#because we understood watermelon goes in fruit salad

[whumpfish]

You are so right, OP. I have been going absolutely out of my mind seeing the rampant ableism that has invaded my community. I was quiet at first. A lot of us were. A lot of us didn't rock the boat because a lot of us are disabled and life has taught us that rocking the boat gets you thrown out of it, and this has been our last refuge.

Recently I've started going off in the notes, making polite suggestions in posts. Losing my temper sometimes but never rocking the boat too hard. And when I do speak I see things like "glad someone put this into words." Because we oldbies are used to being shouted down and talked over. We're literally here because we go through it every day irl. Some of us built a bamboo raft and quietly cut the line--and I do not blame those who did, it's fucking pavlovian at this point--and the rest have been biting our tongues when the tongues that need to get bitten aren't ours.

But you're right. Tolerance is not a moral absolute; it is a peace treaty. I'm an historian. I know better than most what comes of peace treaties built on tolerance turning into policies of appeasement. I am done being fair to unfair voices. My responses will be posts and reblogs, my notes simply author's notes.

Thank you, OP, for putting this into words.

[namjoonchronicles]

Autumn – [BTS] Yoongi!Au

[A/N] Song: Dead Leaves by Prod. Min Suga.

“Autumn is really at its height now, look at all the dead leaves on the street.” Mother huffed.

Who’d knew that cracking eggs could be so therapeutic?

Two. Three, and four eggs into the large bowl. Until Yoongi’s mother handed you a large fork as she past, and her voice intruded your thoughts. “…The infamous egg roll we’ve all missed. I never thought I would be tasting that again.” She smiled fondly at the onion she peeled and chopped them into halves. You grinned sheepishly, feeling kind of proud that they’ve spoken about it even when you’re not there. The last time they ate it, was at least three to four years ago. “I’m going to make it extra delicious today, with little bits of sausages,” you started whisking gently.

“…Do you need salt?” You heard her asked and replied a simple nod. “…It’s been awhile since we do this, isn’t it?” She proceeds to chop the onions thinly next, before moving to the carrots. Then she inhaled and exhaled deeply, as if she had been thinking a lot if she should say this or not, but knowing you since you were a teenager, she didn’t hesitate. “… Why can’t Yoongi just date you? You’re smart. You know how to cook. You’re absolutely adorable.” She blinked to the blade and your smile thinned a bit, as if you know how she feels about it. That unfortunate feeling. “…Mom,” you affectionately called her, even if you were not blood-related. The relationship you shared is as close as the one a mother and a daughter would share. “…Everyone has their own type. Yoongi has his. We don’t have to be in a relationship for this to happen… Didn’t you say he brought some of them home to you? The girls,” You prepared the skillet on the stove and turned the heat on before sprinkling some oil on them.

“He dated a few girls. I don’t think it was dating. More like, how should I put it?” Yoongi’s mother pauses before snapping her head up when she had the word in her head and out her lips, “…Passing time.” You snickered lightly. You never understood people who has a relationship in order to pass time. You’ve always thought that relationship are something very intimate between two individuals, and if the relationship is because of love and affection, then it should have preceded to marriage. That is the very objective of dating—to be married. “How were they like?” You thought changing the subject would divert the attention from you but Yoongi’s mother wasn’t intending to leave you behind just yet. “…Just pretty.” You snorted at her answer and she giggled along with you. “Ah! Mother! That’s not very nice.” Your wrist rotated the pan to let oil even out before you take the bowl filled with whisked egg.

You pour the entire amount into the pan at medium heat. The sizzling sound filled the living room, and down the hallway of Yoongi’s apartment. The laughter died down. “But it’s true. That’s all they were. Just…pretty.” Mother laid her knife to rest and leaned her back to the counter watching you at work, expertly controlling the stove and pan. Hair tight in a messy bun, dashing to the counter to grab the chopped onions and bell peppers. “…But boys will be boys, mother.” You stated and turned to her and her puppy eyes, begging for what you already knew. Her gazes spoke louder than words, just pleading.You had to break contact, and stared at your feet, shaking your head lightly, “…Would you want him to be with someone he doesn’t like? I mean, it’s Yoongi.” You shrugged your shoulder, turn off the stove, and then goes leaning against the counter, oppose to Yoongi’s mother.

“…I want Yoongi to be happy. What matters most, is that.” Your eyes slide to hers slowly and you tilted your head to the side, smiling, hoping to mend her heart by it. “…What a fine daughter-in-law you’ll make to someone, one day,” she murmured, and averting her eyes and body to resumed chopping green onions, and, “…I’m already jealous of her.” The front door beeped open, and before you could even see his face, he was mumbling through a short walkway approaching the kitchen. Paper bags in arms, a couple of fruits, heavy footsteps with socks, muttering, “I had to go all the way downtown, because the convenient store downstairs? They ran out of meat. I bought watermelon and some honeydew.” He placed them all on the counter. “…Did you get the flower beetroot?” You inched next to him as he got rid of his jacket. He looked down and nodded on the list you wrote. “This one was a bit tricky. Who’d knew there was so many types of mushroom?” Yoongi whined and his lips becomes pouty, like always. You giggled, and start to organize the things. “It’s your turn now.” You said to him, passing him a bowl. “…Braised spicy seafood? It’s my time now? Let me wash my hands.” He started rolling up his sleeves and a flash came from mother’s direction. “You two really looked like a married couple.” She excited safe the photo from her phone and Yoongi started groaning in dissatisfaction, “…Mother! We are handling serious issue here. Is this the time to take pictures?”

You pinched him by the sleeve and urged him to go wash his hands quickly instead of bickering with his mother and he wordlessly go. “I have to do the squids right? Take out the guts and everything?” He asked while drying his washed hands. You nodded while taking a bite from the cookie in his hand, he took the rest of the unbitten piece in his mouth like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “…You need to strip the squid and wash the guts off. The tentacles needs to be skewed with your nail. That’s where most of the dirt are,” before exclaiming in full-mouth, “Is this soft cookie from Betty’s Cookie Jar shop?” Yoongi took the knife from Mother’s chopping board and started to clean the squids, nodding. You turned your head up to where Mother is, but she disappeared to the hallway with her phone, “…How small do you want your squid?” Yoongi’s question made you resumed plating the eggrolls on a cute plate.

“Bite-size.” You shot. Yoongi’s lips protruded as he focused. “How’s work?” He asked, and you clicked your tongue immediately, right after. “I think I have my answers.” He smacked his lips together and slightly nodded while you throw your head back, laughing. “We agreed not to talk about work on this fine weekend!” You scolded him, slapping his arm playfully. “…I went on a blind date…” You started. “Oh?” Yoongi replied, his smile is gone and all that’s left is that stoned expression as he gathered his squid into a plate. You took the pot from the side and placed them on the stove. “Yeah. He was nice.” You recalled. The guy wore loose white Polo shirt with jeans. He had this ridiculously gorgeous smile and an expensive wrist watch that he made sure, was seen by you. Or maybe you were a bit sceptical.

You also remembered that he liked reading. He was reading when you came. And you noticed that he was honest, too. Provided in the way you eyed his phone when a message came he promptly answered your questioning eyes with a blunt, unpretentious, “…A notification about a book I ordered. It says it’s coming tomorrow.” He gave you that same smile again, and you nibbled the piece of meat from your fork. “…You know, you’re the first girl I’ve ever went on a date with, who ordered steak instead of salads.” He tips his head back then to the side, as if he had been contemplating to say it, all this time you were here. “I like my steaks.” You gushed, shamelessly and the twinkle in his eyes tells you that it wasn’t something he would be despised of, but yet, something he actually adored.

“It’s a compliment! It’s really a compliment,” he showed his toothy smile, hiding the embarrassment behind his large pair of hands. “I’m sorry if I made it sound like it’s a bad thing.” His laughter cools down and you suddenly starting to feed on his adorable grin, with your cheeky eyes. “Everything you say sounded like a government’s mans’ speech. Maybe it’s your deep voice. It’s very sexy.” You blurted out, confidently. He cleared his throat and reached for a glass of water, before it tips overs splashed the liquid over the carpeted floor. You handed him your glass and waved for a waiter. The dinner date ended shortly after, and unlike his confident expressions before, he constantly look away, apologizing and staying oddly quiet. The event affected him. He sent you off with a taxi, fully paid and you knew from the way he turned his back to you, you were not going to see him ever again. Not because you weren’t a potential girlfriend, but because he couldn’t forgive himself for making a mistake, no one intended. And you knew from that, that he is going to be hard to please and he will self-blame himself until it consumes him. A relationship with him will become toxic if he doesn’t reciprocate an approach you initiated.

You blinked, and you were back in the kitchen with a very silent Yoongi. And the conversation ended there, until Yoongi’s mother walked back in.

“Everything good?” She greeted. “Yeah.” “Yup.”

The lunch on a Saturday began shortly after Yoongi finished making his braised spicy seafood. You were listening to mom ranting about a shop assistant who wouldn’t explain why her coupons couldn’t be used, while Yoongi stays very quiet. You noticed that and looked at him, from across the table. You placed an eggroll in his bowl, he picks them up with his chopstick, took them in his mouth and snapped his head to the side, chewing. His jaw muscle tensed. “I mean,” Mother began, “…I don’t understand.” Yoongi cleaned up his plate with a single swipe of the spoon. “…Why won’t you guys date?” Mother finished her sentence and you dropped your gaze to your bowl. Yoongi took his away and pushed the chair back, signalling that he’s done with his lunch, “…I know right.” Yoongi started to rinse his bowl, tilting his head back a little, gawking an insincere smile.

“…Why won’t we date?” He dried his hands, take the plate of frozen honeydew from the fridge and to the table where you were. “You guys will be perfect for each other. I like her. Tell me, darling, is it Yoongi?” Mother patted your knee underneath the table. A broken smile crept on your lips, hesitantly. The chopstick you used to eat seemed so heavy. As you recalled the events that unfold in your head when you heard the word ‘date’ and ‘Yoongi’ in one sentence.

It must have been a week after the summer ended, and autumn began, several years ago. The autumn leaves started to scatter every time the wind blows. Yoongi’s attention shifted to the ground while you gaze up to the only leaf that’s hanging on the twig of a frail-looking tree, by the small pond of your hometown. “Barely hanging on.” You whispered. And in Yoongi’s head, was all the words he wished he could have said, his silence that you understood so much and you passed a knowing smile. “…I know you want to hold on,” You said to him, digging your hands far into the hoodie he lend you. “…But I want you see the world. See other girls. Date many other girls, first. And if, you still want me, you can come back to me. I just don’t want you to feel like you’re making a mistake when you are in a relationship with me.” You explained.

Ridiculous. One word in Yoongi’s head.

Why would wanting to date you—be a mistake? Why would wanting to choose you, of all these girls around, be a mistake? Why is it wrong to want someone you want? Yoongi thought that you didn’t think he was good enough. That’s why he didn’t bother to fight for you. A withering love that he felt, wasn’t the same thing you feel. You were simply giving him a choice. Yoongi knows only you, and it would be a waste for him to never know all the types of girls out there, when he could. “So you don’t want me.” He spat, forcing his lips out and nodded, sourly at the trees above. “No… I just don’t want you to feel spared of what the world had to offer.” You softly say, kicking air. “I don’t care what the world had to offer,” He slummed, and he sighs, “…And if you put it that way, then fine. I’ll roam around the world, see other people, but only because you told me to, not because I wanted to. I can’t hold on to things that wants to drift away.” The heavy conversation dims that way, with no words from you. You left for main city to study, and Yoongi went to do resumed his passion. Both of you went separate ways. For a while, for two, three years.

Yoongi walked past the living room and snatched his iPad before walking down the hallway to his room. “Why don’t you guys date?” Mother asked, impatiently. “Ask her…” Yoongi grumbled.

Sun is setting soon, after spending the whole day with Yoongi and his mom, you told them you needed to go. But Yoongi’s mother always had an excuse to let you stay an hour longer. And an hour become two, two became three and before you know it, it was an hour before midnight. This time, Yoongi’s mother was laying asleep on the couch and Yoongi grabbed the car key across the table while you waited at the door. “…Come up with something so she’ll think I left because of emergencies.” You advised Yoongi, walking out the main door. “I’m not going to lie to my mother.” He grumbled back at you, leading the way to the elevator. “…It’s not the first time you lied to her.” You darted back, “You think she would really believe that you and the girls you brought home was just, a friendly fling? What a total bullshit.” You chucked your tongue. “You think I’m sleeping with them?” He shot.

“Why wouldn’t you?” You arched an eyebrow at him, challenging.

Yoongi passed you a look that screams, unbelievable. “All these years of knowing me, and still, you would think I would sleep with just any girls. Am I a fuckboy?”

“With those looks? Undeniably, yes.” “Well glad to hear that. Everything is going as planned, yes?” He bit his lower lip as the lift descends to the parking lot. You didn’t think you needed to answer that. It was a trick question. He was clearly trying to remind you what you said to him on that autumn morning. Freeing him from his ‘leash’, releasing him from the latch he wants to be in. Drifting away from him, because you thought you were not enough for him, when he is clearly all you need. The drive home was accompanied by songs you knew he arranged. One particular song brought you back to that very day, and it was titled, ‘Dead Leaves’. You looked out the car window in silent, watching arrays of trees dancing in the subtle wind. The street partially empty down this side of the city, and you were overwhelmed with feelings you can’t explain.

So you started to speak, very slowly, just as the song ended. There was no track right after that one, suggests that it must have been the end of the track. “…I had a very difficult three years.”

“Mom’s health was deteriorating. Dad was working at 67, and I couldn’t find a job. My little brother was getting wavered by online games, and he was skipping class.” You blinked slowly at the view of the street, from the moving car. “…I had no one to turn to. I was devastated, and at many point during that span of three years, I thought of…disappearing. I thought of horrible things. I couldn’t stand at the top of the building, not wanting to be at the edge. I stared at the ceiling fan in my room, already knowing how to tie a knot with the belt. I put my face in the pillow and just when I started to stop breathing, I turned to the side, gasping for air. You have no idea how many times I said to myself, to live just one more day.” You wiped away a trickle of tear with the back of your hand. Yoongi stayed very silent, as usual.

“…Wow, I’ve been keeping this inside me for so long. Because couldn’t find the time to cry.” You giggled and sniffed. Yoongi was making a left turn to the apartment you stayed in, the guards granted entry and he walked you up to your apartment, accompanying you. “Thank you, for listening to my unfortunate rants. Thank you for letting me cook in your apartment. Thank you for being a good son and friend. Thank you for coming all the way up here to send me home. Just thank you so much, now off you go.” You said, standing behind the door of your apartment and when you were just about to shut the door, Yoongi placed his hand on it, stopping you. He hung his head low and you asked him why he did that.

He looked at you with a pair of eyes you didn’t recognise coming from Yoongi, through his bangs and filled with something you couldn’t quite decipher. “How dare you lived a life without me,” he grumbled, pushing the door wider as he speaks, “…I like the fact that you suffered without me. But I hate the fact that you didn’t run to me, when you could have. And should have.” He is in your apartment completely now, clenching his jaws. “Because of your pride?” He tips his head to the side a bit before grabbing you, before you could even reply, held you by the back of your neck and placed his lips on you. He took your scent in as if he had been waiting for so long for this, inhaling you. And his kiss was gentle as it progresses, oozing a lot of love with every inch of its movement, easing you into the mood. One hand on your hip, the other behind your head, holding you in place. You feel the wall behind you, fully. Your head was protected by his hand so it won’t drill against the concrete while he spills verses of love through his elaborated kisses.

You broke the kiss and he pants, with a boyish grin on his face, “…What pride?” He eyed you up and down, eating you up. He thumbed your lips, lovingly, as if he was trying to memorise how it felt and tasted like. “I think you still want me.” Yoongi tips his eyes up, and instead of lust, he was looking at you with much care. In contrast of how he initiated the kiss. Maybe it was the spur of the moment. But those eyes that are looking at you right now, is the eyes of the Yoongi you left by the small pond of your home town, many years ago. And he is back, with the same desire, slightly older but is heavily prepared to regain what he’s lost. “Are you sure it’s me you want?” Your voice sounded embarrassingly croaky with want, and you prayed he didn’t notice that. He linked his forehead to yours, “…Fuck yeah.”

And the morning can come, and Yoongi would still want you. Let all the mornings come, for all he wants, is you.

Mother got the daughter in law she wanted. And Yoongi came back to you. Isn’t that what soulmates are? That no matter how far apart you drifted, you’ll always come back to the place you believed is home. “I don’t hate autumn as much now.” Yoongi stated, playing with your fourth finger, twisting the ring. “You hated it before?” You looked up at his jaw, laying your head on his shoulder.

“Absolutely despise it.”