#but id like to know a few words and phrases

[littlemaple]

folks in joker out fandom, anyone have any recommendations for materials to learn simple slovene, lmk. it doesn't seem to be available on many language apps and id like to learn a little bit

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

While we're here, I just want to add an example of a good response to Harris' video.

In the first half of the video, Harris briefly mentions a creator called Lukeypoo (who now goes by Luke Stephens) who had plagiarised Harris' Bloodborne review, and his response at the time was to deny it, signal to his alt right buddies and insult Harris.

After the video came out, Luke Stephens made a post on his community page regarding it:

For those, who can't see the screenshots, it reads:

A video went up on YouTube last night that showed something I did 6 years ago in early 2017, of which I'm very ashamed. I've talked about it on stream plenty since then and try to be very open about it, but I know a lot of people haven't been watching me since 2017 or have not heard me discuss this before. I don't want to hide from my mistakes or deflect, so very plainly here's what happened:

I was just starting on YouTube and I ripped off a phenomenal video on Bloodborne. It was a fantastic video by hbomberguy and after finding it through a Reddit post I tried to take his 1.5 hour masterpiece and make my own suckier version at around 7 minutes. I copied the premise, jokes, structure, and then pretended like it was all just a coincidence that they were so similar. I was a 19 year old idiot who thought it didn't matter because "he's a bigger creator so it's fine" and "it's just the internet." When I was rightly called out for copying his video I dodged, lied, and even attacked and insulted the appearance of those holding me to account, including hbomberguy himself. I copied someone's video, in parts word-for-word, and I pretended like *I* was the victim and *they* were being unreasonable. Unbelievable. There is no question at all: I was in the wrong, fully.

Let me be very clear: I whole heartedly disown who I was back then and what I did. Politically, religiously, and even morally/ethically I was a person that I hate today. I was an extremist, a bully, a religious zealot, and above all, a prick. This event sparked a spiral in my personal life that I didn't document online, but that has led me to who I am today. Someone who tries very hard to respect my fellow creators, audience, and to uphold a high ethical standard for myself. I strive every day to be a better man for myself, my family and kids, and for the community around me. And that's why I'm writing this, because I don't think we should hide from our mistakes or pretend they didn't happen. I screwed up, big time, and I stole the hard work of an incredibly talented creator and for that I'm incredibly sorry. I was 19, hard headed, and above all arrogant and unwilling to acknowledge I had screwed up. It took a couple years after that before I could openly admit what I had actually done, and that it took that long is all the more shameful.

I don't expect a response or certainly forgiveness, but for what it's worth, I am truly sorry for everything, @hbomberguy

For the last 6 years I've been working my butt off to be someone I can be proud of being and I hope you all can see that the man I am today is not the shameful excuse of a person I was back then.

I've never watched a video or stream by Luke Stephens so I can't attest as to his content, but this is one of the best responses I've seen to any kind of accusation, and so I lean towards believing him to be a better man than he was six years.

I thinks it's important to highlight the good response/s to Harris' video, to remind ourselves that plagiarism is not such an immoral action that from which you can't redeem yourself (though in Somerton's case, I'm less sure of that) if you take accountability for your actions, and to remember that in most cases, we should give people space to grow and become better.

The swiftness and brutality of Hbomberguy’s complete evisceration of James Somerton’s career cannot be overstated.

[gold-onthe-inside]

Request (slightly nsfw): Spencer comes into work and doesn’t info dump in the briefing. The team questions him and turns out he cut his tongue on his gf’s piercing.

tongue-tied

who? spencer reid x bau!reader (no use of y/n, called cupcake by morgan) content warnings: a little making out and a little foreplay, doesn't really get past that word count: 1.6k songs: say when by the fray a/n: i really struggled balacing the line between banter and bullying for derek and spencer, but consider it early seasons where derek doesn't know where to draw the line <3

They weren't even supposed to be working today, but it's not like crises come scheduled, and who was to blame Spencer for starting his Saturday morning with a little enthusiasm?

He liked taking his time with his girlfriend (a fact that still felt unreal to him, the word itself felt so strange in his mouth), kissing every inch of her. She was like poetry. Everything about her drew Spencer to her. He took her all in - every breath, every movement, the way she arched up into him. His girlfriend. He still wasn’t entirely used to the concept, but that was what he enjoyed about this slow Saturday morning. He had time to memorise every inch, his fingers gently tracing over her skin.

His mouth trailed up to her ear, feeling her shiver, and then a jolt of pain stabbed through his tongue, catching on the back of her piercing. He let out a slight hiss, drawing back. “Ah…” Spencer’s hand lifted, gently dabbing at his tongue, the pain spreading across his mouth.

"What happened?" you asked, looking at him, concerned, tucking strands of hair behind your ear.

“Your earrings…” Spencer ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth, his face twisting at the lingering sting.

You tutted, sitting up. "Show me."

Spencer obeyed, opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue to show her. A small bead of blood pooled in the centre, a testament to the tiny yet rather painful wound.

"Hold on, I probably have some glycerin somewhere," you said, shifting off his lap and towards her wardrobe, rummaging through a drawer.

Spencer raised a quizzical eyebrow at her, slightly amused despite his uncomfortable injury. “What kind of person just has glycerin laying around?”

"The kind who eats pizza too quickly when it's hot," you replied, returning with a small bottle and a cotton bud. "Open up."

Spencer’s mouth curled up in a smile, which was quickly interrupted by a brief wince as she used the soaked cotton bud to apply the glycerin. “Well, at least it’ll taste good this way…” he teased, poking his tongue back out.

You chuckled as you dabbed at the cut, and their phones rang simultaneously, making your shoulders sag.  "With that kind of unity, it must be Hotch."

Spencer grumbled slightly, reluctantly leaving the bed to reach for his phone on the nightstand. “I was hoping for a quiet Saturday…” he mumbled, lifting his phone. Sure enough, Hotch’s name was on the caller ID.

"Ha, no such thing," you scoffed, grabbing your own phone and answering JJ as you grabbed an outfit from your closet.

Talking hurts. In fact, everything that hits his tongue sends a sliver of sharp pain, and so he's uncharacteristically short with everyone, which raises more than a few eyebrows in the briefing.

"No statistic on that to bring up?" Emily asked, her smile teasing and even Derek's got a laugh that he's masking.

"Didn't seem relevant," he said quickly, withholding a wince, and it was like you could sense the danger of getting caught when you brought up a question to Rossi to bring attention back to the case. If only that had gotten the them off his back.

Derek cornered him in the kitchenette, smirking as he sauntered over. "What was that in there? Cat got your tongue?"

On another day, he would have launched into a story of how the phrase originated from the cat o' nine tails, and so saying it meant that you had been flogged into submission, or from the Middle Ages where it was believed that witches would allegedly steal tongues and it transferred onto the black cats that accompanied them as familiars, or that ancient Egyptians who worshipped cats would punish liars and blasphemers by feeding their tongues to cats. Instead, all he said was, "Just didn't feel like it," and continued stirring his coffee.

Derek immediately noticed the lack of a long-winded, completely off-topic, but fascinating rant. And that caught his attention. It was even more suspicious when he couldn’t even look him in the eye, instead keeping his gaze firmly on the coffee maker.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Derek pressed, moving so that he was standing just behind Reid. Derek knew from experience that, if you wanted to prevent him from making a run for it, you had to block his path before he thought to try and escape.

"This kind of behaviour is exactly what gets you in trouble with HR," Spencer pointed out, then winced, his tongue flaring with pain.

Derek’s eyes narrowed as he observed Reid’s face, noting the subtle wince. Something was definitely up. “What’s wrong with your mouth?” he asked bluntly, his eyes now drifting over his face as if they would somehow be able to glean some sort of answer from his expression.

"Nothing," he replied, his voice hitting a higher pitch, a flush colouring his cheeks.

He’s lying. “Bullshit,” Derek said bluntly, his arms folded. “Every time you open your mouth, you wince. So just tell me. What happened?”

"I just burnt my tongue, that's all," he mumbled, hoping Derek would leave it.

Derek’s eyebrows lifted in disbelief. It seemed like a flimsy explanation, and he wasn’t going to let this go. Spencer was hiding something. “You burnt your tongue? How?”

"O-On coffee, I forgot it was hot," he said. God, he should be better at lying than this.

Derek’s frown deepened at his answer. “And you’re sure that’s it? No other reason why your tongue would hurt when you talk?”

"What other reason would there be?" Spencer asked, sipping stale coffee.

Now they were getting somewhere. Derek couldn’t help but notice that his cheeks had turned a light shade of pink. “That’s what I’m asking you, pretty boy,” Derek said, folding his arms across his chest.

"What's it matter to you anyway?" Spencer asked, trying to make his escape.

Derek moved to block his path once again, his eyes watching his friend closely. Something wasn’t right here. “It matters because you’re hurt,” Derek pointed out. “So, just be honest and tell me the truth. What really happened to your tongue?”

Spencer groaned. "I... cut it this morning..." he said, halting and hesitating.

Derek’s eyes narrowed once again at his words, instantly sceptical of his answer. “You cut your tongue?” he repeated, his tone clearly indicating that he didn’t believe him. “And how exactly did you do that?”

"Morgan," he pleaded, protesting.

Derek’s eyes remained locked, searching Spencer’s face for any hint of dishonesty or a lie. “I want the truth, Reid. How did you cut your tongue?”

Spencer's entire neck had become flushed now. "On a piercing," he muttered quietly.

Ah. Derek’s eyes grew a fraction wider, his arms now dropping to his sides as everything clicked into place. That’s why he’d been trying to avoid talking this whole time. “A piercing…” he repeated, a smirk beginning to edge onto his face. “Specifically, whose piercing?”

"Does it matter?" Spencer asked, trying to escape him again and Derek blocked him too easily.

Derek’s smirk widened as he watched Reid begin to squirm under his gaze, and it was clear that he had hit the target.

“Yeah, it does. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so reluctant to tell me, pretty boy.” A thought suddenly occurred to him, and Derek’s smirk curled into a grin as he studied Spencer for a long, calculated moment. “Wait a goddamn minute. Is this Cupcake's doing?”

"No!" he squeaked.

Derek’s grin widened at his reaction, which immediately told him that he was correct. Bingo. “Oh god, it is…” he said, his tone a mixture of delight and disbelief. “It was her piercing, wasn’t it?”

"What! I never said that!" Spencer cried and his obvious fluster told Derek all he needed to know - he’d hit the mark.

“You didn’t have to say it. You just confirmed it,” Derek drawled. “You can’t hide anything from me, pretty boy. And that means you were with her this morning -” He leaned in, his grin widening a fraction more. “- weren’t you?”

"I- You can't prove anything!"

“Oh, this is priceless…” Derek was clearly enjoying this, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he watched Spencer begin to panic.  “So, let me get this right: you were with your girlfriend this morning - on your day off - and, somewhere along the line, you cut your tongue on her earrings.”

"You don't know it's her," Spencer tried to bluff.

“Dude, you’re blushing like a schoolboy,” Derek pointed. “And you’re being so damn defensive. Put two and two together, genius. I’m not judging, Reid, just wondering - how exactly did you slice your tongue on her earring, anyway?”

"How do you think?" Spencer muttered.

Derek smirked, his eyebrows lifting. “You’re telling me that you were making out with your new girlfriend, and you accidentally cut your tongue on her piercings?”

"I'm not telling you anything!"

Derek’s smirk just grew wider, as he could practically see the thoughts swirling through Spencer’s mind. He absolutely loved getting to him like this. “You could have just told me that it was from making out with your girlfriend, pretty boy. I’m not gonna make fun of you for that. Although, I’m impressed that you somehow managed to cut your tongue in the process…”

Spencer groaned, lowering his head in shame.

Derek chuckled in delight, thoroughly enjoying watching Spencer getting all worked up.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, man,” he said, a wide grin on his face. “As long as it was a good time, a few marks here and there are worth it.”

"Can I go now?" Spencer asked, mortified.

“Yeah yeah, alright,” Derek said, still chuckling to himself as he backed off, allowing Spencer to leave. “Have fun with your girlfriend,” he teased, his tone laced with playful innuendo, watching Spencer scurry off back to his desk.

[fioredeciliego]

Mommy Issues - Karina x Fem!Reader

11.2k words

Moving to another country wasn’t supposed to be easy. That was the mantra Y/N repeated to herself as she dragged her luggage through the crowded halls of Schiphol Airport. The Netherlands—a world away from the life she had known, filled with unfamiliar faces, a foreign language, and customs she barely understood. Yet, this was what she wanted. This was freedom.

It had taken months to plan, years to gather the courage. Back home, there was no peace. Privacy was a luxury she could never afford in a house that was always full: her mother, her three younger siblings, the constant noise. And then there was her mother herself—a complicated, volatile presence that dominated Y/N’s life. For years, Y/N had felt more like a caretaker than a daughter, shouldering responsibilities that weren’t hers to bear. It wasn’t all bad; she loved her siblings dearly and had moments with her mother that reminded her of the love buried under the chaos. But it was never enough to outweigh the suffocating sense of inadequacy and anxiety.

She rolled her suitcase to the curb and hailed a taxi, her heart hammering in her chest as she gave the driver her new address. The cityscape of Amsterdam blurred past the window as she tried to breathe deeply, grounding herself in the present. She’d rented a small studio apartment on the outskirts of the city—a modest space, but it was hers. No one would barge in uninvited. No one would demand things of her. No one would criticize her every move.

When the taxi stopped, she lugged her suitcase up the narrow staircase to her apartment. The first thing she noticed was how quiet it was. The silence felt foreign, almost eerie, after years of constant noise. She stood in the center of the room, taking in the plain white walls, the tiny kitchenette, the single window overlooking the street below. It wasn’t much, but it was hers.

As she unpacked, her phone buzzed on the counter. Her stomach twisted when she saw the caller ID: Mom.

She hesitated, staring at the screen until it went dark. The phone buzzed again, and this time, she answered.

“Hello?” Her voice was small, almost drowned out by the static of the poor connection.

“Y/N, where are you?” her mother’s voice demanded, sharp and accusatory. “Why didn’t you tell me you landed?”

“I just got in,” Y/N said, already bracing herself for the onslaught. “I was going to call you once I settled.”

“You should have called me right away. Do you know how worried I’ve been? You don’t think about anyone but yourself.”

Y/N closed her eyes, gripping the edge of the counter until her knuckles turned white. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, the words automatic, devoid of feeling.

Her mother launched into a familiar tirade about how selfish Y/N was, how ungrateful. She didn’t ask about the flight, the new apartment, or how Y/N was feeling. It was all about her mother’s own anxiety, her fears, her sacrifices. Y/N listened in silence, letting the words wash over her. She’d heard it all before.

When the call finally ended, Y/N sank onto the couch, tears prickling her eyes. She’d left the country to escape this, yet her mother’s voice still echoed in her head, a constant reminder of her failures. She wanted to scream, to cry, to do something, but instead, she sat there, staring at the bare walls of her new home.

--

The next few days passed in a blur of monotony. Wake up. Go to work. Eat alone. Come home. Watch TV. Sleep. Repeat. The job was unremarkable, a desk position at a small marketing firm. Her coworkers were polite but distant, their conversations flowing effortlessly in Dutch while Y/N fumbled with basic phrases. She spent her lunch breaks alone, scrolling through her phone and pretending not to notice the sidelong glances from her colleagues.

The weekends offered a slight reprieve. Y/N explored the city, wandering through parks, visiting museums, and losing herself in the maze of canals. She loved the quiet moments, the freedom to go wherever she wanted without answering to anyone. But even in the midst of Amsterdam’s beauty, she couldn’t shake the loneliness that clung to her like a shadow.

Her mother called almost every day, and every call left Y/N feeling more drained than the last. Her siblings would sometimes grab the phone, their voices bright and eager as they told her about school and their friends. Those moments were the only ones that brought a genuine smile to her face. She missed them terribly, but the thought of going back—of returning to that stifling environment—was unthinkable.

One evening, as she sat on the couch with a bowl of instant noodles, her phone buzzed again. She didn’t even need to look to know who it was.

“Hello?” she answered, her voice flat.

“Y/N, have you thought about what I said?” her mother’s voice was softer this time, almost pleading. “You don’t have to stay there. You can come home. We need you here.”

“I can’t,” Y/N said, her throat tightening. “I need to do this for myself.”

“Your siblings miss you. I miss you.”

Y/N’s grip on the phone tightened. “I miss you too. But I can’t come back. Not now.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Fine,” her mother said, her tone laced with disappointment. “Do what you want.”

The call ended, leaving Y/N feeling hollow. She set the phone down and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. She’d thought putting distance between them would help, but the weight of her mother’s expectations still bore down on her, even from thousands of miles away.

--

The following week, Y/N found herself walking aimlessly through Vondelpark, the crisp autumn air a welcome distraction from the thoughts swirling in her head. She’d taken to spending her lunch breaks there, finding solace in the rustling leaves and the laughter of children playing nearby.

She sat on a bench, pulling out a small notebook she’d started carrying with her. Writing had always been a form of escape for her, a way to process the chaos in her mind. She scribbled down a few lines, her thoughts tumbling onto the page:

I just want to feel loved. Truly loved. Not out of obligation or guilt. Loved for who I am, not for what I can do for others.

She stared at the words, her chest tightening. It felt selfish to admit, but it was the truth. For once in her life, she wanted someone to take care of her, to make her feel safe. She wanted what she’d never had—unconditional love.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The morning sunlight poured through the window of the cozy townhouse nestled in a quiet neighborhood of Amsterdam. Jimin stretched lazily, her fingers brushing against the edge of her soft duvet. The faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifted up from the kitchen, signaling the start of another peaceful day.

Her family was always an anchor of stability in her life. Her mother, a warm and nurturing presence, was undoubtedly the heart of their home. She had a knack for making anyone feel welcome, whether it was through her perfectly brewed tea or her way of listening that made you feel truly heard. Jimin’s father balanced her mother’s kindness with his grounded practicality, always ready with a steady hand or a piece of advice. Her older sister, Hana, was her confidante and occasional partner-in-crime, always there to lend an ear or offer her unabashed honesty. Together, they formed a bubble of unconditional love that Jimin knew she was lucky to have.

Yet, even with this steadfast support system, a void lingered in her heart—an unspoken yearning for someone to share her life with.

Jimin rose from her bed, padding over to the window to look out at the serene street below. “Another day,” she murmured to herself. She glanced at her phone to see a string of messages from her best friends lighting up the screen.

Aeri: “Morning! Don’t forget, you’re walking Cooper today.”

Minjeong: “Bet she forgets and we have to chase the dog again.”

Yizhuo: “Minjeong’s just mad because Cooper likes Jimin better.”

Jimin chuckled, her heart lightening. Her friends were like family. They had been inseparable since childhood, navigating the ups and downs of life together. If her family provided her foundation, her friends were the walls and roof that sheltered her from life’s storms. But even with them, Jimin felt that persistent ache for something… or someone… she couldn’t quite name.

--

After a quick breakfast, Jimin arrived at Aeri’s house to pick up Cooper, Aeri’s spirited greyhound. Cooper bounded up to her as soon as she stepped through the door, his tail wagging furiously.

“Hey, buddy!” Jimin crouched down to ruffle his fur, earning a happy bark. “Ready for a walk?”

Aeri leaned against the doorway, smirking. “You’re spoiling him, you know. He’ll never want to come back to me at this rate.”

“Can you blame him? I’m way more fun,” Jimin teased, clipping on Cooper's leash.

“Just don’t lose him,” Aeri called as Jimin and Cooper headed out.

The park was a short walk from Aeri’s place, a lush expanse of greenery dotted with families, joggers, and couples enjoying the crisp morning air. Cooper tugged at the leash, eager to explore. Jimin let him lead the way, her thoughts drifting.

As much as she loved her life, it often felt… predictable. Her days were filled with love and laughter, but there was a part of her that craved something more. She wanted to be the kind of person who could offer someone the same sense of warmth and security her family had always given her. She wanted someone to come home to, someone to share her quiet moments with, someone who would trust her to take care of them.

“Maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic,” she mused aloud, earning a curious tilt of Cooper’s head.

--

Later that afternoon, Jimin met up with her friends at their favorite café. The cozy space buzzed with chatter, the scent of freshly baked pastries mingling with the rich aroma of coffee. Minjeong was already seated, scrolling through her phone, while Yizhuo animatedly recounted a story to Aeri.

“You’re late,” Minjeong said without looking up as Jimin slid into the booth.

“Cooper wanted to inspect every single tree in the park,” Jimin replied, grinning.

“Sure he did,” Minjeong said dryly, but the corners of her mouth twitched in amusement.

“Speaking of dogs,” Aeri began, “have you guys noticed how much Jimin’s been sighing lately? Like a lovesick puppy?”

Jimin’s cheeks flushed. “I have not!”

“Oh, come on,” Yizhuo said, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “You’ve got that faraway look in your eyes. Spill. Is there someone you’ve got your eye on?”

“No,” Jimin said firmly, but her friends weren’t convinced.

“You know,” Aeri said thoughtfully, “it’s okay to admit you’re looking for someone. We all know you’ve got that whole ‘caretaker’ thing going on. You’d be a great girlfriend.”

Jimin groaned. “Why do I even hang out with you guys?”

“Because you love us,” Yizhuo quipped.

Despite their teasing, Jimin knew they were right. She was looking for someone, even if she didn’t know who yet.

--

That night, Jimin sat on her bed, scrolling aimlessly through her phone. She paused on a photo from the park earlier that day—Cooper sniffing a patch of flowers, his grey fur glowing in the sunlight. It was such a simple moment, yet it had brought her so much joy.

“Maybe that’s all I’m missing,” she thought. “Someone to share the little moments with.”

She set her phone down and lay back, staring at the ceiling. Her life was full of love and laughter, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was someone out there who needed her just as much as she needed them.

And maybe, just maybe, she would find them.

With that thought, Jimin drifted off to sleep, her dreams filled with fleeting images of laughter, warmth, and a pair of eyes she hadn’t yet met but somehow already knew.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The morning air was crisp and fresh, carrying the faint scent of flowers blooming across the park. Jimin tugged at the leash in her hand, glancing down at the sleek Greyhound trotting alongside her. Cooper’s thin frame and long legs made him look almost regal, but his excitement for sniffing every patch of grass made Jimin chuckle.

"Cooper, can we stick to the path for once?" Jimin muttered, gently tugging the leash as the Greyhound veered toward another tree.

She’d agreed to take Aeri’s dog out for a walk, something she didn’t mind doing since it gave her an excuse to enjoy the peaceful weekend morning. The park was alive with activity—families on picnic blankets, joggers weaving through the paths, and couples strolling hand in hand.

Jimin barely noticed the lone figure sitting on the edge of the fountain, head bowed as if lost in thought. You had come to the park seeking a bit of calm amidst the chaos of adjusting to your new life. The sound of the fountain’s gentle splashes mixed with the distant chatter of park-goers, providing a soothing backdrop to your wandering thoughts.

Suddenly, a blur of movement snapped you out of your reverie. Before you could react, a Greyhound barreled toward you, its leash trailing behind it.

"Whoa!" you yelped as the dog jumped up, placing his paws on your lap and eagerly licking your face.

"Cooper!" a voice rang out, frantic and apologetic.

Despite the surprise, a laugh bubbled up from your chest. "Okay, okay! I get it, you’re excited!" you said, gently scratching the dog behind his ears.

Jimin sprinted toward you, her heart pounding from both exertion and embarrassment. She grabbed Cooper’s leash and tugged gently. "Cooper, af! Kom eraf!"

At her command, Cooper obediently stepped back, though his tail wagged with unbridled enthusiasm.

"I am so, so sorry!" Jimin blurted, her words spilling out in Dutch. "Hij doet dit normaal gesproken niet—uh, sorry! I mean... uh..."

She froze as soon as you looked up, her breath catching. Your laughter had already left her stunned, but now, meeting your gaze for the first time, Jimin felt her heart lurch. You were looking at her with a mix of amusement and curiosity, your eyes sparkling in a way that made her brain short-circuit.

Realizing she’d spoken Dutch, you blinked, scrambling to piece together the few words you recognized. "Sorry... I don’t speak Dutch," you said, your voice hesitant but kind.

Jimin’s face turned crimson. "Oh! Oh, right! English, sorry," she stammered, switching languages. "He doesn’t usually do this—I mean, he’s usually... better behaved?"

She winced at how clunky her words sounded, her usual confidence completely abandoning her under your gaze.

"It’s okay," you said, a smile tugging at your lips. You brushed some dog hair off your clothes. "He’s sweet. Maybe a little too enthusiastic, but sweet."

Jimin exhaled a laugh, relief washing over her. "Yeah, that’s Cooper for you. Always ready to make an impression."

You crouched slightly, giving the Greyhound one last pat. "Well, he succeeded. Is he yours?"

Jimin shook her head quickly, glad to have a straightforward question to answer. "No, he’s not mine. I’m just watching him for a friend. I’m Jimin, by the way."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should introduce yourself. But there was something disarming about her—the way she seemed both nervous and sincere.

"Y/N," you said, standing and offering your hand.

Jimin hesitated before taking it, her touch warm and a little unsure. "Nice to meet you, Y/N. And I really am sorry about Cooper."

"Really, it’s fine," you replied, waving off her concern. "Honestly, I needed a distraction today. He’s adorable."

Jimin glanced at Cooper, who was now sitting obediently, his tail wagging lazily. "Adorable is one way to put it. He’s also a bit of a menace."

You laughed softly, and Jimin felt her chest tighten. The sound was so genuine, like a spark of light cutting through her nerves.

"So," Jimin began, shifting her weight awkwardly, "are you touring here?"

You tilted your head, the cliché making you grin. "Not really. I actually just moved a couple weeks ago, so I’m still figuring things out."

"Wow," Jimin said, genuinely impressed. "That’s a big change. How are you finding it so far?"

You shrugged, your gaze drifting toward the fountain. "It’s... an adjustment. Some days are harder than others."

Something in your tone made Jimin pause. She wanted to ask more, to know why your smile seemed tinged with something wistful. But instead, she nodded, her voice gentle. "I can imagine. If you ever need tips or recommendations, I’m kind of an expert. Born and raised here."

Your smile softened, and for the first time in weeks, you felt a little less like an outsider. "I might take you up on that."

“Well, I really feel like I owe you something for all this,” Jimin said, gesturing to Cooper, who wagged his tail innocently as if he weren’t the culprit of the chaos.

Y/N waved it off, awkwardly chuckling. “Really, it’s fine. No need to apologize.”

Jimin shook her head, determination shining in her eyes. “How about I buy you a coffee? My treat. I insist. That way we can start the tour”

Y/N hesitated, glancing down at her phone as if she could escape the situation. “You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to,” Jimin interrupted gently, “but I want to. Please?”

Faced with Jimin’s earnest smile, Y/N found herself nodding despite her reservations. “Okay, sure.”

--

They walked together to a small café nearby, Cooper trotting beside them, now behaving like a model citizen. The atmosphere was a little awkward at first; Y/N wasn’t used to spontaneous social interactions, especially with strangers.

Jimin, sensing the tension, started to ramble. “So, do you live around here? Or were you just visiting the park?��

“I live close by,” Y/N replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I like to come here on weekends to unwind.”

“That’s nice. I come here pretty often too. Well, not usually with Cooper—that’s Aeri’s dog. She’s one of my best friends. She couldn’t walk him today, so here I am.”

Y/N nodded, her lips twitching into a small smile. “He’s sweet. A little intense, but sweet.”

Jimin grinned. “That’s a perfect description of him.”

By the time they reached the café, Jimin had managed to pull a few more details out of Y/N: she’s taking intensive dutch classes, worked a remote job, and didn’t know many people yet.

Inside the cozy café, they sat by a window with steaming cups of coffee in front of them. Cooper lay sprawled under the table, finally tired out.

Jimin shared funny stories about Cooper and her friends, while Y/N talked about her favorite hobbies and places she’d discovered so far.

Jimin found herself captivated by Y/N’s laughter. It wasn’t loud or boisterous, but it was genuine, and Jimin decided she wanted to hear it as often as possible.

By the time their cups were empty, Jimin didn’t want the moment to end. As they stepped out of the café, she took a deep breath.

“Can I—uh—get your number?” Jimin asked, scratching the back of her neck nervously. “You know, so I can let you know when Cooper’s planning his next ambush.”

Y/N laughed, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Sure.”

They exchanged numbers, and Jimin couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across her face.

As they parted ways, Jimin did a little jump of happiness. Hearing a giggle, she looked back to see that Y/N was still there, looking at her. Blushing, she clumsily waved goodbye and walked Cooper back to Aeri’s place, her heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time.

Y/N watched her retreating figure, a faint smile lingering on her lips. It had been a long time since she felt this kind of warmth.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The weekend had been unusually lively for you, though not in the traditional sense. Your apartment remained your sanctuary, the world outside still too daunting to face for long. Yet, your phone buzzed more frequently than it had in months, each notification bringing a smile to your face.

Jimin: "Do you think Cooper knows he’s a Greyhound, or does he just think he’s a really fast human?" You snorted at the absurdity of her question, shaking your head as you replied.

You: "Fast human, 100%. With questionable manners."

Jimin: "Hey, Cooper has AMAZING manners! He only licked your face because he sensed you’re nice." Jimin: "…Or maybe he just thought you smelled good. Either way, he’s the goodest boy!"

Her messages were a mix of humor and sweetness, each one pulling you further out of the fog that had settled over your mind since you’d arrived in this new country. It was strange how quickly Jimin had become a presence in your life. Her texts were the highlight of your days, her playful energy a stark contrast to the loneliness you often felt.

You spent most of Saturday exchanging messages with her, laughing at her jokes and learning more about her life. She told you about Cooper’s quirks, her friends’ antics, and her favorite spots in the city. It was easy, effortless even, and you found yourself wishing you could hold onto this feeling a little longer.

Sunday morning was no different. Jimin sent you a picture of Cooper lounging on her couch, his long legs sprawled awkwardly.

Jimin: "Look at this absolute model. He’s posing for Vogue, clearly." You: "GQ, maybe. He’s got the ‘brooding male lead’ look down."

Your laughter filled the quiet apartment, a sound that had been absent for far too long. But just as you were settling into the comfort of this new routine, your phone buzzed again, and your heart sank.

Mom.

The name on the screen felt heavier than it should have, and for a moment, you considered letting it go to voicemail. But the guilt crept in quickly, as it always did, and you sighed, swiping to answer.

“Hello?” you said, keeping your tone neutral.

“Y/N,” your mom’s voice came through, sharp and impatient. “Finally. Do you ever check your phone? I’ve been calling all weekend!”

You closed your eyes, already bracing yourself for the familiar cycle. “I’ve been busy, Mom,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just trying to get things done.”

“Busy?” she scoffed. “Too busy to call your own mother? You have time to move halfway across the world but not to pick up the phone?”

Her words stung, as they always did, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “I’m not ignoring you,” you said carefully. “I just needed some time for myself.”

“Time for yourself,” she repeated, her tone dripping with disdain. “And what about your family, Y/N? What about me? Do you ever think about how hard it is for me to keep everything together without you?”

Your chest tightened, the familiar guilt settling in like an old friend. “Mom, I didn’t leave to hurt you. I just needed space to figure things out.”

“Space,” she said bitterly. “From your own family? From the mother who’s done everything for you? Do you even care about us anymore?”

Her words felt like a punch to the gut, but you bit your tongue, refusing to let the frustration spill out. “I do care,” you said softly. “I just—”

“Forget it,” she snapped, cutting you off. “You clearly don’t have time for me. I’ll let you get back to your oh-so-busy life.”

The line went dead before you could respond. You stared at the phone in your hand, the silence in the room now deafening. You knew you hadn’t done anything wrong, but the weight of her words pressed down on you all the same.

You tried to shake off the heaviness, but it clung to you like a shadow. Desperate for a distraction, you opened your chat with Jimin, your fingers hovering over the keyboard.

You: "Are you free for a call?"

Her reply came almost instantly.

Jimin: "Always! Give me 5 mins to grab headphones."

You smiled faintly at her eagerness, even as your chest still felt tight. A few moments later, your phone buzzed with an incoming call. You hesitated for a second before answering.

“Hey,” Jimin’s voice was bright and cheerful, a stark contrast to your mood.

“Hi,” you said softly, your voice quieter than usual.

There was a pause on the other end, and you could almost feel her concern. “Are you okay?” she asked gently.

You hesitated, not ready to unpack the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “I don’t really want to talk about it,” you admitted.

Jimin didn’t press, her voice lightening instead. “That’s okay. Want me to tell you about how Cooper tried to steal my breakfast this morning?”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah. Tell me everything.”

And just like that, Jimin launched into a dramatic retelling of her morning, complete with exaggerated impressions of Cooper’s antics. Her voice was animated, full of warmth and humor, and it didn’t take long for her stories to pull you out of your head.

“I swear, if he had opposable thumbs, he’d be unstoppable,” Jimin said, finishing her tale of how Cooper managed to knock her cereal bowl off the counter.

You laughed, the sound feeling almost foreign after the weight of the day. “Maybe you should hire him as a food critic. He’s clearly got opinions.”

Jimin gasped theatrically. “Brilliant idea. I’ll start his blog tomorrow: Cooper’s Culinary Adventures.”

The conversation shifted to lighter topics—your favorite foods, her favorite spots in the city, and a heated debate about whether pineapple belonged on pizza (Jimin was adamantly against it, to your amusement).

As the hours slipped by, you found yourself relaxing more and more, the tightness in your chest easing with each passing moment.

“Thanks for this,” you said quietly, interrupting her mid-sentence.

“For what?” Jimin asked, her voice genuinely puzzled.

“For... just being here,” you admitted. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

Her voice softened. “Hey, anytime. Really. I like talking to you.”

Your heart warmed at her sincerity, and for the first time that day, the weight of your mom’s words didn’t feel so crushing.

The call stretched late into the night, neither of you wanting to hang up. Jimin’s laughter filled the empty corners of your apartment, her warmth seeping through the phone and wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

By the time you finally said goodnight, the heaviness in your chest had lifted

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The scent of spices and sizzling food filled the air as you approached Jimin’s apartment. Your stomach churned—not from hunger, but from nerves. Meeting Jimin’s friends felt like stepping into uncharted territory. You weren’t sure if you were ready for this yet, but Jimin had insisted.

“They’re going to love you,” she’d said, her voice warm and confident over the phone.

You adjusted your grip on the small bouquet of flowers you’d brought—a gesture you hoped would make a good first impression. Maybe this would be okay.

When the door swung open, Jimin stood there, dressed in a simple yet effortlessly stylish sweater and jeans. Her warm smile eased some of your tension immediately. “Hey, you made it!” she said, stepping aside to let you in.

Her apartment was cozy, with string lights lining the walls and the faint hum of music playing in the background. The voices of her friends carried from the kitchen, punctuated by bursts of laughter.

“You didn’t have to bring flowers,” Jimin said, taking the bouquet from your hands. “But they’re so pretty. Thank you!”

“I just thought it’d be nice,” you replied, your voice quiet but steady.

Jimin placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Seriously, they’re going to love you. Promise.”

You nodded, though the knot of anxiety in your stomach remained as you followed her deeper into the apartment.

As you entered the kitchen, three people were clustered around a counter piled high with food. Their laughter faded as Jimin announced your arrival.

“Guys, this is Y/N,” she said, her tone bright and cheerful.

Three pairs of eyes turned toward you. For a split second, you wanted to retreat, but their faces broke into warm smiles that made you feel a little less out of place.

“Finally!” said a tall girl with sharp features and an easy grin. “Jimin’s been talking about you nonstop. I’m Aeri, by the way.”

“Minjeong,” another introduced herself, shorter with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Nice to meet the person who’s been monopolizing Jimin’s attention lately.”

“Don’t mind them,” the last one said, her tone playful. She was bubbly and energetic, her bright smile instantly infectious. “I’m Yizhuo. And I promise we’re not that scary. Just a little.”

You smiled shyly, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “It’s nice to meet you all,” you said, clutching the strap of your bag tightly.

“Come on, sit down,” Aeri said, gesturing to the table. “Jimin’s been cooking all day. She refuses to let us help, so if it’s bad, we’re blaming her.”

“Excuse me!” Jimin interjected, hands on her hips. “You’re the one who burned the rice the last time we let you cook.”

The banter flew back and forth easily, the teasing and laughter filling the room with a warmth that started to chip away at your nerves.

The table was laden with dishes—steaming bowls of pasta, fresh salad, and crispy garlic bread. As you took a seat, you noticed the effort Jimin had put into making everything perfect.

“This looks amazing,” you said, glancing at her.

She grinned. “Thanks. Cooking is kind of my thing.”

As everyone dug in, the conversation flowed effortlessly. They teased Jimin mercilessly, recounting stories that had you laughing despite yourself.

“Did she tell you about the time she fell into the canal trying to impress someone?” Minjeong asked, her grin wicked.

“Hey!” Jimin protested, her cheeks flushing. “That was years ago!”

“And yet, here we are,” Aeri said, smirking.

“She never learns,” Yizhuo added. “The other day, she tripped over Cooper’s leash and spilled coffee all over herself.”

“That wasn’t my fault! Cooper’s deceptively strong!” Jimin defended, throwing a napkin at Yizhuo.

“So, Y/N,” Aeri said, leaning forward with a curious grin, “what’s your deal? How’d you end up stuck with Jimin?”

You hesitated, but their faces were open and inviting. “We met at the park,” you said, glancing at Jimin. “Your dog kind of ambushed me.”

Classic Cooper,” Minjeong said, shaking her head with mock exasperation.

“Sounds about right,” Yizhuo agreed. “But hey, at least something good came out of it.”

You smiled, feeling a little more comfortable as the conversation turned to lighter topics—favorite movies, travel destinations, and the best local restaurants.

At one point, Yizhuo turned to you with a mischievous grin. “So, Jimin’s been on her best behavior, right? No embarrassing serenades or awkward pickup lines?”

“Yizhuo!” Jimin groaned, burying her face in her hands.

You laughed softly. “She’s been great. No serenades yet.”

“Key word: yet,” Minjeong teased, earning another napkin thrown her way.

As the night went on, you felt the weight of your anxiety begin to lift. Jimin’s friends had a way of making you feel like you belonged, their easy camaraderie wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

By the time the plates were cleared and everyone settled into a more relaxed conversation, you found yourself leaning back in your chair, feeling a sense of comfort you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“So,” Aeri said, raising her glass with a teasing grin, “if Jimin ever messes this up, just know we’re all here to steal you for ourselves. No pressure, Jimin.”

Jimin groaned dramatically. “Can you guys not scare her away?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and genuine. “I think I’ll stick around for now,” you said, glancing at Jimin with a soft smile.

Her eyes met yours, and for a moment, the room seemed to fade away.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The evening sun cast a golden glow over the city as you and Jimin strolled through a quiet street, the rhythmic hum of bicycles filling the air. The two of you had spent the day wandering through local shops, sharing little anecdotes and indulging in pastries from a nearby bakery. With every moment, you felt a little lighter, your laughter coming more easily around her.

“You have powdered sugar on your face,” Jimin said, pointing at the corner of your mouth with a teasing smile.

“Where?” you asked, swiping at your cheek.

Jimin shook her head, chuckling. “No, not there. Here—” She reached out, her thumb brushing gently against your skin. The touch was brief but enough to make your cheeks warm.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, looking away to hide your flustered expression.

Jimin’s grin widened, but she didn’t tease you further. “I’m just saying, it’s a sign you enjoyed the pastry.”

“Maybe I did,” you replied, your voice softer now.

The two of you continued walking, the atmosphere comfortable and filled with the kind of quiet contentment that didn’t need words. But as you reached a small bench by the canal, your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you out of the moment.

You hesitated before pulling it out. The screen lit up with a name that made your heart sink: Mom. For a moment, you considered letting it go to voicemail. But the guilt that always lingered when you ignored her calls was too heavy to bear.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” you said, stepping away from Jimin.

Her brow furrowed slightly, but she nodded. “Take your time.”

You walked a few paces away, answering the call with a tentative, “Hello?”

Your mom’s voice came through, sharp and insistent. “Y/N, finally. I’ve been calling all day. Why haven’t you answered?”

“I’ve been busy,” you said, keeping your tone as neutral as possible.

“Busy? What could you possibly be doing that’s more important than answering your mother?” she demanded, her voice rising slightly.

You sighed, already feeling the familiar weight settle over your chest. “I’m just out right now. I can’t talk long.”

“Out? With who? Are you making bad decisions again?” she asked, the accusation in her tone cutting deep.

“No, Mom,” you said firmly, trying to keep your composure. “I’m just with a friend.”

Your mom’s tone softened slightly, but the edge remained. “You’re always so distant these days. I don’t understand why you can’t make more time for your family. Do you even care about us anymore?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “Of course I care,” you said, your voice quieter now. “But I’m trying to build my own life here. I need space.”

“Space?” she repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. “You’ve had all the space in the world since you left. But do you even think about how hard this has been for us? For me?”

You closed your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Mom, I—”

“No, Y/N. You don’t understand. You’ve abandoned us, and now you’re too busy to even talk? What kind of daughter does that?”

Her words, laced with guilt and frustration, made your grip on the phone tighten. “I’m trying my best,” you said, your voice breaking slightly.

“Clearly, your best isn’t enough,” she said sharply before the line went dead.

You stared at your phone, the screen dimming as the call ended. The knot in your stomach tightened, and the guilt clawed at you, even though you knew you hadn’t done anything wrong.

You turned back toward Jimin, who was watching you with concern. She stood as you approached, her expression soft.

“Everything okay?” she asked gently.

You tried to nod, but the lump in your throat made it impossible to speak. Instead, you sat on the bench, staring at the ground.

Jimin hesitated for a moment before sitting beside you. She didn’t press you for details, but her presence was steady and comforting.

You forced a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

Jimin studied you for a moment, her gaze searching. “You sure?”

You hesitated, then nodded quickly. “I just don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” she said softly, her tone understanding. She didn’t push, didn’t pry, and you were grateful for it.

imin didn’t look away, though, her presence steady and grounding.

After a while, she broke the quiet. “You know, if Cooper were here, he’d probably be trying to sit on your lap right now. All 30 kilograms of him.”

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “Yeah? Sounds like a handful.”

Jimin grinned, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “He is. But he’s also a giant baby. Last week, he tried to hide behind me because he saw a pigeon.”

“A pigeon?” you repeated, laughter bubbling up despite the heaviness in your chest.

Jimin’s smile faltered, her tone turning sheepish. “Okay, so... I might’ve been a little scared, too.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, are you telling me you’re afraid of pigeons?”

Jimin groaned, burying her face in her hands. “It’s not a fear! It’s just... they’re unpredictable, okay? They move too fast, and they’re always staring at you like they know your secrets.”

You burst out laughing, the sound startling even yourself. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, I’m glad my suffering amuses you,” Jimin said with a mock pout, though the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her teasing.

“Seriously, though,” you said, your laughter subsiding into a grin, “a Greyhound and a grown woman scared of a pigeon? That’s a story for the ages.”

“Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve been on the receiving end of a pigeon’s wrath,” Jimin said, crossing her arms in mock indignation.

Her animated expressions and playful tone pulled you further away from the storm of emotions left by the call. The ache in your chest didn’t disappear, but it dulled under the warmth of Jimin’s company.

“Thank you,” you said suddenly, your voice quiet but sincere.

Jimin looked at you, her brows lifting in surprise. “For what?”

“For just... being here,” you said, meeting her gaze briefly before looking away.

A soft smile spread across her face. “Always.”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of lighthearted conversation and quiet companionship. Jimin didn’t push you to share more, didn’t try to fix what she couldn’t understand. Instead, she simply stayed by your side, her presence a steady reassurance that you didn’t have to face everything alone.

And for now, that was enough.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The café was bustling with life, the hum of conversation mixing with the clatter of coffee cups and the hiss of the espresso machine. You and Jimin had claimed a small table by the window, the sunlight streaming in and casting a warm glow on her features.

As always, Jimin had a way of making you feel at ease, her laughter contagious and her stories brimming with energy. But today, your mind was elsewhere, pulled into a spiral you couldn’t seem to escape.

It started when a girl had walked up to your table—a tall, confident woman with a dazzling smile. She greeted Jimin with an ease that spoke of familiarity, her tone playful as they exchanged a few quick jokes. You tried to focus on your coffee, pretending the interaction didn’t bother you, but the way Jimin’s face lit up as they talked sent a pang of unease through your chest.

The woman left as quickly as she’d arrived, waving goodbye to Jimin with a wink. Jimin returned to your conversation seamlessly, completely unaware of the way your heart was now hammering in your chest.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. Jimin wasn’t yours; you weren’t dating. She was just being her naturally kind and warm self. But the thought didn’t stop the flood of doubts that followed.

Why would someone like Jimin ever want someone like you?

You stirred your coffee absentmindedly, your gaze fixed on the swirling liquid. Jimin’s voice cut through your thoughts.

“Y/N?”

You looked up, startled to find her watching you with concern.

“Everything okay? You’ve been quiet.”

You forced a smile, hoping it looked convincing. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.”

Jimin didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she launched into a story about her friend’s latest antics, her animated gestures drawing a small, genuine laugh from you.

But even as you smiled, the doubts lingered.

--

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as your thoughts raced. Images of Jimin laughing with that woman played on a loop in your mind, each one twisting the knife of insecurity a little deeper.

You reminded yourself again that Jimin wasn’t yours. She had every right to talk to whoever she wanted. But no matter how much you reasoned with yourself, the feelings wouldn’t go away.

It wasn’t just jealousy—it was something deeper, more insidious. A voice in your head whispered that you weren’t good enough for someone like Jimin. That she deserved someone brighter, someone more put together, someone who didn’t carry the baggage you did.

By the time morning came, the weight of those thoughts felt unbearable.

--

Jimin noticed immediately when you met up that afternoon. She always noticed.

“You’re quiet again,” she said, tilting her head as the two of you walked along the canal. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

You nodded quickly, avoiding her gaze. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But Jimin stopped walking, her hand gently catching your arm to stop you too.

“Y/N,” she said softly, her eyes searching yours. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

You hesitated, your first instinct to deflect. But the concern in her eyes made it impossible to lie.

“It’s nothing, really,” you said, your voice shaky. “I’m just... in my head, I guess.”

Jimin didn’t let go of your arm. “In your head about what?”

You looked away, your gaze fixed on the water. “I just... I feel like I don’t measure up sometimes. Like I’m not... enough.”

The words felt heavy as they left your mouth, and you braced yourself for her reaction.

But Jimin didn’t look at you with pity or disbelief. She looked at you with so much care it almost hurt.

“Why would you think that?” she asked gently.

You shrugged, still unable to meet her gaze. “Because it’s true. I mean, look at you—you’re amazing, Jimin. You’re kind and beautiful and confident. You could have anyone you wanted. Why would you ever...”

You trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Jimin stepped closer, her hand moving from your arm to your hand. Her touch was steady, grounding.

“Hey,” she said, her voice firm but kind. “Don’t do that. Don’t compare yourself to anyone else. You’re amazing too, Y/N.”

You shook your head, your throat tightening. “You don’t understand. I’m a mess, Jimin. I’ve got so much baggage, and I’m not... I’m not like you.”

Jimin squeezed your hand, her grip warm and reassuring. “You’re right—you’re not like me. And that’s a good thing. I don’t want you to be like me, Y/N. I want you to be you.”

Her words made your chest tighten, the sincerity in her voice breaking through the wall you’d built around yourself.

“But what if me isn’t enough?” you whispered, the question breaking your voice.

Jimin stepped closer, her other hand coming up to gently rest on your shoulder. “Y/N, you are more than enough. You’re kind, and funny, and smart. You make people feel seen and heard. You make me feel... happy. Really happy.”

You blinked, her words sinking in slowly. “I do?”

Jimin nodded, her eyes never leaving yours. “You do. Every time I see you, every time we talk, I feel like my day gets brighter. You don’t have to be anyone else or do anything special—you just have to be you. That’s enough for me.”

The lump in your throat grew, but this time it wasn’t from sadness. It was from the overwhelming warmth of Jimin’s words.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice trembling.

Jimin smiled, her hands giving yours a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to thank me. I just want you to see yourself the way I see you.”

For the first time in what felt like days, the weight on your chest began to lift. Jimin’s words didn’t erase your insecurities completely, but they made them feel smaller, more manageable.

“Can we... just keep walking for a bit?” you asked, needing a moment to process everything.

“Of course,” Jimin said, her smile gentle. She let go of your hand, but only to fall into step beside you, her presence steady and comforting.

As you walked together, the canal glinting in the afternoon sun, you realized something important: Jimin saw you—truly saw you—and she didn’t run away.

Maybe, just maybe, you could start seeing yourself the way she did.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

Jimin had texted you the day after the call that had left you shaken. Her message was simple:

“I was thinking... maybe we could hang out this weekend? Just you and me? Nothing too fancy, just... a date?”

Your heart had skipped a beat at the word "date." It was the first time she’d said it outright, and though the thought filled you with nervous excitement, you agreed.

So now you stood in your apartment, nervously smoothing down your outfit, when a knock sounded at the door. You opened it to find Jimin standing there, a shy smile on her face—and a small bouquet of tulips in her hands.

“These are for you,” she said, her voice a little sheepish as she held them out.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “You brought me flowers?”

Jimin shrugged, her cheeks flushing. “I figured... I don’t know, I thought you might like them.”

A soft laugh escaped you as you took the bouquet, the vibrant petals a burst of color against the duller tones of your thoughts. “I do. Thank you, Jimin. They’re beautiful.”

Jimin’s smile grew, and she glanced down at her shoes. “I’m glad you like them.”

You invited her in, setting the flowers in a vase with water before grabbing your coat. “So, what’s the plan for this date?”

Jimin’s grin turned playful as she said, “You’ll see.”

The surprise didn’t last long, though. Instead of a bustling restaurant or a noisy café, Jimin led you to her apartment. The choice made your heart settle—it was thoughtful, quiet, and personal, exactly what you needed.

Her place was cozy and inviting, with soft lighting and a faint scent of vanilla. The living room was small but thoughtfully decorated, filled with plants and little knick-knacks that spoke to Jimin’s personality. A blanket was draped over the couch, and the coffee table was set with snacks, two glasses, and a bottle of wine.

“I figured we could keep it simple,” Jimin said as she slipped off her shoes. “Movies, snacks, maybe a little wine? No pressure, though—just whatever feels comfortable.”

“Perfect,” you said, meaning it. After the emotional turmoil of the past week, this kind of quiet, personal setting was exactly what you needed.

You settled on the couch, and Jimin joined you, a movie queued up but forgotten as the two of you started talking. Jimin had a way of making you feel at ease, her energy infectious and her laughter like a warm hug.

Hours passed without you even realizing it, the two of you sharing stories, teasing each other, and laughing until your sides hurt. But as the evening wore on, the warmth of the moment began to stir something deeper within you—a longing to share the parts of yourself you usually kept hidden.

Jimin must have sensed the shift because she turned to you, her smile softening. “You okay? You’ve gone quiet.”

You hesitated, your fingers picking at the edge of the blanket draped over your lap. “I’m okay... I think.”

Jimin didn’t push. She just waited, her presence steady and reassuring, giving you the space to find your words.

Taking a deep breath, you began. “I haven’t told you much about my past... about why I moved here.”

Jimin’s expression grew serious, her gaze never leaving yours. “You don’t have to if you’re not ready,” she said gently.

“I want to,” you said, surprising yourself with how certain you felt. “I think... I need to.”

Jimin nodded, her body angled toward you as if to shield you from the rest of the world.

“It’s my mom,” you started, your voice barely above a whisper. “She’s... she’s always been hard on me. Critical, demanding, never satisfied. Nothing I ever did was enough for her. And when I told her I was leaving, that I needed space, she made me feel like I was the worst person in the world for even thinking about it.”

Your hands trembled as you spoke, and Jimin reached out, her hand warm and steady on yours.

“She’d call me selfish, ungrateful,” you continued, your voice breaking. “She’d guilt me, make me feel like I owed her everything. And even now, when I’m here, she still calls and texts constantly, like she can’t let me go. And I...” You paused, swallowing hard. “I know I did the right thing by leaving, but I can’t stop feeling guilty. Like I failed her.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you blinked them away, but they fell anyway. “And it’s not just her. It’s... it’s everything. She’s in my head, telling me I’m not good enough, that I’ll never be good enough. And no matter how much I try to drown it out, it’s always there.”

Jimin’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, her touch grounding you. “Y/N,” she said softly, her voice filled with emotion. “I’m so sorry you’ve been carrying this. You didn’t deserve it—not then, not now.”

Her words broke something in you, and the tears came harder, spilling down your cheeks in a torrent of emotion you couldn’t hold back. Jimin didn’t say anything more; she just pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly as you cried into her shoulder.

For the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

When the tears subsided, you pulled back, your face warm with embarrassment. “Sorry,” you mumbled, wiping at your cheeks.

“Don’t be,” Jimin said, her voice firm. “Never apologize for feeling what you feel.”

You nodded, your throat tight. “I just... I want to feel loved, Jimin. Really loved. Not judged or criticized or made to feel small. I want to feel... safe. And cared for. Is that too much to ask?”

Jimin’s hands cupped your face, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Y/N, you deserve all of that and more. You deserve to be loved, to feel safe, to be cared for in every way. And I want to be the one to give that to you.”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. “Jimin...”

“I mean it,” she said, her voice trembling with sincerity. “I know it won’t be easy, and I know you’ve been hurt. But I promise you, I’ll be patient. I’ll prove to you every day that you’re worth loving, that you’re more than enough just as you are. You don’t have to do anything or be anything for me—you just have to be you. That’s all I need.”

Tears filled your eyes again, but this time they weren’t from pain. They were from the overwhelming warmth of her words, the kindness and love she poured into them.

“Why would you want to do that for me?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

Jimin smiled, her thumbs brushing away your tears. “Because you’re worth it. Because you’ve already made my world brighter just by being in it. And because... I think I’m falling for you.”

Her confession took your breath away, the weight of it settling in your chest like a warm glow.

Jimin took a deep breath, her hands still holding your face. “Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?”

Your heart swelled, a mix of fear and joy swirling inside you. But as you looked into her eyes, you saw nothing but sincerity and warmth.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Yes, I will.”

A radiant smile spread across Jimin’s face, and before you could process what was happening, she leaned in, her lips brushing against yours.

The kiss was soft and gentle, a promise in itself. It felt like the walls you’d built around yourself were finally crumbling, replaced by the warmth and safety of Jimin’s embrace.

When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, her eyes closed as she whispered, “You’re safe with me, Y/N. Always.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believed it.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

Life with Jimin was a series of small, joyful steps forward.

In the weeks following your first official date, the two of you settled into a rhythm. Weekends became sacred—a time for just the two of you. One weekend, you introduced Jimin to your favorite books, curling up on her couch as you read aloud together. Another, she taught you to make her grandmother’s favorite dumpling recipe, both of you laughing as you fumbled with the dough.

“You’re better at this than I thought,” Jimin teased, nudging you with her elbow as you successfully folded another dumpling.

“Natural talent,” you joked, feeling lighter than you had in years.

It wasn’t just weekends, though. Jimin had a way of weaving herself into your daily life in the most unexpected ways—sending you silly selfies in the middle of her workday, texting you goodnight every evening without fail, and making you laugh with her ridiculous dad jokes.

And you found yourself wanting to do the same for her. You started surprising her with little things—a playlist of songs you thought she’d like, a sketch of her dog that made her beam with delight, or simply a thoughtful text to brighten her day.

It was new, unfamiliar, but also wonderful. For the first time in a long time, you felt loved, cared for, and seen.

But as you were beginning to build something beautiful with Jimin, the shadows of your past refused to stay quiet.

It was a quiet Tuesday evening when your phone rang, the name on the screen freezing the smile on your face.

Mom.

You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the screen. But the part of you that still craved her approval won out, and you answered.

“Hi, Mom,” you said softly, your voice tinged with trepidation.

Her tone was sharp from the start. “So, you’re too busy to call your mother these days?”

You closed your eyes, the weight of her words settling on your chest. “I’ve been busy with work and... things. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” she snapped. “Do you even care about how I feel? Or is this just about you, as always?”

The accusations came quickly, each one sharper than the last. No matter how much you tried to defend yourself, to explain, she wouldn’t hear it.

“I gave you everything,” she said, her voice breaking into a sob. “And this is how you repay me? By running away, by abandoning me? You’re worthless. Selfish and worthless.”

Her words sliced through you, reopening old wounds you thought were healing. You managed to stammer out a weak “I have to go,” before hanging up, your hands trembling as you dropped the phone onto the table.

You tried to breathe, but your chest felt tight, each inhale jagged and shallow. The room seemed to close in around you, the weight of her words pressing down until you couldn’t think, couldn’t move.

Your phone buzzed on the table, but you didn’t look at it. You couldn’t.

--

Jimin frowned as she stared at her phone, her latest message to you still unread. She’d been texting you for over an hour with no response, and something about it didn’t sit right.

Normally, you’d at least send a quick reply, even if you were busy. But tonight... nothing.

She grabbed her coat, worry gnawing at her as she headed to your apartment.

When she arrived, she knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Her worry deepened.

“Y/N? It’s me,” she called out, her voice gentle but firm. “I’m coming in, okay?”

Using the spare key you’d given her just last week, she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

The sight that greeted her broke her heart.

You were sitting on the floor, your back against the couch, your knees drawn up to your chest. Your hands were clutching your head, and your breaths came in shallow, rapid gasps. Tears streaked your face, and your whole body trembled.

“Y/N,” Jimin said softly, dropping to her knees beside you.

Your eyes darted to her, wide and filled with panic, but you didn’t speak.

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice calm and soothing. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

She sat down beside you, close but not crowding, her presence steady and grounding. “Can you try to breathe with me?” she asked gently, demonstrating slow, deep breaths. “In for four, out for four. Just like that.”

You tried to match her breaths, but your chest felt too tight, the panic refusing to release its grip.

“It’s okay if it’s hard,” Jimin said, her voice unwavering. “Just keep trying. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her words were a lifeline, pulling you back, little by little, from the edge. After what felt like an eternity, your breaths began to slow, the tightness in your chest easing.

Jimin reached out, her hand hovering uncertainly before settling on your arm. “You’re doing so well,” she said softly.

The warmth of her touch grounded you further, and the tears started again, but this time they weren’t from panic. They were from exhaustion, from relief, from the overwhelming mix of emotions you couldn’t untangle.

Jimin didn’t speak; she just held you, her arms around you like a shield against the world.

When the tears subsided, you finally found your voice, though it was barely a whisper. “She called me worthless.”

Jimin stiffened slightly, but her embrace didn’t falter. “She’s wrong,” she said firmly, her voice filled with conviction. “You are not worthless, Y/N. Not even close.”

You shook your head, the weight of her words still pressing down on you. “It feels like I am. Like no matter what I do, it’s never enough.”

Jimin pulled back just enough to look at you, her hands cupping your face. “Listen to me,” she said, her tone steady and unyielding. “You are enough. More than enough. Your mom... she doesn’t see it, but that doesn’t mean it’s true. You are kind, thoughtful, strong, and resilient. And anyone who can’t see that doesn’t deserve to have a say in how you see yourself.”

Her words pierced through the fog of doubt and pain, reaching a part of you that still believed in the possibility of hope.

“I don’t know how to stop feeling like this,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

“You don’t have to figure it out alone,” Jimin said. “We’ll figure it out together. One step at a time, okay? You’re not alone in this, Y/N. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Her unwavering support, her presence, it was more than you’d ever dared to hope for.

For the first time that night, you allowed yourself to lean into her, to let her hold you, to let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as broken as you felt.

And as Jimin whispered words of comfort and love, you felt a glimmer of something you hadn’t felt in years.

Hope.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

For the first time in what felt like forever, you stood at the edge of your past, ready to confront it.

The past few weeks with Jimin had been a revelation. She had shown you love and care in ways you hadn’t thought possible. With her, you felt safe enough to begin unraveling the tangled mess of your emotions and experiences.

But there was one thing you hadn’t yet faced: your mother.

Every time she called, you felt the same pull—the ache of wanting her approval mixed with the dread of her inevitable criticism. But you couldn’t live like this anymore. You couldn’t move forward with the weight of her words dragging you down.

And so, on a crisp Saturday afternoon, you decided it was time.

Jimin was by your side as always, sitting with you on the couch. Her presence was steady and reassuring, her hand warm in yours.

“Are you ready?” she asked softly, her dark eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt.

“No,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I need to do this.”

Jimin squeezed your hand. “You’re stronger than you think, Y/N. I’m right here, okay?”

You nodded, drawing strength from her unwavering support. With a deep breath, you picked up your phone and dialed.

It didn’t take long for your mom to answer. “Finally,” she said, her tone sharp. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten you had a mother.”

You closed your eyes, steadying yourself. “Hi, Mom. I wanted to talk.”

The words came out calmer than you expected, but your heart was racing.

“Oh? You have time for me now?” she said, her voice dripping with bitterness. “How kind of you.”

You fought the urge to apologize, knowing it would only validate her behavior. “I need to say some things,” you said instead, your voice firmer now.

“Say what?” she demanded. “How ungrateful you’ve been? How you’ve abandoned me?”

Jimin’s hand tightened around yours, grounding you as you pressed on. “No, Mom. I want to talk about how I feel. About how your words have affected me.”

Your mom scoffed. “Oh, here we go. Playing the victim now, are we?”

You clenched your free hand into a fist, forcing yourself to stay calm. “I’m not trying to play the victim. I just need you to understand that the way you’ve treated me—calling me worthless, criticizing everything I do—it’s hurt me. It’s made me feel like I’ll never be good enough.”

There was a beat of silence, and for a moment, you thought she might actually listen. But then she spoke, her voice trembling with indignation. “After everything I’ve done for you? I sacrificed so much, and this is the thanks I get? You’re so ungrateful.”

The guilt hit you like a wave, but Jimin’s gentle touch on your hand kept you steady. She leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, her silent reminder that you weren’t alone.

“I’m not ungrateful,” you said, your voice breaking slightly. “I know you’ve done a lot for me. And I love you, Mom. I always will. But I don’t like the way you treat me. I don’t like how I feel when we talk.”

“How you feel?” she snapped. “What about how I feel? Do you even care?”

Tears pricked your eyes, but you refused to back down. “I do care, Mom. That’s why I’m saying this. But I can’t keep sacrificing my happiness just to make you feel better. I need space. I need time to heal.”

“Space?” she repeated, her voice rising. “You’re abandoning me again. Just like you always do.”

“I’m not abandoning you,” you said firmly, though your hands trembled. “I’m asking for space. I’m asking you to respect my boundaries. I can’t keep living like this. It’s not fair to me.”

Her voice cracked. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You’ll regret this.”

Maybe you would, but you also knew you couldn’t go back to how things were. “I’m sorry if this hurts you, Mom. But I have to put myself first for once.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Finally, she spoke, her tone cold and distant. “Fine. Do whatever you want. Just don’t come crying to me when it all falls apart.”

The call ended abruptly, and for a moment, you stared at the phone in your hand, the silence ringing louder than her words.

Tears blurred your vision, but Jimin’s arms were around you before you could fall apart completely.

“You did it,” she murmured, her voice soft and full of pride.

“It doesn’t feel like it,” you said, your voice trembling. “It feels like I’ve just lost everything.”

“You haven’t lost everything,” she said gently, pulling back to look at you. “You’ve just taken the first step toward finding yourself again. And I’m so proud of you.”

Her words broke the dam inside you, and you leaned into her, crying into her shoulder as she held you. She didn’t try to fix it, didn’t tell you to stop crying. She just held you, letting you feel everything you needed to feel.

When the tears finally subsided, you sat together in silence, Jimin’s fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back.

“I feel so... empty,” you admitted.

“That’s okay,” she said. “Sometimes you have to let go of what’s hurting you to make room for something better. And I promise, Y/N, there’s so much better waiting for you.”

Her words stayed with you as the days passed. Slowly but surely, you began to feel lighter. The guilt and pain didn’t disappear overnight, but they began to fade, replaced by something new.

Hope.

--

One sunny afternoon, you and Jimin took Cooper for a walk in the park. The greyhound trotted happily ahead, his tail wagging as he sniffed every blade of grass.

The park was alive with the sounds of laughter and birdsong, the crisp autumn air filled with the scent of fallen leaves.

Jimin reached for your hand, lacing her fingers with yours as you walked. Her touch was warm, grounding, and you felt a quiet sense of peace settle over you.

As you rounded a bend in the path, you spotted three familiar faces waiting by a bench.

Minjeong waved excitedly, her grin as bright as the sun. Aeri and Yizhuo were beside her, both of them holding drinks from the nearby café.

“About time you showed up!” Yizhuo called out, her voice teasing.

“Cooper needed to inspect every tree,” Jimin said with a laugh, giving the leash a gentle tug.

You couldn’t help but smile as you approached them, the warmth of their welcome washing over you.

As you sat down with them, Cooper flopped onto the grass, content and happy. Jimin’s hand never left yours, her thumb brushing softly against your knuckles.

For the first time in years, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Loved. Supported. Happy.

And as you laughed with your friends, Jimin’s hand in yours, you knew that this was just the beginning of something beautiful. a/n: this one was easier to write, probably because it hits a bit to close to home lol

[capitanology]

Heeloo! I hope you're doing well! If it's alright can I request husband headcanons for Jing Yuan, Ratio and Gepard?? Fluff and domestic things and just how they'd be as a partner? Thank you sm for your time!✨<3

hi nonnie !! thank you for the ask, i hope i did it justice since im not rlly good at headcannons <3

jing yuan

- very proud of his spouse, would likely take any chance to interject mid-conversation just to slip in a few praises here and there regarding you even though the topic has nothing to do with you: “oh, the mission was a success? you see, my spouse-“ “you’re having lunch at the cafeteria? well, my spouse made lunch-“ “that colour is a favourite of my-“ - yeah, you get the gist - and sometimes it’s not even intentional, it's just that the thought of you exists on his mind 24/7 so slipping you into anything he did or says is as natural as breathing for him - also would be 10x clingier than before—literally would be by your side every moment of time if not for his official general duties, which he sees as unfortunate because there’s nothing more important and as dire than being with you - adding on to that, i think he loves, loves, loves spending meal times or just resting around with you; both of you don’t have to necessarily talk, but just having your presence around gives him a sense of peace that he subconsciously or intentionally searches for—looking at your pretty face just makes it all the more better <3

dr ratio

- quite attentive, whether it’s for your needs or in general - i like to think that he cares about your well-being a lot, hence he tends to emphasize on taking care of yourself; will remind you to have a better sleeping schedule, take enough breaks, to not push yourself too much that it renders you incapable of doing anything afterwards - would try to ease your burden when it comes to juggling work, but allows enough leeway as he knows both your capabilities and limits; he will offer his assistance as seeing you stressed and overwhelmed is the last thing he wants, but he doesn't want to interfere too much to the point of coddling - may come off as arrogant or rude due to the way he phrases his words/intentions, but i think he’s actually just a softie—others may not see it as much, but it can be very obvious how his demeanor would soften despite his "tough/harsh" words whenever it comes to you - definitely loves spending quality time with you; just doing work side by side, sitting in the silence of each other's company, knowing that you're not anywhere else but right next to him

gepard

- i would say he’s quite devoted - can be a bit more on the reserved side sometimes, but that’s just because his love for you can overwhelm him and he doesn’t know what to do with it except just silently stew in it - would spend his day off just lying around in bed, taking the time to take in and appreciate the little moments he has with you since it can be scarce due to his busy schedule - id like to think that he would surprise you with little gestures, sometimes as a way of expressing his regrets for not being able to be with you for some time; giving you flowers, gifting a specific item that you’ve been eyeing, getting your favourite food when he returns home from a mission - also very affectionate, although he can be quite shy lol, but he lives for being able to touch you; nothing sexual (most of the time), just being able to feel your skin on his just affirms the fact that he’s finally back home with his lovely spouse, which he has missed dearly every single day

[wriothesleysgf]

wonderland— wriothesley.

★ : wriothesley is tired of your phone ringing. he's not going to let something like that stop him having fun.

cw : riding, teasing, exhibitionism, praise, m. m-sturb-tion, spit, fem reader.

"fucking angelic," wriothesley growled, punctuating the phrase with a slap to your ass. the sound echoed around the room, combining with the grunts and groans emanating from the two colliding bodies.

you continued to ride him as best as you could, though the pace that he was attempting to set was becoming too much; the man was essentially using you like a toy at this point. what had begun as you slowly grinding on his thigh whilst he finished up some paperwork had lead to his thick cock kissing your cervix as he gripped your hips tight enough that the indents of his blunt nails were visible.

"is my pretty girl struggling? why don't i take—" he began, but was cut off by the sound of your phone ringing. he ignored it initially, letting it go to voicemail. the caller didn't leave a message, so certainly it couldn't be important, right?

wrong. after the third call, wriothesley grabbed your phone from his desk and checked the caller id. he turned the screen to face you, and before even a syllable could pass your lips he had hit the answer button. he put the phone to your ear, hinting for you to take it and answer the call.

"y- yes, monseiur neuvillette? is everything okay?" you spoke in the most professional voice that you could muster, given that wriothesley's cock was still nestled within you.

"stay quiet, princess. you don't want your boss knowing how you really spend your lunch breaks, do you?"

your raised eyebrows soon turned into a warning glare, as wriothesley picked you up from his lap and put you onto his desk. with your back flat against the hard wood, he took a moment to see exactly how messy he'd already made your sweet cunt. even just with one finger traced through your sensitive folds, and you were forced to bite your bottom lip.

"is everything okay? are you feeling unwell?" the iudex queried.

you had to use every last ounce of strength to maintain your composure. "i'm perfectly fine, it's just a little cold, that's all."

wriothesley's smirk gave you the urge to slap it off of his face. he knew precisely how to drive you crazy, and it worried you. whilst trying to maintain the conversation with your boss, he continued to tease you.

he bent down to place a kiss to your swollen clit, and the short whine that fell from your lips was almost certainly audible on the other end of this call. if he did notice, however, he didn't mention it. nor did he mention any noises you made from the subsequent kitten licks to the sensitive bud.

wriothesley was enjoying this a little too much. he decided to go all out, lining his cock up with your puffy cunt despite the wide eyes from you— it wasn't a plea not to do this, no, but rather a look of shock that he'd go so far. in fact, it was turning you on even more. the risk of being caught was exhilarating, and had your slick dripping onto the desk below you.

"oh, baby," wriothesley cooes as he slowly pushes into you. "always take me so well, 's like your cunt was made for me," he punctates the sentence by collecting a fat glob of saliva in his mouth and spitting directly onto your clit. the combination of such a lewd action with his praise filled words never failed to make you weak.

with a few more harsh thrusts into you, your phone lay forgotten about on the desk. your whimpers became more prominent, and from the look in your eyes you were bordering on overstimulation.

wriothesley removed his left glove with his teeth, throwing it aside before putting two fingers to your lips. he didn't gag you, instead slowly allowing you to suck on his digits as a way to stay quieter— how considerate. you swirled your tongue around his digits, your hands both on his wrist. soft pleas came out distorted, though from the way that your cunt intensely pulsed, wriothesley knew you were close to cumming.

"think you can stay quiet, princess?" he chuckles. you nodded sheepishly, and he removes his fingers from your mouth. "good girl."

however, that trademark smirk start to appear again.

instead of going easy on you, he immediately targets your pretty clit. a couple of taps followed by a few strokes had you writhing around. wriothesley tutted a few times, unimpressed. "he can probably hear you thrashing around on my desk, darling," he reminds you, nodding towards your phone. you assumed he'd hung up, though the quieted calls of your name made it clear that neuvillette was still on the line.

wriothesley moved you around a little, pushing your legs up into somewhat of a mating press. his goal was to keep you still enough that you couldn't shift out of his reach as your highs approached. your ankles were at his shoulders, his body pressed against your thighs. the hard, powerful thrusts continued, and you were a blubbering mess. the man took a moment to slap your tits, always finding the way that your flesh jiggled incredibly attractive. with a pinch of your stiff nipple for good measure, he returned to his attack on your swollen clit.

"go on, baby," wriothesley cooed. "you know you wanna cum for me, yeah? let me hear it, princess,"

there were tears in your eyes from the overstimulation. with his thick cock consistently grazing over all the spots that made your back arch and the gentle touches to your cunt, it didn't take too long before your nails dragged down wriothesley's back and your thighs to begin to shake. you babbled something incoherent again and before you knew it, your orgasm came crashing down on you. it triggered the man's own high, and he shot his load deep inside of you.

he leaned over you, allowing you both to be close to one another as you caught your breath. wriothesley mumbled gentle praises into your ear and carressed your cheek, wanting you to feel as safe and loved as ever.

what the two of you were unaware of, was the absolute bliss being experienced on the other end of the line too. if one were to listen closely, they would hear the esteemed iudex's heavy pants.

[vhstown]

okay okay bit random but as a british person (yes im admitting to this) who lives around people who speak like hobie brown

PLEASE STOP WRITING HOBIE'S ACCENT LIKE HE'S HARRY STYLES 😭😭😭😭

(pls read below the cut)

you do not need to add an apostrophe every 2 sounds and make his speech unreadable we know he has an accent....

use it in moderation . a few sounds omitted are fine but please. you do not need to be doing 4D chess trying to portray every little quirk of his speech

a lot of the times if you over-do the accent it doesn't even sound right when you read it out? (to me it reads like an american or northern accent usually)

trust me we know how he sounds

OKAY OKAY bit of cultural trivia if you want to use slang you're probably gonna be looking at jamaican patois slang (EDIT: MLE or multi-cultural london english is the more appropriate term for his dialect! pls check the reblogs for a better explanation of it by somebody else)

in ATSV the only thing i can remember him saying is "mandem" and he tends to use other phrases like "man" and "my guy" to refer to others he's close with

not every piece of jamaican patois slang is commonly used in MLE

MLE is predominantly found in areas like south london or camden (where hobie is from)

hobie also seems to dial down his accent when speaking to people who aren't from his universe (my reasoning anyway)

his accent is actually very subtle compared to what i've seen irl

hobie is very witty and tends to speaks fast with a lot of filler words like "yeah?" and "alright?" and you wanna focus on things like word order and structure (for example the word "I" tends to be missing a lot so "i went to the cinema" would just be "went to the cinema" etc etc)

im not the best at writing hobie either and i wish he got more screentime but focus on capturing his personality rather than his accent pls

he's a teenager from a deprived area NOT A WHITE BRITISH HEARTHROB PLEASE STOP WRI'IN 'IM LI' 'ARRY BLOODY STOILES

sincerely a brit who really loves hobie but not so much the attempts at his accent

will reblog or edit with any other thoughts i have about this id appreciate any other british people's input too

PLEASE check out the reblogs on this !!!!

[larrythefloridaman]

thought about them again. sorry. it will keep happening

dont read the nccts then rewatch season one and go back to the nccts. worst mistake i ever made. So anyway let me pepe silvia at you about crimtoinette i have an essay prepared-

wasnt joking. If it were up to me this wouldnt be a link itd be a long post on here but the drafts function is not cooperating with me <3

Various stuff i drew while this analysis was in the making:

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Whispers

as a fellow adhd creative struggling to do my work this semester, id love if you could write roman angst with him struggling with doing work and executive disfunction and the feeling of failure that comes from that. – anon

would you be able to do one of roman being autistic? he stims, rocking, flapping his hands, he vocalises when stressed or happy, he has echolalia (repeating words or phrases), etc. but he has to mask around the others, especially for long hours of the day and that's harmful in itself. only around remus and thomas (if he goes to the mindscape) he feels safe to unmask? I dunno, something angsty around that like an autistic meltdown with after the wedding fiasco and with both remus and thomas being protective over roman, soft other sides and unsympathetic patton.. I'd love to read more of thomas being protective over roman and I'm in love with remus being the protective older twin. – anon

maybe a fic where roman makes a space in the imagination for virgil (or any side that wants to) to take a second to breathe but unbeknownst to virgil he uses that space a lot – anon

Could you write Roman angst where he is cursed by the Dragon Witch or some other imagination resident and tries to hide the curse from the other sides? – monkeythefander

I think it would be really silly but also angsty if there was an anxroceit miscommunication where Roman overhears Virgil and Janus talking and he thinks that they’re bonding over their dislike of him. So of course in traditional Roman angst fashion he’s like “welp, I guess I am a horrible person after all, but at least they’re bonding” BUT what Virgil and Janus were actually bonding over is the way Roman’s being mistreated by the other sides and they’re trying to figure out how to help him. – anon

A Roman who has been taught that he will only get good things if he is useful. Can you feel my brain rot 😅 – anon

hiiiiii could I request for some creativitwins with protective remus and roman angst please?? – anon

hi! I like rewatching the sander sides incorrect quotes and I noticed even in the normal sander sides videos, thomas tries to protect roman (esp when first meeting janus) so I was wondering if you could make a fic where thomas and remus protect roman from a bunch of stuff? like thomas backing up roman in discussions, thomas and remus patching up roman after a secret meeting was held with them two (I'd love to see more of remus going absolutely apeshit for his brother and thomas joining in) and ending with some soft fluff with all of them? but it's up to you!! – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-hatred, ableism, bruised ego (in roman's case, quite literal)

Pairings: gen

Word Count: 5397

"You're awfully careless with your tongue, boy," the Dragon Witch snarls, her fangs flecked with blood, "I wonder if you'd be so dismissive if you knew what the others thought of you." He doesn't have time to do so much as open his mouth before a blast of red light hits him square in the chest. After that, it's all he can do not to clutch his head and scream.

"I think he's getting worse."

"Oh, I know he is. Didn't you see him with Logan earlier today? Poor thing looked like he was about to burst into tears if Logan expressed so much as the vaguest amount of disappointment in him."

"He's Roman. He'll burst into tears if someone looks at him wrong in silence for a few seconds too long."

Roman whimpers. The jagged rocks dig into his back as he curls up tighter, hands cold and useless where they lie bundled against his aching chest.

***

"You're awfully careless with your tongue, boy," the Dragon Witch snarls, her fangs flecked with blood, "I wonder if you'd be so dismissive if you knew what the others thought of you."

He doesn't have time to do so much as open his mouth before a blast of red light hits him square in the chest.

After that, it's all he can do not to clutch his head and scream.

***

"Roman."

Roman's mouth snaps shut. Patton's looking at him with that smile that doesn't feel like a smile, where it's mostly teeth and tight lines and a glint in his eyes that reminds him of Remus's morningstar. He brings his hands back towards himself immediately. "Yeah?"

"I think that's enough for now, don't you?" He tilts his head. "I mean, you've been talking about—what was it? Hammerhead sharks?"

"Yeah, well, I started talking about those 'cause I think it's really interesting how many monsters are designed around the idea of—" he cuts himself off when Patton holds up a hand.

"Yes, well. You've been talking about it for close to an hour, and I think that's enough."

"O-oh."

"Yeah, kiddo. I know we've been working on you getting your thoughts out in a way that's respectful to people's ears and time, but maybe we should try that again, hm? Oh, I know you just get excited," he says when Roman's just about to mumble something along those lines, "but there are ways to be excited and still be polite, right?"

"Yeah."

"Come on, look at me when I'm talking to you. Don't tell me you've forgotten how to do that too."

Roman snaps his head up, stifling the wince at the jolt of pain that shoots through him as he makes himself make eye contact with Patton. "I—I didn't forget how to do that."

"I didn't say you did, Roman."

"Y-yeah, yes, you did. You just told me not to tell you that I've forgotten how to do that."

"No, I didn't, Roman." Patton's voice suddenly hardens, almost cracking across him like a whip. "That's not a nice thing to accuse someone of saying."

"But I heard it! I just heard it!"

Patton raises an eyebrow. "Did anyone else hear me say that?"

"Nope," Virgil says, not even looking up from his phone. Logan shakes his head, only glancing in Roman's direction before returning to the work in front of him.

"B-but I—"

"But nothing, Roman," and now there's not even a hint of false warmth left in his voice, "I thought you were doing better about this. And stop tearing at your hands, you'll hurt yourself doing that."

I wouldn't have to tear at my hands if you let me stim normally, he thinks but doesn't say because as much as he hates it, Patton's sort of correct right now.

"I think it'd be best if you went to your room for a little while, don't you?"

"…yeah."

"Good. You don't have to come down for dinner either."

His head jerks up as Patton turns to walk away. "Wh-what did you say about dinner?"

Patton doesn't turn around, but the line of his shoulders tenses. "I didn't say anything about dinner, Roman, what ever could you mean?"

"I just—I just meant—is it still okay if I come back down for dinner?"

"Why would I ever forbid you from eating dinner, Roman?"

Roman sinks out. Whenever Patton's voice gets all soft and dangerous like that, he needs to go. He goes so quickly he doesn't see Remus watching him from the top of the couch.

***

"Did you see him last week? Patton so much as waited to say something and he was stumbling all over himself to fix it like a misbehaved puppy."

"His eyes get so big and I swear to fucking god he whines."

"He actually whines?"

"Like a kicked puppy!"

"Of course he does."

Roman turns his head and bites into the plant growing next to his shoulder. Their laughs echo in his ears and he hates it, he hates it, he hates it.

***

"So I think I know what's going on—"

"Fuck!" Roman leaps off the bed and scrabbles around in the blanket, toppling over onto the floor as Remus cackles. "Don't fucking do that, Re!"

"But it's fun to scare you sometimes!"

Roman glares at him, going back to scrambling and solving his Rubik's Cube. "What do you want?"

"I wanna talk about the curse you've got hanging all over you and why the first thing you didn't do was come to me about it."

"I didn't even know it was a curse, okay? Curses don't normally hang around outside of the Imagination."

"Aside from the fact that that's bullshit, Ro—" Remus prods him with a toe— "you still didn't come to me."

"Yeah, well…" He twists the cube a little extra viciously. "Wasn't exactly in a place where I could talk about it."

Remus stops poking him immediately, quickly shimmying down to the floor and wrapping his arms tightly around Roman. The pressure's almost an instant relief, a gasp leaving his lips as his hands fall peacefully back into his lap. Remus sets his head on his shoulder. "Was it bad?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry, Roro."

"Wasn't your fault."

"Sympathy, not apology," Remus says quietly, scooting to get Roman's bulk between his knees so he can lean them back against the foot of the bed. "Do you at least know what it is?"

"I'm pretty sure it's some kind of thought-swap curse? Like—she said I would regret being so careless with my tongue if I knew what others were thinking, so…"

"So that sounds like she made it so you'd hear the bad things people thought about you."

"I think it's just what people think about me."

"Nope. Nuh-uh, can't be, 'cause then you'd've heard how awesome I thought your infodump about hammerhead sharks was."

Roman twists in his arms. "Really? You thought it was cool?"

"Are you kidding? I wanna go to Ollie right now and have him take us to that big coral reef near the shipwrecks so we can watch 'em swim."

"I don't really wanna go swimming right now, but maybe later?"

"Sure, Roro. Hey, let's go tell Thomas about it!"

"You sure he won't mind?"

Remus gives him a look. "Thomas loves your monster rants almost as much as I do. They're great for brainstorms even if Lolo's too stuck-up to wanna do it outside of Halloween season. C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, let's go!"

Roman laughs as Remus drags him down to the living room.

***

"You know, sometimes I really do think there's something wrong with him."

"Jeez, what tipped you off?"

"No, not like that, just—you know he doesn't talk about it to anyone, right? It's like he's making it easier for himself to be hurt."

"He's Roman. He bruises like a peach no matter what he does."

"Guess they don't call him the Ego for nothing."

"Hah! Yeah, like that was gonna be a shock to anyone who's spent more than thirty consecutive seconds in the same room as him."

Bruises bloom like violets across his ribs. Breath rattles out of his mouth. He squeezes his eyes shut and hunkers down into the foliage. No one will look for him here, perhaps they can leave him to ache in peace for once.

***

"No, really, I think that's super cool, Roman."

Roman beams, hands flapping in excitement. Remus chuckles from where he's lounging on the floor. "See? Told you, Roro."

"Yeah, yeah, shut up."

Thomas laughs. "Are you guys gonna go see if you can find any in the Imagination?"

"I think Ollie's seen a couple near one of the shipwrecks, I'm gonna ask him."

"Let me know what you find, I don't actually think I've ever seen one not on TV before."

"Wasn't there that one in the aquarium?"

"I don't think that was a hammerhead. And it wasn't that big."

"Well, if that's what you're interested in—"

"Don't start with me, Remus."

"You're no fun sometimes, you know that?"

"I don't know what to do with him. It's like having a child that refuses to grow up."

Roman whips around so quickly he almost brains himself on the coffee table. He can hear Thomas and Remus trying to ask what's wrong. His eyes dart around the empty room. But he'd heard Patton like he was standing right there—

"Roman? Hey, buddy, what was that about?"

"You can't expect him to be perfectly behaved all the time, Patton."

He jerks around again as Logan's voice rings crystal clear in the pause. Thomas and Remus look at him strangely, but he can't see Logan either. "What's—what's going on?"

"I don't know, Roman, what's—"

"I don't expect him to be perfect! I've given up on that a long time ago. I just wish he'd behave normally for once!"

"Stop it," he whimpers, clapping his hands over his ears and rocking back and forth, "stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it—"

"Ro," Remus murmurs, his voice all whispery and low the way it is when he shortcuts through all the noise to talk to someone, "Ro, it's just me and Thomas. You're in the living room with us. You're safe. Can we help you?"

"Make them stop! Make them stop it, make them stop talking about me!"

"Who's talking about you?"

"Come on, you can't tell me you're not annoyed with him sometimes too. What does he think he is, a child? A cartoon character?"

"Roman's mannerisms are his own."

"You don't have to be polite, Logan, it's not like he can hear us right now."

"I can hear you," Roman whimpers, his hands still clutching and tearing at his hair, "I can hear you, stop it, stop it, stop it—"

All of a sudden, his mind fills with white noise. Well, it's not white noise exactly, but it's the soft and quiet burbling of the lavender pools outside the stone castle and his shoulders relax instinctively. His hands stay tangled in his hair as he pants, spittle drying on his lips. Remus's voice murmurs something else to Thomas and then there's a warm, heavy blanket draped across his lap. He keeps his eyes closed until he's no longer about to cry.

"Roman," he hears Thomas ask over the burble, "can I come give you a hug?"

He nods. Thomas's arms wrap around his waist, his chin on his shoulder and oh, Thomas is so warm…

"Lean against me, that's it, I've got you." His hand presses warmly against his still-hitching stomach. "Shh, shh, you're doing really well. We're right here. We're not going anywhere."

"I admit sometimes it's more than a little off-putting."

He winces at Logan's words, dulled as they are behind Remus's powers, and Thomas shushes him immediately, asking what it is he can do to help. He just leans wordlessly into him, tucking his chin against his chest as he tries to pull his hands from his hair.

"Hey, hey, easy." Remus's hands cover his and coax them free, slow and gentle. "Can you hold onto me instead?"

He blindly twists his hands into the tulle at the front of Remus's costume, pulling him closer until their knees are mashed together. Remus comes easily, setting his chin on Roman's other shoulder. He takes a shuddering breath, smelling the sunlight still lingering on Thomas's shirt and the damp moss smell that Remus never seems to wash out completely. He's safe. He's here in the living room.

"And it's not like he has anything to show for it that would actually be useful."

"I would feel differently if he were actually able to get any of his work done, this is true."

"Hey, hey, Roro—"

"Shh, shh, buddy," Thomas says softly as he whines and curls in on himself, "you can talk to us. What's going on?"

"I keep hearing them—I can hear them—they won't stop talking about me, they won't stop—"

"Who won't stop? What can you hear?"

"P-Patton. And Logan. They won't stop—they won't stop talking about me. They keep saying I'm horrible and that I'm a child and I'm not—I'm not doing anything but I am! I'm trying, I'm trying so hard, I'm using all the tricks they keep suggesting and it's just not working, I sit there and—and I do it and I try—I try for so long and it's like it just won't come out and I can't—I can't just do it and make it happen if it doesn't want to go—"

"Roman, they're not here right now—"

"I know they aren't here! I can still hear them!"

"Okay, I believe you." Thomas holds him a little tighter. "And they're saying…they're saying they're upset with you?"

"They're saying they h-hate me."

"I don't think they hate you, buddy—"

"They do! They don't like how I'm not always perfect and how annoying I am and how long it takes me to get work done but it's not that easy and it's not like I can't—I'm trying so hard and it's not my fault that it's been getting harder and harder recently and I can't do anything about it—"

"Roman, calm down—"

"—and it's not like I don't hate myself enough for it already!"

The room goes silent. Remus's magic disappears. Thomas's grip stutters.

"…oh, Roman…"

"I'm sorry," he gasps, curling in on himself again as the shame splits him neatly from chest to navel, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

"Come here," Thomas says hoarsely, "come—just come here, Roman."

***

"Whoa. This place is cool as hell, Princey." Virgil steps out of the brush onto the stone path behind Roman, looking up at the towering trees. Flowering vines carpet the cave walls, drifting back and forth in the slight breeze coming off the crystal pool's surface. "What did you make it for?"

"You."

Virgil balks. "For me?"

"Well, sort of—sorry, that came out weird. I was thinking about that conversation we had about having just a soft space to breathe in and it, uh, made me want to make something like that."

"Holy shit, Roman."

"That's—sorry, I know that's kind of weird."

"No, no! That's really sweet of you. I, uh, I like it."

Roman beams. "You do?"

"Yeah, Roman, I really do. Thanks."

"You can come here whenever you want, okay? It's—it's a good place to be by yourself."

***

"My, Roman, you're looking splendid today."

"Just tell me what the fuck you want."

It pulls Janus up short, stopping him a few feet away. "Uh—"

"Look, we don't have to do the whole song and dance. We get it. You know I like compliments. We know I'm easily manipulated. We know you can always make me do what you want if you act like it's my idea or whatever. We get it. Just tell me what you want this time."

There's a few moments of tense silence. Then Janus clears his throat. "Roman, that's not what I meant."

"Not what you meant what? Not what you meant, you didn't think I'd figure it out? Not what you meant, you didn't think I'd call you out on it?"

"…maybe I just wanted to tell you that you looked nice today." Roman levels him with a glare so intense it actually makes him take a step backwards. "You know, you really can't pull off the whole intimidating look."

He grits his teeth to bite back the made you step back, didn't I? "Is that all you wanted?"

"If you keep acting like a brat, it might be."

"I'm not being a brat."

"I didn't say you were." His mouth curls up into a smirk. "Though, now that you mention it…"

He pinches the bridge of his nose. The only way out with Janus sometimes is through, and the more he gets himself riled up the longer Janus is going to toy with him until he breaks down and gives him exactly what he wants. "Look. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. You didn't deserve that. I'm having a bad day. I'm trying to work on the ideas, but I'm having trouble. No, I don't know why—and I'm trying all the things you guys suggested and they're not really working but I am trying them. Did you need me to do something for you?"

Janus just watches him for a long moment. Then he sighs. "I was going to ask if you'd be willing to swap dinner duty with me tomorrow."

Tomorrow. When he's already promised Patton that he'll have a talk with him in the morning. When he's already said he'll try and have everything ready for Logan by the afternoon. When he's going to have to sit through movie night without Remus because Ollie's pond needs to be cleaned and Patton already had words with them about Remus missing it, there's no way he'll let Roman miss it too.

"…yeah, I can do that. I probably won't be able to do anything fancy, though."

"That's alright. We all already lower our standards when it comes to your nights."

And that…that does it.

Roman whirls around, clutching his hands to his chest as he hustles down the hall, away, away, away from Janus and his silver tongue and his sharp words and the hurt. He shoulders past Virgil, who shouts in alarm, and doesn't stop until he reaches the door to the Imagination.

"What the fuck's wrong with him?" he hears in two-fold as he disappears through the door, one from the hallway he's just fled and the other inside, pounding against his skull.

"At this point, it might be easier to list what's not wrong with Roman."

***

"I just don't know what to do with him anymore."

"Oh, well, then we're all fucked. You knew how to handle him more than any of us ever did."

"Outside of Remus, I'm not sure that's true."

"Remus just eggs him on, that's not the same thing."

"You're right about that much."

Roman would love to say he's surprised. He really would. But hearing it like this, when he's forced to hear it for what it is, just feels like the sudden downpour at the end of the shittiest day to end all shitty days. To hear that he's never been anything more than a burden, a problem that needs to be managed, something that needs to be handled. Not someone that sometimes just needed a friend.

But…well, there's a reason he knew he could come here. Could hide among the vines, could sit with his back against the sharp rocks and cry and rock and scream and whine all he wanted without being found.

Virgil hadn't come here once since he showed him.

That really should've tipped him off sooner.

But Roman's just a stupid problem that no one knows how to deal with, so he didn't notice until he had to.

The Dragon Witch had been right.

***

"But seriously, all jokes aside, I'm getting really worried about him."

"Yeah, me too. He's stopped—I don't know exactly what it is he's stopped doing, but he's stopped doing it."

"I know…do you think we could try talking to him about it?"

"He just ran away from me when I tried to tell him he looked good, I don't know how well that's going to go."

"Okay, but did you, like, just tell him that or were you an asshole about it?"

"Virgil!"

"Janus."

"…okay, maybe I also wanted to switch dinner duty—"

"That's fucking why! It's hard enough to get Roman to believe we care about him, and then you go and do shit like that—"

"—but aside from that, I tried to ask him what was going on but then he just ran away from me. I don't—I don't know Virgil, I know he's going to be suspicious of me, but if I try and be gentle with him, that's just going to make him more freaked out."

"Yeah, but we gotta be better about it than whatever the fuck your shit show just was."

"I know."

"And we gotta figure out how to ask Remus about it."

"Ask me about what?"

"Holy fuck, Remus, don't do that."

"We're worried about Roman."

"You fucking should be, you assholes have been hounding him about shit he can't do for months."

"What do you mean, 'shit he can't do?'"

"You know, pretending he's a robot or some hell-spawn of an AI that can just churn out content whenever you fucking want him to. He's a living person, shit's hard for him sometimes too."

"No, not that—wait, Logan and Patton have been what?"

"Wait, what were you asking about?"

"Virgil—Virgil, I don't know if we should—"

"Janny, if you know something about my brother—"

"Calm down, put the tentacles away. Virgil and I were worried about how Patton keeps shutting Roman down when he tries to talk about things he's interested in, alright? Logan's worried too, he's—he's been trying to keep Patton distracted so he doesn't jump all over Roman."

"And the fact that Princey's been avoiding all of us more."

"But we didn't know about that, Remus, we swear."

"Princey told me he's been having trouble, okay? That's why I've been avoiding the Imagination recently, it's your guys's space, figured it'd be easier if I wasn't in there too."

"Is Roman okay?"

"No. He's really not."

"What can we do?"

"Remus! There you are, thank goodness—"

"Logan?"

"What's going on?"

"Why are you all wet?"

"I was in the Imagination and the wolf came and found me."

"The what?"

"Oh, fuck."

"Wait, no, go back, what wolf?"

"He's one of the twins's creatures—"

"He's not ours by any sense of the word and we're gonna have this conversation while we're running!"

"Will someone explain to me what's going on?"

"Logan, show me where—"

"Right this way—"

"Janus, I swear to god if you don't tell me what's going on—"

"I'll do it while we're running, like Remus said, now go!"

***

A low growl wakes him.

He stirs, still too cold, still too fragile, and a warm puff of breath soothes the worst of his aching limbs. He opens his eyes to see the muzzle in front of him. Jaws the size of him open to reveal long white fangs, a tongue a deeper red than the sort that flows through his veins, eyes several feet away yet still far too close as the wolf laps delicately at his beaten hands. With shaking fingers, he reaches out and touches the warm fur.

The wolf closes his mouth with another soft growl. His nose nudges gently at his sternum—though how gentle can a wolf the size of a house be?—and pulls away, silently asking if he can stand. He staggers to his feet. As he does, he tries to steady himself on the sharp wall and cuts one of his hands. The wolf growls, and suddenly his hand is between his jaws.

He freezes, and yet all that happens is the lapping of a massive tongue as the wolf cleans away the blood.

Several creatures in the Imagination are entities in and of themselves. They are capable of great feats that no normal creation should be and operate outside the rules the twins abide by. As such, it is not of great shock when Roman feels the curse energy begin to fade away, but it is with such a tenderness that his knees grow weak and he sinks down to the floor.

There is no condemnation in the wolf's gaze, for he knows Roman far too well, but there is a silent question.

"I couldn't," he croaks, "I couldn't. I—I just couldn't."

One of his fangs just touches the edge of his finger.

"I don't know. Didn't I—didn't I deserve it?"

Another growl, louder this time. It vibrates up his arm and into his chest and leaves such a burst of shame that he, forgetting who it is that holds his hand, tries to pull away but he's held fast. The wolf licks his hand again, soothing him, but does not let him go.

"It's so hard—it's so hard, I'm just so tired."

Jaws part, his hand is freed, now cleaned of blood. The wolf lays his head down in front of him, ears flattened, and nudges Roman's leg with his nose. Roman lays his hand there, trembling, and he blows a warm breath over him.

"…you went to Remus?" The wolf blinks slowly. "I…I don't know if I'm ready to see them yet. What if they—what if they're mean to me again?"

He winces at how much a child that makes him sound like, but the wolf only blinks again. There's a low thud from the entrance to the cavern and he glances over to see that his tail has completely covered the opening in the rock wall. The wolf will not let them in unless he believes they will not hurt Roman, and it is only that knowledge that gives him the strength to tell the wolf to move his tail aside.

***

He's sitting at the edge of the water when he hears them coming. He turns just in time to have Remus barrel into him, knocking him over with the force of hug.

"Oh, little one," he hears Logan say over the sound of his own tears, "I'm so sorry, Remus explained everything, I'm so sorry—I never meant any of it, not like that—I was only frustrated—"

"We don't hate you, sweetie," Janus says next, crouching in the sand, "we never hated you, you're not a burden—"

"Shh, shh…" Remus puts his mouth next to Roman's ear and fills his head with the soft sound of Ollie's squeaks and whistles. "That's it…that's it, Roro, it's all okay. You're okay, you're gonna be okay."

"Guys, give them a little bit of space, Roman just got un-cursed."

Shuffling in the sand. Roman looks up to see them all giving him varying looks of concern—Virgil at least tries to make a grimacing smile—oh, he's still crying—

"Ro, focus on me. Just on me, it's okay, let me squish you back into your body."

"You—you came, you came 'cause you cared?"

"Of course we came 'cause we care, Roro, that's why the wolf came and got us. Well—why he got Lolo."

"L-Logan?"

"Yes, little one." Logan inches forward just enough to card his hand through Roman's hair. "I was—I was worried, looking for you—Patton had told me you'd stormed off in a huff earlier and I knew that couldn't have been the whole story—"

"What?"

A look of confusion crosses his face before it softens. "Oh, Roman, I've never meant for you to think I only assume the worst of you…no, little one, I knew if you were upset then there had to be something more going on…and then you weren't in any of your normal spots and then the wolf came…oh, Roman…"

For he's still crying. He's still crying.

"R-Re—"

"Right here, Roro. Right. Here."

"I really didn't mean to make you so upset," Janus whispers next, "I'm sorry, little prince, forget about dinner. Don't worry about anything except making yourself happy for a little while, alright?"

"You don't—you don't hate my dinners, right?"

"What? No, sweetie, never!" Janus looks aghast at the thought. "Why would you believe that?"

"You said—you said you have to lower your standards when I cook."

"You said what?"

"Janus!"

"No—no, I didn't—I was going to tease you, sweetie, I didn't mean it—that's why I didn't say it, because I knew it wasn't the right time—oh, Roman, no."

"I'm gonna punch you in the face," Remus says solemnly, despite Roman's protests, "no, he knows he earned it."

"It's okay, Roman. It's just like the bitch slap you gifted me, he does this a lot."

"You'd think you'd do less punch-worthy things."

"Can't help it sometimes."

Virgil snorts. "You absolutely can, though. That's the thing. Don't listen to him, Roman, he's full of shit."

"Except when he's telling you that you look good."

"Except then."

Roman laughs. It's not really a laugh, it's a gross and sniffly thing that sounds like a dying goose, but it's meant to be a laugh and their faces light up like it's the best laugh ever. Maybe it is. He doesn't really know right now.

"Hey," Remus stage-whispers, "I think they'd really like to come see the hammerhead sharks with us."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It was super cool hearing you talk about them," Virgil says and Logan nods in agreement, "we're down to come if that's cool."

"Wait, what's this about sharks?"

"Oh, right, you weren't there. Guess Roman's just gonna have to explain it to you too," Virgil says with an exaggerated sigh and a wink.

"W-what about Patton?"

"Oh, Pat-Pat's currently having a talk with Thomas about things," Remus says offhandedly as he squeezes Roman tighter. "They'll be busy for a while yet."

"…you guys really wanna come see the sharks?"

"Yeah, Roro."

"Yes, please."

"I'm in."

"Sounds fun!"

***

At the next meeting, Roman proposes an aquarium visit.

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[minniesmutt]

     I know I’m a few days late to talk about this, but I still want to. I also want other’s opinions on this, and I do have a poll going for the week to see what others say, but regarding Stray Kids Offical Fan Club, as an international stay, it is not worth it in my personal opinion.

     I have seen other stays on social media talk about this as well and why they won’t be getting the fan club this year. I have only been a stay since January of 2023. So, I can only speak about the fan club from last year and not the year before. But I did want to share this in case I’m weirdly the only person you ever see talk about this or value my opinion in some way (please don’t; that’s a lot of responsibility on me, and most of my opinions come off as asshole-y)

     Most of what I have gathered as to why I-Stays are upset or not getting the fan club is as follows: pricing, lack of benefits, and difficulties with yes24.

     Starting with yes24, it is a little hard to navigate, especially if your device is translating it to your native language since not every language can share the same words/phrases when translating from one to another. Sometimes, I have to fill in the blanks in my head when translating from Korean to English on the site, so it makes sense in my head. But that’s not the main reason I’m seeing issues.

     Many I-stays are having payment issues. When they enter their card information, they get a lot of error pop-ups saying something is wrong—yes24 also will not let you use PayPal or any other payment site to pay—and I will admit I remember having this problem last year with the 4th-gen fan club, Stay Hideout. Along with the payment issues, overseas shipping for the kit is 2-3x as much as the kit. Now, the kit is a small box with photo cards, a photo book, ID badges, and lots of other little goodies that (at least for me) kinda just sit on our shrines/displays. The box is about $25 USD, and from what I remember, I paid about $80 last year.

     Some people may think, “$80 isn’t too bad. I’d pay that for all that stuff!”. And if you have the money to spend that, I applaud you for having your finances sorted out like that. Not everyone can afford that.  But Stays are also promised other perks within Fan Club. Part of that is Exclusive FANS content and concert perks—from what I have read, presale codes, fan club ticket prices, and stay zone. From my personal experience, I only got full FAN access— community posts, commenting, interacting with the boys, etc.— and the kit. I did not have presale codes for the tour— my stop is in May— and from what other stays have said on SM, there is nothing for those of us with the membership at the concerts like there is for K-stays. Paying way more in just shipping to receive fewer benefits because we live farther.

     FANS are a whole other thing. If you don’t know and are wondering why I said “full FANS access,” that is because last year when FANS first launched, everyone, fan club or not, could comment on the community. This had led to —I did not see this happening, but I did see the message JYPE decided to put out regarding this— hate being directed towards the boys on the public forum. JYPE then changed everything and made it so that you could only really do anything on there if you had a fan club membership. This did upset a few baby stays, from what I saw, who did want to interact but had joined the fandom after the recruitment period. The “exclusive content” they told us we would get was BTS photos and photos for their birthdays. Then, they would get shared by other stays not long after they were posted.

     Yes, you could sign up for events, but most of them are live, and not everyone can drop everything and get on a plane to Korea to participate in these events. Looking back, there were a few streaming events for their albums last year, and that was it. But those were then posted on the x/twitter account. So it wasn’t “exclusive”

     And with FANS, the only ones actively engaging with stay are Hyunjin, Seungmin, and I.N. Chan and Changbin for a day, Felix and Lee Know are very rarely there. Han posted one thing, and he was never heard from again on FANS. I (personally) would rather pay for their bubble subscriptions than have FANS access.

     Now, if you are okay with all this as an I-Stay, go ahead and buy that membership, babes! If you read this and go, “What the fuck?” I’m with you. I-stays are in the background as they cater to k-stays and j-stays, which I understand. Stray Kids is a Korean boy group first, and they do have Japanese albums and debuts (I do how that all works; I just see J-stays getting better perks than other i-stays, i.e., dome tour), so the company does focus on them more. But a lot of us I-stays are there for the streaming events. We are a very large part of their fan base, and we all know if they could do more for us, they would. Skz does not know us, but they do love us. If you just like having all their merch and stuff, it might be worth it in that aspect, but it's up to you. I just wanted to share what I saw and what I felt.

TLDR: Pay too much for two things and skz are barely active on the community app so it’s not worth it in my opinion.

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

whenever talk about level of autism (1/2/3) and support need labels (low/mid/high), see bunch people say how they don’t like levels because can’t be described by single number or single word, and how if someone want know what they need help with, just ask, disabled people know their needs!

by all means, allowed feel this way for self! this post not way say you must like autism levels or support need labels for self.

and yes! ableism & infantization like assume all disabled people not able know self, so it sensitive topic for many, and true that many disabled people do know own self & needs & disability & limits.

but do notice pattern: often, people who say this, more likely comparatively less language & communication struggle, comparatively less intellectual & cognitive struggle, and able be somewhat independent—people who can know and explain their needs in timely manner—which become problem when they go beyond talk about self and try speak for all autistic (or I/DD, or disabled) people. become problem when say “levels/support needs labels useless and gloss over details and ableist, just ask disabled people themselves we can answer for self.”

(human experience complex. no one number/word/phrase/label can perfectly explain all experience. this include levels, support needs, but also diagnoses like autism.)

here only some! reasons why some autistic people cannot explain struggle & what need help with, why need quick short easy remember word like autism level & support needs labels & severity (but other I/DD may feel similar, but wide and am not entire know don’t want generalize. people with dementia and similar may also feel similar) :

1. cannot communicate all

autism impact social communication ability. may not able explain all complex need and how exactly help. may not have language and word for all. may only able say few words. may only able know few words. may not have functional communication. may not have any word communication.

2. cognitive struggle, cannot remember all, cannot understand all

may be too often confused or overwhelm or brain not clear to explain. may not able know what specific need help with, just “need help.” maybe not remember all thing need help with. may not remember need explain. may not able understand need help. may not understand need explain need help.

3. too much, or take too long explain, too private for random internet, but need something

“level 3” “high support need” may not tell you what exactly need, but definitely tell you “will need a LOT more help than most people, need especially watch out for.” because “autism” not specific enough.

mid/high support need, level 2/3, moderate/severe, often struggle with so much and need help on so much, even if able perfect communicate & cognitive, actual explain can take very long, even hours or more and only touch basic. many half joke about name what don’t need help with faster.

during time sensitive emergencies, or “you don’t need all my medical info but you need know” situations, or “no time/space need be short & sweet summary” situations: ambulance, medical ID, lanyard, ER, quick medical intake paperwork, be/about be called police on, be see as suspicious / act ��weird.” all no time/space/ability say anything more than few words.

even outside that. it personal medical info. some don’t want name all. for some, say all bring out many emotions and trauma, like embarrassed or ashamed or hopeless.

why do you say autistic instead list all autism symptoms everytime? same reason why many people use & need autism levels and support needs labels.

4. specific for so called “outdated” autism severity: not all able change language. not all want change language. not everywhere have levels. for some, severity most accurate describe how autism symptoms impact.

so, no, not all autistic people, not all disabled people able know & explain self! not all able answer for self! some may only able use quick summary words like autism levels & support needs & severity, some none at all. some need others help explain, some need lanyard or other visual ID for everyone see explanation because we autism visible and everyone already see.

remember us

[notimetoparty]

Can I get an idea of how the plagued sillies habe their life cycle?

Like grub to pupa to full blown pest bozo

And its ok to make ocs right?? Id love to make a lil grub of my own..... I LOVE THIS AU RAAAA

i imagine they'd be grubs for a while. at least 2 years before they pupate... but they learn basic words/phrases and also get biiiig before they finally pupate. big fat grubbies. lots of biting too they are little teethers. they will absolutely fuck up anything they consider edible which is basically all the same stuff pest considers edible LOL especially wood (sorry mark you will get bit)

i don't think the pupation lasts too long. some months at most. but this is like. their most vulnerable bc they can't really get away if something goes after them. gotta protect those little things even more than normal

after that they're basically just normal toddlers! gotta raise them like you would any normal kid! just uh. you know. with an extra set of arms. and also a need to bite and eat everything. more so depending on the personality haha. especially since the few we're following for this au are hybrids (and, by extension, POOB'S kids), so they are a HANDFUL

ofc idk i'm not solid on all of this so take it with a grain of salt. also apparently canonically pest's mandibles shed like deer antlers so at a certain age they'd need to deal with that too which would probably make the poor kids panic the first time their fucking mandibles (the 'horns') fall off HEJDNDNDF

also yea that's fine have fun :] -flint

[tossball-stick]

heyy i saw your latest post about john's aromantic trutherism and i didn't exactly understand what you mean by that... could you explain? i too don't think he is actually in love with abigail if that's what you were saying...?

hiii!!! 1: thank you for asking about this im excited to write and analyze him in this way

2: plsplspls get the idea outta ur head that aromantic people cant love. noooo i couldnt have been misunderstood more. i wanna clarify that i do think john loves abigail. i just dont think that love is all that romantically motivated and ive got a few reasons to believe so.

3: uhhhh uhhh this ended up being like 2.5k words of analysis on john im sorry. no one on tumblr has asked me my thoughts about him before so this is the first time im talking about a lot of the stuff here and theres so much ive thought about johns character and its all messy and intertwined. itll be a little all over the place. i am deeply sorry.

okay. first reason? hes otherwise not much of a romantic. whether he wants to be or not, he falls flat on his face every attempt there is at being romantic with abigail (rarely do we see him be romantic with other women) is usually met with disdain, if there even are many to begin with. its rare to hear john say something pleasant about having a woman, and its rare to ever witness them having a good time together while in the gang. 

...up until the epilogue and john gets his shit together. but by that point i could argue further analysis as to how john isnt wholly himself by that point. hear me out.

john and arthur are two halves of one whole to me. its clear theres some sort of void in john after arthur dies, and he still holds the memory of arthur very very dear. he does his best to keep the memories alive, in fact, in a way to keep arthur alive. 

this starts extending to some kinda interesting parallels, though. writing and drawing in arthurs journal like he did, the hat being placed on johns head, john proposing with marys ring, the phrasing and tone of johns proposal is also shockingly familiar to arthur telling john that itd make him happy if john went to his family... after arthurs death, i find john taking on many of his traits even. he becomes more quiet and closed off, we see it even in rdr2 with arthur telking him to "knock it off with the whole being mysterious thing" or whatever. arthur claims its to act like dutch, but ill do you one better, its clearly just john idolizing his older brother and trying to be like him to be a proper man. this brings me to my next point...

the time period of rdr2!!! yayyy cowboys, the victorian era, Did u know. being a man was something you had to do in previous american and european cultures? this slowly started fading as we roll over into the 20th century, but there was a lot of emphasis placed on performing your role as a man. to be a good man, you must do xyz. otherwise, you are seen as immature, as a boy, as a child. 

throughout the entire series of red dead redemption, both 1 and 2, theres a lot of stuff pointing towards jogns struggle to Be A Man. arthur and dutch frequently refuse to let him grow up, still calling him "little john" and still treating him like hes a rowdy unruly boy that needs to learn better, not a man who should know better. hosea is the only man treating john like hes a man, and even then id say hes fairly lax with the guy. only as the story of rdr2 progresses do we see arthur start to shift his view towards john. not as a boy to stay a boy, because the gang isnt gonna be around forever. john cant keep being a boy. he needs to become a man, take care of his family. 

working off a distinctly gentleman influenced view of masculinity, johns inability to be a man is almost directly tied to his inability to be a proper romantic for his wife. compared to arthur, who is seen taken women on dates and flirting with them just to make them laugh at times. hes dancing with the ladies and helping them up and down the coaches, wagons, and horses. john like. just barely remembers to do that for abi in the epilogue. again, his failings to be a true romantic are tied with his failings as a man. 

in rdr1, this even extends to bill having the bit of dialogue, "you always were a scared little boy!" continuing to imply that john is not a man, hes never been a man. the only reason we can read him as a man Now is because we are going by arthurs definition of manhood. we can extend this further and say bill still views john as a boy because john does not live up to bills expectations of manhood- while arthur may view being a man as something chivalrous, more gentlemanly, bill clearly views masculinity as power and violence, without much to do with women. john does not live up to that, to bill, until the end.

if you read "masculinity" as "being romantic and chivalrous towards women", then, as john fails at being a romantic, he too fails at being a man. there are a lot of other ways john is immature and childish but this is a really easy one to point out if you know the time period and just how much emphasis was placed on both romanticism and manliness, and how they intertwined.

third reasoning for aro john: his family wasnt his for so much of his life. this one is another one that needs a bit of elaboration i fear.

the story of john and abigail getting together is simple enough. she joined the gang at 17 as a sex worker, slept around with some of the gang, then for one reason or another, very clearly believed that the pregnancy was johns. john runs away for a year.

in this time, we dont know a whole lot about what gang life was like without john. however, with arthurs comments about marrying abigail himself and loving her, and his close relationship with jack, i think its pretty clear arthur was the one being a man in johns place. when john left, there was a john shaped hole arthur had to fill. (i also like to think this because the potential misery of arthur having to lose his family a second time once john returns is fun to me.)

even in the story of rdr2, we see john Love and Care For his family, but its never in the same, romantic way arthur seems to involve himself in abi and jacks lives. john will defend them with his life, but when it actually comes to pulling himself up by his bootstraps and being a father or a husband, he kinda just drags his feet and gets lost. he has to be told to reunite with his family at jacks party, despite, in my eyes, his love for jack being very clearly displayed while they were looking for him. 

this is only bolstered by the conclusion of rdr2, with john and arthur on the mountain. arthur, in all his holy parallels, like jesus passing the virgin mary off to john the beloved, arthur tells john it would make him very happy if [john] went to be with his family and left. arthur is passing his family off onto john, the same as jesus passed his family onto saint john. (this one hits harder if you know the rest of the "arthur is jesus" parallels and symbolism but i feel like those would be more impactful as a web weave, and i cant make one right now haha. most obvious one i can think of to support this though is arthur being a scapegoat, dying for the gangs sins.) remember these points they are the most important and will come back later.

reason number four: "but javier-!" shhhhshshsh lemme talk. yes. john is infinitely more intimate with javier than abigail. however, again, we must take the time period into account.

not that far off from many disgusting redpill communities today, back in the 1800s it was typically expected for men to socialize with men and women with women. there was a certain level of bonding you only had with your wife, as well as a certain level of bonding you only had with the men who were close to you. 

i have got to grab this fandom by the shoulders and say rockstar did not make these men as affectionate as they should have been with each other, and thats completely platonically. this is taking romance out of the equation, these men considered each other brothers and family. they were all in a cult together. they would have been very close, and also very affectionate! they would confide in each other and hold each other and cry to each other. they would make gifts for each other and sing and dance together. you can at least see them all pass around beer bottles between each other.

do i think john and javier are closer than most? yes absolutely. do i think javier is in love with john in some way? yes absolutely. do i think its romantic? ehhh maybe. do i think john loves javier? yes absolutely. do i think its romantic? ....noo not really. their whole dynamic reads as one sided through and through to me. even if they ever got together im sure they were quickly apart again, and i doubt the relationship would have been fulfilling in the ways javier would want, leaving him longing still.

the "ive always loved you, even now" immediately funneling into a crate being shoved onto john to knock him over can also be metaphorical- javiers love is disarming to john Because he does not know how to react to it. hes never known how to react to it. hes never known how to react to love from anyone, because "love" seems to feel so much different for everyone but him.

reason ff. fiiiiive. dear god. im sorry for this being this long: john loves. he clearly loves very hard. he was clearly wrecked by arthurs death, he would clearly crawl through hell for his family, he was clearly hurt because his love for javier eventually stabbed him in the back. however, to me, a lot of this love feels similar to the love john has for dutch, or arthur, really. its familial, its platonic, it sure as hell isnt romantic. (even if the games themselves like to joke about it being so lol.)

its just clear to me that he loves. he cant not love jack and abi after everything hes done for them. he cant not love javier after being so close for so long. but in the same vein, he cant not love dutch for the same reasons. ysee what i mean? his devotion to his wife and child feels identical to the devotion to dutch, compared to arthur, whos devotion to eliza and isaac directly went against his devotion to dutch.

much like with dutch, where john was still seen as a boy, he will ferociously do the big things for his family (saving jack, defending the ranch, tackling gangsters and robbers). he will almost always fail to do the little things that would make him a true man, though. yknow. winding down, relaxing, just working, not getting involved in fights. spending some time with his family maybe. 

he can shape up and be good, he just never does. 

and i think thats why hes so torn between leaving on his own, leaving with his family, or staying with the gang. theres no difference between romantic, platonic, or familial love for him. when arthur tells him to go be with his family and john replies "youre my brother" its not only announcing arthur as family, but i think it only reinforces that blurred line of what love is for john. "i love you the same as them, why must i leave you behind? if they are family and i love them, then you too must be family, for i love you."

point six: i hope you remembered the first few points like i told you to. you did remember right

this brings us back around to john not being a man by not being a romantic, arthurs family being passed off to him, and also john not wholly being himself later on. in the epilogue, between 1899 and 1908, we hear about how john has been unable to avoid trouble and has them on the run still. whenever abigail asks something of him, he instead goes and does what he wants. its only after she leaves him (ultimate failure of being a man) do we see him start to shape himself up again, and i would argue this shaping up increases substantially after he reunites with charles. charles sets him on the right path and reawakens that memory of arthur. i imagine being close to blackwater also helps here. id argue due to charles' apparent closeness with arthur, and then sudden closeness to john due to john being all thats left of arthur... it makes john also feel like hes all thats left of arthur. i believe after speaking with charles and thinking to himself, he decides to fulfill the one dream arthur had, seemingly, at the end: take care of the family he had lost. well, eliza and isaac are six feet in the dirt so next best option: abi and jack. 

john starts to become quieter and more in his own shell- by rdr1 hes struggling to even really ask people for help with the most basic things. he becomes a lot more of a romantic speaker. he had always used fancy words with the gang, but never with charismatic purpose in the way i feel he does in rdr1. he starts making the decisions he thinks arthur would make. as a result, the hole that arthur left behind when he died, does not get filled by john. instead it simply gets filled with whatever arthur john can muster from within himself.

id also like to bring up john being the favorite, but not the golden boy. he was the youngest and most spoiled, but he was not the one dutch turned to for just about everything. he was still living in arthurs shadow, so i imagine all of that also plays a role in johns choice to live like arthur to get his family back, to be a man. he failed at being a man by his own merits. arthur was a real man by his own merits, lets just do what we've always done and look up to our older brother about it. copy what he does. clearly hes got it all figured out, even though you know he didnt, after reading the journal. 

this all is finally bolstered by john making the choice to kill micah and repeat the VDL cycle of violence, which ruins the perfect life he made for himself. he makes another decision HE, not arthur, HE would make, and thus has to deal with the consequences. 

in conclusion: i think john loves a lot and very hard. hes passionate about these people. but in his own words towards javier that start to become readable as projection, "hes a cynic that wants to be a romantic" and "hes all passion, no love ('no love' being how he perceives it, due to the views of those around him. he loves abigail and jack, he loved arthur, though because his version of love was different than theirs, its not read as love. therefore, he has none in his own eyes)." 

all of this coupled with a detached attachment style that leaves him cold and distant leaves him being tugged along in romances he truthfully does not feel the same about. he says he does, because he loves, but he doesnt know why the love isnt the same. so, clearly, since he loves, he must want the romance. he has to perform it for love regardless of if he truly does want romance or not. if he loves, he must be a romantic, and hes failing at being a romantic, so he cant be himself. he must be someone else in order to convey his love to his family.

i hope i got everything across alright ^-^ feel free to ask questions or send more asks ive got plenty more where that came from

[bonefall]

Clanmew Expansion Pack: Deer & Co

A guide both to the Clan Culture concept of "deer" as a classification, how several species are perceived by Clan cats, as well as a glossary of Clanmew terms for their behavior.

[ID: A red deer stag stands proud next to the word, "KLEKA." Squirrelflight stands next to it, thinking the phrase, "sskif peeg-en-aayoo nomn." Roughly, "I want to eat that butt," directly, "Want: beacon-of-red stag I-will-eat"]

There are six species of "deer" (Kleka) that Clan cats see on a regular basis, five of them titanic giants that are too large to hunt as adults, and one of them just small enough to be targeted. A kleka is defined as, "a fast herbivore with long legs, ending in hard hooves."

All types of deer are big animals, with even the smallest being larger than a cat. They're most often seen in forest or open meadows, so because of this, they're typically associated with ThunderClan and WindClan.

The six species that Clan cats consider a "deer," listed with their human terms and Clanmew translation;

Red Deer (Cervus elaphus) = Aug (default) & Aayoo (stags during rut in late summer to early winter)

Fallow Deer (Dama dama) = Niaa (default) & Gruag (stags with full antlers)

Roe Deer (Capreolus capreolus) = Aeur

Muntjac (Muntiacus reevesi) = Maa'ar

Horse (Equus ferus caballus) = Ee'ee

Sheep (Ovis aries) = Baa (default) & Bing (bell wether)

"Hey hold on a minute!" You cry, "Those last two aren't deer!"

Go ahead! Try explaining that to a cat who doesn't even know what cladistics are! It eats plants, it has swiveling ears, it has long legs and hooves, and it runs fast. What else could such a creature be? KLEKA IS KLEKA.

(Note: The Chinese Water Deer and Sika Deer are also seen in England; however, not as far north as BB's modeled regions, ergo they are not represented by Base Clanmew.)

But for the sake of organization, this guide will only cover the 'true deer,' reds, fallows, roes, and muntjacs.

Before getting into specific detail about each species, first, here's a couple more general terms for various parts of these animals.

Antler = Grek Branched, pronged horns that grow on male deer, bursting from bloody velvet. Muntjacs don't grow new antlers, but they never lose their 'velvet' either. Shed ones are valued for construction projects. A doe is an antlerless (grekwaro) deer; a buck is an antlerful (grekwang) deer.

Velvet = Gawrek (Meat + Antler) The meat that sheds off a fresh antler. Has been brought to my attention that this is full of estradiol, so, this is a very useful herb for Clan cats to use for feminine hormone treatment! For the velvet texture, "qefyyn", see here.

Horn = Greksh (Antler + Shell) Seen exclusively in sheep, named for the snail shell-like shape and fact that, after death, the horns are hollow. A cow also has greksh, but this currently goes undiscovered. NOTE: A generic horn, like the spines on a hedgehog or spikes on some insects, are called "kik"

Hoof = Kopka The hard stone-claws on the end of a Klek's leg; also seen on two other special non-klek animals; hogs and cows.

Beacon = Peeg When social deer are alarmed and running away, they follow the white flashes of each other's butts. Rabbits also have a beacon in their puffy tails! Clan cats assume that a horse's strange, hairy tail is just some sort of special beacon. It can also mean "rump," as in "rump roast."

Fawn = Myaa A baby deer that hides in grass, and does not run when approached.

Yearling = Mween A baby deer that follows its mother's side, and is now able to run if chased. The offspring of sheep and horses are already Mween just few minutes after their birth, though Clan cats don't encounter them on a frequent enough basis to have unique words for them. If used in a name, feel free to translate as 'foal' or 'lamb' at your discretion.

Herd = Klokok A large group of deer, usually only seen during rut, or in the case of horses, behind fences. Mostly used in the presence of an aggressive stag of some sort who will attack a Clan cat who bothers his does.

[ID: A red deer stag and a red deer hind, with a field behind them]

We start off with the largest wild animal on this list, and the biggest creature that Clan cats see on a regular basis; the Red Deer.

The rut season is from late summer to early winter, and is the only time in the year that stags have 'antlers' which they use to fight other males for control of a herd. This is reflected in Clanmew; most of the year, all red deer are Aug, the sound of the 'bark' they use to communicate with each other.

ONLY when antlers start coming in do the stags become identified by the other term; Aayoo. Aayoo fill the forest with loud bellowing and clashing as they face off, with some Clan cats even taking the opportunity to watch these titans brawl just for entertainment.

Some Aayoo even have a distinct "Raofa" (lion mane) or "Gaofa" (cravat, tiger mane), which associates them with the legends of the Great Clans. But, eventually, the Aayoo sheds its weapons, and returns to being an Aug before the frost sets in.

They are far too large to be hunted, and most Clan cats would find it dishonorable to take their fawns if they are found hidden. They are a breathtaking and honored animal... though they do look delicious, if you ask Squirrelflight.

[ID: A fallow stag shows off in front of three does, who hold up signs with various ratings. Nightstar watches on, unimpressed.]

Up next is the deer considered the most beautiful by Clan cat standards; the Fallow Deer.

Just like reds, fallows have a "default" word for those that aren't sporting any antlers; "Niaa." The call of a fallow buck is best described in English as a 'belch,' in Clanmew, they call it "Gruag."

Their behavior is quite different from red deer; instead of one male who fights off any challengers for control of a harem, they have what we call a "lek" system. Gruag will gather in one part of the territory to fight and show off against many rivals, and the Niaa come to this place to watch and pick who they like best.

side note: this is a really rare system to see in mammals and fallow deer have been studied for how unique this behavior is

They come in lots of different colors, from white, to tawny, sometimes even being such a dark brown that they appear black. These colors are beloved, noted as if StarClan themselves like to practice painting on their coats. On top of this, they're the most numerous species of deer to see.

All of these things together gives fallow deer a reputation for being "dramatic" and "fancy" by Clan culture standards, less honorable than the powerful red deer but just as noble. However, this means that their fawns are not treated with the same careful reverence as those of reds, and snatched whenever they're found hiding.

[ID: A roe deer stands alone, menacingly, with a row of telephone poles behind it]

Roe deer act VERY differently from their larger cousins. A mostly solitary animal with only the presence of antlers and a smaller beacon marking a buck from a doe, Clanmew has only a single word for them; "Aeur." The sound of their very offputting 'alarm bark'.

Opportunists, roe deer will live just about anywhere they can find a small amount of forested cover, meaning they'll happily find room in just about any territory except WindClan's. In the Lake Territory, they're particularly fond of the places where fallows and reds don't have enough space, such as the SkyClan conifer patch.

Clan cats find them deeply unsettling. Though smaller than reds and fallows, a roe deer is still as large as three warriors stacked on top of each other. Males immediately re-grow their dagger-like horns as soon as the old ones fall out, never fully returning to the 'default' form. And, worst of all...

They have the same crepuscular behavior as cats do, active at dawn and dusk. Females typically raise two fawns and manage their own territories, much like a rogue. They even create simple nests which they sleep in every night.

The Clans try to keep away from them, unless they're truly starving. There are tales that those who don't believe in StarClan are doomed to exist as roe deer in their afterlives.

[ID: A warrior is unsettled by a barking roe deer. It says, "ssoen his ssarababa," roughly, "holy shit," directly, "stars, shit they-say"]

[ID: A muntjac walking through marshland, being stalked by Stumptail]

Probably not an animal you were expecting to see in England, huh? The Reeves' Muntjac has been an invasive problem since the 20th century, rapidly spreading across the island. Like roe deer, males have antlers while females do not, but there aren't enough differences in behavior for Clan cats to have a dedicated word for the two forms.

So, a muntjac is simply known as a "Maa'ar."

These little buggers will eat just about any plant matter, which can make them quite destructive. Bark, grass, fruits, leaves, anything. Slightly larger than a fox, their only predator is Clan cats, who consider them to be a prized quarry. Their skin creates some of the highest quality leather in all the territories, and their horns and 'tusks' are valued for decorations.

Though solitary, they can still put up a fight. Those fangs and horns aren't just for show; they can gore and kill an unwise hunter, and if that fails, they're much faster than their cutesy little loaf-shape suggests.

They're unique for many reasons, but especially in that they like wet areas. So, unlike the other types of deer, the muntjac is most often seen by ShadowClan and RiverClan. Since RiverClan doesn't have the same taste for mammalian meat that ShadowClan does, in the Lake territory, sometimes muntjac hunting rights cause conflict between the two neighbors.

[jadelynlace]

Learning to Walk Again⎮Ink Drinker Deleted Scene⎮Modern Vikings AU [Ivar x F!Reader]

Find more Ink Drinker here.

Author's Note: This takes place somewhere between Chapter Six, and Chapter Seven, and as someone who is only a provider for patients pre-hospital, this defienetly pushed me out of my comfort zone. (And was likely why it took my so long to write again.)

Content Warnings: Medical settings, Ivar being reluctant.

Word Count: 2600+ words

“Giving you love right now, Ivar, seems like a desperate act,”

It intoxicates him, lying in the cot; and having seen the abyss he’s falling towards up close, he still refuses. Floki sits on the other side of the room, painstakingly watching Ivar stare at the ceiling, at the world just beyond his window. He’s watching him waste away; pushing himself up on few occasions to readjust, but he refuses food. Refuses help. He just simply refuses.

“The only way I am leaving here, Ivar, is if you get up and escort me out,” Floki has told him, calmly. 

“Do you want my lunch?” Ivar asks dryly. Floki on shakes his head. “You’ve been here for days,” He tries.

“As have you,” Floki starts. “The only difference is, Helga has packed me food. You know how she gets,” 

“Go home to her,” Ivar grumbles.

“No,” Floki replies, and it’s firm. Reasonable. Steady—what Ivar needs right now. His eyes are still closed as he speaks, head resting back against the wall. Floki never sleeps, Ivar is sure of that. He only rests. 

“I don’t want to break up your marriage because of this. I’ve already lost Y/N,”

“You fight for what you want,” Floki simply says. “And, if you would look at any other place than outside your window, you bastard, you’d notice, she’s been in the hall,” Ivar turns his head quickly at that. But he knows, Floki never lies. 

You’re there, propped up in one of the most uncomfortable chairs you’ve ever sat in, your sweatshirt bunched into a makeshift pillow as you scroll on your phone. You’re still in your uniform, and you’ll probably stay in it until your next shift. There’s a single water bottle on the ground, and as Ivar watches you, a nurse stops at your side. She offers you something to eat and you accept it. Because she knows you’ve been here for days, too.

“Thank you, Thora,” You say softly and your throat is dry. Dry from misuse, dry from crying. Dry.

“You’re alone today,” She remarks, and takes the set next to you. Your eyes watch her, trailing from your phone to her face before dancing down to her ID badge, clipped to her scrubs by a cartoon pizza slice, complete with a smile. 

“Yeah, his brother wanted to get some sleep in a place that won’t cause him irreversible spine damage,” You hum, watching Thora split her sandwich into two pieces.

“You might want to try that too,” Thora says softly, handing you your half. “They seems really close,”

“They’re twins,” You state. “They were made that way,” You snort. “We uh, we worked his crash together,” You then tell her.

“Wow,” Thora answers. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like,”

“I couldn’t tell you, either, I haven’t—haven’t processed it yet,”

“You will in time,” She tells you. “If you don’t die from exhaustion, or spine damage first,” She teases you, and you snort.

“I didn’t get to be where I am without being determined,” You answer. “Chief didn’t raise no quitter,” And that phrase alone makes you smile. 

For a moment you wish he was here; everything makes sense with him around. Your drawing he handed you is still in your pocket, and every so often you find your fingers gravitating towards it. Like a toddler and their favorite blanket. It makes sense. Just like everything makes sense in the bay at the station. You can’t remember how many times you’ve sat on those floors, even prior to your career, just to find some piece of mind. That warmth of nostalgia from the cool touch to the concrete; and the smell—one you’ve never found anywhere else. How your home smells, only to you. A scent you could notice any moment, but it would only make sense in that one place. You’d wheel Ivar there in a heartbeat if you thought it would have the same affect on him.

“If he doesn’t start eating soon, we’ll have to place him on a feeding tube,” Thora suddenly admits. 

“I know,” You say. 

Ivar watches you converse, not able to know what you’re saying but with the expression on your face, he learns it’s nothing pleasant. You’re paler now than he remembers, there’s no color to your cheeks, you’re gaunt, you’re simple existing as he is. 

That’s the moment Ivar realizes it. If this kills him, it’s going to kill you, too. 

It’ll kill Floki.

It’ll kill Hvitserk.

It’ll kill Aiden.

It’ll kill his mother.

It’ll kill you. It’ll kill the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with. 

Inhaling suddenly, a panic seeps into Ivar—as if something has grabbed him, holding him under water and his screams only bubble to the surface. Sitting up quickly he grips his bed sheets, the monitor to his side beeps rapidly to announce the anxiety and it draws Floki’s attention. It draws Thora’s attention, and with a bite of turkey in your mouth, you look up at the man, with panic etched into his features, he is staring back at you.

“Ivar?” Floki says, and even you notice that this is concerning to him. “Ivar? What’s going on?”

“I—,” And out of all the languages he can speak, none of them want to trickle off his tongue. Thora stands in anticipation and you only put your hand to slow her down.

“Leave him be,” You finally say after swallowing your bite. “Floki’s the best thing for him right now,”

“Not if he’s having a serious problem,” Thora answers, looking down at you.

“He’s not,” You reply. “I know that look,” You tell her.

“I can’t kill her,” Ivar finally says.

“Ivar…?” Floki starts.

“Y/N,” Ivar replies, as if the answer is as clear for Floki as it is for him. “I can’t kill Y/N,”

“You think this is killing her?” Floki asks. “Tell me more,” Ivar swallows thickly.

“She’s…she’s pale,” Ivar replies. Floki negates to turn to look at you, waiting for what more is to come. Ivar takes his hands to scrub the tears out of his eyes before speaking again:

“She’s in the same uniform,”

“She wears and identical uniform, Ivar. Every day,”

“No—no she washes it after work. Right after work—she’s through the door and…and it’s in the wash before anything else. I always—I always kiss her shoulder when she’s done and she said—she wants a tattoo there now because it’s so reparative. It drives me up the fucking wall too because sometimes…she just washes it alone, or I’ve done my laundry already and then she’s there, taking off her uniform,”

You watch Ivar. You watch him explain something to Floki with the intensity through his features, a passion to his words and you wonder what on earth he could be talking about.  

“The color is always brighter after the wash, and it’s always dim when she comes home from work. Like…like she’s so excited to go into the job she loves, and even though she’s drained when she comes home, she does it all again because that’s who she is,”

“Ivar,” Floki tries. 

“And it’s so dim right now, Floki—her uniform, her face, everything is so fucking dim because of me. And this is killing me, because I can hardly move and—and I keep trying to tell my legs to move but they’re ignoring me. And if this kills me, it’s going to kill her. Where will she find that color if I die, Floki?” Ivar finally cries.

Floki’s eyes water, inhaling deeply as he watches the little boy he remembers cry in front of him.

“Ivar,” Floki says. “Let’s stand up, and we’ll go from there,” 

And Ivar nods. Without even thinking about the sentence, he nods every so slightly that Floki almost misses it. 

Stunned for a moment, Floki swallows, mentally patting himself on the shoulder as he straightens. He puts a hand on Ivar’s shoulder, squeezing for a second before he abandons his bag on the chair and turns to the hallway. Opening the door and cleaning his throat he looks at both you, and Thora.

“Think you can help him stand, Y/N?” Floki asks. In all honesty, you’re quite positive you’re imagining it. “Y/N?” Floki asks again.

“Help him…help him stand?” You ask.

“Did I stutter?” Floki tries. You inhale, standing as Thora follows you. But before she can follow you into the room, Floki cuts off her path. 

“Give them a second,” He winks. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” Floki asks her.

“Hi,” Ivar says to you softly.

“Hi, Ivar,” You say back to him as he finally looks up at you. “Oh, Ivar…” You trail off, taking the pad of your thumb to wipe the tear that spills. He melts into your hand at an instance, leaning against your palm as if you’re taking away every ounce of discomfort for him.

“I don’t want to kill you,” Ivar mumbles.

“What?” You ask.

“I don’t want to kill you too,” He repeats, as if it makes sense to you, like it does to him. 

“You won’t,” You try.

“If I don’t get better, I will,” He tells you and that’s when it hits you, too. 

“Then lets stand up, just you and me, yeah?” You try.

“Are you allowed to do that?” Ivar asks, stalling.

“I am a medical professional,” You say. “And they can sue me if they think otherwise. I’ll move the blanket, you don’t have to look, alright?” You tell him and Ivar nods. 

It aches Ivar as he feels you pull the sheet from his leg, relishing in the fact that he can feel it; he can feel the cold air against his skin, but he won’t look. You eyes scan his legs, still wrapped in dressings, less stitches than you remember and you gently place you hand on his thigh.

“You feel that?” You ask and Ivar nods. Your mind takes over, as if he is a patient in your care and you asses is pedal pulse, two fingers on the top of his foot and it’s strong. “Can you feel that?” You whisper and Ivar nods, still looking directly at you. Only at you. You take your knuckle against the ball of his foot, tracing from heel to toe lightly, and back down again. “How about that?” And he nods, a glimmer of a smirk to his lips at how it tickles him. “Can you move your toes for me?” You then ask him, and Ivar does—eyes still not leaving yours. He watches how your eyes water, and you recall asking him similar questions in the heat of the crash’s aftermath and how he slurred a response. 

“Can you roll your ankles at all?” You whisper. And you watch them rotate, just as you ask. You take you thumb to his nail bed, pressing against his toe to watch the capillary refill in almost perfect time. And the whole time, Ivar’s eye never leave your face. “Alright,” You squeak. “I’ll help you swing them slowly,”

“Wait,” Ivar says suddenly. “Come here,” And you obey. His hands stretch towards you, taking up your cheeks as he brushes the hair from your face, and wiping under your eyes. He pulls you in then, his lips just brushing yours and you can’t help the small cry that escapes, that’s caught between the two of you before it’s swallowed with the kiss.

“I love you,” Ivar whispers.

“I love you, too,”

“Now I’m ready,” Ivar tells you.

Your hands are nearly hot coals against his legs, as you try to be as gentle as possible with your heart rate nearly pounding in your ears. You have half a mind to stop, to pull out your phone so you can record it but you don’t want to ruin the moment. 

“Fuck, that tile is a lot colder than I thought it would be,” Ivar grumbles and it makes you laugh. “If I fall, you know you’re going to fall with me, right?”

“Gee, Ivar, I hadn’t really thought of that,” You say sarcastically and there’s a glare from his face that you don’t realize how much you have missed until that moment.

With his feet on the floor you repeat the same movements, assess, feeling, having him move his toes and his ankles and all the while Ivar won’t look at his legs. Adjusting his hospital gown, you position his hand to grip the railing, and you put your shoulder under his opposite arm. 

“Ready?” You ask.

“Not really,” Ivar admits. 

“If you think you’re going to fall, just sit back down, alright?” 

“You ever done this before?” Ivar asks, stalling.

“Only at least once a day while I’m on duty,” You answer. 

“I don’t know if I can—”

“Ivar, not today,” You state. “We’re not doing this today, we’re not doubting ourselves,” And Ivar inhales. “On three, yeah?”

“Baby—”

“Ivar,” You say sternly, catching his eyes. “You can do this. You can stand up. It’ll get you that much closer to coming home,” 

“Alright,” Ivar peeps.

“One, two…two and a half…three,” You finally say. And as you hold your breath your barrel your feet down against the ground, taking Ivar’s weight as you help to lift him. You watch the muscles in his arm tense, the veins popping into view as he pushes himself to be flat on his feet. And for a moment, time freezes, and Ivar stands. 

He stands.

“Fuck,” Ivar hisses. “It’s worse than pins and needles,” He groans. 

“Lean some of your weight on me,” You tell him. And he does. “Alright, good, now shift some back against the bed,” You then say. As Ivar follows your command you take your free arm and you reach for the walker that’s collecting dust by his bed. 

“We’re going to switch, and you’re going to push your weight through your hands against the walker, alright?”

“No—I’ll fall,” Ivar tries.

“On three, yeah?”

“Y/N,” Ivar tells you but you know better this time than to let him pull himself out of the moment. You move the device in front of him and he follows suit without argument, grunting slightly as he moves his hand from the rail to the handle. Slowly you help him bring the other hand down, catching his weight before he’s standing on his own, hands gripping the bars for dear life. 

And you laugh—in sheer shock you look at Ivar standing before you.

“Ivar!” You exclaim. “You’re standing, you’re—you’re fucking standing!”

Ivar has a look of discomfort across his face, mixing with the anguish and what feels like slight embarrassment while you reward him for what he thinks is the most basic fucking thing.

“Where do you hurt?” You ask quickly, searching his face.

“Do you want to guess?” Ivar snaps at you. His breathing rate increases as he feels his palms get sweaty and he worries he’s going to lose his balance.

“I’m right here, Ivar,” You tell him. 

“I’m standing,” He finally croaks. “I’m actually—standing,” And there’s a smile on his face. 

You move yourself to his vision, reaching through your toes to kiss his chin and you smile back at him. 

“I told you,” You whisper to him, and Ivar sees that color come back to your face.

“Where’s Floki?” Ivar asks.

“Did you really think I would go that far, eh?” Floki sings from the hallway. 

“Floki—I’m standing,” Ivar says in disbelief. “You have to call Hvitserk,” He adds.

“My phone is a bit busy right now,” Floki hums, and you notice then, where his bag sits abandoned in his chair, his phone sits just outside of it, propped up, and recording. 

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[edenfenixblogs]

This is just terminology but regarding asking goyim to ID ourselves as such, may I ask if there's a specific reason you prefer that phrasing? Asking because I've previously heard that hearing someone self-describe as goyische can be a bit jarring due to Connotations from white supremacists "reclaiming" the term (scarequotes bc that's obviously not how reclamation works) so I'm wondering if you have an alternate perspective I should be taking into account or if it's just like, personal preference/not that deep.

Ah! @faggotry-enjoyer, My friend! I did not see this message from you until today! My deepest apologies!

I didn’t mean that every goy had to specifically call themselves goy. I’m just descended from Hungarian, Russian, French, and Mongolian Yiddish speakers and that’s more familiar a term to me than “gentiles.”

Personally, I’ve always found “gentiles” a little awkward as a term anyway. As I’ve stated repeatedly, goy is a fully neutral word with no positive or negative connotations. But the word “gentile” seems to have a weirdly positive connotation that I find off-putting. It seems far too close to the word “gentility” for me.

It feels like “gentile” is a person of “the gentility,” thus inherently socially, behaviorally, and aesthetically superior to non-gentiles (aka Jews). Perhaps this is just because of my relationship to Hebrew (and its use of root constructions that convey connotations in the base structure of the word) that this seems to be a term that is inherently critical of Jews in a pretty blatant way. But it always seems just…idk. Uncomfortable for me to use I guess. It feels like I’m putting myself down to elevate someone else and acknowledging their inherent superiority over me.

That said, I am in no way suggesting that this is how all Jews relate to this word. I have studied Hebrew since I was very young (I’m not a fluent speaker anymore, but I was once), and I’m a writer and love words and etymologies. It is extremely likely that I am thinking more about this than someone else would or does.

So, I say goy because it is the most neutral to me. It doesn’t convey that I’m better than a goy or that a goy is better than me.

When I said “goyim identify yourself as such,” I meant more generally, “if you’re not Jewish, please indicate that in your reblog or tags when reblogging from a Jewish person.”

And to anyone who is new to my blog, the reason I asked goyim to do this is because Jews feel very alone and hated right now and a very easy way to help us feel better is to just let us know that someone outside of our community sees and hears us. It so very often feels like we are shouting from inside a soundproof room and we can only hear and be heard by each other.

There are so very few Jews left in the world. It is simply impossible for us to survive if we advocate for ourselves alone. We need goyische voices alongside our own if we hope to be heard at all amongst those who outnumber us.

One thing about Jewish culture though, we all disagree a lot about a lot of things. Someone probably does find it offensive to self-label as a goy. Someone else probably finds it offensive to reject the idea of self-labeling as a goy.

However, by and large, I think most Jews won’t be concerned that you’re appropriating our language and culture if you are using our language to identify yourself as someone who supports our culture. Yiddish isn’t a religious language, but a cultural one. While Judaism is a closed-practice religion, Yiddish is the language of our culture in exile. It is the language we used while existing in a goyische world that was and remains hostile toward Jews.

I think, personally, that if you’re not using our language to demean us, it’s not off limits. Like, call yourself a goy! You are one! It’s not a bad thing! But, like, don’t call Jews you disagree with schmucks or something like that. And, obviously, if someone is antisemitic then I do not want them using Yiddish at all.

If someone wants to condemn our culture, then I loathe the idea of them picking out the parts they can use for their own purposes. If you reject an entire culture, you do not get access to the parts of that culture you like, imho.

So, I guess (in answer to your question) it is personal preference but is also that deep. Jewish culture is old, deep, and complex. I'd never speak for other Jews, and I'm sure plenty disagree with me on this. But I have personally never heard of a Jewish person offended that a goy calls themselves a goy. Personally, I find it endearing.