#but bc of that they don’t feel like it’s worth the hassle

[szczylpierdolony]

i love not taking my meds and then complaining im experiencing symptoms. girl it’s your own fault

[lightlycareless]

Hey again!! What do you think is Naoya height?? Because i can't seem to find his official height. So i headcanon that his height is 187cm. That's pretty tall right? But idc bc i love tall men in general 🤭

And i want to know your hc because you're one of my fav naoya writer!

Hello!!!

Omg I feel like I took forever to respond, idk why I get that feel from time to time, then I look on the dates and maybe it hadn't been so long?!??! Idk

Either way, thank you for your patience 🥺❤️ This is actually something I've wondered about in the past... as well as this little drabble I wrote :> I hope you like it!

I haven’t set an official height to Naoya, but I always assumed he was pretty tall too; he’s described as so in the wikia and looks like it too hehe.

So yep, around the 180s+ is just about right! Maybe not 190’s ‘cause he’d be getting to the same level of Gojo, but up there. (If it’s worth anything, I always thought he’d be amongst the tallest of his siblings, but shorter than Naoaki lmao)

Now, onto the good stuff.

warnings: none. fluff. naoya being a tease. (who would've known?)

It’s safe to assume that due to his height, either Naoya has to lean down to kiss you, or you have to step on the tip of your toes to do so. An arrangement that smoothly fell into place, not that much of a hassle to comply with, and honestly? I think both like doing it very much.

Until he realizes this is something he could also take advantage of; and boy, does he abuse this opening when the opportunity flashes across his mind.

He just… can’t help it! With the way you adorably purse your lips to kiss him, gently grasping his arms to pull him down just to make your job easier, he needed to, you know?

It’s in his nature.

And so, he leans into that, opting to not close the gap between his lips and yours, leaving you there, anxiously waiting for the moment your skin touches his, while doing his best to hold back from gawking at your cuteness.

It’s only when seconds pass and you have yet to be kissed, that you naturally grow worried, assuming something was wrong and opening your eyes to find out what it was… upset when realizing it was intentional. And obviously, since this isn’t as funny to you as it is to him, you eventually become frustrated.

“Hey, don’t be angry!” Naoya laughs, following you across the state as you storm away, flustered and ashamed that he’d make fun of you with something like that! “Come on, Y/N, I was only playing!”

Naoya eventually (like always) catches up to you, pulling by the arm and encasing you in his embrace, a wide smirk on his lips as he finally attempts to kiss you properly; but you simply deny him by looking away, forcing him to kiss your cheeks instead, the top of your head, or just about anything else but your lips, much to his dismay.

“You’re not actually angry… are you?” Naoya murmurs, feeling that maybe he had miscalculated how annoying he’d been.

“…no.” But you eventually disclose otherwise, because as frustrating as he was, he was still the husband you loved very, very much, with all of his playful, teasing, and sometimes cruel actions. You truly wouldn’t want him any other way.

Truth to be told, your embarrassment came more from the fact that you managed to catch a nearby servant, just by the corner of your eye, laughing at the two, making you feel as if he’d caught the two in a highly inappropriate disposition.

And never one to willingly share your intimate moments with anyone else outside of Naoya, their reaction quickly filled you with shame, jolting you out of the scene.

But even then… Naoya’s careless demeanor, whether because he hadn’t noticed them, or perhaps didn’t bother to care, reminds you it wasn’t as serious as you were making it to be.

Besides, the two were married, surely, they got an idea of what transpired between the two behind closed doors.

Naoya was very… passionate about it, after all.

“I don’t like it when you do that.” You still admit, for it didn’t mean you strived to be deprived of his kisses.

“I was just joking, princess.” Naoya coos. “I’d rather die than not feel your lips anymore.”

You blush.

… yeah, he was very passionate when it came to it.

“Does that mean I can kiss you again, my love?”

“No. Not until you make it up to me.” You smirk, Naoya’s eyes glisten.

“Hmm, is that so? And what do you have in mind?”

A lot of things, in fact, amongst them a direct continuation of that kiss he cruelly isolated you from…

But only until you get away from the prying eye of the surrounding servants, already hearing them snicker about how funny you looked trying to reach for Naoya, all pouty because he wouldn’t kiss you, more so when comparing how small you looked next to him…

Once that’s set, then you can make Naoya work for it.

I'm short myself, 5' to be precise (154) so everyone is naturally taller than me lmao but damn.... tall men... my weakness.......................... and Naoya? oof.... dreamy 😏❤️

Anyways, thank you so much for sending in this ask!!! I'll do my best to get to the other adorable one you sent me 🥺❤️ I love them all so so much agjkhasjkgasjkga I'm so honored you like my work 😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️ thank you!!! keep them coming 🤭🤭

Take care, and hope to see you soon!!

[buckymorelikefuckme]

yo ho

pirate king wanda x fem reader

words: 1.2k

inspired by pirates of the caribbean bc i'm a slut for that movie and i'm so sorry about it

part 2 ❀ part 3 ❀ part 4

At the first sound of them bursting through the gates, their bellowing voices echoing into the night as they march up the pathway leading to the Manor, you feel only excitement. Shrugging your dressing gown on, you run to your window, seeing them approaching closer and closer. You make a silent vow to yourself to help them steal whatever they want. Perhaps it will put you in their favor.

You know you should feel fear, but the thrill of meeting real pirates far outweighs any logical reaction that should consume you. Your lady’s maids, however, do not share the same sentiment, the panic clear on their faces.

“If you go now you’ll have just enough time to get to the fort,” you say, calm and collected. “I’ll follow as soon as I can.”

It’s a lie, but they don’t need to know that.

“But Miss—“ one of the maids starts, eyes wide, clutching your hands tightly.

“Go! You haven’t much time left,” you insist as you push them to the door.

They hesitate barely a second before they’re dashing out the back. It’s not a moment too soon, because the front doors are kicked in seconds later. Heart racing, you hide in the corridor, watching them spread out and begin gathering whatever is most valuable.

One pirate catches your eye. They enter in a much more sedate manner, pausing in the foyer and looking around. You see their lip curl in disgust as they turn on their heel and make their way to the second floor. You wish to follow them, so you tiptoe to the staircase, checking over your shoulder every couple seconds.

Barely two steps onto the landing and you're face to face with the very pirate you’d followed.

“Trying to be brave?”

Their voice—her voice startles you. This close it’s easier to tell that this pirate is definitely not a man. Though she wears trousers and a coat, a hat nestled atop her long, sun-kissed hair, there’s no mistaking she’s a woman the moment she speaks. It allows you to evaluate her features better, note the softness of her jaw despite its sharp angles.

“Well?” she prompts, impatient, hand on the hilt of her sword.

You blink. “The paintings,” you blurt.

She raises a thick brow. “Pardon?”

“In the study,” you clarify, swallowing roughly. “It’s the last room on the right. The paintings there are worth several thousand pounds.”

She tilts her head curiously, eyeing you from your face to your bare feet. You will yourself not to fidget beneath her stare.

“Do you think helping me will keep you from harm?”

You lift your chin slightly. “Call it a bargain.”

“A bargain,” she repeats, lips tipping up in amusement. She takes a step closer to you. “And what, exactly, makes you think you’re in a position to make a bargain with a pirate?”

You meet her gaze as steadily as you can. “I know this port like the back of my hand. My father is the governor and we have close ties to the Navy. I know where they’ll be waiting and watching. I can make sure we set sail without any hassle.”

“We?” she interrupts, baffled.

“Yes. We. I wish to depart with you in exchange for all the valuables in my father’s home.”

She laughs. “I hate to disappoint this fantastical dream of yours, but we’ll be taking everything regardless, Miss.”

“There are some hidden, thousands of pounds worth, tucked away in places only I and my father know.”

She doesn’t say anything for a tense moment. Your heart continues beating wildly in your chest, hoping and praying she’ll take your bargain. Your hands curl into fists around the fabric of your dressing gown.

“We can’t bring someone along just because they asked us to,” she reasons. “What would you be able to offer to us aboard the Scarlet Pearl?”

You inhale sharply. “Pirate King Maximoff’s ship?” you whisper, awed.

“Aye, the very one,” she confirms. “Do you simply seek safe passage elsewhere?”

You glance around the home you grew up in, at the chandeliers and gold filigree and candelabras. “This was not meant for me,” you confess. “I do not belong in this life. I can no longer live here knowing I want for nothing while others suffer. It’s not fair. It’s not right. And I do not care where I end up, for that matter, so long as I’m not here anymore.”

She gives you a calculating look. You wonder what she’s thinking, unable to get a good read on her. You suppose that’s to be expected with a pirate. They have to keep their cards close to their chests, otherwise they risk mutiny or double-crossing. But if this pirate is really from the Scarlet Pearl, as she claims, then you shouldn’t have anything to worry about.

You hold her stare and will yourself to remain unwavering. Finally, she nods.

“Very well, we have an accord. We’ll finish gathering everything and you’ll be taken aboard.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, relief coursing through you, as well as your excitement building once more.

She holds her hand out for you to shake. You bite the inside of your cheek at the warmth of her palm, at the feel of callouses along her skin that touch the contradicting softness of your own hand. You catch her assessing the swell of your breasts in your nightclothes, yet when she meets your surprised eyes again, her smile is unapologetic. It sends a curious shiver down your spine.

You point her and the other pirates to where the hidden valuables are, hurrying to your bedchambers to grab anything of your own that you can’t bear to part with. Slipping on a pair of boots you bought ages ago without your father knowing, you scan your room one last time, then quickly make your way down the stairs. She’s waiting for you by the entryway, lazily swinging a gold pocket watch as she watches out the windows. At the sound of you, she turns and eyes the small satchel you’re carrying.

“You have everything you need? We won’t be returning.”

You bite your lip and cast a parting gaze on your home. You nod resolutely.

“Yes. I’m ready to go,” you say, firm in your belief that this is the right thing to do.

She smiles. “Then follow me, princess.”

Your eyes narrow at the nickname, but you bite back your retort. You need to be in her good graces, after all.

As the both of you walk—which consists of you struggling to keep up with her long paces—you strategize on the best route of the port.

“Are you… Will you be the one telling Pirate King Maximoff all of this?” you ask curiously, cautiously.

She snorts. “I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

Before you can ask what that’s supposed to mean, you reach a dinghy. A few men are waiting in it, standing to attention as you and the pirate approach. You can see others already rowing back to the sizable ship in the distance.

“Last chance to change your mind, princess.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” you reply, making her laugh.

“Very well.”

She holds a hand out to you to help you step into the dinghy. As you sit down between her and another pirate—who, upon closer inspection, is also a woman with dark red hair and sharp eyes—you know, deep in your bones, that you’ve just taken the first step toward an adventure of a lifetime.

[bombshellsandbluebells]

Ok because I can’t let this thought go, I need to say my piece on media analysis and fandom’s version of it really quickly:

I’ve worked as an on-set dresser, a set dresser, and in the set decoration department in other roles. I get how set dressing works. And I’m also a huge fan of media analysis and overanalyzing and drawing meaning where you find it from the text, intentional or not.

I’m all on board with finding details in the set dressing and expanding on them, but there are so many times I see posts that argue small set dec details are intentional and foreshadowing something - usually a ship going canon - when it never feels that way to me. Yes, there is thought behind every aspect of film, but that doesn’t mean that the exact placement of everything has some great meaning behind it. Sometimes the meaning is “it would make logical sense for this item to be in this space” and nothing more.

I don’t comment on these posts bc I don’t want to be overly negative or ruin anyone’s fun, but the problem I keep seeing happening in fandom spaces is that meaning that was never intentional on the creators’ part will be drawn from small details and passed around fandom as proof of foreshadowing of something that was never intended to happen. And because someone is able to find meaning in something, people believe it was an intentional set-up.

Sometimes the item is just there. Sometimes a set dresser went “yeah that looks good” and there’s nothing more to it. Sometimes the DP goes “yeah that shot looks visually good and the items in it make sense” not “every item placed in this shot is intentional”.

(Sometimes something gets stuck in a weird place and you don’t notice it until cameras are about the roll but it’s like, not worth the hassle of holding for art bc literally everyone hates holding for art, so it just lives there now.)

The problem isn’t drawing meaning from the text where you find it. That’s a great way to interact with media honestly. The problem is making the mistake of deciding it was intentional AND intentionally setting up the exact scenario you already wanted to happen. Bc honestly, until we hear it from the creator’s mouths, we don’t know always know what minor details were intentional.

[gaypiratebrainrot]

i want to write a lil meta about “breaking the laws of dick mechanics” in Does the Body Good and how it’s an expression of trans sexuality, bc i kept thinking about it as i was writing it and now it’s just rotating in my head constantly.

behind the cut bc i’m going to talk openly about my own sexual experience, so if that feels like TMI, don’t click! :)

so, in my experience w/ 40-something penis-havers, what’s going on with stede’s dick in this fic is highly improbable but not totally impossible--there’s just a huge range when it comes to how bodies work, and i’ve met a multi-orgasmic penis or two in my time. to compare it to physics, there’s actually a fair amount of natural phenomena that break the laws of physics (bc they’re really more like guidelines than laws), those phenomena are just highly unlikely.

BUT ALSO, and perhaps more importantly, the fic i write is fantasy, and specifically queer/trans fantasy. so much of slash fic is about cis male bodies injected with afab sexual experiences (because it’s predominately afab folks writing slash), and as i’ve gotten older i’ve really come to appreciate how beautifully queer that is? like, i grew up reading smut that reflects my sexual experience as a trans masc person before i even knew that was my experience, and i think it’s actually shaped a lot of the ways i’m very comfortable in my sexuality now.

and, like, breaking the laws of dick mechanics is something i do every time i strap-on. when i’m strapped in, i’m fully in the experience of having a dick, but that dick is not tethered to the laws of dick mechanics, nor is my orgasmic experience. one of the truly unexpected effects of being on testosterone for me is the strong urge to, um, ejaculate on/in my sexual partners, and that’s the one thing that’s hard to achieve realistically in strap sex (they do make ejaculating dildos, but so far it’s seemed more hassle than it’s worth). so by letting stede break the laws of dick mechanics AND come all over everything all the time, i’m basically writing the fulfillment of my own queer sexual desires AND I JUST THINK THAT’S REALLY COOL. and i’m super grateful to have a community who receives that work with a resounding YEAH WE’RE IN <3

[lxnarphase]

Hi, hope you’re having a good day so far! I saw your post about dyscalculia and people who put the year they were born in their bios. As someone who is also neurodivergent, I empathise with you! My advice with that would be to use the calculator app on your phone and then subtract this year (for example 2024) from the year that is in the bio (such as 2001 for instance.) If that helps?

A quicker way to determine they’re an adult would be that any year in the bio that is 2007 (they would be 17 this year or about to turn 17 later on this year) or later (like 2010) means that they’re a minor (under 18.) It gets a bit murky with 2006 for this year since it means they either are 18 now or about to turn 18 which is confusing for you as someone who cannot allow minors to follow or interact with your blog. I hope that helps, I come in peace! 😊😅

i knowww im honestly just lazy and don’t feel like it’s worth the hassle of calculating it and its too far away from my birth year then i just block bc my brain can’t handle anything math related

[sunshinereddie]

Something that absolutely kills me every time I see it come up in fanfictions is the losers referring to each other as brothers/sisters. Like "Of course I'll be your best man. What are brothers for?" Or like "Yes, I can stay in this hospital after visiting hours, I'm his sister." I like it and I think it's cute and good every time

IF you'd like to get ouchie about it however I do also imagine that there are times in the 27 years when the losers will be asked if they have any siblings and they'll go "Yeah I've got a sister and a couple brothers" and then they'll pause and go "Uh. No I don't. I'm an only child. I don't know... I don't know why I said that"

SCREAMS i both love this idea so so much but it also breaks my heart so bad………

like on one hand i love to imagine after the ch2 battle when eddie’s in the hospital, obviously none of them want to leave eddie’s side but when visiting hours come to a close the nurse tries to tell them to leave, but they’re like “actually we’re all his siblings.”

and ofc the nurse just stares at them like. “all 6 of you are his siblings?” (6 bc stan is there too obviously nothing bad happens to stan!)

and they’re all like “yes of course we are!” and richie starts going on this long dramatic tangent of “how it’s actually incredibly disrespectful that this hospital would turn away grieving family from staying with eddie, when we don’t even know if he’ll ever wake up, these could be our dear eddie’s final moments on earth and we aren’t even allowed to see him-”

eventually the nurse realizes that dealing with them is more hassle than it’s worth and allows them to stay, and so all 6 of them are squeezed into eddie’s tiny room while they wait for him to wake up.

and finally when eddie DOES wake up, the first thing he sees is a nurse (different one than before). eddie’s still trying to process what’s going on, just barely hearing what the nurse is saying to him, and he manages to catch her say “…you’re so lucky, to have such wonderful siblings who stayed right by your side the entire time.”

eddie is obviously confused, he’s about to explain that he doesn’t have any siblings…… until he looks over to the side and sees none other than the losers club sitting at his bedside, and it all makes sense.

but also,,,,,, what you said about them during the 27 years 😭 THAT HURTS SO BAD !!!! like im imagining richie at college talking to some friends and he’s telling them this story about his “brother”, but then when his friends ask him about his brother (how old he is, what his name is, etc), richie realizes…….. he doesn’t have a brother. he can’t even really picture the person he was talking about, he can’t quite remember the person’s face or his name, and yet….. richie very distinctly remembers considering that person a brother to him. richie just ends up making up some imaginary brother to tell his friends and quickly changes the subject, but it almost…. haunts him, how he has such strong feelings about this person, (or, as he starts to think a little harder about it… these people, he’s sure that there were more of them) and yet he can’t remember at all who they are.

or even bill, of course he remembers georgie, but imagine one time he’s telling someone about his brother, and he just says, “yes so my little brother eddie-” and he just. pauses for a second. before quickly correcting himself like “sorry no, my brother’s name is georgie, i don’t know where eddie came from…” but then he thinks long and hard how on earth he accidentally said “eddie” instead of “georgie”. bill doesn’t even think he knows anyone named eddie, so… where did that name come from? and why did he think that that person was his brother?

but also, imagining mike still in derry, if people ever ask him if he has siblings, he will say purposefully, and with a big smile, “yes, i have five brothers and a sister. they all live across the country, and i haven’t seen them in a few years- but i still love them all very much.”

this hc. this hurts me. the losers club they……. they’re a family…..

[luvrhyune]

Skz x moot, book tropes.

OKAY NOW WE’RE GETTING INTO IT🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

i don’t have that many moots so like…. PLS HMU😭😭😭 but since i don’t have many moots some might be double up🙏🏽🙏🏽

— chan x @yeonjunszn | idiots to lovers !!

fawn you’d be oblivious AS FUCK. chan would be like “nahh they don’t like me like that haha” and literally everyone else is just like😐😐😐😐

it would be such a hassle to get you two together simply bc of how in denial the both of you are

— minho x @choiwonder | forced proximity !!

you hate him, he hates you (you secretly have a crush on him hehe) (he doesn’t hate you he just thinks ur so pretty and it’s infuriating hehe)

YOUR CLOSE FRIENDS CANNOT STAND IT

so they force you together until you speak about your differences and kiss & makeup

— changbin x @zoe8stay | soulmates !!

ZOE I PICKED THIS BC IDK I FEEL LIKE CHANGBIN IS UR MAN (it’s channie ik but changbinnie feels so right??)

&& the soulmate au where your destined to be together but you don’t wanna believe it, the universe is wrong until changbin proves to you he is worth it

— hyunjin x @yeonjunszn | friends to lovers !!

double up !

this is just a classic tbh,,

the both of you know each other so well it’s just inevitable atp

— jisung x @starseungs | exes to lovers !!

you’ve always loved him, he’s always loved you

you don’t even remember why you broke it off because it’s obvious you both still love each other

— felix x @bookishcalls | childhood friends to lovers !!

CAN YOU SEE IT RIM??? I CAN SEE IT.

honestly the bestest of friends, always there for each other & dgaf abt anyone else

— seungmin x @choiwonder | frenemies to lovers !!

you BOTH love to get under each others skin, it ends up with joke flirting

until it isn’t a joke anymore..

— jeongin x @nomniki | fake dating !!

you’re in love with someone else who has mutual feelings for you but won’t make a move, so lets make him jealous

that is until the feeling for ur fake bf starts getting real

[cumaeansibyl]

Inflammation is a buzzword yeah

Feel free to ignore me here bc I don’t know ur medical history and you might be lactose intolerant or something but if you’re really low on energy I’d consider bringing dairy back into your diet. It’s a good source of protein, vitamins, and minerals especially if you’re eating something like Greek yogurt. Again, idk your reasoning for cutting it or if your body handles dairy poorly so do what’s right for you but if you can’t exercise right now and need the extra energy it’s an option

cw dietary restrictions again

This is a temporary exclusion diet to see if cutting any of those things helps with the fatigue problem at all, so I just have to put up with it for about a month longer and then I can stop. I am not lactose intolerant but Charles is so we had already switched to oat milk, etc, I miss cheese a lot but it's not the worst thing. Gluten is the worst thing because it's so inconvenient.

My doctor listens to what I say and doesn't lecture me about being fat so I'm willing to cooperate with her if she asks me to do something I think is silly but harmless. I have been trying to learn about inflammation markers and it does seem like there's some sort of objective process happening but it also looks like you have to have specific conditions for cutting gluten and dairy to be worth the hassle. Which I don't seem to, especially considering that it hasn't changed my digestive function at all. (My best guess for what does give me indigestion is lots of fat and also brassicas.)

[sandshrew]

Long post sorry idk how to read more on mobile

I think I’m finally growing up in the sense that yes I’ve been living independently on my own with a full time job and like, paying taxes, for many years now, but I think I’m finally understanding who I am as a person and what I want out of life and my job and what my true priorities are. and lately I just keep dreaming of a good work life balance, I want to have flexibility and not be exhausted 24/7, I want to have time and energy to enjoy the things I like and spend time with the people I like. I guess it’s bad to admit, but yeah I’m lazy and want a low effort job that doesn’t drain me physically or mentally. I don’t think I find fulfillment in “having a cool job and working a lot with tons of responsibility” like I thought I would.

I used to think getting my “dream job” and being a workaholic was “making it” as a grown up, and now I genuinely think I’d be much happier with a “boring” yet stable office job again like my last job...shift work just isn’t for me, I feel like all I’ve done this whole past year is work and sleep. I have no spark for anything anymore, I get exhausted just thinking about doing anything, and I did NOT used to be this way.

Yes my old office job did get boring and it could be draining sitting at a desk, but I would turn that into fun by indulging in myself and attending school online, or listening to podcasts and running errands on my lunch break, by looking at recipes and planning on making new things for dinner or on my weekend, and finding videos to work out to bc I’d been at a desk all day and wanted to move when I got home. I haven’t felt driven to do any of those things since this job :/

I don’t know, I just am mentally and physically drained by my weekend, and I’ll be honest, I think it’s mostly because I work 4/10s on graveyard on the WEEKENDS. I never have time off when everyone else does, I miss hanging out with A and my online friends and being able to have NORMAL plans for the weekend. Instead I sleep it all away bc I’m exhausted and work nights obv. I admit the 3 day weekend is nice, but if I had to work 5 days and have weekends and holidays off (I’ve literally worked every holiday) I’m thinking I’d rather prefer that. I miss it. I didn’t think I would, but I do. And yes granted someday if I stay with this job, I have the POSSIBILITY for a “better” schedule, but tbh that’s at least years away at this point and I just know I can not last that long on this shift I’m on. I just can’t, I’m already going crazy and it’s only been about 8 months.

Anyways, point being, I think I have reached a place of contentedness with having a “boring” “regular” job in the future. I don’t regret my current job, I’m glad I’ve been able to experience a job not many people get to or understand, but I had rose tinted glasses on and ultimately now it’s just work, it’s a hassle, and it’s exhausted me to no end. Every job gets like this, but I just feel the benefits are not worth it for me and my attitude and place in life right now. I’m staying with it for now, but I don’t think I intend to last a whole other year with it...I’d be burnt to nothing by that point, I think. Oh well, live and learn right??

[2kmps]

My assumptions:

1. you seem like an all-in or nothing type of person: so depending on what goal you have set in your mind, you give it your all, no bullshitting until you’ve made it. Or, on the other hand, If you don’t really care about the goal, you couldn’t care less. So stuff like, e.g company goals you don’t stand behind, ain’t worth your time - you’ll just do what the job requires from you and that’s it. If I remember correctly you work in healthcare so that example doesn’t really work but hopefully you get what I mean.

2. you can cut off people so we’ll that there are no traces left of them in your life. You don’t let people fuck you over multiple times.

3. tough love kinda girl. You are honest and don’t sugar coat.

4. you’re a total badass - traveling alone and telling people off when you need to definitely gives absolute badass vibes and I love that for you (I remember that bc I was the one asking about tips on traveling alone, I actually have the tips screenshoted on my phone somewhere - it is really appreciated)

There’s probably more but that’s what came to my mind first. Hopefully it’s understandable, while I think my English is fine most of the time, I sometimes have the feeling nothing I say makes sense at all - the curse of speaking multiple languages without being perfect in any of them ☠️

Anyways, have a nice Monday 🫡

you did some deep diving here!

I very much have a "too much" gene, so I will go absolutely berserk and tear down walls to reach certain accomplishments. I can get insanely single-minded on things that I'm really trying to accomplish or I'm into (e.g. writing projects, games, research, reading), but alternatively, you cannot get me to care about something even remotely if it's just not something I care about. I especially don't like giving up my free time for stupid shit, I don't like dallying, I don't like people who can't cut to the point bc I don't have the capacity to want to hear a long-winded explanation most of the time unless I'm voluntarily there to be supportive or give advice 💀.

my ability to cut people off is top tier. it doesn't matter how long I've known someone or what our bond was—if I feel wronged, I will completely withdraw from whatever relationship it was and go cold. I try not to be this way with closer friendships bc people can and do make mistakes, and I try not to hold that against anyone. majority of the time, people aren't doing things with malicious intent and deserve some grace and a chance to take accountability. it's strange bc I don't take most of anything super personally, it's more "ew that's an extremely ugly characteristics and I don't want that around me. deuces." it works to keep shit people away, but it also makes me keeping irl friendships very, very difficult.

yehhh. I try to reserve being really blunt until someone comes to me asking for advice or an honest opinion because I WILL give it.

so, I have the privilege of being white, extremely tall with an off-putting attitude most of the time. people do not want to mess with that. like, it doesn't make it foolproof when I travel, but I'm realistically very unlikely to get hassled. but, I'm happy that list came in handy for you!! I hope you're able to utilize them and find other resources for your solo traveling as well❤️

[trickstarbrave]

I know you're not open for commissions, but any idea when you might be?

Not atm

To be honest when I was open for commissions it really stressed me out. Art was no longer fun or a source of stress relief I could express myself with, but instead something to make money. If I wasn’t getting comms I felt bad. If I was getting comms I felt bad because I was constantly fretting if I was doing a good job or not capturing what someone wanted. And then if I wanted to draw a picture for myself I felt immense guilt over not working on comms first and quickly got very burnt out. I’m sure there is a work-life balance I could try and make but bc of it I also haven’t been eager to get back into commissions and try it out while the rest of my life is already very stressful 😬

Also if I did open then I’d make them really expensive. Like some of my pictures take hours and hours to render and I feel I’ve built up a lot of skill so I wouldn’t wanna charge like. Federal minimum wage. Sketches would prob be 45-60 depending on complexity. Flats colored sketches around 90. Basic shading for like a headshot around 200. Complex dramatic lighting or very detailed pieces like this?

It’s prob gonna run anywhere from 500-800 depending on size and complexity.

And I understand these prices are way out of most people’s budgets. Very few people wanna cough up 60 bucks for a sketch or are ready to drop hundreds of dollars on a colored illustration. It just takes me so damn long on top of having another full time job that if you asked me to do it for money this is what I’d have to charge. Several days of skilled work would have to be equivalent to several days of work at my full time job.

But I also know opening commissions with these prices will likely scare people away from my art entirely or inevitability trigger people complaining to me about how my art is too expensive and not worth the price and “I can get this for cheaper elsewhere/use an AI” while calling me a dirty rich capitalist and I don’t wanna deal with that either tbh

So I dunno when I’ll actually endure all of these to open commissions for people. I could honestly use the money but it’s stressful essentially picking up a second job. Especially one like commissions. Even if I really needed the money I doubt I’d get many commissions at prices that are even worth drawing for so <:v I suppose it’s anyone’s guess.

Tl;dr: I’m very easily stressed by commissions and I’d charge an arm and a leg for them. I know not everyone would be able to afford it and I don’t wanna deal with the hassle atm of justifying it or searching for commissioners so I just don’t offer them rn nor do I know when I will. Maybe in the future but only time will tell honestly

[albedobeheading]

I just remembered this tiktok I saw a couple months ago and this person I think works at like a GameStop or a novelty gaming place and they’re saying like “just so you know, if you’re an alt person dating a gamer boy, he doesn’t respect your gender identity when you aren’t around” and they’re talking about these guys that came in or worked there and they’re describing their s/os and eventually the tiktoker asked them like “hey your partner’s names are pretty masculine, are you guys lgbt” or something along those lines and the guys are like “oh well yanno we’re still straight but our girlfriends are this this and this“ still clearly referring to them as women rather than whatever their actual genders are

it’s almost 3 am and I’m overthinking bc reasons (I saw my friend’s tiktok had a comment on it that I couldn’t see meaning this person I don’t fuck with commented on it and I have a stupid second account so I can look at shit and I looked at this person’s profile and their pronouns are she/they now and I just I could go on about how this person’s actions up to the past year have been incredibly problematic and stupid and I know that they can go on their own sexuality and gender journeys bc we all can but god it fucking irks me but whatever) on most of my online presences I have they as my primary pronoun but like. I don’t even know who refers to me as that. do I want to be referred to as that? do I refer to myself as that??? when my friends started calling me a shorter version of my name I kinda hated it but I don’t know why. I think it’s because I could feel that they were trying and I just wish that gender stuff wasn’t such a fucking hassle. like there’s been times that my trans friends who are more trans than me have been yanno in the process of transitioning which is fucking hard and they’re really honestly incredible for doing it and maybe it’s bc I’m not as trans as them but I feel like crawling into a hole whenever I’ve thought about correcting people. like there was a class that I was in and I introduced myself as my other name and I fucking hated it the whole time bc I felt like I was lying and everyone could tell bc my name on canvas was different!! but besides that like. when my friends have been transimg their genders and I haven’t known what their specific policy was on pronouns and who they’re out to and all that I’ve felt like I fucking scum bag when people have referred to them incorrectly and I just. Now that I think about it it’s been the same person every time who has misgendered/ (outed for the person I don’t like) these people so maybe I need to just curb stomp him

and the thing with the person I don’t like. I’m like 99.9 percent sure that my stupid ass crush on this friend was because I was desperate for the approval that I was right and the person I don’t like was wrong. This guy in the middle got along with both of us. So if he somehow miraculously had a crush on me then it would prove that my stupid emotional turmoil over this person being mean to me was worth it

like I fucking felt like I had to leave that friend group because of it. That’s fucked up why did I let myself feel so bad for so long and just fucking keep secretly hoping that they’d all agree with me

And now I’m panicking and I want to text the group chat and make them all tell me that I was right and she was wrong bc I’m freaking out rn

[tweektweets]

uh ouuhgghhghh sisters it’s self hate time!

[yoonpobs]

back-burner | 12

what is free, will sometimes hurt

PAIRING. min yoongi x reader

GENRE. sister’s best friend!au, best friend to lovers!au, frenemies?to lovers! au, angst, *slow burn*, eventual smut, eventual fluff

WARNINGS. another Yoongi POV!, multiple confrontations, sexist views on marriage and a woman's worth, misogyny, emotionally unavailable parents, toxic parenting, alcohol as a coping mechanism again, misunderstandings, fluffy moments too, further heartbreak, ANGST (sorry loves)

WORDS. 8k

NOTES. yeah this chapter will play with ur emotions bc I was going on a rollercoaster ride while writing it 😩 im sorry babes but...slow-burn must prevail!

back-burner masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Standing outside a place he’s practically engraved to memory should’ve been easy. The journey through the familiar moss-green trees and the uphill slope was one he’s taken more than enough times to count; years of experience took him down this same road—yet, it feels different. It definitely is.

“You didn’t have to come along.”

Yet, there’s still a semblance of familiarity with the foreign situation. A voice that’s tied to fond memories as he grew out of the lanky body that used to house a more immature version of him; the childish nature that was endearing years ago and unnecessary now. It’s a voice that’s comforting, but the situation wasn’t.

“I did,” Yoongi replies easily, hands stuffed into his pocket. The house is atop of a relatively large hill—your parents were rich, that enough was known. It’s only a given that their home reflected their ambitions in life; mountainous, daunting—almost unrealistic for the average person.

“I could’ve talked to my parents on my own,” Haerin huffs, staring ahead at the king-sized walls. “This is my battle.”

Yoongi looks over to her with a levelled gaze. Her hair is tucked in the collar of her coat, the tip of her nose slightly flushed due to the chilly weather. He’s known her since they were teenagers and much less put together than they were now; so he knows. He knows that the eyes that avoid him weren’t saying that it was her battle.

It was telling him that it wasn’t his.

“You know just because it didn’t work out doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, right?” Yoongi says with a raised brow.

Haerin sighs. “I know. But you know how my parents are and …” her eyes drift to her feet before she peers up to the same doors that separate the unknown and the present, “I rather save you the hassle.”

Yoongi mutely nods his head, not agreeing, just in understanding. Then, he takes in a deep breath and releases it timely as he offers Haerin a gentle smile.

“I’d have to face them eventually,” he points out and Haerin nods. “I rather them find out from me instead of anyone else.”

“Honestly, with how obvious you were, I’m pretty sure they know but chose to pretend that they didn’t,” Haerin snorts, earning a twitch of a smile from Yoongi’s lips.

Truthfully, he was thankful for Haerin. In more ways than one. There were people that entered your life that were there to teach you something, and Haerin was that person to him. It may have seemed obvious to others that he would’ve fallen in love with her; it was natural to romanticise the idea of falling in love with your best friend. He did love her, as far as he could love Jungkook—a young boy turned into a capable man.

There were people in your life that taught you that love was constant, and there were people in your life that taught you love was eternal.

You taught him that love was eternal.

“Still,” Yoongi smiles softly, “I need to do this.”

Haerin nods her head for a few beats before a gush of wind blows against both of them. She jogs on her feet, likely to ease her nerves as Yoongi’s hand reaches out to squeeze her shoulder. A silent declaration of support; an apology; a good luck sign; anything that she needed.

“Yeah,” she breathes, “We need to do this.”

Yoongi takes a deep breath before the door opens, almost as if your parents manifested out of nowhere based on the echoes of his and Haerin’s voices. Your mother is primed to perfect, as usual, with her slicked hair without a stray in sight—Chanel coat paired with matching heels. Yoongi thinks it’s excessive that she was dressed like this for a simple meet—but she was the wife to your father, and only perfection was expected of her.

Your father, despite being the breadwinner and commander of the house, is dressed far laxer than his wife. He’s in a polo cardigan, khaki sweats tying the typical look of a wealthy man as his glasses are perched precariously on the bridge of his nose.

Your mother smiles first, amicable.

“Haerin, sweetie,” she grins, then turns to Yoongi. “And Yoongi. It’s lovely of you to join us.”

“It’s important,” Haerin blurts, uncharacteristic and it’s obvious. Her father raises a brow before she purses her lips, shooting a brief glance towards Yoongi.

“I bet it is,” your mother smiles, then she steps aside before she gestures the both of them in. “Shall we?”

Your father is an intimidating man. In court; outside of court; commanding a room of superiors; when he frowns; simply, his existence is frankly quite overwhelmingly intimidating.

Yoongi’s never been on the receiving end of his intimidation, mostly because he was in good graces with Haerin, and that automatically translated into Yoongi being in your father’s good graces too. Your father had always considered Yoongi a son, treating him more than amicably and welcoming him into your home ever since he was in high school. Yoongi was one of the lucky ones, Haerin would say.

So, this is different. Very different. Because despite his clear aura of intimidation, his face shows no indication of it.

Your mother, however, is baffled.

“You broke up?!”

Yoongi purses his lips, but Haerin is already quick to intervene.

“It was never going to work out,” she says softly, fiddling with her thumbs. “We don’t—we don’t love each other like that.”

“How is that possible?” she shrieks, “You’ve spent every second as teenagers together! He takes care of you and you take care of him! He’s a doctor, Haerin. He’s safe. The two of you—!”

“You can’t force me to love someone I don’t,” Haerin seethes, earning an astonishing gape from your mother. Yoongi’s borderline surprised, too, because Haerin was never the type to speak out to your parents. She had always been the quiet, compliant daughter that did everything your parents asked of her.

“The both of you are successful young adults with a history,” your mother exasperates, “You’re not getting any younger, Haerin. How are you going to get married?”

“Why does that matter?” Haerin cries, “I don’t love him!”

“Do you think I loved your father at first?” The woman before him is absolutely livid, yet Yoongi’s not surprised. Her voice is venomous, the type of venom he’s only ever heard towards you. He’s never liked it; never appreciated the way her voice would curl when her eyes narrow at you. Now, she’s the monster she’s always been. “Do you think he loved me at first? He didn’t. I didn’t. But we had a duty to our families and we carried it out.”

“That’s such a backward way of thinking,” Haerin scoffs. Your father is still silent; lips pursed into a thin line. It’s not a coincidence that the men remain quiet. “I don’t owe you anything.”

“Don’t speak like your sister,” your mother snarls.

“My sister has a name,” Haerin growls back, “It’s ___. It’s goddamn ___ and you should say it because you gave her that name!”

“What has gotten into you?” your mother gasps, turning to Yoongi, finally acknowledging him with a rather pleading stare as if he had the power to placate the anger that boils within Haerin. “Yoongi. You must know, you must talk her out of this—right?”

“We don’t love each other,” he says, calm as ever.

“She’s getting older, Yoongi,” your mother says desperately, “You’re the only man in her life. Who’s going to marry her if it’s not you?”

Yoongi can see Haerin trembling next to him, her fists clenched and he feels for her. His heart hurts for her because the words spat by your mother are nothing short of abhorrent. It’s vile and horrendously insinuative how Haerin’s worth was tied to her eligibility as a bachelorette. He wants to yell, wants to tell your mother that she was wrong and disgusting for suggesting that.

“Someone who does love her,” Yoongi replies, “She doesn’t owe you anything. She owes herself her own happiness.”

“You can’t be serious,” your mother gawks, “Did ___ put you up to this?”

Yoongi clenches his fists under the table.

“Haerin and I are grown adults who are capable of settling our own problems internally. Haerin will always be my best friend, but I do not love her in that way and I cannot force myself to feel something that’s entirely foreign to me,” Yoongi says slowly, enunciating each word as your mother looks ultimately disgusted. Your father is still silent, eyes resting on Yoongi’s figure, unmoving.

“What does she need to do, Yoongi? Tell us so we can do something about it,” your mother begs.

Yoongi fills an acidic taste on his tongue. The fact that your mother was more cross at the fact that Haerin wasn’t enough for Yoongi than Yoongi saying that he didn’t love her unsettles Yoongi. The fact that her own daughter is sitting right in front of her, accomplished and herself—while she berates her in front of her best friend.

Yoongi takes a deep breath.

“Nothing,” he blinks, “Nothing because she shouldn’t change herself for someone to love her.”

“Say something!” Your mother turns to your father, hissing when he remains still. “God forbid your daughter actually—!”

“Shut up!” Haerin stands up, voice booming as her hands slam onto the table. Yoongi’s eyes widen when he turns around, ready to tug her down, but she’s driven by her inhibitions than rationale, and Yoongi knows he can’t stop her.

“How dare—?”

“I have listened to you my entire life,” Haerin whispers hoarsely, “From the very moment I was born I did everything you wanted me to do so you could feel proud of me. I did everything by the book; won awards in my name and doing the best I could in everything,” she exhales, then her eyes are menacing when they rest on your parents. “I have done nothing to wrong you, and this shouldn’t be the first.”

“Why can’t you see that we’re worried about you?” your mother begs, “We don’t want you to end up like your sister—!”

“____ is amazing,” Haerin hisses vehemently, “She’s accomplished, strong, beautiful and goddamn fucking capable. I’ve had enough of you berating her when she’s not here and making her feel like absolute shit when she is. If there’s anyone that I want to be like it’s her.”

“Haerin—!”

“I’ve kept my mouth shut long enough and I’m sick and tired of it,” she spits, inching closer as her body leans forward. Yoongi still can’t get a gauge of your father’s expression, and it’s scarily stoic. For a moment, he’s terrified to wonder that if he even cared. “You’re a horrible person. You mould people into the expectations you expect of them and not what they can truly offer the world. You’re sick, and you’re vile—!”

“Haerin.” Finally, your father speaks up, and the table reigns silent. Yoongi stills and Haerin pauses. “How long have you felt this way?”

Then, Haerin’s dam breaks and she sobs. Her body almost topples over at the force of her weeping; unsteady when her fingers dig into the antique wood of the dining table. Yoongi thinks to reach out, he shifts ever so slightly to do so but Haerin raises a hand to stop him—still shaky, but somehow, Yoongi feels like this is the most assured she’s been.

“Long enough,” she tells him, oddly steadily.

The answer is vague and it displeases your mother who scoffs. But Yoongi gets it. There isn’t a timeline for pain; there is no clear beginning or ending to how one feels the agony—but it’s very much there. No one calculates the intensity of their hurt but it’s present enough to loom over you like a shadow.

Haerin takes a deep breath, before opening her mouth to speak once more.

“I don’t need you,” she declares, and Yoongi’s eyes widen. “I don’t need your approval, and I don’t need you to tell me what to do. Despite how things turned out I’m still grateful for you for pushing me to do my best,” she confesses, soft as if she’s conflicted with her internal turmoil. “But I won’t have it anymore. I want to live my life the way I want to live it.”

“And your sister—” your father starts but Haerin’s quick to intervene.

“___,” she grits, “Her name is ___.”

Your father’s lip purses, and then he takes a tentative breath before nodding.

“____,” he says, rolling his tongue against the roof of his mouth as if he’s familiarising himself with how the syllables of your name feel. Yoongi almost scowls; because what father doesn’t care to say his daughter's name? Utter it to the world as he exclaims his love for her? But Yoongi keeps silent, because while irritation bubbles—it won’t serve his purpose. “Have you spoken to her?”

“Yes,” Haerin says confidently, her shoulders straighter while he avoids your mother’s stare. “She was the first person I went to after I decided.”

Your mother scoffs, but your father is blank and impeccably stone-faced as always.

“Haerin,” he says monotonously, “Your mother and I care for you. We push you to do things that are difficult because you are capable. It’s…nice that you and your sister are getting along but you must not let her influence you like this.”

Haerin’s jaw drops and so does Yoongi. The way your father speaks is nothing like a father to a daughter; more formal and business-like than ever before. It’s almost as if the way of law and the corporate world has infiltrated every fibre of his being and he was incapable of separating the two.

But what fuels Yoongi with absolute anger is the way he speaks about you.

“Stop! God fucking stop,” Haerin screams, tugging at her hair frustratedly, “For once in your life stop being a fucking businessman and start being a father!”

“Young lady,” your father says firmly, though not angry.

“I rather have you scream at me and get angry at me because that shows you actually care but you’re not! You’re stupidly calm and it fucking sucks because you’re everything but a father,” she says through her sobs, “When will you see that you have two daughters who aren’t just figments of your unfulfilled dreams? Huh? When will you see that we’re both so fucking different?”

“Your sister is…” your father continues, still calm, and Yoongi’s fingers are practically digging a dent into the chair with how much he’s restraining himself. “Hopeless. In business terms, that means we’ve let her be because we’ve given up.”

Yoongi freezes, impossibly still.

He hears Haerin’s breath hitch, but beyond that—his ears ring.

“____ is not hopeless,” Yoongi seethes, losing every bit of calm he’s come here with. Your father raises a brow, still in perfect order while Yoongi falls apart right in front of him. “____ is all the things you could never see in her because scums like you are one-dimensional, superficial; and horrible people.”

“Min Yoongi,” your father grits, teeth scraping like chalk on a whiteboard but Yoongi’s long-forgotten to care.

“Sometimes I wonder why some people become parents when they do anything but parent their child,” he chuckles darkly, jaw clenching. “I’ve had enough of the way you speak about ___. You are not going to belittle her in my presence or insinuate that she is hopeless. While you’re here, living your pathetic, conforming lives—____ was out there doing the one thing you think she can’t. Give people hope. She’s not working her ass off for you, for me, or for anyone but those people she’s trying to help and if you can’t see that then you’re the problem.”

Yoongi’s chest heaves in exertion as he stares down the two people he’s reckoned to see as other parental figures his entire life. The same people were nothing but kind to him but were terrible to the person he loved. Yoongi’s had enough.

“Be careful on what you say, boy,” your father hums, amused. And Yoongi needs to remind himself that your father was sick. Not physically but he was vile. Because no one, no one, would find the desperation in Yoongi’s voice amusing given the context of the situation.

“I don't care what you think of me, and I don’t care what you do,” he hisses, “You want to threaten me? Fine, I’ll get my family’s lawyers if that’s what you want to do but I won’t take back my words because I mean. Every. Single. Thing. I said.”

Then, he lowers his gaze to the two adults in front of him, prouder than ever to declare the next words that leave his mouth.

“Just because you don’t love her doesn’t mean I don’t.”

Your mother gasps, as if that was the most unbelievable that was said for the night and Yoongi doesn’t believe in hitting people but God is he angry.

“Yes, I love her,” Yoongi says, calm, “I’ve been in love with her and I’m telling you this because you should hear it from me and not anyone else. But from this point onwards,” he takes a deep breath before finalising his resolute stare. “I don’t want anything to do with the both of you. Thank you for treating me well all these years but I won’t tolerate the way you treat ___ or Haerin anymore. If either of them wishes to keep that relationship with you, I respect that but I don’t stand for anything that you do or say.”

Then, Yoongi picks up his phone from the table before pushing himself off his seat, feeling lighter but equally relieved when your parents’ stunned expression follow his movements.

“And despite everything…” Haerin says, soft after Yoongi’s own words. “I still love the both of you. But I’m done.”

Haerin follows Yoongi, grabs her belongings and turns away before he can say another word. Yoongi refuses to leave shallowly so he bids a final nod of respect to your parents before turning on his feet—and walking away from the toxicity that’s plagued them all.

Coming home almost feels like a chore on most days. It’s the same, bland routine that Yoongi follows when he walks up to his door and keys in his code before dragging his lethargic body through his living room, then to his bedroom before he carries out his nightly regimen.

Undress, shower, grab a drink, sleep. Always in sequence, never out of place. It was one of the things in his life that grounded him in his busy schedules, his jumbled mind.

After the day he had, he needed a sense of normalcy, of routine. The shrill shrieks of your mother’s voice still ring clear in his ears, and the way your father disapprovingly glared at him when he told them that he and Haerin were no longer together.

Yoongi knew how much they adored Haerin, at least to an extent that they portrayed her as this do-no-wrong angel that would never disappoint them. He knew how unfairly they treated you, and there were moments where he so desperately wanted to speak out, to tell them that they were godawful people for saying and doing the things they did do you.

But silence overtook him. Every time your smile dropped, he remembers. Every time you look away, he catches you. Every time you shrink into a shell, he sees it.

It almost felt cathartic, the way the venomous words left his lips.

So, as his feet trawl against the floor of the hallway to his apartment, he’s ready to lift his fingers to do their job at punching in the code to his home—but there’s a bump in his meticulously crafted schedule, one that he’s not expecting, but somehow welcomes.

“____?”

Your body is leaning against his door, forehead pressed against it when he spots you. Fortunately, you hear him, either his footsteps or his confused voice, but you do. Your head lifts, and Yoongi immediately frowns.

“Are you drunk?”

“No,” you lie, and Yoongi knows you’re lying because there’s a dopey grin on your face when you blink up at him; clearly drunk.

“You’re lying,” he says blankly, slowly making his way towards you as his arm instinctively wraps around your waist to steady you. There’s a hazy look in your eyes and he knows you’re really drunk. The worry intensifies because what were you doing here? How did you get here? Did you walk?

The thoughts consume him, and before he can open his mouth to query you, words tumble out of your mouth in a slur.

“Don’t ah-cuse me,” you sass, loose-lipped when you open a singular eye to glare at him in a way that was not intimidating at all.

“____,” he sighs, quickly punching in the password onto his keypad while he simultaneously attempts to keep you upright then you decide to rest your entire body weight on him, slackened arms wrapping uncharacteristically tight for a drunk person around his body.

“Yessss,” you drag your words out, “Why do you look like that?”

“Like?” he sighs once more, finally kicking his door open with his feet while he lugs you upwards with his arms, your chest pressed against his when you wrap around him like a koala bear.

You were drunk. Not him. So he feels every bit of your frame mould itself against him and it feels nice, the way your warmth radiates into the seemingly cold depths of his heart. You were touchier than usual and Yoongi wasn’t complaining but he was confused. Especially when you dig your head into the crook of his neck as he attempts to direct both of your bodies into his living room.

“Like you hate me,” you mumble softly, and Yoongi already has a response on the tip of his tongue before your head snaps up, eyes narrowed into a sottish glare. “So why did Haerin say you loved me?”

Yoongi knocks his knee against the wall and curses when the words leave your lips. He feels his heart drop to the pit of his stomach when you continue to glare expectantly at him as if you hadn’t dropped the biggest bomb of revelation onto him within a span of two seconds.

“She—what?” Yoongi’s not pissed. Well, he couldn’t be when you pout at him the way you were. It’s disparate from your usual persona; disposed to your sharp tongue and eyes; unwilling to let yourself appear softer than you’d allow. Someone who was all bite, but Yoongi knew just wanted to be heard.

You were drunk, he reminds himself. You probably didn’t know what you were saying.

“Yeah, stupid,” you scoff as if he was the unreasonable one for being rightfully confused, in his apartment no less. “You—you do this to someone you love, huh? Look like you hate them? All angry and frowny and wrinkly?”

Yoongi knows your drunk. He can see it, he can practically smell the alcohol with how close you were to him, so he chooses to ignore your jibe at him to drag your stubborn body into his living room so he could regain control of the situation.

“Answer me!” you demand petulantly, huffing when Yoongi grabs a hold of your waist to settle you onto the couch while you squirm. “Dummy.”

Some things don’t change, he thinks dryly when you continue to call him names despite your inebriated state.

“Stay here,” he says before he quickly darts into his room to shrug off his coat and dump his belongings onto his bed.

He’s never moved as fast as he was moving right now in a long time. He’s driven by the knowledge that you were an unyielding drunk, ready to snark at him one second and clinging onto him the next. It wasn’t only that, but the fact that he needed answers that only you had.

Yoongi jogs into his bathroom, scrambling for some makeup wipes he remembers having because he anticipated moments like these happening. He never expected them to actually happen, but alas, his forethought served him beneficial when you looked like you had an early night out.

Then, he feels his stomach bubble in irritation because how did you get here if you were piss drunk? Did you take a cab in this state? Clearly too intoxicated to remain vigilant? Or, did someone drop you off—and if they did, how reckless were they in leaving you in this manner when you could’ve seriously gotten hurt?

His eyes meet his reflection in the mirror as he takes a breath, shaking his head to focus on the main matter at hand. After rummaging through some drawers, he finds the brand you like, memorising it one night because you had casually let it slip. Then, he quickly grabs the standby bottle of water on his bedside table before he’s returning to his living room.

In the short span of when he left you alone to now, you’ve managed to sprawl yourself on his couch as if you were planning to take up every inch of space possible with your form.

“____,” he calls, kneeling in front of the couch until he was eye level with your head. “Hey.”

His voice is soft. He knows not to get angry just yet. Even if he was, more so that he was worried, he needed you to cooperate and he couldn’t set you off.

“Wuh?” you mumble, rapidly blinking as you attempt to focus your eyes onto his figure. “Yoongi?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he offers you a small smile, “Can you sit up for me?”

“No,” you snap indignantly.

Yoongi sighs, fully knowing that it wasn’t going to be as easy as that.

“Please? Just this once,” he reasons, “Sit up for me, yeah?”

“Nooooooo,” you whine, “You’re annoying.”

“I’m not annoying,” he murmurs, opting to reach a hand out to brush your hair when your cheek digs into the plush material of his sofa as you glare at him. “Okay. I am. But I promise I won’t be if you sit up for me?”

“Liar,” you sniff.

“____,” Yoongi sighs, feeling like he’s just aged ten years when you refuse to cooperate with his attempts of getting you into bed.

“Yoongi,” you quip back cheekily.

“Don’t Yoongi me right now,” he snaps, attempting to jostle you up by the arm.

Apparently, you’ve decided to make his life ten times more difficult with your refusal to listen to him when you make a home out of his couch. That wasn’t the first thing you’ve done and certainly not the last; because apparently, you didn’t want to listen to him at all.

“Why are you so mean,” you say quietly, timidly, nothing like the fierce woman you’ve grown to become.

“Listen to me and I won’t have to be mean, okay?” he asks softly, still crouched down at your level when your eyes flutter shut. “And don’t you think you’re being mean by not listening to me?”

His eyes trace over your features and even now, he thinks you look stunning. You’ve always been beautiful. It’s an everlasting truth that won’t change no matter how stubborn you’re being. Yoongi would even argue that even when you were unbending you were gorgeous because you were you.

Even now, when your mascara is slightly smudged underneath your eyes and your lipstick is patched, you still carry yourself with a clumsy sense of confidence (and that was only because you were drunk). Your cheeks are blotched red, a pretty shade that Yoongi yearns to brush his thumb over; but you suddenly lean your cheek against his knee.

“But you only pay attention to me when I’m mean,” you pout.

Yoongi raises a brow.

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes you do,” you complain petulantly, huffing as your eyes peer up at him.

From this angle, the two of you are so close. Yoongi can trace each freckle on your face with his fingers if he reached out. His lips were inches away from your face, and he’s hyperaware of the way his breathing begins to become more controlled, less like a bodily function when you blink up at him; innocent and … dejected.

“I don’t know if you realise but you’re kind of always mean,” he says, not unkindly, a small smile on his lips when you gasp.

“M-Mean?” you clutch his calf in despair as if he’d just committed blasphemy. “I’m the nicest person everrrr.”

Yoongi knows you weren't the type that acted cutely; you were far too feisty for that and he's grown to appreciate it. But it was moments like these, where the slightest things you would do would have his heart-clenching, a fond smile slowly making its way onto his face when he observes you silently.

“I don’t doubt that sweetheart,” he hums, softly rubbing circles on your shoulder as you sigh into his touch. The term of endearment slips out against his conscience but you don’t seem to point it out. Thankfully. “You know what’d make you nicer?”

Your eyes immediately snap up, wide and curious as you await his next words. Yoongi tries his best not to let it show that his heart was melting. Thank God that couldn’t literally happen.

“If you sit up for me,” he says.

You frown, unsatisfied with his answer as you shake your head.

Yoongi sighs, disappointed but not the least bit surprised.

“That’s no fun,” you mumble.

“Then you want to stay mean?”

“Mean?” you gasp, “I’m not mean!”

“Hm, you are,” he teases, watching the way your ears turn bright red. “Mean girl.”

It’s the only way he knows how to placate you right now. It’s almost amusing when you look genuinely aghast that he’d suggest you were anything but an apparent angel. He knows not to provoke you, and he finds that he … likes this. Likes the way that you’re soft, almost carefree in the way you were talking to him when sober you would never allow yourself to be the way you were.

“Yooooongi,” you whine, and Yoongi’s never found whining attractive—but there was something about the way that your words slur together, and your soft breath, that made him think that it wasn’t too bad.

“Come,” he encourages gently, pushing himself to stand up as he wraps a tender hand around your bicep. “Drink this and I’ll help you remove your makeup then we can talk, how about that?”

Somehow, that does the trick. You quickly snatch the bottle from him and clumsily uncap it before gulping down gallons of water. Then, you’re immediately on your feet with a beam on your face as you follow him towards his bedroom, then the bathroom, a skip in your step. He almost laughs, even if he feels exhausted. He trails closely behind, grabbing the makeup wipes he’s grabbed from his room on the way to his bathroom.

When he enters, you’re already perched on his sink, legs together with your hands clasped on your lap. You look stupidly polite and Yoongi can’t fight the fond smile that appears on his face.

“Remove my makeup,” you demand, levelling him with a glare that he thinks that you think looks intimidating. It only makes Yoongi hide a laugh.

“Yes, your majesty,” he rolls his eyes, already pulling one out.

Yoongi goes to stand in front of you, your legs parting on instinct to allow him in between the space so he was able to access your face. It’d scarily domestic, the way that Yoongi carefully brushes your hair out of your face and gently swipes the makeup wipe across your skin to remove the makeup adorning your features.

His eyes stay trained on the wipe, practically forcing himself to look anywhere but your eyes that intently follow his every move.

“You have really nice skin,” you blurt.

“So do you,” Yoongi returns, throwing the first makeup wipe away before he’s reaching for another.

He nearly chuckles when he realises that you look even more like a racoon. Somehow, you still look beautiful.

“Nooooo,” you insist, suddenly leaning forward as Yoongi’s eyes widen. “Your skin is so soft. What’s your skincare routine?”

Your hands are squeezing his cheeks, forcing his face to look at you as you inspect his skin like it was your duty. It was comical, really. How loose-lipped and carefree you were. The fire in you was definitely still there, just a little lighter and with a lot more sparks that crackled.

“Drugstore cleanser and moisturiser,” he replies.

You gasp, brows scrunched as you huff, squeezing his cheeks one more time. His lips are stuck in a pout, and his words are muffled but you seem to understand them anyway.

“No fair,” you sniff, “I spend a shit ton on money on skincare just so I can look pretty.”

Yoongi tilts his head to the side when your grip loosens ever so slightly. And before he knows it, the words come tumbling out of his mouth as if he was the drunk one.

“You’re pretty regardless.”

For someone that Yoongi knows is comfortable and proud in her own skin, you flush at his blatant compliment. Even if Yoongi’s intention wasn’t to fluster you, he did exactly that and he can’t lie—but he enjoys your reaction far more than he’d expected.

“Don’t just—don’t say that,” you mumble shyly.

He smirks.

“Flustered?” he teases, quickly taking your moment of vulnerability to swipe the makeup wipe across your face once more.

“N-No!” you deny petulantly, pouting at him as he uses his other hand to hold your face still.

His palm easily covers your cheeks, thumb softly pressing an indent on your skin as he focuses on removing the makeup around your eyes. He didn’t want you getting an eye infection because of his carelessness.

Silence overtakes Yoongi and you, but it’s comfortable. There was no pressure to speak or to fill the void. Your legs swing by Yoongi’s hips as you hum a random tune, eyes filtering everywhere as Yoongi finishes removing all your makeup.

Yoongi doesn’t quite know how to navigate the conversation even if he was hyperaware of your previous curiousities.

“You’re thinking so loudly,” you frown, arms suddenly wrapped around his neck when he mechanically finishes removing your wakeup and throws the last bit of makeup wipes into the bin.

“You a mind-reader?” he snorts, and he notes that you’re pleased when he doesn’t pull your arms away.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

“How did you get here?”

You purse your lips.

“Jungkook.”

“You guys went out for drinks?” he asks with a raised brow.

You nod your head, then his jaw tightens.

“And he dropped you off here? Drunk?”

“Jungkook didn’t drink,” you mumble, “He just—I asked him to drop me off here.”

“And he let you up here in this state?” He’s growing more agitated by the second, wondering how the hell Jungkook thought it was a good idea even with your insistence to leave you here, alone, wasted.

“He said he told you,” you say quietly.

Briefly, his eyes quickly make their way onto the screen of his phone after he fishes it out from his pocket.

From: Jeon Jungkook

___ is drunk

i dropped her off at your place

and before you get mad at me, I think u need to talk to her, hyung. none of this back and forth bs. She deserves the truth

Then, a message that came a little later, split from the rest.

u know why she’s drunk. all i could do was try to support her.

Yoongi sighs, shaking his head before he taps you twice on your thigh, gesturing for you to get down from the sink.

“You should drink some more water,” he says instead.

You don’t budge, and Yoongi isn’t the least bit surprised. He’s dealt with more difficult moments with you.

“Yoongi.”

The fact that you call him by his name makes him freeze, especially when you level him with a far more serious stare—and your sobered face resting on his.

“Why does it sound like you’re about to interrogate me?” he attempts to joke.

“Why did Haerin tell me you loved me?”

Your question nearly causes him to choke on his saliva. He can’t run, or turn around, or deflect because your grip around his neck is tough. As if you’d expected him to flee the moment you caught him in a vulnerable spot.

“You should drink some water and change,” he avoids your question entirely, “Are you still drunk?”

You nibble on your lip, “Does that matter?”

“Yes, because I want to have this conversation with you knowing that you’ll remember what I say,” he says softly, holding your chin in-between his fingers when you frown.

“So you didn’t have this conversation with me when I was sober around you all those other times?” you snap.

“____…” he says hesitantly, hands inching to wrap around your waist but he remains rooted in positive like a stick in the mud.

“Why—why did Haerin say you love me?” you say straightforwardly, and somehow—it isn’t the admission that stuns Yoongi, but it’s the way your eyes avoid his as if you were unsure. “I just … am I not—why don’t you …”

Yoongi’s face softens when you stumble over your words, clearly nervous.

He’s never seen you like this before. He’s seen you angry, annoyed, happy and cheeky. Not unsure. Not ever when you looked like you were doubting yourself because of him.

Somehow, the fact that he knows it’s because of him—makes him feel like shit.

“Hey,” Yoongi calls softly earning your hesitant gaze, “It’s just me.”

You nod your head as if you were reminding yourself that it was in fact—just Yoongi. Not a stranger, but Yoongi. The same Yoongi that you’re holding, and taught you how to drive.

“Why did you choose Haerin?”

Yoongi blinks.

You’re serious, he realises. Your face is tight but it’s trained on his, gauging his reaction. Yoongi’s still blank-faced, even though he’s attempting to gear his brain for a response. An honest one because you deserved nothing less than that, and more than what Yoongi could offer.

“It was safer,” he says truthfully. There wasn’t a hint of a lie in his eyes, or in his words. You seem to realise this, too. “And Haerin was…she came to me with the idea and—it seemed safe.”

He knows it’s a shitty explanation and so do you. You continue to frown at him, eyebrows furrowed when you attempt to absorb his words. He’s half expecting you to come to your senses and realise how pathetic his reasoning was; push him away and leave. But you don’t. Instead, you take a deep breath.

“Why…” you trail off, fingers absent-mindedly trailing up and down on the nape of his neck. He shivers. “Why don’t you want me?”

“You know it’s more complicated than just wanting you, ____,” he says softly.

“So I wasn’t enough for you?” you accuse, jaw slackened when your grip suddenly loosens, realisation marring your features.

“____,” he soughs, “I don’t want to have this conversation when you’re drunk.”

“I’m drunk but I know what I’m saying! Stop treating me like I don’t know what the hell I’m saying!” you hiss.

“Trust me, I know you know what you’re saying but it’s late and this isn’t something I want to talk about in my bathroom,” he says, “Please.”

Before you can pull away, Yoongi’s hand wraps around your wrist to keep your hold there.

“I promise you. We’ll talk about this when you’re fully sober and not drunk,” he reasons once again, slightly more desperate when you scowl. “There are things that I want to tell you that deserve a better setting than this.”

Knowing that you were aware of his feelings didn’t … scare him. What scared him was that you thought he didn’t want you. But at the same time, he couldn’t blame you for feeling that way. Not when all he did never implied otherwise.

What scared him was how things could change.

“How about you tell me why you’re drunk?” He attempts once more, gently, tender; kind. Yoongi wanted you to know that he wasn’t here to fight. “I don’t like seeing you like this, ____.”

“Cause I’m so fucking confused, Yoongi,” you mumble, forehead dropping to his shoulder as he almost flinches at the sudden contact. “You say you don’t like me doing this and that but haven’t you—haven’t you considered that it’s because of you? Huh? Or is it just me? Because I’m so—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” he says firmly as you glower. “I don’t like seeing you like this because you could get yourself into danger. What if I hadn’t come home on time? I know I haven’t been the best friend I should have been but I don’t want you doing this to yourself because of me.”

“You don’t control me,” you sneer through a mumble, “Y-You don’t, Min Yoongi. You just—you’re so confusing and it sucks and it hurts and I want answers but you’re not giving them to me because you’re mean. You’re mean and dumb and stupid,” you cry, shoulders shaking as he waveringly rests a hand on your back in an attempt to soothe you.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises, but he knows it’s no use when you sigh.

“Are you,” you say dryly, head still tucked into his neck. He notes you were allowing yourself to remain close, but for some reason, it still unsettles Yoongi. As if you were preparing to pull away anytime soon. “You…why would you do this to someone you love?”

It’s when your voice breaks that his entire heart shatters. He hears it loud and clear. Almost as if you grabbed it with your own hand and crushed it into smithereens. When he feels the dampness on his shoulder, he’s pulling you away in alarm to get a glimpse of your face.

“Please don’t cry,” he whispers, thumb already wiping your tears away.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” you sneer through a sniff, blinking away your tears as you attempt to duck your head away from him. “D-Do you think I want to? Huh? You do all these things for me and then—then you choose everyone but me and…and I-I just wanna know why I wasn’t good enough—”

“Don’t say that,” he interrupts you with a frown, cupping your face in his hands.

“Why? Because it’s true?” you seethe vehemently.

“No,” he snaps, “It’s not. That couldn’t be more false. I told you, I don’t want to have this conversation when you’re clearly not sober. You can sleep here for the night and we can talk tomorrow morning.”

Somehow, that doesn’t do anything to appease you or to stop you from crying. He hates that you are because of him. He hates that the devastation is clear on your face when your expression crumbles.

You push him away with enough force that his hands drop from your cheeks.

“Why do you always push me away? Why do you always keep me at arm's length? Why do you say and do all of these things but not choose me when I was always here! Why? Why?” you cry, slamming your hands into his chest as he takes the brute force of your hits.

Yoongi purses his lips as he hears your cries grow louder. He doesn’t know what to say; at least not something that could explain why he did what he did in a way that was enough for now.

“Please, ____, we’ll talk tomorrow,” he whispers once more, attempting to reach out to you again.

When you dodge his hand, he feels an arrow pierce through his heart.

“You don’t love me,” you whisper quietly, eyes dropping to your lap from where you’re sat on the counter of his bathroom. “How could you?”

Yoongi flinches, then he takes a long hard blink with his eyes trained on your figure. He’s almost appalled at how sure you sounded. As if this was your truth; the one that you’ve deluded yourself into believing when Yoongi’s only ever known to love you with every fibre of his being, albeit in silence.

“Don’t you dare say that,” he says so levelly that it even scares him. “You don’t know—"

“That’s right! I don’t! I don’t know anything because you never tell me anything and the one time I’m asking you a question you’re trying to deflect by telling me that we’ll talk tomorrow. But you had time, Yoongi. You had years and months and days and hours and you didn’t say anything! How—how can I know if you never tell me anything or do anything to indicate that you love me? You don’t love me! You don’t you don’t you—”

Yoongi tried his best to remain collected, receiving your shouts with a brave face—but he couldn’t. He couldn’t listen to you telling him that he didn’t love you when his heart says otherwise; the way that it grows larger in size whenever you were around; the way he finds himself thinking about you at random intervals in the way; the way that you’ve woven yourself into every aspect of his life without him even realising.

He was a patient man, but he had his limits too.

So maybe that’s why he loses it, just for a second. Maybe that’s why he does the one thing he tried his best to avoid, for now, at a time that he knows isn’t right.

Your voice is cut off when his lips slam against yours. It’s desperate. He hears a gasp and it could be either of you. He cups your cheeks in his hands before pressing closer, forcing himself to paint the truth onto each crease of your lips so you’d know. To tell you things in the words that he never said.

You taste like alcohol, but beyond that, you smell like home. Comforting. Present. You. A type of softness he’s only ever had from afar, comfortable enough to be next to you without being with you.

Then, you pull away.

You’re gaping, and Yoongi feels his heart drop.

“Fuck you, Yoongi,” you whisper, trying to hop off the counter as he stops you again.

“Fuck,” he curses, eyes fluttering shut, “I—I didn’t mean to kiss—”

“You didn’t mean to? Did you not mean to choose Haerin either? Did you not mean to hurt me? Did you not mean to love me?” you snap.

“That’s not what I meant at all,” he frowns, “I said we’ll talk tomorrow. I didn’t mean to kiss you now. Not when you’re drunk. Fuck. I didn’t want this to happen like this.”

“Then make it clear! Make me understand!”

“Stop being stubborn and listen to me,” he snaps, finger reaching under your chin so you’d be forced to glare at him straight on.

“Fuck you,” you say hoarsely.

“Curse at me all you want but I won’t talk about this until I know you’re sober and the both of us aren’t exhausted,” he whispers, “This isn’t something I take lightly, ____. I want you to get that.”

“Let me go,” you hiss.

“No,” he blinks. “You can be pissed at me all you want but I’m not letting you out of my sight tonight. You’re drunk. Be pissed at me in my home for all I care but I’m not letting you go. Never.”

“You’re such an asshole,” you spit, and he sighs. His head is light, and he can still feel the slope of your lips on his own. But that wasn’t the point. There was a time and place for everything, and now he needed to ground the both of you.

“I am,” he admits, “But please. Sleep here tonight. I won’t bother you anymore.”

You blink at him multiple times before you’re shoving him aside. This time, he lets you. You’re still wobbly on your feet, and his hands naturally dart out to balance you but you shift away from him.

“Don’t bother me ever again.”

The implication stings and Yoongi can only stare at your back when you reach the door.

Now that hurt.

“You don’t hurt the person you love, Yoongi.”

When you walk away, you leave Yoongi breathless with the potency of your words.

[sergeantsporks]

So like I thought about how no one knows that Hunter is powerless because everyone think that Golden Guard is super powerful and he probably heard all things ppl say about powerless witches (bc you know often people dont want to be seen as bad so they dont say a lot of thing if person IT applies to is near them) like "no coven wants a powerless witch" and couldnt really say anything probably and even if he did he still had to hide that he actually is and if you wanna do anytbing with that here you go (im sorry for that ramble)

“Did you hear about the Owl Lady?”

“Oh, yeah. Guess that’s what happens when you challenge the emperor.”

“No magic. Yikes. That’s a far way to fall, especially since she used to call herself the most powerful witch on the isles. I guess we won’t be chasing after her anymore, though.”

“Oh, for sure. I mean, why would we go through that much hassle for a magicless witch?”

Hunter’s ears burned beneath his cloak, but he swept past the scouts as if he hadn’t even noticed them.

“Far way to fall”

“Why would we go through that much hassle for a magicless witch?”

Well, sure. Who would want a magicless witch in their coven?

Hunter’s hand gripped his artificial staff, as if to reassure himself that it was still there.

That he wasn’t powerless.

Belos gave me magic.

I’m not powerless.

And he had to prove that, had to prove every day, that it wasn’t a mistake.

That it wasn’t some sign from the universe that he was worthless. That he was meant to be powerless, because he wasn’t even important enough in the grand scheme of things to be given the same chance as everyone else.

It’s not a mistake to give me magic.

It’s not a mistake to let me be in charge.

I’m not a mistake.

He didn’t feel bad for the owl lady—he didn’t. At least she’d gotten to experience having magic, and it was her own fault she’d lost it, fighting the emperor like that.

But wouldn’t you hate it to suddenly lose your staff? To be powerless again?

Not that he was nothing without it. He could still fight, he could still be useful, even without magic.

But there would always be that disadvantage, that one hill he could never climb, that one thing he couldn’t ever do without help.

And if they ever found out, what would they do?

Would they whisper and point, and gossip about how they didn’t want a magicless witch? Would they ask why Belos would ever let someone like him lead the coven? Would they whisper that it was only because they were related, that if Hunter wasn’t his nephew, Belos wouldn’t even look twice at him?

Or was that just in his own head?

Would I be worth anything to Uncle if I wasn’t his only family?

Or would he have passed me by, not another thought to the magicless orphan?

You don’t belong here.

And he didn’t—he didn’t belong here any more than a selkidomus in the middle of the Isles.

One day, someone would realize that.

One day, no matter how hard he tried to keep it secret, they’d find out that he didn’t belong. That he was only pretending to be powerful, that he was pretending to be something he wasn’t.

That he was cursed as much as the owl lady.

Why would we go through that much hassle for a magicless witch?

Why would Uncle go through that much hassle to give a magicless witch a chance at life?

Why would anyone go through that much hassle for me?