#none of these apologies mean anything to me

[bywonyo]

LET ME LOVE YOU ( 换句话说 ) they finally show you how badly they yearn for you with a kiss.

❛❛ 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝖿 𝗂𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 , 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗂 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 ❜❜

ペアリング 엔하이픈 형 & f ! r non idol au fluff yearning skinship smoking suggestive ⪩⪨ ( 档案 ) 1OOO

アイラ ꢾ𓍢ִ໋ i got carried away i fear

LEE HEESEUNG

“Seriously, him?” A flat, disappointed voice pierced through the air, and you recognized it instantly. “Yes, him.” With a deep breath, you turned around to face the man — it being none other than Lee Heessung, the embodiment of your personal nightmare, standing there with an unimpressed expression.

Heeseung's lips curled into a smug grin as he met your glare, fully aware that he was the only one who had the power to make you lose your cool.

“C’mon, princess, you know I’m the perfect guy for you. You just have to accept it” The tall man moved nearer, gently tucking a stray hair behind your ear. Your breath caught in your throat as an electric tension filled the room, leaving you aware of the closeness between you both.

( more under cut. )

“All you have to do is say yes and I’ll give you everything you want” Heeseung’s voice was laced with sultry, and you could hear the smirk on his face. Your heart was beating faster and your mind was full of hesitation — but his hot breath on your skin couldn't make you seem to care.

You breathed out a shaky “yes,” and Heeseung’s mind buzzed with the urge to kiss you. He cupped your chin, gently guiding you against the wall, and at that moment, his biggest fantasy came true as his lips pressed against yours.

His breathing was shaky as his hand slid down to your waist, his cold, long fingers grazing your skin, making you gasp at the sensation. Heeseung had never dreamed of anything more — you were the only thing he had ever yearned for. And now, he had your lips on his.

PARK JONGSEONG

“Jay! Seriously, stop buying me so much stuff! You exclaimed, struggling to balance three bags of designer items. Jay, with an unbothered expression, seemed completely unfazed, making you even more frustrated.

“An expensive girl deserves expensive things.” Jay smirked, ruffling his hair while leaning against the wall. You glared at him, your frustration only making him more amused.

“Money won’t buy me” You clenched your teeth, arms crossed tightly as the bags tumbled to the ground, the thud resonating through the air. “Then how do I get you, baby?” Jay moved nearer, gently grasping your hand in his.

You breathed in, your body tensing — a gulp the only sound coming out of your mouth. “Do I give her all my attention?” He did exactly that. “Do I treat her like a gem?” That too. “Or should I just tell her what I feel?” He hasn’t quite done that.

Tension hung in the air as Jay leaned in closer, a smug grin on his lips. “I think I’ve figured it out,” he said, his eyes locked on yours. He pulled you in, kissing you slowly, and you melted into the moment, returning his kiss with the same amount of fervor he felt, the world around you fading away as you lost yourselves in each other.

Jay held your face in his hands as he pulled you closer, the kiss deepening as he felt his mind go insane from how badly he craved you and the fact that he could finally call himself yours.

SIM JAEYUN

“You’re like a dumb puppy chasing me around everywhere, just bother some other girl!” You burst in anger, and you yelled at the man in front of you. But instantly, you felt a twig of guilt in your chest from your mean words.

You glanced up to apologize, but to your surprise, Jake was smirking at your outburst, appearing more amused than offended by your reaction. “I take pride in that, princess” You frown at him and pout — why is he so stubborn?

“Can’t you be sane for once and leave me alone?”Frustrated, you throw your arms up as Jake leans against the wall, staring down at you. His composed expression only fuels your anger more, walking up to him as you pull him by his shirt.

Jake's expression shifted to a more serious one, causing your heartbeat to quicken, an undeniable tension filling the air around you. “Do I look sane to you?” You gulped as Jake reached out gently, lifting your chin to ensure you met his gaze.

The room fell silent as you both stood still, gazing into each other's eyes. Jake gently brushed his thumb against your lips, causing your breath to hitch. Seeking permission, he looked deep into your eyes, making you hesitantly nod before he eagerly brought his lips to yours.

Jake's kiss was filled with desperation and longing, as if he'd waited for this moment forever. His mind chanted your name like a prayer while he held your hands loosely, then shifted your position, pinning them against the wall. He opened his eyes to look at you, and it was clear to anyone how intensely he desired you.

PARK SUNGHOON

“You’re insufferable” Sunghoon's lips curled into a flirty smirk as he flicked the lighter in his hand, igniting the tip of his cigarette, the soft flame brightening a slight orange glow his face,

Sunghoon inhaled and puffed out the smoke, his expression completely unbothered by your nagging, which only fueled your frustration “I told you to stop smoking multiple times!” You took the cigarette from his lips and threw it to the ground.

Sunghoon sighed and met your glare. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, tilting his head and tousling his hair. You couldn’t help but scoff in disbelief at how unbothered he was at your scolding.

"I can't stand it, you know. It's causing you pain." You fold your arms, pouting in frustration as Sunghoon raises an amused brow. "So you actually care about me?" Your eyes widen, and you shake your head, trying to defend yourself and deny his assumptions knowing he’s right.

"Help me then" you blink in confusion. "How?" Sunghoon leans in, his gaze sultry as he fixates on your lips, causing your heart to race. “This,” he murmurs, cupping your face with his hand before kissing you eagerly. Surprised, you hesitate for a moment but then find yourself kissing him back, caught in the intensity of the moment.

You shut your eyes as Sunghoon draws you nearer, his large hand tenderly stroking your hair. The lighter slips from his grip, hitting the ground — his desire palpable, evident in the way his kiss feels so desperate and needy.

rbgs are very appreciated ! wanna be updated on all my works? join the taglist ^^

[fernpetals]

Good Cop, Bad Cop V

Masterlist

Part 1 Part2 Part 3 Part 4

Yandere Tom Ludlow x Reader

Warning: Power imbalance, mention brutal crimes and crimes against women

GIF is not mine, credit to the @scarlettspectra.

Unedited Part

Before you know it, this becomes a routine. Every other week, when you have to report to the police station and end up being late, he drops you home. At this point, you can bet that you will recognise his charger anywhere.

Your steps cease when you spot the vehicle outside your workplace. You don't know why, but you take a few steps back before turning around and walking back into your office. You know that he means well, just doing his jb, but you find him a bit…intense. His gaze is enough to reduce you into a fumbling mess.

Taking out your phone, you check for any message in case you have missed it. There is none. What is he doing here?

Okay, you have not done anything wrong, it’s a new city and the cops are simply being extra careful maybe? You can show him your phone in case of any misunderstanding. You assure yourself as you take a deep breath to collect yourself before walking out.

A part of you hopes that it isn’t his car. A lot of people own a charger and maybe you are…

All hopes are dashed as soon as the car door opens and Officer Thomas Ludlow gets out. Outside the station, with the wind ruffling his hair, he appears slightly boyish, a smile might look lovely on him. Too bad, you know him as a grump.

“I received no texts.” You bite your tongue as soon as you finish that hurried explanation.

You almost see something akin to mirth dancing in his brown eyes.

“Because none was sent. Get in the car, we’ll talk on your way home.”

“Oh. it’s not that late.” 

“I can see that. This is important.” He says, rounding up and walking towards you, on reflex, you take a step back.

It’s like something in you just fails to settle down in his presence. To your surprise, he opens the car door for you.

“Please.”

You feel stupid. He is a police officer who has been nothing but kind to you, maybe not the most polite, but good, in his own way.

“Thank you.” is all you can manage before getting inside his car.

—--

“You might want to be extra cautious.” He speaks up while driving through the busy LA roads.

“Why?”

“We keep an eye on them, they keep an eye on us and you have become a common link. First in the restaurant, now visiting the police station every now and then. If anything, it confirms that one of them had been at least near that place.”

“You mean they fled when you all surrounded me?”

He hums before stopping near a food truck.

“I’m hungry, have you eaten yet?”

You find yourself taco in in his car. He has already packed some for dinner, and by the number, maybe even breakfast.

“You must be a busy man, I mean, the job is demanding.”

Officer Ludlow glances at the packed meal and nods “I barely have the motivation to cook for myself. Besides, it’s quicker that way.”

Oh, you thought him to be married. But he does not seem so.

“You have my number?”

“No?”

“Save it in your emergency contact, I suggest you get yourself a good security system and if anything. I mean anything feels odd, you let me know.”

“I–I don’t think I am of any use to them.”

“You are a woman.”

Annoyance flares within you as you fix him with a hardened stare “So?”

“I’m sorry, I did not mean it that way.”

An apology that sounds genuine and a softened gaze? That soothes you, surely, but you remain annoyed.

“What do you mean then, Sir?”

For a moment, you think you catch something dark flash in his eyes but it’s gone with a faint gulp.

“I mean, they are monsters and women are the usual victims, and targets even—they don’t need a reason, or even animosity, the fact that you are a woman is enough. These people have the record of doing unspeakable things, to men, to women, to little girls and boys.”

That does make sense. In the underworld, there is not a being more exploited than the female perhaps. 

“So, if you have a gun, good, if you don’t, get one. Keep your location on all the time and if anything goes wrong, what do you do?”

“Call 911.”

He lets out a sharp, short sigh at your response.

“Call me, that’s why I am suggesting you save my number on the emergency contact list.”

You nod, the gravity of the situation finally dawns upon you, seems like the casual decision to enter that restaurant has cost you much more than you had thought.

Oh, what have you gotten yourself into?

*****

Thanks to @scarlettspectra's brilliant analysis of Yandere Tom Ludlow, it has been the fuel I needed.

[crepesuzette2023]

That Klaus Voormann Interview where he says he might have been a better bass player for the Beatles than Paul

I got curious about this after reading this post about Klaus and Paul by @thewalrusespublicist, and saw that there was some interest in the interview in the comments.

Original article (German) here (Süddeutsche Zeitung, 2010)

Quick & dirty translation into English by: moi

• Humor translates poorly, especially without audio. I tried my best, but can’t guarantee I captured the tone perfectly.

• Apologies for the n-slur in the quote from Klaus’s grandmother. I left it in because it illustrates Klaus’s background and the spirit of the times.

• Speaking of: context is important, so I decided to translate the whole thing.

• Klaus is 5 years older than Paul — I must have known this, but didn’t realize how it must have impacted their relationship in Hamburg before now.

• I wasn’t able to find other English translations, which is why I did this one, but if you know of any, or have done one: let me know and I will add a link. And sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore anyone’s work.

------

Klaus Voormann: I should explain something right away: I have a real problem with dyslexia.

SZaW: Reading the menu?

Voormann: I have to read it out loud. I have to hear it to understand it. If I say "Knoblauchspeck mit Hausbrot" out loud, it’s there right away, and I won’t forget it.

SZaW: Is it an artists’ affliction?

Voormann: I don’t know. But it caused many hang-ups and problems I’m still carrying around with me.

SZaW: Were the 1950’s that bad?

Voormann: It was bad for me in the sense that none of my teachers realized I was dyslexic. The teacher said, “read from the book,” and I wanted to disappear from the earth. Chemistry didn’t interest me, historical dates didn’t mean anything to me, but the teachers wanted to beat it into you.

SZaW: But then you quit school to go to Hamburg, where, in the autumn of 1960, you discovered an obscure band from Liverpool called “The Beatles.” You can’t have been twenty yet [he was 22], I believe George Harrison was only 17. Stupid question: What were they like?

Voormann: Loud. I heard this noise from a basement at the Reeperbahn, and followed it. It grabbed me right away, because this was music I could hear and see right there in Hamburg: not a disc, no radio, but real people playing! I was amazed by the momentum they unleashed with only three instruments.  

SZaW: And you just went to them?

Voormann: During the break, I went to them and introduced myself. They looked incredibly strange: Studded jackets, hair in a DA, the boots [with the fur, just kidding]. Back then, I worked as a graphic designer for Hörzu und Kristall, but I wanted to design record sleeves. John Lennon pointed me to Stuart Sutcliffe and said, “talk to him, he’s our artist.”

SZaW: You wouldn’t expect studded jacket music to appeal to a coddled boy from the Berlin upper class.

Voormann: According to my mother, it was boogie-woogie, “negro music,” from the jungle. But to me, the Beatles were a revelation, as if I’d suddenly learned to roller skate or race on a motorbike. Up to that point, there’s been jazz on the one side, classical music on the other. Suddenly, something fresh entered the scene. You could tell they didn’t speak for the elite, but for the simple people: the toilet cleaner getting off in the back [???], the pimp who thinks it’s hot, or a famous photographer who’s obsessed with it.

SZaW: Your family back home must have been pleased. Rumor has it your grandfather owned a whole district back in Berlin.  

Voormann: My grandfather basically owned all of Heiligensee. He had shares in oil companies and South African diamond mines. Unfortunately, I didn’t meet him. He died before the inflation of 1923.

SZaW: Lucky for him.

Voormann: That depends.

SZaW: So, all that money became worthless inflation-billions?

Voormann: As children, we were playing roulette with the bills.

SZaW: A pastime fitting your class.

Voormann: My grandmother used to go to Monte Carlo to gamble.

SZaW: With real money?

Voormann: Back then it was real. I would have loved to know my grandfather; he was a great guy. There are stories about him throwing gold coins in the air because he enjoyed the girls screaming and jumping, trying to catch them. He liked to go out, and he had other women. When he came home, he brought back a silver plate of oysters for my grandmother, his “little dove.” My grandmother got angry and kicked the plate out of his hand, and he said, “my little dove, I didn’t know oysters could fly.” Then they made up.

SZaW: It must have been a better world. Obviously, you diligently followed your piano lessons as a child.

Voormann: I played Chopin, performed in concerts, and I might have become a good pianist. But at the time, it felt too risky. My parents didn’t want it, and ultimately, I didn’t, either. And so, it was decided I should become a graphics designer.  

SZaW: Coming from this world, entering the sweaty cellars of Hamburg must have felt like a descent into hell.

Voormann: Of course. It wasn't a protest, per se, but I went away, went to art school in Hamburg, and broke free from my family bonds. This music thing wouldn’t leave me alone, this love came from the gut. The Beatles added the heart.

SZaW: The Hamburg Beatles were a five-piece band, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, Stuart Sutcliffe and the drummer, Pete Best. Times must have been rough. Albert Goldmann writes in his biography that John killed a sailor on the Reeperbahn. And Stu Sutcliffe’s sister keeps saying Lennon killed her brother.

Voormann: Of course there were fights where Stuart got beaten up, not by John, but by blokes whose girlfriends liked Stuart.

SZaW: And Lennon was supposed to be a closet case, who had an affair with Stuart . . .

Voormann: Complete nonsense. The two of them knew each other since they went to school together in Liverpool, after all. I liked Stuart, too, and we, as guys, would hug each other from time to time. He was a charismatic artist, that was all. In my whole life, I never met anyone who saw and perceived as much as this little boy—no matter if it was a bird or the sound of a train.

SZaW: And why was this good-looking boy so ashamed on stage he stood with his back to the audience?

Voormann: He wasn’t ashamed of his looks; he was ashamed he didn’t know what he was doing on guitar. Not that rock’n’roll has a lot to do with actual music. "Tutti Frutti," for instance, has three repeating chords, and all the bass needs to play is the root note. Great musicianship isn’t part of it. For Stuart, it was difficult, because not only was he not a musician, he didn’t want to be one. Still, his love of rock’n’roll was enormous, and his charisma was on par with Elvis Presley. [KLAUS!!!!]

SZaW: Stuart was posing, whereas George Harrison practiced until his fingers bled.

Voormann: George had a very ambitious way to make licks his own. He couldn’t improvise chords on the spot like Eric Clapton; he had to craft them and put them together. If anyone fit the type of lead guitarist, it was Paul McCartney.

SZaW: Before he became the bassist, Paul played second guitar back in Hamburg.

Voormann: Most of the time. Later, in the "Top Ten" or in the "Star Club,” he also played the piano, simple stuff.

SZaW: Because rock'n'roll isn’t real music.

Voormann: Well, it isn’t.

SZaW: And yet, you wanted to play rock’n’roll at all costs?

Voormann: At some point, I bought Stuart Sutcliffe’s bass for 200 DM, because he wanted to paint. Later, I actually turned out to be a good bass player.

SZaW: because you spent a lot of time watching from the audience?

Voormann: I had the tools from my classical training, but I had no idea how to play on a stage. I played the songs I heard on the Reeperbahn at home, by myself.  

SZaW: Stu Sutcliffe couldn’t, and didn’t want to play. Did you want to take his place?

Voormann: Maybe. During their final show together, I went to John and said, “Well, John, would it be possible for me to play bass?” And he said, “Sorry, Klaus, Paul already bought a bass. He’s going to be our new bassist.”

SZaW: Close, but no cigar.

Voormann: Hm.

SZaW: You came close, but when world fame started, you weren’t on board. Is that a good way of putting it?

Voormann: Hm, yes it is.

SZaW: Do you regret it?

Voormann: It would be interesting to know what would have happened. They wouldn’t have been with four, but with five. Would it have worked? Would I have fit in? The Stones were a five-piece.  

SZaW: A six-piece, originally. They fired piano player Ian Stewart, because he wasn’t pretty enough.

Voormann: They certainly couldn't have accused me of that.

SZaW: Ex-Beatle Pete Best sometimes goes on revival tours, and still feels cheated.

Voormann: And if he lives to be a hundred years old: Pete Best is not a good drummer. He simply didn’t have the charisma for a band this powerful. Maybe I lacked that charisma, too, but it was Ringo who got things swinging.

SZaW: Like Pete Best, you narrowly missed your chance.

Voormann: If you look at the musical roots of the Beatles, I would have fit better, in some ways, than Paul.

SZaW: Ja?

Voormann: Many people will take this the wrong way if I'm saying it here, but I approach bass playing completely differently. I would have stood for something primitive, earthy. If I’d been in the band, I would have used my influence to push for more rhythm and blues.

SZaW: For the Hamburg cellar dwellers.

Voormann: I know that John could have been closer to these roots, that later came through in a few numbers. But from the moment they became Lennon-McCartney, that disappeared completely—"Please Please Me", "She Loves You", "Help" and everything. They took off towards a completely new style of music, and I probably would have been an obstacle.

SZaW: Unlike Paul McCartney, who seduces the camera with his puppy eyes in Let It Be.

Voormann: The charlatan.

SZaW: But important, because of the girls.

Voormann: Without Paul, Beatlemania wouldn’t have happened. Paul is an entertainer; he can handle an audience. Different from John, who wasn’t a front man.

SZaW: He could be very forward on the Hamburg stage, when he greeted the audience with "Sieg Heil!"

Voormann: He was joking.

SZaW: Nazi jokes.

Voormann: All of that was unprofessional stuff. Professionalism came from Paul.

SZaW: Is it true John and Paul brought the mop top haircut back from Paris?

Voormann: They were there, but still: Stuart had the hairstyle first.

SZaW: Who cut his hair?

Voormann: Astrid Kirchherr. But I don’t want to revisit that story, it’s so embarrassing.

SZaW: Why not? Hamburg’s only contribution to the world’s cultural heritage.

Voormann: I was the first to have his hair cut in this style by Astrid, and then the others wanted it, too.

SZaW: Where is Stu Sutcliffe’s bass guitar now?

Voormann: I needed money at some point, and had it auctioned off at Sotheby’s for thirty- or forty-thousand Mark. Stu’s sister bitched and complained, theft, etc., and that’s why I only got a couple of thousand Mark. I wish I could undo the sale. I would like to have the bass.

[s4svnn]

Out of bounds . JJK

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; his love subjected you to the true extent of deception, a merciless lie wrapped in the illusion of paradise, until the truth tore it apart - he was always out of bounds.

↳ Jungkook x reader

↳ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: ongoing

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

Chapter Thirteen

I stormed out of the room, my heels clicking furiously against the polished floors as I tried to keep myself together. My chest felt tight, my heart ached, and my vision blurred with unshed tears. I wasn’t about to let them fall—not here, not where anyone could see me. But the effort to hold them back was exhausting.

By the time I reached the stairs, I was practically blind with emotion, blinking rapidly to keep my tears at bay. As I descended, my foot slipped on one of the steps, and I stumbled forward—straight into someone. The impact jolted me, and I gasped as I steadied myself, immediately launching into an apology.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry—”

“Seriously?” a sharp, irritated voice snapped. “Do you not have eyes?”

I froze at the venom in her tone and looked up. My breath caught when I saw the woman from before in front of me. She was stunning—blonde hair that fell in sleek waves around her shoulders, sharp green eyes, and designer clothes that screamed wealth and privilege. She stood with the kind of confidence that could crush someone like me if I wasn’t careful.

Her gaze narrowed on me as if I were something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

“I-I wasn’t looking,” I stammered, taking a step back.

“You think?” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. Her manicured hand brushed at her sleeve as if I’d contaminated her just by bumping into her.

“I said I was sorry,” I muttered, my voice barely audible as I tried to move past her.

But then her eyes locked onto my face, and a slow, malicious smile crept onto her lips. “Oh…are you crying?” she asked mockingly, her tone filled with cruel amusement.

I clenched my jaw, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of a response.

“Oh, this is rich,” she continued, laughing softly. “Jungkook make you cry right, what did he give you a reality check?”

At the mention of his name, my head snapped up, and I glared at her. “This has nothing to do with you,” I said sharply, my voice shaking with anger.

“Doesn’t it?” she asked, stepping closer until we were only a few inches apart. Her perfume was overpowering, and her smile was taunting. “Because it sure looks like you’re upset over him. Let me guess—he gave you just enough attention to make you think you had a chance, and now you’re realising you were just another little plaything to him?”

“Excuse me?” I snapped, stepping back to put some distance between us.

“Oh, come on,” she said, rolling her eyes dramatically. “You’re not seriously going to stand there and pretend like you’re not completely hung up on him. It’s pathetic.”

I glared at her, my anger rising. “You don’t know anything about me.”

She laughed, the sound cold and cruel. “I don’t have to. I see girls like you all the time—desperate, clinging to any scrap of attention he throws your way, thinking it means something. Newsflash, sweetheart: It doesn’t, my boyfriend isn’t interested in you.

I blinked, stunned by her words. “Your boyfriend?” I repeated.

“Yes, my boyfriend.” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “So whatever little fantasy you have about him, you’d better let it go. Jungkook and I have history. We understand each other. And you?” She looked me up and down with a sneer. “You’re nothing but a distraction.”

I clenched my fists at my sides, my blood boiling. “Listen,” I said, my voice low and firm. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I am not about to let someone random bitch talk down to me. Whatever’s going on between me and Jungkook is none of your business. And frankly, I don’t care about your so-called ‘history.’”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and she took another step closer. “Wow didn’t know the daughter of the owner of this design company could be described as some random bitch.”

Her words hit me like a slap, but I refused to let her see how much they rattled me. “You’re the CEO’s daughter?” I asked, my voice steady despite the turmoil churning inside me.

She smirked. “So you do have a brain. For your own good remember this encounter and watch your mouth the next time you try and speak to me.”

I stared at her, my heart pounding. She was cold, calculated, and clearly used to getting her way. But I wasn’t about to back down.

“I’ll tell you this once,” I said, meeting her gaze with as much defiance as I could muster. “I’m not afraid of you. So don’t expect me to roll over and play dead just because you told me to.”

Her smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered, her eyes narrowing. “We’ll see about that. My name’s Jade, by the way,” she said, her voice thick with venom. “And just so you know, every time you walk these halls and see my name plastered on walls you’ll never reach, let it remind you exactly where you stand—and where you’ll never belong.”

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, her head held high as if she’d already won.

I stood there, my chest heaving as I tried to process what had just happened. Her words replayed in my mind, and I felt a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach as I questioned whether my place here was really set in stone after all.

By the time I made it outside, I was trembling—not just from anger, but from the sheer intensity of everything that had happened. My legs felt weak as I descended the final steps and saw the building’s entrance.

The receptionist called after me, but I ignored her, bursting through the doors and into the chilly night air. I wandered aimlessly for a bit, my mind a mess of conflicting emotions that I couldn’t push back no matter how hard I tried. It was hopeless.

When I finally reached my apartment complex, all I wanted was to collapse in my bed, bury myself under the covers, and forget this entire nightmare of a day ever happened. My legs ached from all the walking, my head pounded with frustration, and all I needed was the small comfort of being home. But as I approached the entrance, my heart sank.

The front was blocked off by orange barricades, and construction workers moved around in organised chaos, unloading equipment and chatting over the noise of drills and saws.

“Great, what now..” I muttered under my breath, the fatigue in my voice more evident than ever.

I quickened my pace and stopped one of the workers, who was carrying a clipboard. “Excuse me,” I said, trying to keep the irritation out of my tone. “What’s going on here?”

The man turned to face me, looking tired but polite. “The building’s undergoing renovations,” he explained in a matter-of-fact tone. “It’ll be closed for the next two weeks. Notices were sent out to all the tenants a few weeks back.”

I blinked, my brain barely registering what he was saying. “Renovations? Closed?” I repeated, dumbfounded.

He nodded, glancing briefly at his clipboard. “Yeah. Sorry for the inconvenience. Everyone was given a three-week heads-up so they could make arrangements.”

My frustration spiked. “I didn’t get any notice,” I snapped, my voice a little louder than I intended. “No one told me anything about this!”

The man looked at me apologetically but shrugged. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s nothing I can do about that. The work’s already started.”

I stared at him for a moment, a mix of disbelief and exhaustion weighing down on me. “Of course,” I muttered, throwing my hands up in exasperation. “Let’s just add this to the list of things going wrong today. Perfect.”

The worker looked like he wanted to say something else, but I turned away before he could. My heart sank further as I took in the chaos around me, realizing that there was no way I’d be sleeping in my own bed tonight—or for the next two weeks.

I stood there for a moment, trying to process this new curveball. My tired brain scrambled to figure out what to do next. I didn’t have any friends nearby I could call, and I didn’t want to bother Damian after the argument we had this morning. I pulled out my phone, scrolling through hotel options, trying to focus even as the weight of the day pressed down on me.

Suddenly, a sharp honk made me flinch.

I ignored it at first, assuming it wasn’t meant for me. But then it honked again, more insistently this time.

I turned around, frowning—and froze at the sight of the car in front of me. A sleek black McLaren 720S was parked at the curb, its aggressive lines and low stance making it look like a predator waiting to pounce. The car was breathtaking, a masterpiece of engineering and design. As a designer, I couldn’t help but admire its bold contours, the butterfly doors, the way the streetlights glinted off its glossy finish.

But my awe quickly turned to dread when the driver’s window rolled down, revealing Jungkook’s scowling face. I turned away, pretending not to see him, and continued walking.

“AJ,” he called out, his voice firm. “Wait.”

I ignored him, my anger and frustration from earlier bubbling back to the surface.

“Don’t make me chase you,” he warned.

I scoffed under my breath. Like I care.

Moments later, I heard the car door slam and his footsteps approaching.

“Are you insane?” he snapped, grabbing my arm to stop me. “What the hell are you doing wandering around this late at night?”

“Why do you care?” I shot back, yanking my arm away.

“Because it’s not safe,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Safe?” I laughed bitterly. “Don’t pretend like you care about my safety, Jungkook. You made it pretty clear where we stand earlier.”

His jaw tightened, and he stepped closer. “Don’t do this,” he said, his tone low.

“Do what?” I said, glaring at him. “Be angry? Be upset? Sorry, but you don’t get to dictate how I feel.”

“Just get in the car,” he said, his voice sharp now.

“No.”

“AJ,” he said, his tone warning.

I brushed past him, determined to put as much distance between us as possible.

But before I could take more than a few steps, I felt his arms wrap around my waist.

“Hey!” I shouted, struggling against him. “Put me down!”

“This is for your own good,” he muttered, hoisting me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing.

“This is kidnapping!” I yelled, pounding my fists against his back.

“Shut up,” he muttered, delivering a sharp slap to my backside. “You’re only making this harder for both of us.”

I gasped, my face heating in a mix of anger and embarrassment. “Let me go, you prick!”

“Not until you stop being stubborn,” he said, tightening his hold.

I tried to knee him, aiming for his groin, but he caught my leg with his free hand.

“Nice try,” he said dryly. “But that’s not going to work.”

I let out a frustrated scream as he carried me back toward his car. How was no one seeing this? I was basically be kidnapped.

When he finally set me down in the passenger seat, I glared at him, ready to unleash a string of curses.

“Get your seat belt on.” he said, his voice softer now but still firm.

For a moment, neither of us moved. Then, with a resigned sigh, I reached for the seatbelt, wondering what the hell would happen to me this time.

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

The car glided smoothly along the highway, its engine purring as the city lights streaked past us. I couldn’t help but stare out the window, entranced by the kaleidoscope of colors from the cars, streetlights, and towering neon signs that painted the night. The soft hum of music played in the background, barely loud enough to be discernible, but the bass thrummed gently, adding a rhythmic undertone to the stillness between us. The interior of the car was bathed in a faint purple glow from the dashboard, giving everything an ethereal, moody feel.

For a moment, I allowed myself to get lost in the ambiance—the way the shadows danced across the sleek, futuristic interior, the calming vibration of the car against the road, and the surreal feeling of being whisked away in a world I didn’t belong to. It was almost enough to forget the tension still lingering from earlier. Almost.

Then, without warning, Jungkook broke the silence.

“You gonna tell me why you were wandering around the streets at night like an idiot?” he asked, his tone casual, but there was an edge of irritation beneath it.

The spell shattered instantly, and my frustration flared. “Mind your own business,” I snapped, not even sparing him a glance.

He kissed his teeth audibly, shaking his head as he focused on the road ahead. The slight twitch in his jaw told me I’d gotten under his skin. Good.

I turned my head to look out the window again, desperate to avoid further conversation, but my gaze unwillingly drifted back to his hands gripping the steering wheel. Strong, veined, and adorned with tattoos that curled and twisted like artful strokes of rebellion, they were impossible to ignore. The dark ink contrasted against his smooth skin, the intricate designs disappearing beneath the sleeve of his hoodie. His fingers flexed slightly as he shifted gears, and I found myself momentarily hypnotized by the way they moved—graceful yet commanding.

What the hell is wrong with me? I tore my gaze away, embarrassed by the strange fascination.

“Cooperate or I’m leaving you on the side path.” he said, breaking through my thoughts.

I scoffed, crossing my arms and glaring out the window. “Go for it. I didn’t ask you to kidnap me.”

The car came to an abrupt halt, jerking me forward in my seat with enough force to make me gasp.

“What the hell!” I shouted, whipping my head toward him. “You could’ve killed us!”

He didn’t respond, his gaze unwavering as he leaned toward me, closing the space between us in an instant. His face was so close that I could feel his breath ghosting over my skin—warm, steady, and entirely too distracting. My own breathing hitched as my chest tightened under the intensity of his stare.

“Im not going to ask again. Why were you roaming the streets at night on your own?” his voice was low and deliberate, laced with both curiosity and command.

I swallowed hard, my usual defiance faltering under his proximity. My eyes darted away from his, landing on the faint glow of the dashboard as I tried to compose myself.

“I…” I hesitated, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “My apartment complex is undergoing renovations,” I finally admitted, my voice quieter than I intended. “They didn’t tell me, and when I got there, it was blocked off. I was trying to find somewhere to stay.”

His gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained unreadable. He pulled back, giving me just enough space to breathe again.

“And you thought wandering around aimlessly at night was a good idea?” he said, his tone calmer but no less cutting.

“What else was I supposed to do?” I shot back, finding my voice again. “I don’t have anyone to stay with.”

He leaned back in his seat, his hands returning to the steering wheel. For a moment, he said nothing, and I wondered if the conversation was over. Then he spoke, his words catching me off guard.

“You’ll stay at mine.”

“What?” I blurted out, my eyebrows shooting up. “No. That’s not happening.”

“Do you have another option?” he asked, arching a brow at me.

I hesitated, glaring at him. “I’ll find a hotel—”

“You’re either staying at mine,” he interrupted, his voice firm, “or on the streets. Take your pick.”

His words hung heavy in the air, leaving no room for negotiation. I stared at him, my pride screaming at me to refuse, but the exhaustion in my body and the sting of reality kept me silent.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, his tone smug as he shifted the car back into motion.

The rest of the drive passed in tense silence. I refused to look at him, focusing instead on the road ahead as we wound through the city. Eventually, the bright lights gave way to quieter streets, the towering buildings replaced by wide gates and sprawling properties.

When we pulled up to the familiar wrought-iron gates of his house, a wave of unease washed over me. It looked no less intimidating than the first time I’d seen it, the grand structure looming behind perfectly manicured hedges and towering trees.

As the gates creaked open and the car rolled through, I tried to suppress the nervous energy bubbling inside me. Staying here was going to be a nightmare, but as much as I hated to admit it, it was better than being out on the streets. For now, at least.

Please check out my Ko-fi💞: https://ko-fi.com/s4svnn

[kavehater]

It’s so interesting how you use a comparator which ties into your senses to compare a moment in time to the stark difference of how you’re feeling right now, if that makes any sense ? But then when you feel that momentary nice feeling you felt in the past you realise just how different things are now, and you knew it was weird and different but you didn’t realise it’s gotten THAT bad

[dykedvonte]

Honestly a sorry from Curly would mean nothing to Anya.

I’m not saying she wouldn’t want to hear it, it’s a hollow vindication. She told him and he couldn’t hear her. He saw it and he couldn’t understand it. They both experienced it and he should apologize that it took that for him to get it. She already knows he’s sorry but what’s the point if neither of them can do anything about it? It’s earnest but at the same time what she wants an apology for is what Curlu can’t apologize for.

He can’t be sorry for what happened to her even if he is. Even if he carries that guilt with him until the day he dies it’s not all his to bare. The most heinous parts aren’t his weight even if he tries to balance it. A part of her bitterness is the fact he can’t be sorry for it all. She can’t just direct it all towards him even if she wants to. She was failed in so many ways by all of them. It hurts with him the most cause he had the power but they all did nothing in the grand scheme of things.

The one person who should apologize would never and could never, it’s not something you can be sorry for. She wants an apology, she needs one but what would it fix?

[rpgbabe]

right but like the thing is forgiveness =/= continued association. i can forgive AND 'forget' (not dwell on it) and move on like bye bye ur not for me no more. in fact i think that's almost the only way *to* truly get over someone lol. like u cant flat out leave someone in the dust unless u rly accept what they did, accept their remorse, and put it behind both of u. idk if im in love w the whole attitude of like no some ppl shouldnt be forgiven ever >:C like wat good does it rly do to hold that bitterness within u?

[phagodyke]

ykw actually I am angry + disappointed w them. I've been pushing how I feel aside and trying to make it my own fault so it's all contained but I think theyve just been mean. and they really should know me better ik I try to pretend I don't expect more from them so I feel less hurt when they do things that upset me but we've been friends for years by this point. like come on.

[like-wuatafauq]

Me wanting to join Les4Les because I thought it would help motivate me to date again after 3 years of coming from an absolute traumatizing relationship and dont want to burden my future partner with extra things a partner normally wouldn't deal with:

😃 omg this is exciting! Maybe I'll meet someone and fall in love!!

Some Les4Les: bisexuals always whine and are all cheaters ,they never actually want to be with a girl and they're-

Some Bisexuals: lesbians are creeps and just insecure yall have small egos , biphobic and-

Some Les4Les: no you're-

Some bisexuals: no you're-

Me and literally everyone else who understands it's not supposed to be about belittling the other sexuality:

[yappingmoxie]

made a birthday post for my grandma yesterday since no one else remembered it and immediately afterwards my sister made one and really drilled in hard about how she named my newest niece after her. and idk. I’m still upset. I’ve been crying off and on about it because like. I know it wasn’t right but my grandma would tell anyone who listened how I was her favorite grandchild (and tbh I think besides it just being true she did that bc she knew how awful my mom and sister were to me) and would brag on me constantly. and my sister did nothing but talk about how annoying my grandma was and say the worst things about her right before she died. but yet she loved her so much that she forgot her birthday 2 years in a row so I mean clearly she just had to take the name I fought with her over during her first pregnancy. I’m so glad I’ve had my cousin throughout all of this because otherwise I’d feel legitimately insane. She’s been amazing at reminding me how much grandma loved me and helping reinforce that grandma and I DID have an agreement that she wanted ME to name my daughter after her if I ever had one. Everything my sister does though feels so spiteful. Like I love my niece so much and it just sucks that I can’t even spend time with her without being reminded of how much my sister wants to hurt me. I don’t blame the baby though. Like it hurts and makes interacting with her a little difficult but she’s innocent. And the thing is I wouldn’t have even minded if she named her that out of genuine love and respect for my grandma but I know she didn’t. From not letting anyone be with my grandma in the hospital when she died to putting her ashes in my fucking mailbox to telling me that my grandma hated me and I didn’t do enough for her to telling me how awful I was for taking a week off to implying I should’ve been there even tho she lied to me about her being in the hospital to withholding photos she promised me of her to ruining my grandmas house (she lets my 5 year old niece write all over the walls and keeps a million fuckin farm animals like ducks and chickens and turkeys inside when grandma didn’t even let dogs in) to asking the preacher at her funeral to say some pointed remarks about me being no contact with my mom to now using her daughters name as a direct slight against me I can’t help but feel like all she wants to do is weaponize my dead grandma against me without even worrying about how disrespectful she’s being to her as long as it hurts me. I haven’t even tried talking to about my nieces name because after confronting her about my grandmas passing I know it’ll do nothing to actually remedy anything and will just lead to even more explosive fights where I know she’ll just double down on saying things she know will hurt me. And I don’t want to argue about my grandma. I don’t want to use her memory for something disrespectful. It doesn’t feel right and doesn’t feel like honoring her in any way that she’d appreciate. I just want her to be respected. I want her name to be used for something kind and loving instead of spiteful. Because ultimately that’s what she was. My kind and loving grandma. Not a tool to cause arguments and tension. She was always the mediator in the family and I can’t help but think how disappointed she’d be to know her passing has been used in the way it has to further drive a shift in the family.

[highraccoon]

it's so fun when the people who took everything from you claim to be the real victims. like, y'all want to dump a years-long friendship in a dumpster fire just cause you're in a romantic relationship and that's the only thing that matters to you, go fucking ahead. but don't pretend to be the victim when you were the one who destroyed it.

you don't get to take literally everything from me and claim that you were the real victim when the only thing you didn't take was the skin off my bones.

[totebagbisexual]

my toxic trait is if ur mad at me i’ll do my best to be understanding and recognize where i was wrong and apologize but if ur still mad at me after that i will go fucking crazy

[weezerlvr228]

It's giving the...main character syndrome. like who tf does she think she is??? Y/N???

NO OH MY GOSH ANON. LET ME TELL YOU. LET ME FRIGGIN TELL YOU.

[alittleemo]

.

[bagofshinyrocks]

Government name vs Military callsign

Prompt: What scares them worse? Addressing them by their full government name, or addressing them by their military callsign?

Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: none

John Price

Government name.

Calling him Captain or Skipper just ends with him sauntering to where ever you are and ask (in an obnoxiously self-satisfied voice) what you wanted. Like a cat pretending it can’t hear the urgency in your tone when you say to get off the counter.

“If you want me to ‘shake a leg’, call my name, luvie.”

Now if you holler “Jonathan Price”, he’ll drop something. Either the newspaper in his hands, or his heart into his stomach. He sure as hell moves his ass with a purpose, and he’s peering into the room with an apology on his lips.

“Yes, luv? What’s wrong, poppet?”

“Lift the other end of the couch, would you?”

He does, and you shimmy it further back in the room. “Anything else I can do, love o’ my life?” He’s hovering, and gently coaxing you into his arms. Gauging how mad you were at him. You curled into him and kissed his chin. Then stepped away with a pat to his chest.

“No, sweetheart, just wanted you to shake a leg is all.”

When he remembers your previous conversation, he groans and tells you to fuck off.

Simon Riley

Military callsign.

When you two are alone, and he’s already given you permission to call him Simon, don’t call him Ghost. When you say that word, he assumes one of his mates are at the door or on the phone, and goes from Simon to Ghost. Stalks into the room with narrowed eyes, only to find you in the kitchen. By yourself.

“Ghost, you want a sandwich too? Turkey and cheese.”

“Fuck you callin’ me that for?” 

Once he sees you’re alone, he swoops in and wraps around you like a hoodie. A firm kiss to your ear, then your cheek, then spun you around. Back pressed to the counter top. Settles his face right close to yours.

“We playin’ games now?” You didn’t want to upset him, so you pressed a kiss to his nose. His grumpy look faded a bit.

“Sorry, baby.” Arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders. And your fingers scratch his scalp. Another kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry for playing games with you. Simon Riley.”

Hearing his name on your lips finally cracked, and he gave you a smile. A little scar on the upper lip. You gave it a kiss, and then pressed a kiss to his lips. 

A quick surge forward, and you only just had time to shove aside the things behind you before you found yourself on the countertop.

Kyle Garrick

Government name.

He doesn’t mind being called Gaz, and you’ll use Kyle and Gaz interchangeably. Doesn’t even mind if you use “Kyle” or “honey” in front of his squadmates. Though “Kylie” he does have some displeasure with.

“I’ll have you know, Soap is still calling me Kylie, you asshole.”

Call him ‘Garrick’, and he knows that you are pretending to be mad at him. He slinks over and rubs his face against your cheek. He’s too cute for you to stay mad.

If you shout “Kyle Garrick”, he comes running. He could have sworn that he put his clothes in the hamper. And did the dishes. And taken out the recycling. Damn, what was it that he forgot?

“Kyle Ga-”

“Yes, dear!” Shit, he didn’t mean to ‘yes, dear’ you. “Yes, my dear, I’m right here.”

You pause your laundry folding and summon him with a crook of your finger. Once he’s close enough, you tap your lip with the same finger. “I need a kiss.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “God damn you.” He squishes your face in his hands and gave you a quick, firm kiss. “Don’t stress me out like that. Thought you were mad.”

“Give me another kiss, or I will be.”

He rapid fire kissed your mouth, chin, and cheeks, then gave you a smack on the ass before returning to the living room. 

“In my own fucking home,” he muttered.

John MacTavish

Military callsign.

He’s got some thick skin. And he’s had his name shouted angrily many a time. He would all but skip into the room with a big smile on his face. The only people who shouted that name (and wore out the scare-factor on it) were his family members. Shouting “John MacTavish” meant you loved him. You were also mad at him, but you loved him. That was more important. Even with your scowl and the gross pile of garbage he kept forgetting to take out. You loved him.

Now shouting his callsign reminded him of his superior officers.

“SOAP!”

Shit shit shit. He put down his beer and ran from the garage to the backyard. Leg brace over his sweats, low cut muscle shirt that you also wolf-whistle at when he wears. You were only weeding the garden boxes.

“JOHNNY!”

“I’m here, bonnie,” he hollered, rounding the corner. You were sitting in the dirt, a tidy pile of weeds and dead plant bits next to you.

“C’mere, c’mere.”

He leaned down next to you, hand on your shoulder and good knee on the ground. “Wassit?”

You pointed to the leaf in your hand. “A caterpillar, Johnny. An itsy-bitsy caterpillar.”

He sighed heavily and kissed your shoulder. “Bonnie, I thought something was wrong.”

“Hm?” You spared him a glance. “What are you talking about, bubba?”

“You called me Soap.”

“Did I? Didn’t mean to spook you, loverboy.” You gave him an apologetic kiss on the lips. “Just wanted you to see the caterpillar before he wiggled off.”

Posted: 2023 Dec 10

[jane-asmo]

Why I think Caitlyn didn’t ask Vi for forgiveness

(Thank 'anons' for your messages. I’ll try to respond to you through this text: )

The importance of Caitlyn’s “I know”

A key moment in Caitlyn’s character narrative is her “I know”—both its content and delivery.

The content: When Caitlyn says, “I know,” it doesn’t just mean “You’re right.” It means, “I’ve taken the time to think about this.” And thinking is what Caitlyn does best. Her “I know” conveys that she has already had this conversation with herself, over and over in her head. She’s thought about it constantly, she’s already told herself these things, and she’s already blamed herself for them.

The delivery: She screams it with violence, and we can see this represented by the boat falling apart. It’s not just that she has thought about it; it’s tormenting her. Her “I know” is incredibly powerful because it’s filled with suffering.

To me, this is as valid as an apology because asking for forgiveness is outward-facing—focused on the other person. "Asking for forgiveness" says, “Whether I’ve forgiven myself or not, whether I feel guilty or not, it’s on you to decide to forgive me.”

But here, Caitlyn’s “I know” is inward-facing. It means, “I’m not asking you to forgive me because I can’t even forgive myself.”

She knows everything you’re saying, and it torments her.

This is followed by:

"I didn’t even have time to think before they hauled her off."

This line is so telling. Everything about Caitlyn is tied to thinking and reflection.

Being a sniper means aiming and shooting. Aiming is the equivalent of thinking, and shooting is the equivalent of speaking. Everything Caitlyn does is deliberate and thought through.

This is why some people dislike her: as I’ve said before, unlike other characters, Caitlyn’s actions can’t be forgiven easily because she doesn’t do anything by accident.

Then we get to:

"We can’t erase our mistakes. None of us."

Caitlyn speak in “we.”

In the prison scene with Jinx:

"No amount of good deeds can undo our crimes."

This scene mirrors the rage she felt when she threw the boat. In this moment, she’s speaking to Jinx, but also to herself.

Caitlyn and Jinx are paralleled so many times throughout the show. Caitlyn quickly realized that, in some ways, she had become like Jinx. And so, in order to forgive Jinx, she would first have to forgive herself.

At this point in the episode, the person Caitlyn hates the most is herself.

But she no longer has the "energy" to hate, neither Jinx nor herself.

Energy comes from fuel. What she perceives as a lack of strength to keep fighting is simply the fact that the fuel that powered her hatred has disappeared. And when you stop feeding a fire, it eventually dies out. She has no energy left; she has no fuel to sustain her hatred.

It's a particular way of saying, I don’t hate you anymore, and I don’t want to hate myself anymore either, because in the end, that hatred corrupts us/everything .

In her own unique way, Jinx also says, I didn’t know your mother was there, even if it wouldn’t have changed anything. And this too is a strange way of taking a step toward the other.

We have two brilliant and intelligent women who express their emotions in unconventional ways. ----------

There’s also a whole analysis that could be done about her concept of justice and rules, "but I don’t have the energy" to dive into that here. Still, it would only lead back to the fact that Caitlyn doesn’t see herself as the right person to free Jinx (and therefore to forgive her) because she believes she herself is beyond forgiveness.