseok fiddles with the dials. “What the fuck? I’m losing you.”

Panic rises to your chest as you watch the green dot speed across town, driving in close proximity to the law enforcement. Even worse, you’re losing communication with him. It’s nothing but static.

Hoseok slaps the radio in rage, but of course, nothing happens. “What the hell’s going on?” He even rips out the batteries and puts it back into the device to no avail. He looks over at you as if you have the answers, but you’re rendered useless when your mind draws a blank.

Hoseok pulls your hand away from your mouth, not even realizing that you’ve been chewing on your nails all this time.

“Well shit, now what?”

“Hope and pray?” He shrugs.  

At the sound of his words, your heart drops to your stomach.

Your hands begin to tremble as you monitor the screen. He’s cutting close to the finish line, but you have no eyes on his opponent. Meanwhile, the cops are spreading across the map, probably searching for the source of the disturbance.

Yoongi has yet to be caught, but he’s smart enough to maneuver through the backroads he knows better than anyone ー the ones he’s practically grown up on.

The green dot races across the screen, coming closer and closer to your marked location. The boisterous rev of an engine can be heard within earshot, so your attention shifts to the far end of the dirt path. Your heart pounds against your ribs as you cross your fingers, praying and hoping that Yoongi is the one who’s returning to you.

The lack of street lights makes it difficult to see down the cloudy road, but you never seem to give up, leaning over the makeshift barrier and tiptoeing above the crowd.

The sound of the engine elevates as the frontliner approaches. Your attention focuses on the two tiny, bright lights emerging from the distance. However, your vision is blurred as the two lights diverge into four. Another car follows behind it, charging full speed towards the finish line. Your hands squeeze around Hoseok’s wrist as the two of you anxiously wait to see the winner. The headlights illuminate at a greater lux as it speeds down the path. You begin to squint, trying to adjust your eyes to the light to make out the license plate number or at least something that’s telling of who the lead driver is.

But fear not, because a sigh of relief escapes from your lungs as the yellow detailings on the infamous Grandeur Azera is within sight. Yoongi crosses the finish line with full speed, and the crowd erupts in a roar.

He decelerates before coming to a full stop. There’s a haze of dust that trails behind his car, and a silhouette of a figure emerges from the smoke. It’s none other than Yoongi who trudges out of the car, and it’s unmistakable from his golden glare which shines through the exhaust.

You let go of Hoseok’s wrist in favor of racing towards Yoongi to wrap him up in the safety of your arms. He immediately reciprocates and melts into your embrace. He squeezes you tightly around your torso, and you fall further into his arms. Your nose presses against his shoulder, burrowing your head against the crook of his neck.

You chuckle through the stray tear that rolls down your cheek and onto the green denim of his jacket. “You idiot, you love scaring the life out of me, huh?”

Yoongi pulls away from you to cup your cheeks, angling your face so that he can gaze into your eyes. His irises slowly revert back to the shade of brown you’ve come to love. He wipes away the tears streaming down your cheeks and tucks a tendril of hair behind your ear.

“Iー” He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but he decides against it. Instead, his lips come crashing down onto yours, kissing you as if it’s his last breath.

“Care to explain what that was all about?” You slam the door shut behind you.

Yoongi refuses to answer.

The air doesn’t feel clear between the two of you, and it hasn’t ever since the kiss. It feels off. Tense, even. As a matter of fact, it’s been unusually quiet since the car ride home.

Your head has been spinning round and round because Yoongi never acts like this. Whatever it is that goes on between the two of you doesn’t go beyond the confinements of these four, egg white walls (with the exception of his car, of course).

But bottom line: It’s an unspoken rule that whatever happens between you stays between you.

Yoongi is sullen in his contemplation. He kicks off his boots, trudging into his apartment with heavy feet as if he’s a teenager ridden with angst. You would think that he’s retired from the days when he keeps to himself and feeds the world with the “I’m misunderstood” bullshit as some lame excuse. But yet again, he’s crawling back into the shell of the man he once was.

He chooses to ignore the obvious problem as he shrugs off his jacket and switches out one t-shirt for another. You hate the idea of him going to bed upset, but no matter how much you try to get him to talk, you’re left with utter silence.

Being tired and frustrated of his lack of communication, you decide to stand up from the edge of the mattress, plodding through the creaky floorboards to stand before Yoongi. You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, but his glassy eyes avert yours, looking anywhere but at you. All you can see is the faint beauty mark on the side of his nose, but never in your life did you think that you’d frown at the sight of it.

You opt for getting his attention by wrapping your arms around his waist, resting your head against his bare chest, listening to the violent storm that pulses beneath the shell of your ear.  

His arms hang by his side. You squeeze him a little tighter, and he huffs out a sigh, falling prey to your touch. Your cheek is pressed tighter against his chest as he envelops you in a hug. His fingers trail up and down your spine in an effort to comfort you, but really, it’s more appeasing to him than to you knowing that you’re within arms reach.

“They tapped into my radio.” His voice cuts through the quiet air.

You swallow down the knot in your throat as you listen to his every word.

“God, they said some fucked up shit to me.” His hands clench tighter against the cotton of your t-shirt, and you can hear his heart pound harder against his chest.

A painful sigh escapes from your lips as you listen to the tremble of his voice. “Whatever they say isn’t true, you know?” You offer in consolation, “They don’t know you like I do.”

“It wasn’t even about me, ughー They were talking about you, and... fuck, Iー” Yoongi fights against the tears that are threatening to spill, the frustration evident in his tone.

Your heart shatters at the sound of his broken voice. “Yoongi, people are gonna talk, and nothing they say will ever matter, so just let ‘em talk.”

Your words ring through his ear as he harshly swallows a glob of spit down his throat. He thinks to himself in silence, wondering whether or not his words will ever matter to you.

“Can I tell you something?” He pulls away from you to take a better look at your expressions.

“Yeah, of course, anything,” you knit your eyebrows together and nod your head in solace.

Yoongi walks backwards until the back of his knees knock against the edge of his bed, allowing you to climb onto his lap, mounting his thighs with one leg on either side. He licks his lips to ease his nerves, anxiety bubbling up to the surface. His hands get clammy as he rests them on the curve of your waist.

But all of that dissipates once he fixates his attention on your eyes.

It feels as if you two are in your own little world together while everyone else dances around in the ruins of their dreams.

His eyes soften and a shy smile spans across his lips. “I love you.”

You’re taken aback by his confession, almost as if you didn’t hear him correctly granted his low murmurs. Your mouth hangs open, jaw slack. Your eyes blink, stunned by what you may or may not have heard.

It takes four and half seconds for you to register that ー holy shit ー did he just say what you think he just said?

“What’d you say?” Your brows knit together and your forehead creases asking for the much needed confirmation.

“You really want me to say it again?” He’s bashful as he hides his rosy cheeks in the crevice of your neck, his hot breath tickling your skin.

“Say it again,” you encourage. Your face starts to ache with the beaming smile painted across your lips.

Yoongi’s mouth curls into a smile to mimic yours as he peppers kisses against the column of your throat. He repeats his words once again, each syllable caught between a featherlight kiss.

“Iー” His lips ghost against your jaw.

“Loveー” Onto your chin.

“You.”

His soft eyes flash open to gawk at your lips, waiting for permission to kiss you where he so desperately wants to. He blinks, looking up to peer into the depths of your soul through the gateway of your irises. You can see the whirl of emotions in his eyes, a mixture between elation and tenderness and everything in between.

But above all, you can see the love.

A shy look is exchanged before you flutter your eyes close and lean forward to hesitantly brush your lips against his, testing the waters. But once he melts into your touch, you dive into the deep end, firmly committing to your desires.

It takes another half second for you to register that ー holy fucking shit ー you’re actually kissing the love of your life.

Although you are no stranger to Yoongi’s lips, something about this feels different. Yet again, you’re drunk off serotonin and intoxicated by his fiery touch. The world around you disappears alongside your worries and your troubles. All of your feelings, your emotions, your secrets, and all of your wishes are laid bare before you.

But what’s different about this kiss is that for the first time in your life, you know for a fact that this is what love is supposed to be.

“I love you, Yoongi,” you finally confess with your whole chest. Tears begin to form in your eyes and a smile that’s larger than life spreads across your lips, bringing pains and aches to your cheeks. But nevertheless, it’s all worth it because Yoongi loves you and you love him.

It doesn’t even register in your head that your back is now flat against the mattress, nor do you register the embarrassing amount of slick that has pooled at your entrance. At least not until Yoongi presses his fingers against the slim cotton of your underwear, teasing your folds with the glide of his calloused fingers.

“You’re wet already?”

You mewl upon his comment. “Can’t help it.”

Yoongi tugs off your shorts with your underwear in tow. His mouth reconnects with yours in longing, and his lips taste exactly like blackberries, bay leaves, and blissful midnights blanketed underneath the stars.

Your breath hitches in your throat and you shudder under his touch as he grazes over your clit. His finger dips between your folds, collecting your arousal before rubbing soothing circles over your sensitive nub. Your heavy eyelids fall close, and Yoongi watches your face contort in pleasure, your eyebrows creasing together.

Growing restless of his teasing, you lurch forward to palm the tent in his pants. You will yourself to open your eyes just the slightest bit.

“Hard already?” You tease with raised brows.  

“Can’t help it,” he echoes.

You pull on the fabric of his jeans, begging him to remove the material from his legs. He obliges while you strip your top off.

At the sight of your bare breasts, Yoongi’s lips find its way to your pert nipples, hallowing his cheeks and sucking on the tender flesh until the blood rushes to the surface of your skin. His hand trails its way down your body, dipping two fingers into your tight hole, pumping in and out to massage your walls.

A thick glob of saliva forms in the back of your throat, and you sputter it into the palm of your hands. Reaching down for Yoongi’s shaft, you jerk him off exactly how he likes it. Your thumb traces over the tip of his cock, swiping over the slit as he leaks beads of precum.

Yoongi sighs as you work faster, milking him for all of his worth. He grips his hand around your wrist to slow down your movements, wanting to change it up. Instead, he trails kisses up your body until he’s hovering over your lips.

“Don’t wanna come like this,” he says with a heavy sigh.

His hand replaces yours as he pumps his length and lines it up at your entrance.

You brace yourself by squeezing your hands around his shoulders, clinging on to him for dear life. He pushes his member one inch at a time until your fingernails dig into his supple skin, dragging him down to meet your lips.

A gasp falls from your throat as the angle changes, and he pushes deeper inside of you.

“Oh, fuck,” you quiver.

Yoongi lays a kiss upon your cheek before meeting your eyes once again. “You okay?”

“Better than okay,” you nod.

A blinding smile makes its way to Yoongi’s lips and you can’t help but reciprocate. He pushes his length further until he’s balls deep, his pelvis pressed up against yours.

You throw your head back against the mattress, exposing the blank canvas of your neck. For a second, his eyes are gilded with gold, but it quickly regresses. His tongue runs over his bottom lip before languidly licking a stripe up the side of your neck. He suckles on your skin until it discolors, leaving behind a love bite that’s none other than a mark of his love.

As you finally adjust to the thick stretch of Yoongi’s cock, you start to fidget, rutting your hips against his.

“Yoongi, please move,” you cry out, wrapping your legs around the small of his waist. And you swear you could physically cry in this very moment.

At your request, his hips begin to thrust, fucking himself into your wanting pussy. With the drag of his dick, you can feel every inch of him move inside of you. Your walls contract and mold against his shaft, his balls slapping against the curve of your ass. The filthy sounds fill the tiny space of his studio apartment, as does the squelches of your arousal.

Yoongi bites his lip as he relishes this very moment. The way you look beneath him, taking his cock like a good girl, fucked out and in total bliss as a dribble of spit cascades down your lips. He tucks his hand underneath your chin to wipe away at the saliva, only to fall back down into a plank position.

Your chest heaves and your head lolls to the side. You can hardly see through your eyelids which are falling shut, but somehow, you resist, seeing the pretty ink that’s engraved into Yoongi’s skin. The most prominent one ー and also the newest addition to his sleeve ー being at eye level. Leaning over the slightest bit, you press your lips against the simple, fine line ink.

A fire within Yoongi is ignited upon your action. His hips begin to stutter, reaching close to the end of his release. He sticks his fingers in his mouth, sucking on the digits until they’re nice and wet. His hand trails a path down your body, only to find its way to your clit. It’s hot and slick down there, especially with the newly added pressure.

A series of moans tumble from your lips as he relentlessly rubs harsh circles onto your nub.

“Oh my god, Yoongi ー Yeah, just like that,” you whimper when the tip of his cock pushes against your cervix. Your eyes are starting to water at the immense amount of pleasure building up in the pit of your stomach.

“Like what?” He smirks, “Like that?”

His thrusts are harder as he quickens the pace. Your body drifts further up the mattress with the force of his hips and your arms wrap around his upper torso to keep yourself anchored. Your fingernails scratch the surface of his skin, leaving behind a trail of red marks down his back.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Yoongi, Iー” A strangled noise escapes from your parted lips.

“Yes, baby? You can come for me.” The soft coo against your ear contrasts against the harsh slap of his hips, sending you further into your release.

“Yoongi… I- I love you,” you manage to sputter out, albeit weakly from the current, fucked out state that you’re in.

At the sound of your confession once again, Yoongi grunts harshly, his breath fanning across your face. His cock grinds harder against your cervix as he chases your high.

The knot in the pit of your stomach unfurls with a harsh thrust, and you dissolve into pleasure. Your walls clench around his dick which continues to pound into you. Your body heats up and your heart races a hundred beats per second as waves of bliss come crashing through you.

Yoongi molds his lips against yours, kissing you with ardor. As you tremble beneath him, your vision starts to blur and your eyelids fall shut, yet with a few more pumps, Yoongi is releasing himself inside of you, painting your inner walls white with his cum. He collapses on top of you, chest heaving.

Your pussy is bare and battered, but you wouldn’t have it any other way with sticky thighs and Yoongi’s pulsating cock inside of you.

The two of you lie down together in the safety of one another’s arms in an attempt to catch your breath. Your fingers run through his raven locks as he rests his head against your chest, listening to the come down of your beating heart.

In the dead of the night, the air in this tiny space is quiet and still while every other deadbeat in this town runs rampant in the world, yet you wouldn’t have it any other way as long as you are never alone.