#welcome to my conscience anon!!!!!

[smute]

As a German, do you feel like most of the public supports Palestine or Israel? Because from what I see many of the politicians support the Zionist cause so I wonder if the common people share the same sentiments

you're basically asking me which team i think the majority are rooting for but last time i checked this wasn't a sports match. i honestly wouldn't even know where to begin to explain my views on this war to you. however, in case it was a good faith question:

recent polls show that a majority of germans disapprove of the idf's course of action in light of the many civilian deaths. as a german, my impression is that the VAST majority of people are nothing short of horrified by the suffering of palestinians in gaza and only interested in a non-violent resolution that will bring lasting peace. same as the rest of the world. most germans either disapprove of or openly criticize ANY involvement in armed conflict (ukraine being a notable exception), and the vast majority of people (in fact, the majority of the entire world) condemn israeli settlement policy (that includes german politicians across the spectrum) – in fact, just a year ago, a few months before the attack on october 7, the foreign office warned the israeli government of an escalation of the conflict over new settlement laws for the west bank.

that being said, anything bds-adjacent, anything promoting isolation and escalation over dialogue and mutual understanding, any stance that implies or calls outright for the dissolution of the state of israel will be impossibly hard to sell, not just in germany but in the entire west (however you may define that term) and not only because of the historical ties between many israeli jews and the west, but because israel is too valuable an ally in the region. the relationship between israel and germany specifically is of course a very complex one, and it would be naive to assume that german foreign policy re: israel isn't colored by our shared history, but netanyahu's government has long passed the point of what most people here might defend as the limits of a justified reaction to october 7. they also know that hamas aren't resistance fighters. we're beginning to see that public support for israel's security is not unconditional, is my point. the polls i linked above show that the majority of people (87%) want to put more pressure on the israeli government to guarantee access to humanitarian aid for civilians in gaza, and this was in march

[kisses4kaia]

god college!luke makes my emotions go haywire 😡😩 i’d honestly start dating someone else to spite him

you know what anon. ima need you to claim an emoji bc ur thoughts are TOO GOOD (also thank u sm for 1.5k💋)

so we’ve discussed previously that luke castellan does not get jealous easily.

however.

he never thought you would go this far. sure, you had danced on other guys at parties to get a rise out of him, maybe flirted here and there in front of him, but never this.

getting into a relationship—a serious relationship—with his frat brother? that was a new low. so what if he’d purposefully lead other girls into gross bathrooms at bar outings so you would see? this was uncalled for. how dare you?

so naturally, at your new boyfriend’s birthday party, when you’re sitting on his lap, helping him unwrap your present of a jean-paul gaultier cologne he’d wanted, luke—in classic luke fashion—thought this would be his chance. your sorority sister, drunk off of her wits—bless her heart—came up to you and whispered some slurred imperative about how you needed to get to ‘the square’.

your eyebrows furrowed at her as her eyebrows raised, questioning the significance of ‘the square’ and why the man who prompted her to ask chose there. you said no words, excusing yourself after finding her a water and alka seltzer.

“you really couldn’t help yourself, huh?” are the first words you say to luke, button up shirt open and lying on his back on the false grass. “me? you’re one to talk, sweetheart,” you rolled your eyes at his use of the nickname, crossing your arms as you stand over him.

beneath the twilight, your exposed shoulder skin glistened like the moon, just a sliver of it visible in the northern night sky. luke had obviously had something to drink or smoke, or both, because he slurred his words as he patted the turf next to him. “sit down. c’mon, like the good ol’ days,”

‘the square’ was a small patch of land in the middle area between his frat’s and your sorority’s backyards. it was insignificant to most everybody else, but you and luke had claimed it as yours on drizzly nights like these, when the owl called and adolescence snored. it didn’t even hold sexual reminiscences, for each night you spent on the square was spent just talking. he would gloat about some things he did over the summer, interrogate you on your sex life, laugh at your offense and crack bad jokes. he was the worst person to spend valuable time with, but you returned every night, nonetheless.

“i’m surprised, castellan. been here a full sixty seconds and you haven’t tried to fuck me,” you remained standing over his lax body, crossing your arms over your chest. “do you want me to try to fuck you? because i’m down,” he looks up at you with that smile of his. that toothy, million dollar, smile that reassures whomever it is on the receiving end that everything is okay and there’s not a thing to worry about.

you snort, giving in and sitting down. luke pulls you into his lap before your butt can even hit the cool grass, eliciting a yelp from you. his lips press against your shoulder, strong, warm arms wrap around your waist and you can’t help but melt into the body beneath you. “luke,” your voice is meant to be a warning, supposed to remind him and yourself that you belong to another and this was not right, but he did nothing except for hold you tighter and smile against your skin.

“he doesn’t make you feel like i do.” he spoke the words out of your mind, the voice of truth you swallowed down with a knowing conscience that it would rise to the surface eventually. this wasn’t what you wanted. your single goal wasn’t to make luke jealous, it wasn’t even to show him what he was missing. you just wanted it to be different. you wanted somebody to take you seriously enough to call you theirs.

but anybody who did wasn’t him.

“luke,” this time, you weren’t trying to ward off anything. this time, you were welcoming him and all his invasive, rude, luke-like, traits and the pain you knew would come with letting him in once more. “i know, baby, i know.” he said no further words before flipping the pair of you over and letting your back onto the ground. you focused on none else other than the feeling of his lips finally landing on yours, the trace of his fingers across your denim skirt’s hem. “can i?” luke’s fingers dipped past the fabric, drawing swirls on your skin. “mhm, yeah,” your smile is audible and spreads to luke’s lips.

if there was one thing luke always did, it was worship you. this time was no different. his lips were everywhere, and when they weren’t pecking kisses all over you, he was breathing praises like you were a mortal saint against your skin. and when he entered you, he fucked you like he couldn’t believe he got the chance to feel you again. but he knew what the outcome of this would be; of course he did.

you didn’t know him as a particularly selfish lover, but the way he chased his high, rutting his hips against yours to the point of overwhelmed stuttering suggested that to be true.

and when it was all said and done and the past hung in the air like a wonder of the world, luke stood and looked down at you like you previously did him.

“break up with him.”

“why?”

“you know why.”

there was no denying that, so you did none else than nod.

“yeah. i do.”

[hoseoksluna]

THE FUN DAY, pt. I. | kth ft. pjm

pairing: idol!military!boyfriend!taehyung x f. reader (ft. best friend!jimin)

genre: fluff, angst — the sad kind

word count: 4.8k

summary: you've prepared a fun day for your boyfriend's military vacation. thank god he's here, right?

pin: f. / playlist: fun / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: suggestive but not described themes of sex and alcohol consumption.

note: i'm so EXCITED to bring you this fic that i can't wait until tomorrow to post this. everyone welcome TAEHYUNG and JIMIN to the hoseoksluna universe. i have to tell you a secret. taehyung was my first bias when i first became army. taehyungie was the first one to save me from the bunch—literally to resurrect me because in him i found all the things i used to love and fell out of. jazz, poetry, the aesthetics and arts. it is an honor to write about him and i think i will write another taehyung fic next week. if you have any ideas, drop them in my ask box and i will use them for inspiration. this fic is dedicated to my baby ruru @tkslovechild, my tatlim @jjk7k, and the beautiful anon that asked me for a tae fic while i was already working on this one. i love you all so much. enjoy this beautiful piece. <3 mwah.

𓂃 ౨ৎ .

I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone enough to truly consecrate the hour. I am much too small in this world, yet not small enough to be to you just object and thing, dark and smart. I want my free will and want it accompanying the path which leads to action; and want during times that beg questions, where something is up, to be among those in the know, or else be alone.

I want to mirror your image to its fullest perfection, never be blind or too old to uphold your weighty wavering reflection. I want to unfold. Nowhere I wish to stay crooked, bent; for there I would be dishonest, untrue. I want my conscience to be true before you; want to describe myself like a picture I observed for a long time, one close up, like a new word I learned and embraced, like the everday jug, like my mother's face, like a ship that carried me along through the deadliest storm.

𓂃 ౨ৎ . — I Am Much Too Alone in This World, Yet Not Alone by Rainer Maria Rilke

It was your love language, to dress up like your boyfriend. 

Dress pants, shirts and jackets. Linen, silk, leather. Pointed heels or oxford shoes. Grays, browns, beiges and whites. It was something that made you happy—and it was something that represented a vessel, made of unbreakable porcelain, for your love that you carried for Taehyung. 

He’s sitting in the corner of your bedroom, on a wooden stool he specifically placed at such a picturesque place. With the ivory curtains drifting along the nape of his neck, sheer enough to expose the small vase of tulips that stoop in a private longing for his touch. He fondles them often to preoccupy his mind when you take your usual long showers and he waits for the fashion shows you give him. He’s the one who says yes or no. These shoes, love. Look, they’re just like mine. And right at this moment, the wine-yellow petals are caught between his slender fingers when you come out and he doesn’t let go of them—because you’re not holding up the outfit for the day as you always are. 

For the fun day as you’ve called it. 

You’re dressed in it. Low-waisted gray dress pants with a little, tight, white shirt. Black stilettos, black shoulder purse. Your trench coat is waiting for you in the hall, hung up and lonely, but other than that you’re matching him fully. It feels as though you’re fading into him, becoming a singular being that has his DNA and his beauty, and when he beams up at you, boxy smile on full show, spine straight and tall on the stool, long fingers gripping its rim, Taehyung, with his gray suit and a white shirt, somehow validates that feeling. 

Somehow, in that peculiar Taehyung way of his. 

He extends his hands towards you, asking for your closeness. There’s a mist of murkiness that envelops him, with the saddened clouds beyond the window, standing in the place of the sun. It moves through you, this image of him reaching for you in this landscape, and you think he deserves to be painted like this. With black charcoal and a little bit of soft carmine to eternalize the blush of his cheeks—the only trace of color in the sketchbook. Your hands don’t know the art of drawing, but your heart does and while you take those necessary steps towards him, you feel the scratches of that dark pencil over that grainy flesh. 

His palms find your curves and you consider it unbelievable, the fact he’s still so big, despite the size of the stool and the height of your heels. No matter how much taller you grow, he’ll always be that tower that protects you from the blazing heat of the sun. 

He’s the epitome of autumn. No longer a boy, but a man, whose lungs are perfumed by apples, leaves, cinnamon, pumpkin spice and the slight iciness of the seasonal wind. Whose eyes witnessed the growth of your form since you were a little girl with two long braids. 

Childhood best friends turned to lovers, favored by the hanging, twinkling stars. 

You always saw him the most in autumn. Chasing you down during festivities that your mom couldn’t not be a part of, grabbing a hold of one of your braided pigtails with his already long fingers, then tickling you until you gave up. Ever so easy to catch because of the length of your hair. You knew, even as a little girl, that he was not just a part of your life, but your life itself. More than a companion, more than a friend. You dreamed about having his babies and that dream would come to life through your imagination whenever he would chase you down, years later, in the grand halls of the east wing of his grandiose family home, where nobody ever comes, just to steal a kiss or two. It was the moment you realized that you were no longer kids, even though you acted as such, but that you desired little legs to follow you in the fun of it all. 

And that kiss changed every autumn from that year on.

Stolen glances, the blush of cheeks, quivering fingers that no longer grabbed your braids. Not until many autumns later. You gave him your everything, every bit of your newly-bloomed femininity, your dream of having his babies and he folded it into the vinyls of his favorite jazz music that he would play every night whenever he needed inspiration or whenever he simply needed you. 

Newly. Not just yet as adults and no longer as kids. Somewhere in between. 

And then the duties of adulthood came. The natural process of drifting apart settled between your bodies and you no longer played in the stage between. Taehyung, the saxophone-playing jazz singer, moving foreign bodies into his personal, heart-sung rhythm. Not yours, never yours for a long time. You, working a day job that never paid enough, not for the dresses you yearned to wear at those clubs he would play at. 

But what you didn’t know was that drifting apart meant coming together eventually. 

He might have become your Turnip Head, silent and distant, but you were Sophie—and you found him. You found him while looking for something, or someone for the lack of better words, and he helped you. Over a cup of coffee he didn’t drink, at a jazz bar you always wanted to come to. Your date was a hit and miss and the guy never came, and your Turnip Head didn’t help you find your Howl. 

He helped you find himself. And from that moment on, you never drifted apart again. 

Who would’ve thought that seeking a relationship that did not resemble your dream nor your childhood would make you find him all over again. 

In autumn, too. 

Taehyung paid for your dresses, your female suits, paid for your drinks. Kissed you underneath those dimmed, brown lights before he went off to play songs that moved your body at last. Dancing alone to his songs was your dream come true until he set down his saxophone and joined you. Let his band mates play his favorite Etta James song as he took your hand and drifted upon the dance floor with you. Those who danced before this song sat down, let you have this opportunity for yourself, and Taehyung kissed you, after a long time, after many autumns had passed, right then and there. 

And both of you realized that you could never drift apart again. You could only drift together. 

You moved in together. He bought you tulips of every possible hue every week. Played you his new songs for you on the saxophone. Took you to art galleries. Took you sightseeing, sometimes alone with you, sometimes with Jimin joining you. Shared your dream about having babies with you and talked about it all the time. Tried it out, seized it many times, though the outcome both of you desired never came. Had a beautiful life with you until…

Until he thinned out into his Turnip Head form and skipped away to fulfill his country duties. 

But he’s here. Oh, he’s here. Buff and big, apples, cinnamon and pumpkin spice. Brown eyes that carry the memory of your growth, hands that clutch your hips and that hold the silky memory of your still long braids. Hands that edge around your slightly, barely puffy tummy and that don’t know that you are with a concoction of a small him and you, a divine magical realism, a dream that came true without his knowledge right after the last hours of his military vacation were up and he had to go back to serve the country. 

The reason behind this fun day. 

The day of his second vacation, the day you tell him. 

“You look just like me,” he breathes, the width of his smile never lessening, hands skipping over the space between your hips and your arms and grabbing your hands. It gets to you still, the way his eyes never look up at you, the way they never have, and you feel so sweetly small. Even more so when Taehyung stands to his feet and slides his suit jacket over your shoulders. You become even smaller, a fawn taken care of. A pregnant fawn. “And now you are me.” 

Oh, he doesn’t know just how much. Not yet. 

He sits back down and gently pushes you to take a step back. On wavering feet, like that freshly-born fawn, you waver on your feet, but Taehyung keeps you stable, leaning forward to make sure you’ve caught your balance. A wisp of his dark hair falls over his eye that he, at last, flicks up at you. And the sensation from it, it is nothing that you ever felt before. 

It is a step forward. 

It’s something that tells you: go ahead. 

You planned to tell him at the jazz bar where he kissed you for the first time as an adult and made you his. But now, now it feels more than right, amidst this strange newness that you don’t think you’ll ever experience again. 

You open your mouth, brace yourself, but Taehyung is faster. Ringing fills your ears, the atmosphere around you feels gooey—as if you’re walking through a limbo. 

“Jimin will meet us at the park.” 

Oh, yes. Walk in the park, a warm drink to go, then the jazz bar. Jimin is having his military break as well, about to sing in Taehyung’s honor, you already knew this, knew he would join you, but being in the presence of your boyfriend, the detail slipped out. 

The newness leaves. Taehyung straightens. Towers over you. The normalcy flattens over the chemistry between you and him, the atmosphere lessening to feathery lightness and when you move your arms to give back his jacket, your arms feel as though they’re not your own. 

Your smile falls. 

Jazz bar it is. 

“We should go,” you prompt, turning around, having all the balance in the world as you go fetch your purse and reapply your red lipstick. 

Taehyung watches you in the mirror, his boxy grin on eternal display, warming your heart. You think about how you can’t wait until his baby witnesses that smile for the first time—and wonder if God is molding, at this very hour, the same one upon their little face. It brings tears to your eyes, ones that you quickly blink away, and instead you focus on lining your lips with the tip of the lipstick with utmost precision. 

In your vast collection of lip liners, you don’t have a red one. Truth be told, you always feared this vibrant color. It represented a stigma you never liked—that only promiscuous women wear that color, but to you it was never that. 

It was a color that meant you lose your girlhood, your childhood upon wearing. 

And now, it is a color that announces the next era of your life: adulthood, but different, painted with motherly instincts that are of these vibrant hues. Womanhood. No longer fearful, but brave. 

Right. 

You want your baby to connect this color to you and know that you made it. You waited your whole life for their father and gave it to him in one of the autumns as a child. Without knowing, without realizing. 

That color is a legacy. 

As if he could hear your thoughts, Taehyung kisses the back of your head, halting your motions. Wraps his arms around you as he props his chin on the place he kissed—and right here, right now, you’re looking at a family portrait in the mirror. 

A living, breathing one. With lifting chests in tandem, growing smiles and a growing baby in your womb. 

Magical realism in full effect. 

And then Taehyung is off to fetch your trench coat, holding it up for your arms to slip inside its sleeves. Grabs your hand and revels in the autumn weather outside, boxy smile never faltering. Sings in the car on the way to the park, makes eye contact as he mouths the lyrics—kiss me once and kiss me twice, then kiss me once again, it’s been a long, long time—because he could never sing over that part. It’s too precious to his heart for him to do so. 

The wind accompanies you and grabs your other hand as you walk down the pathway lined with half-barren trees and a still pond. Taehyung hums the Bing Crosby song that seems to be playing on loop within his mind and it is the only greenery that spreads around through his husky voice. All else—the pond, the trees and the last of their leaves that dance around you, the shrubberies and the clouds up above—are smeared with sullen blues and grays, to which Taehyung is everlastingly immune. 

Jimin is standing by an antique coffee stand, dressed to the nines in an outfit he most definitely must be cold in. Black dress pants with a jacket that stuns you. A matching Hussar one, with golden braiding. A military piece of clothing from another time. You think it suits the fun day quite delightfully, but not as much as it suits him. The golden detail goes hand in hand with his golden hair and you think he needs his picture taken. 

“Jimin!” you call out, making his confused little face turn in your direction, and he swivels his body to face you altogether. He holds two cups of coffee in both of his hands, one for him and one for you. You melt at that and look up at Taehyung to see his boxy smile ever so frozen and beautiful, pointed at his best friend. 

When you reach him, he hugs you. His cold skin stings you and you quickly warm him up with rubbing motions against his back. Scrunch your brows in puzzlement when he doesn’t hug Taehyung nor even look at him. 

But all is swept away when Jimin exclaims in discomfort and takes a rapid sip of his boiling drink. 

“Jimin, where’s your coat?” you ask him in pity, watching him shake and moan in pain once he burns his tongue. He uses the cup to warm up both of his hands. 

“I didn’t think Paris would be so cold in October,” he explains in a hushed, livid tone, drawing the rim of the paper cup back to his lips as if he didn’t learn his lesson. Typical Jimin. “But this outfit is for Taehyung anyways, so I’ll survive.” 

He talks of him but he doesn’t look at him. Makes heart eyes at the misting coffee, instead. Like Taehyung isn’t here at all. 

Strange. 

You shake off the thought. 

“Go stand by the pond before you freeze. I want to take a picture of you,” you say, softly, pulling your phone out of your purse. Glancing up, you expect Jimin to be ready with his pose, but he’s looking at you as if you said the most outrageous thing in the world. Eyes wide, mouth downturned in horror. You laugh and place a hand on his arm. “Go, Jimin. This is a special day and special days ask for special pictures.” 

Jimin sighs and nods, despite the fact he doesn’t really look like he wants to do it. 

“Fine, but I’m keeping the coffee in my hand.” 

Your tender laughter prolongs. “Fair enough. Go pose with your little heat pack.” 

Gazing out at the pond, Taehyung is already standing there. With his brown coat over his gray suit, he coalesces with the autumnal scenery and you think he belongs there. That a statue should be made of him right where his feet are planted, for people to remember and appreciate his beauty. You snap a few pictures of him before Jimin makes his way towards the stone bannister and stops right in front of Taehyung, who towers over him. Jimin lifts his cup and smiles a little tight smile, the mist from his coffee eclipsing over him like a soft fog. Switching to portrait mode, Taehyung is gone by the time your screen clears out and shows Jimin by his lonesome self, setting his coffee cup down on the bannister and turning around for some dramatic, aesthetic shots. Taehyung laughs in your ear, catches your slipping purse and places it back on your shoulder, and what he says next gives your life a whole new meaning. 

“Jimin is cute, but he’s strong and sane enough to protect you while I’m gone.”

You pivot back, piercing your sight right through him, not believing those words were just flung out of him like that. Taehyung never mentioned you having a protector while being in the military and even the whole concept of it confuses you even deeper as Jimin is serving as well. He might not be in the special forces like your boyfriend is, but he’s serving nonetheless. The systems are the same, no matter the department. 

Before you can ask him what he meant by that, the sing-song tone of Jimin’s voice reaches you. He calls out your name with a bit of alarm. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You gaze back and meet his eyes in full motion—he’s already taking long steps towards you and grabbing your arm, taking your confusion to another level.  

“What happened?” he asks, his pupils thin dots that ripple through your skin with stiff, panicky electroshocks. You glance back at Taehyung to discover that he’s not standing behind you at all, but behind Jimin, clutching his shoulder. 

You blink. “Nothing.” 

Jimin lets go of your arm and inhales the autumnal air. The pond, suddenly, heaves. 

“Let’s go somewhere warm,” Jimin suggests and you agree with him with a nod of your head. Pinpricks of iciness kisses your fingertips, despite the fact you’re still holding your own cup of coffee that Jimin bought you. 

A strange feeling seizes you. 

The jazz bar is an embrace of snug heat that embraces your womb first before greeting the rest of your body. You can’t help but to touch your baby, say to her in your heart: this is your Daddy’s most favorite place in the whole wide world. And the feeling is so surreal that it washes away the strange sensation that clung to you so heavily. 

You’re the first customers to come. Jimin sighs in absolute relief and he’s standing in the middle of the dance floor, frozen in time, as he lets the warmth of the place defrost his bones. Your cup of coffee was long finished and discharged; Jimin’s drank his in long sips that took seconds to finish, too, and the whole ordeal was so funny to you that it’s given you a sense of lightness that you needed. 

Taehyung hasn’t spoken a word since you left your apartment. 

He sits at the bar stool like he sat in your shared bedroom. One leg propped on the footrest while the other is relaxed on the floor, one hand folded on the apex of his thigh, the other drumming on the bar while the band he doesn’t know is rehearsing their instruments. You take a seat right beside him and feel like the parents you’re about to become. Sophisticated, classical, sublime. 

The pretentious kind, but in a good way. 

That thought makes you smile softly until the bartender asks you if you’d like anything. You politely decline her, even though you’d love a glass of wine with the daddy to be beside you. You can’t drink, not for many months to come. You wait for her to ask Taehyung the same question, but she doesn’t even lift her eyes to his direction. She wipes down the wood of the bar and leaps away. 

Nobody fucking asks Taehyung anything. 

Amidst a hearty guitar strumming solo, Jimin notices the furrow of your brows, the downturned pout of your mouth that opens to ask Taehyung about the strangeness that keeps occurring today. But before you get the words out, Jimin calls out your name into the microphone, the vowels made sweet by the sound of his princely voice. He stands with the band behind his back, his Hussar jacket exquisitely fitting the dimmed background. He holds out his hand for you, a poignant glint perched on top of his irises, and he flattens his puffy, pink lips. 

“Don’t be sad. Tonight is for Taehyung and all sadness is prohibited,” he says with his feigned announcer articulations, the corners of his mouth rounding in a similar manner to yours, in sympathy. “We will have to kindly ask you to leave if you proceed in your sadness. Please, join me here.” 

You roll your eyes, but the smile gracing your features couldn’t be erased even with the force of the whole wide world. You stand to your feet and paddle your way to him, the heels of your stilettos clicking on the worn parquets. Jimin gives you a soft grin and places his microphone down, meeting you halfway on the dance floor and taking your hand. 

It is when he begins to sing, just for you, that you perceive that the instrumental song the guitarist played is one, which is contained in one of Taehyung’s vinyls. The ones he would play in the darkest of nights and sing the lyrics to your bare body. Tears prick your waterline when Jimin guides you into a gentle slow dance while maintaining the tones of the song with utmost perfection. 

And Taehyung is carried in every languid motion and in every vocal cord that is strained upon this hour in his honor. 

I’m in the mood for love, simply because you’re near me…

You gaze back at Taehyung, who sits still and smiles his boxy smile. Frozen and beautiful, but unbreathing. 

Still and unbreathing. 

Frozen. 

You halt your movements. 

Jimin stops the dance, ends the song with a deep hum that pulses through you along with the notion that something isn’t right, but very, very wrong. 

“I wish Taehyung were here,” Jimin says with a deep sigh, holding both of your hands, and an uncanny, perplexing feeling constricts your throat. 

Your breath shivers, vision blurry. “But he is here.” 

Jimin lets go of your hands and you lament his touch. You need to be touched because you feel yourself shrinking into a fawn most vulnerable that doesn’t know what’s real anymore. A fawn just born, pathetically ignorant of the world and of her loved ones.

“I know, but I wish he were here for real.” 

A cold sweat drips down your spine, paralyzing you. Your constricted throat dries up like a well and you can’t swallow. You can’t think, you can’t blink—your lungs can’t lift to inhale any air and they mirror Taehyung’s still ones, unbreathing. 

It is a surprise to you, the question that flows out of you. 

“Jimin, who is sitting at the bar?” 

A wrinkle forms between his brows as he sweeps his gaze over all those bar stools and doesn’t linger at the occupied space that you know is there. A perturbing energy thuds in his eyes once he returns them to yours, and that alarming potency in him rises once again. 

“Who do you see there?” he asks, carefully, leaving his mouth parted as he anticipates your answer. 

You peer back behind you and don’t find any bar stools occupied. Not single one. 

No Taehyung, smiling his boxy smile. 

No Taehyung behind Jimin. 

No Taehyung behind you. 

A sob rumbles out of you in unison with your realization that you were, indeed, very wrong. You catch your sob, covering your mouth with your fingers as your tears spurt down onto your cheeks. 

And then the memories arrive, the reality.

But Jimin ceases their flow with the warmth of his even more careful question. 

“Did you see him at the park, too?” 

You can only nod, but you can’t look at him. You stare at nothing in particular and it seems that what Jimin has ceased, he allows to stream through the pond of your thoughts, accompanied by his vocalized truth. 

“Taehyung isn’t here. He should’ve been here with us, but he had to go to North Korea. There was a conflict, remember? You know this.” 

Taehyung’s apologetic text message appears before your eyes. The letter that came first before his phone call, where he explained to you that he can’t have his vacation and visit you because he has to go and save his country. The real, known reason between the pair of you and Jimin behind this fun day. To honor Taehyung for what he’s doing. The day you wanted to share, as well, that you were pregnant. 

The aloneness has gotten to you, helped by your blessed state. Confused your mind to the point that you imagined him here when he’s not here at all. 

Jimin calls your name and you glance at him. Perhaps he can see the truth dawning on you by the way pity twists his features. He caresses your arm and leaves his hand there, his heat locking in the realization. 

“What has happened to you?” 

Another onrush of tears clouds your vision. Your spine bends. And you can’t. 

You can’t not tell him. You can’t keep it in. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

Jimin’s eyes widen and it merely takes him a second to envelop you in his embrace. He coos your name, rubs your back, a whimper resonates in his chest against yours as he holds back his tears. The music falls into nothingness—and nothing is said for a time that appears to be as long as the season of autumn. 

And then, somehow, you’re outside of the jazz club, sitting on Jimin’s Hussar jacket that he put down on the cold ground for you beside him. And the silence continues until it doesn’t. 

“Does he know?” he asks, and you feel his irises gliding across the side of your face that you cannot turn. 

It’s you who’s frozen this time. 

Still and unbreathing. 

With no smiling Taehyung at your hip. 

“I wanted to tell him tonight,” you say, quietly, with your hands helplessly in your lap. “On the day of his vacation that he looked forward to.” 

Jimin sighs, the sound full of that terrible pity. “How far along are you?” 

It’s a question that brings life to your numb hands and you take them to your belly. 

“Three months.” 

A beat of silence. 

You fondle your growing baby. Jimin seems to be watching you, considering his following words, but you fear to move your eyes. Lift them in expectation to see Taehyung only to meet the half-barren trees and the leaves on the ground that have absurdly regained their vivid colors. 

Lift them to look at Jimin and meet the outcome of your autumn-long aloneness. 

“He’ll be back in a month and I’ll talk to the Sergeant and offer my own vacation. I’ll give it up so you can see him and tell him.” 

A sob lodges itself in your throat and you tilt to the side, leaning your head on Jimin’s shoulder. He, in response, leans his against yours. 

“I don’t think your Sergeant will even hear you out,” you say, humorlessly, your personal pain still prickling the flesh of your heart. 

But then Taehyung’s words wash over you. 

Jimin is cute, but he’s strong and sane enough to protect you while I’m gone.

Jimin, Taehyung’s best friend, who’s been there for him through thick and thin, long before you came into the picture. Jimin, who stuck by your side when sightseeing, and took your pictures. Who devoured dinners with you and drank a whole bottle of liquor with you when Taehyung abstained. 

Jimin, your best friend, too. 

“Will you be here for me while he’s gone?” you ask, the sob in your throat enlarging, preventing you from speaking, but you push through. “So I won't get delusional again?” 

Jimin takes your hand in his, squeezing it firmly in your lap, his thumb brushing over your little, half-swollen belly. 

“It’s the least I can do. Let’s get you home.” 

And he does. 

He calls a cab. Walks with you up the stairs, lingers at the door, watches you take off your heels—watches the comprehension of this day being anything but fun take form on your face and posture, and he hugs you. Reassures you that he will be here the whole week until his vacation is over, and even long after that. 

And you nod. Thank him. Turn your head away when he clicks the door shut behind him. Walk over to the window and stifle your tears when you see him head over to the liquor store in front of your apartment and leave with a bottle of spirits hanging from his fingertips. 

And the tears rush out, despite your efforts, when your gaze cascades down onto the windowsill and onto the vase, where white wine-doused tulips stooped in yearning for Taehyung’s touch a few hours ago. 

They aren’t stooping. They’re flaccid, dead and withered. Like the fun day you prepared.

Because Taehyung hasn’t bought any newly blooming tulips in a long while. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @jjk7k , @tkslovechild , @euphoricmyth , @cinmmongirl , @ririkookiemonster , @perfectiondazesworld , @https-mei , @bangtansonyeondanue , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl , @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk , @parkinglot-nights

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

BACK to masterlist | read part two

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

A Big Misunderstanding

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: mentions of being tortured, your partner is killed because of it, your coworkers blaming you for their death, migraines, deaf in one ear, feeling less than by hotch, fluff at the end

Request by anon: Read the request here!

Summary: You're a new transfer to the team without Hotch knowing about it You needed to escape harassment and tragedy from your other job, so Strauss places you as the new techy girl alongside Penelope. Everyone welcomes you with open arms but Hotch, and it's starting to affect your physical health.

Square Filled: guilty conscience for @badthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

This is it. This is the first day of your new career, new life, and hopefully with a new family to call your own. The last one didn’t end up so well for you. You’re hoping to start something new with all new people and a brand-new attitude. You walk into work with your purse slung over your shoulder and enter the bullpen. There are so many people busting their asses, moving about the large area, and doing work at their computers. A black man walks past you with coffee in his hand, and you quickly stop him.

“Hi, where can I find Agent Hotchner?”

“Up the stairs. His office is right in front of it.”

“Thank you,” you smile and walk past him.

Agent Hotchner is sitting in his office looking over one of the files Spencer sent over to him when you knock on the door.

“Come in.” You knock again when you don’t hear anything. “Come in.”

This time you do. Hotch is floored by your beauty when you walk in but he remains stoic. He doesn't want to give away just how beautiful he thinks you are.

“Hi. My name is Y/N. I am here about the technical analyst position available.”

“There is no position available. I’m sorry, you must have the wrong department.”

“You’re Agent Hotchner with the BAU, correct? I was sent here to start with Penelope Garcia.”

“Who sent you?”

“I’m sorry?” you ask when you didn’t hear him speak. You move your right ear closer to him so you can hear better. “Can you repeat that?”

“Who sent you?” he asks more sternly.

“Cheif Strauss.”

Hotch doesn’t say a word and picks up his desk phone to call the Chief. She never told him she would be sending anyone over, and he never requested for a new person to join the team.

“Hello, Agent Hotchner.”

“Chief Strauss. I have Agent Y/N here saying she’s going to be working with our technical analyst. Am I hearing this correctly?”

“Yes, I sent her over there to be transferred.”

“Without talking to me about it?”

“I don’t feel like I have to tell you everything I do. She will be joining your team. I assume you’re perfectly capable of training her?”

“Yes ma’am.” Hotch hangs up and looks at you with a sigh. “The team and I are meeting right now to go over a case. You’re more than welcome to join us.”

You bite your lower lip nervously. You hate coming across as dumb but you really can’t hear what he’s saying when he speaks in a low tone or mumbles.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

“I said you can join us. We’re about to be briefed.”

He gets up and walks out of his office with a hard look on his face. He hates himself for thinking you’re so beautiful when he’s going to be your boss. Dating you or even thinking about dating you is inappropriate, so he’ll try to keep this as professional as possible. You haven’t even started your first day and you’re already off to a bad start. Still, you chalk this up to a rough start and follow him into the briefing room where the rest of the team is at.

“Team, this is Agent Y/N. She will be starting today as a technical analyst that will be working side-by-side with Garica. Y/N, these are Agents Prentiss, Reid, Morgan, Rossi, Jareau, and our technical analyst Penelope Garcia.”

“What’s your name again?” you ask the blonde and sit next to her.

“Penelope Garcia. You’ll have so much fun working with me. I like to keep it cool in the office,” she smiles.

You can tell you’re gonna get along with her easily.

“Let’s begin,” Hotch says and looks at JJ.

JJ places crime scene pictures on the screen for everyone to see. Some are of a crushed vehicle and others are of victims who have been crushed by a vehicle. Penelope gasps and looks away so she can keep some decency while you look on in curiosity.

“An unsub that kills with his car? I haven’t seen that before,” Emily says.

“Neither have the police in Bend, Oregon which is why they need our help. There have been two victims in the last twelve days. The first victim is Maria Delgado, twenty-three. She was hit on a morning jog. The second victim is Shannon Makely, forty-three. She was stranded on the side of the road when her car broke down.”

“What makes the locals think that they were connected?” you ask, trying to be part of the conversation.

“For one thing, they were both backed over after the initial impact. This wasn’t an accident. Plus, they matched treads in both scenes. They were large wheels for all terrain. Their wounds also indicated a raised bumper, so they’re thinking a large SUV to a truck. When we land, I want a list of everyone who owns a vehicle for all-terrain.”

“What?” you ask and look at his lips to read what he’s saying.

He shoots you an annoyed look which makes you sink into your chair in embarrassment. 

“Garcia, get me the list.”

“Sure,” she nods and looks at you.

“Do they know the make or model?” Derek asks, moving the conversation along.

“No. The tires are made for multiple kinds of vehicles.”

“Were there any witnesses to either incident?”

“No, both victims were attacked in secluded areas.”

“Two tons of metal make a hell of a weapon,” Derek says.

“Serial killers have been known to become rather attached to their vehicles. Bittaker and Norris even gave theirs a nickname. Murder Mac,” Spencer explains.

“Bittaker and Norris were sexual sadists. There's no sign of torture here. This sounds like thrill kills for easy targets randomly selected. We need to think about if they’re not random. We need to see if there is a connection between the two victims.”

“With this type of impact, the vehicle shouldn't be hard to pick out of a lineup. There should be significant front-end damage.”

“Somehow I don't think it's gonna be that easy,” Rossi shrugs.

“Well, I think it's safe to assume our unsub is male,” Emily states. “A big car is phallic like he’s overcompensating for something. Maybe he’s impotent. If the unsub sees himself as physically defective, the car not only gives him the power and control he otherwise lacks, but it also serves as a shield.”

“Maybe a way to avoid physical contact?” Hotch asks.

“Now we’re going in a different direction. Power, control, and female victims equal up to a rape profile.”

“Rape and thrill kills are two very different profiles. What does victimology tell us?”

“Nothing, yet. Shannon Makely was a white, married, commodities trader. Maria Delgado was a Hispanic grad student and a competitive tri-athlete.”

“So far, gender's our only link. Hopefully, the crime scenes will tell us more. Garcia, Y/N, I want you with us on this one. Y/N, do you have a go-bag?”

“No.”

Hotch sighs in annoyance but Penelope saves the day.

“Come on, I’ll show you where I keep my go bag.”

You don’t mean to be a pain in the ass especially on your first day, but you’re really trying to fit in here. You used to be an active agent that was really good out in the field. You passed every test with flying colors and were up for a promotion within your field.

Until one day when you and your partner went undercover.

You two were captured by a well-known drug lord who was known for torture and gang violence. He knew one of you was FBI but didn’t know exactly which one. He tortured both of you until one of you confessed, but it’s not like you two were going to give the other one up. If only you had told him you were the FBI agent then he wouldn't have killed your partner. Your partner died because of you, and when your team busted in to try and save you two, the explosion from the blast they used shot your hearing so bad you became deaf in your left ear. If you get stressed too much then you start to get migraines and Strauss knows this.

Seeing Hotch behave this way starts a small headache you know won’t go away if he continues. You would have recovered and stayed with your original team if they didn’t harass you every day and blamed you for your partner’s death. Strauss knew it was a problem when you came into her office crying because of them.

You hope this team isn’t going to be like your last otherwise, you’ll have to find a new line of work.

“Are you sure I should come along?”

“You’ll do great,” Penelope encourages.

You and Penelope meet everyone on the plane. They discuss the case some more but you only listen this time. You want to see how each person is just by observing instead of butting in and trying to be like one of them. Plus, you’re not a profiler so you’ll leave this one to the team.

Your only focus is the computers and the technical world. When you were recovering from your accident, you taught yourself how to code and hack since you were bedridden for months. You got to the point where you impressed Strauss with your skills which is why she put you on this team. They don’t necessarily need you but this is the only team she can put you on without having to fire you altogether.

When the plane landed, you and Pen elope set up shop in the police station surrounded by laptops. One of the crime scenes happened near a security camera which is what Penelope is working on. You’re getting that list for Hotch of everyone who owns an all-terrain vehicle and cross-referencing if they still live in the state or not. This is what you like to do post-kidnapping. This gives you a different kind of comfort than being out on the field.

“Garcia, anything?” Derek asks.

“Not yet, sugar. Give me a few more minutes.”

“Y/N, I have a list of suspects PD already has in mind. Cross-reference those who are already on your list,” Hotch orders.

“I’m ready when you are.”

Hotch starts listing off names from your left side so it’s kind of hard to hear him. You don’t want to make a scene and ask him to move so you try your best to put in the right name. Hotch watches as you type in the names and sees you’re typing in the wrong names.

“No, I didn’t say Millie Bael, I said Lily Ball. Are you not listening to me?”

You’re trying really hard not to cry right now and your head hurts so much. Derek sees the look of despair and pain on your face and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Hotch, take it easy. It’s her first day.”

“Sorry, Lily Ball,” you mutter and type in the name.

After twenty minutes of almost wanting to cry, you narrow down your list to ten suspects. Penelope didn’t find good coverage on the security footage so she is looking into half of the men on the list while you get the other half.

“Look into the history of each suspect. I don’t want any stone unturned, understand?” You’re staring at Hotch’s mouth to read what he’s saying. Ever since becoming deaf, you’ve gotten good at reading lips. “Do you understand?” 

You jump at the sudden change in tone.

“Yes, sir. I will look into the history of each ma and cross-reference them with accidents they might have been in.”

“That’s not at all what I said. I don’t even know why you’re on this team. We never had an issue with having just one technical analyst.”

Tears brim the surface of your eyes but you won’t let them fall. It’s only the first day. I’ll get better. Hotch walks away with a scoff and a shake of his head, and you fall onto your chair with a sigh.

“I don’t know why he’s being so hard on you. He’s never like this,” Spencer says.

Emily, Derek, and Rossi are out right now leaving you, Spencer, Penelope, and JJ alone in the conference room.

“I don’t mean to be this way. I was never like this.” You explain your past to them--the drug lord, getting kidnapped, tortured, injured, and harassed every single day. “I needed out of that job. I was so excited to be put here but Hotch is only reminding me of my coworkers. Hopefully, he’ll ease up on me.”

He didn’t.

For the rest of the case, Hotch continued to be hard on you even when the team defended you. Every little thing you did Hotch criticized, even if what you did was completely right. He always had something to say about something, and by the end of the case, your headache is at an all-time high.

While on the plane ride home, you tried to get some sleep. The migraine plus the stress Hotch is putting on you is enough to send your mind into a nightmare. A nightmare about what you could have done differently to save your partner. Hotch sits in his chair and watches you without anyone noticing him. He knows he’s been hard on you but he hates anyone new coming in and ruining the dynamic between the teammates that are already here.

You gasp awake and scare everyone from the sudden noise, and Hotch’s eyes narrow.

“Are you okay?” JJ asks.

“Yeah. I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Y/N. When we land, you and I need to have a conversation with Chief Strauss about your future here.”

“I’m sorry,” you say as a tear rolls down your cheek.

“Hotch,” JJ says to defend you. However, you’re already getting out of your seat and going into the bathroom to have some time alone to yourself. “Why are you being so hard on her?”

“Have you not been with her the entire time? She always asks me to repeat myself and she can’t follow instructions.”

“She was in an accident. She used to be a really good agent. I looked her up,” Spencer says.

“Her former team blamed her for the death of her partner, and she became deaf in her left ear after being tortured for information,” JJ finishes.

Now Hotch feels like shit. His face doesn’t give away how he’s feeling but deep down, he’s feeling like the worse piece of shit ever. He tries to talk to you when the plane lands but you escaped to grab your things to get the hell out of there. You’re almost at the elevator when Hotch stands in your way.

“Sir?”

“I want to apologize for how I’ve been treating you. I’ve been completely unfair to you without understanding who you are as a person and as an agent. I’ve always been reserved with new people on this team which is something I know I need to work on.”

“I don’t mean to do this on purpose. I’m assuming JJ and Spencer told you what happened to me?”

“Yes. If you’ll accept my apology, I’ll work on making you part of this team as if you started here on day one.”

“That’ll take months, I’m afraid, but apology accepted,” you smile.

Yup, you’re going to be the death of him. Your smile is too damn beautiful not to see in his office every day, and he’s gonna do everything he can to keep it there.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[diejager]

This is one of my first times requesting so if I mess anything up please let me know!

I recently encountered the prompt line 'I’m going to ask you how you are and I would like you to answer me honestly.' And my brain has ran WILD with it, If your comfy with it can you do Alejandro or Rudy? Only if your comfy with it! Just delete this ask if you aren't :)

the messier the better anon, nothing in less organised than organised chaos. THE BEST in my opinion. But I’m assuming it’s supposed to be angst and fluff???? Anyway, how about both????

Cw: angst?, fluff, feelings, tell me if I missed any.

He was warm, the spice and sun that clung to his clothes brought comfort to you in soft waves, a slow and gentle wash of his affection and love for someone like you. You couldn’t understand how someone as loved as Alejandro was, could love someone like you, eagerly hold a piece of his heart out without concern for himself, gifting you a space in his welcoming heart. You could almost hear Rudolfo scold you for your thoughts, reminding you that you were important to them, a beating piece of the duo that slowly eased into a trio. 

“Mi cielo, ” Alejandro mumbled, pressing his silken lips on your shoulder, trailing kisses up your neck and grounding you with a strong grip of your hips, rocking you back and forth while he mumbled sweet praises.

You melted in his arms, his pretty, sun-kissed skin and sharp face, his sinful lips and dark eyes, all things that made him so strong and dependable. Your eyes closed tiredly, leaning back against his solid frame, thick arms and chest supporting you when your knees shuddered, weakened by your exhaustion. You wondered what you did to deserve such devotion, such care from respected men: one headstrong and confident leader, and his gentle and quick-witted right-hand. 

“How are you, mi Corazón? ”you blinked when you felt calloused hands hold your limp ones, thumb running over your knuckles and pecking your cheek.

You followed the arm up to a gleeful face, his concerned smile on those pink lips and his warm eyes, the gentle curve of his cheeks and beautiful brows. You tried to smile back, return the courtesy Rudy gave you, to reach from the depth of your being and give him a taste of something you used to fear. You knew he could see the strain on your face, the heavy bags from your fitful sleep and nightmare that haunted your conscience every moment you closed your eyes, but you strived to try for them. 

Lips parting, you rasped out the first words of a familiar reply, the same you always gave— 

“The truth, pro favor, mi Corazón, ” you saw the ache in his chocolate hues, the pained tone of his voice as he locked fingers with you, sturdy and grounding, reminding you that you were in the present and not the past.

“I’m… tired,” you sighed, head bowed forward to lay on his shoulder, nose running up his collar and hiding in his familiar scent. Relaxing further in their shared embrace, nuzzling the scratchy stubble under his jaw, grumbling against his earthy and pepper scent, “But I can’t sleep. They keep waking me up.”

“You could have told us, mi cielo, ” Alejandro cooed, pressing you deeper into Rudy’s arms, knocking his forehead with Rudy’s, “We would have helped you.”

You grumbled a tried: “I know,” that made them both chuckled lightly, “I just.. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You aren’t a bother, ” Rudy swore, his tone a whisper as if it were a secret to keep between you three.

And Alejandro completed it, a promise written in the stars and in the earth, words whispered into your soul and mind: “You never are.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[yawn-junn]

helloo it's the minjae anon again!

I looked ur prompt list and I wanted to ask a imagine with the 4th prompt w buzz love-&tem plss

hope ur doing great and thx in advance

♡︎The Buzzing Sound - Minjae♡︎

A/n: hello anon! Thank you for requesting <3 I also hope your doing great and your oh so very welcome please do enjoy if you have any more requests you can always come and ask my inbox is always open

Member: Minjae x Reader

Date: 7-28-23

Words: 1002

Genre: Fluff, Childhood Friends To Lovers, song Fic

TW: cursing : secrecy : teasing : mentions of Food : Mentions of Soda :

Prompts: "Your So Stupid" & "Buzz Love - &Team"

Summery: You and Minjae have been friends since birth you've stuck with him threw thick and thin every heartbreak, new relationships, puberty and he's stuck with you unbeknownst to both of your feelings towards one another

Every Friday you and Minjae have a dedicated Movie Night each month a different genre of movies an idea Minjae came up with but tonight however Minjae was acting a little off towards you hiding his phone even went as far as to change his pincode so you can't get in. He'd even take off into the bathroom for 30 minutes or longer talking on the phone with someone but whispering quiet enough so you can't hear him

("Yesterday and today are also normal days"

昨日と今日も普通の days

Just you and me, just you and me

"But I'm more worried than yesterday"

でも昨日よりずっと気になってる)

Minjae left the bathroom coming out looking a lot less stress and set his phone back into the phone cage "do you have a girlfriend or something?" You asked giggling as you took the popcorn out the microwave your question caught Minjae off guard as his head whipped towards you catching his reaction out the corner of your eye

Made you double over in laughter "holy fuck you do!" You spoke threw your laughter at this point Minjae was so panicked "nononono its nothing like that trust me I'd let you know the moment I'm talking in that way with her!!" He said waving his hands in the air "oh my gosh calm down Minjae it's ok it's not a big deal" you said finally calming down from your laughing fit

Minjae twisted his head to the right side in confusion "what" you said "Minjae? You never call me Minjae....did I do something?" He asked more panic setting in "not really, why guilty conscience?" You said teasing him farther "wh-what-" he stuttered causing you to giggle

"calm yourself Jae whatever is going on with you, you don't have to tell me. I don't have to know every little thing going on in your life" you said making your way over to the couch with your bowl of popcorn

("Even if it's like a popcorn"

It's like a popcorn 蓋しても

"It's overflowing, so what should I do now?"

溢れ出すからあぁもうどうしよう

"Only these feelings are blooming my heart is in the air"

この感情だけ咲いてる my heart is in the air)

Soon enough Minjae caught up with two bottles of Soda in his hands once he sat down you pressed play on the movie and set the bowl between you two after awhile of you and Minjae laughing at the bad acting he suddenly got quiet again but this time he paused the movie and moved the popcorn off the couch and turned to face you seeing Minjae has turned towards you, you turned towards him

("Only these feelings are blooming my heart is in the air"

この感情だけ咲いてる my heart is in the air

"Before you know it, your eyes will follow you everywhere"

気づけば目で追う everywhere

I'm thinking about you)

"Y/n" he said as he looked in your eyes you started to feel nervous, Seeing how nervous you are Minjae took your hands in his and held them between you two "I wanna tell you something but I'm afraid it will ruin our friendship" he said quietly "I assure you it won't, it's ok you can tell me" you said the nervousness still there as you rubbed the back of his hands with your thumbs

"I-" Minjae started and suddenly got quiet he sighed and looked at the ground before looking back up at you instead of speaking Minjae showed you what he ment by kissing you your eyes grew wide before closing as you melted into the kiss after what felt like an eternity you two pulled away with a small "smooch" sound that echoed like a pen drop in silence

("in my eyes you"

僕の目には you

"only you shine"

君だけ映える

La-la-la-la, la-la-la, buzz love

La-la-la-la, la-la-la, buzz love)

While you were catching your breath you suddenly felt Minjaes lips on yours again this time more desperate losing your breath even more Wich you didn't know was possible you pulled back and pushed Minjae back a little "y/n....I like you" he said a shy smile on his face "I think I already got that Minjae" you faked a disappointed face and touched his shoulder

He rolled his eyes before shrugging your hand off and looked at you waiting for a real answer "I like you too Minjae" you said before kissing his nose his smile grew wide as he jumped on you hugging you by your waist "will you be my s/o?" Minjae asked as he looked at you "your so stupid..." You told him his eyes widened with sadness and heartbreak "wha-" you cut him off by kissing him after pulling away

You nodded your head with a smile on your face your answer only made Minjae happier as he hugged you tighter and hid his face into your neck the rest of the night you and Minjae spent cuddling into one another watching shitty movies and making fun of the acting

(won't stop ringing

鳴り止まない

Buzz love for you

La-la-la-la, la-la-la, buzz love

La-la-la-la, la-la-la, buzz love

La-la-la-la, la-la-la

won't stop ringing

鳴り止まない

Buzz love for you)

[popppyfur]

Any Poppy, Val & Holly HCs? - deeefffinetely not the same anon. again. no way. because that would be wierd.

hello new anon in my inbox whos sending their first ask here for the first time ever!!! welcome!!!! :333

these three are still relatively new to me so haven't thought about them much tbh ToT, few things I can think off the top of my head are:

* as shown in canon, they hang out a lot!! I like to think it was at first poppy and holly just getting to know each other, and when poppy started talking about wanting to get closer to val, holly suggested they invite her to their hang outs!! And stuff just escalated from there!! (This is all post-cheer-mato-conscience-episode)

* holly still likes styling poppy's hair now and then, provided they remove her work afterwards, poppy feels bad whenever they do but holly insists bc it just feels really nice to work on it, plus they get to try and see if she can actually style it to some form that poppy would like. (otherwise holly and val just like playing w her hair. n poppy could never say no to just plain ol affection).

* val goes to poppy for emotional problems ('ugh')(better she goes bc poppy can just Tell by a little Look, and then she'd be bugged about it to hell and back) but if she wants something less sugar-coated and more straight to the point she trusts holly to not hold back on the truth

* poppy bestfriend-ism for life is when she feels relaxed enough to drop the brighter than life persona around u, especially like, if it just slips without her meaning to, so when she accidentally lets out Kinda mean but relatively honest and FUNNY snark out of her mouth (she is Horrified), val and holly take that as a mark of pride

[nyehilismwriting]

Hey! I wanted to ask for your advice. I was a minor part of the IF community, specifically the COG community, back in 2020. Mostly as a reader, but I dabbled in sharing some of my own writing too. For... reasons we are both well aware of, both in regards to COG, the larger IF community, and the start of COVID I eventually quietly left. Now, three years later, I've been quietly picking up writing IF again as a way to share my story with others. I was wondering if you think, in your opinion, it's worth officially re-joining the IF community on tumblr. On one hand, I feel like things have improved in that the larger community has matured (somewhat). I would like to make more friends, get advice, and maybe even share some more of my art. On the other hand, my project as it stands is... very non-traditional compared to a lot of other IFs (IE: No character customization, no romance, focus on a singular story with emphasis on worldbuilding, etc.). So I don't know if I would even be able to build a community around it even if I did officially rejoin.

I've followed your blog since 2020, including Project Hadea (although I think I originally started following you for your urban fantasy project, although I cannot for the life of me remember if that was you or another author!), and thought I'd come to you for your advice.

I chose to send this ask publicly so that you could choose to answer it privately, if you wished, since it is a longer ask. But I'm okay with you posting it publicly if you would like to! Additionally, no pressure or obligation to respond. Have a nice day!

hi there!! thank you for thinking of me - and welcome back! i'm glad to hear you've been writing again<3 it's such a good feeling, especially when you haven't been able to be creative for a while.

i think i'll start by addressing your game itself. personally, I think this community could do with some new blood in the form of games that are non-traditional; some of the best IFs I've played, ones that have really stuck with and inspired me, have been ones without romance, or cc, or otherwise outside of the typical format that gets popular on tumblr. honestly, i think we could all stand to get a little weirder with it. having said that, there is a very clear type of game that gets popular on tumblr (long-form, narrative-driven, usually with romance, usually with some kind of emphasis on character creation), so if you're a number-go-up kind of person (or someone who is susceptible to that mindset), I would be braced for your audience to remain small, particularly when you're just starting out.

that's not necessarily a bad thing. while I do agree with you that this community has grown and changed shape a lot since the late 2010s, and in a lot of ways for the better, it's definitely not perfect. I can't, in good conscience, say that this is the friendliest or most comfortable community: lots of people are absolutely lovely, and very very kind and enthusiastic; however, and this is absolutely not limited to IF but endemic to any online community, there are ongoing issues with Boundaries, and Respect, and the ways people interact with work and authors they're fans of. certainly, when you share your work you're giving up some control, but it's hard to predict exactly how that's going to go, and how the audience are going to react.

not saying this to put you off, but it's something I think everyone needs to be aware of before deciding to share. it's good to remember that you're not beholden to anyone. this is tumblr dot come, and you're quite free to start a blog, decide it's not for you, and delete; you're free to turn off anon, or asks altogether, or to never post anything save for updates; this is not a corporate space (and while there are considerations if you plan to open a patreon etc, but if we're just talking tumblr) and you are not obligated to do or provide anything you haven't promised.

my other bit of advice - and i think one of the ways to keep any interactions as pleasant as possible - is to be honest, and transparent, and manage expectations. if you make it clear what kind of game you're writing, you're less likely to get people who are disappointed that it's not what they were expecting and taking it out on you. likewise, setting boundaries is important.

i can't really tell you if it's 'worth' rejoining: i've definitely questioned if it's worth it, myself. i've seen some people, ostensibly in the same community as me, doing and saying things i find utterly reprehensible, and i've made some incredibly close friends who i adore and wouldn't give up for the world. and, after all, i am still here and answering asks, so i can't hate it that much. communities are made up of people, and like any group, there's gonna be people you can't stand and people you can. it's about finding your corner, and making it a bearable space for yourself.

i can't tell you if you'll have a positive or negative experience; I can't tell you how to control that. all i can say is that this is an online community, and ultimately you can control when and how interactions occur.

finally - again, i'm glad you're writing again! if you decide not to step back into the IF scene on tumblr, there's plenty of devs who keep purely to itch.io or the cog forums and seem to do fine; sharing your game does not necessarily mean sharing anything else. do what makes you most comfortable <3

[this-daydream-is-dangerous-13]

I love Taylor to death but what I saw yesterday made my hair stand on end. Taylor having been a victim of sexual assault was sitting in an enclosed area with a predator. Jackson Mahomes was arrested and charged with sexual battery of a female owner of a restaurant. This was a huge story and the case still pending. I didn't like this whole setup from the beginning. Now that everyone's seen the game I want Taylor out of this whole deal. She and Mr. Kelce don't need any promo whatsoever. Her safety, career, and her life is more important. I'm upset and can't speak anymore. Most of us in this group didn't want to see Blondie with TK. I can't support her any longer if she doesn't stop playing these games. It's getting dangerous.

Anon, I am so sorry. I see you and everyone else who finds Taylor’s proximity to this situation and the NFL’s toxic culture baffling and disheartening as she is a SA survivor and general supporter of women’s rights. For whatever reason it upsets you, I see and affirm you.

(FWIW, I have also always been uncomfortable with her affinity for the late Kobe Bryant.)

By toxic culture, I mean the NFL’s long history of not giving a sh*t about SA and DV committed by its players, prospects, employees, and former players.

I love sports. And I stopped watching NFL football 6 or 7 years ago (after a life of loving the 49ers) because I could not, in good conscience, support a league that:

- ostracized Colin Kapernick. That whole situation was not dissimilar to the 🐍 summer/fall of 2016 except more public and damaging and involved more punching down.

- is run by billionaire white owners that view players (predominantly players of colour) and their bodies disposable. Like how aristocratic generals used to view common soldiers as cannon or machine-gun fodder in the wars of the late 19th and early 20th century. The initial denial then minimizing of concussion-related disabilities is particularly heinous.

- has a pervasive culture of misogyny and toxic masculinity which manifests in ways like how they cover up DV.

And like - I own that I am a privileged white woman who can insulate myself from this.

But Blondie is acting like a clueless, privileged white woman who is helping white wash (yep. I said it. It’s white supremacist at its core) this wildly problematic league and lending her fame and general good will toward this disgrace of an organization.

I haaaaaaaate it. The MH situation was terrible, but she still went out 2-3 times a week and performed and promoted SNTV. Why so little Cruel Summer or 1989TV promotion? Why is she letting this dominate everything? It is baffling.

Anyway - I see you and I am sorry. If you, like me, need to back away a bit for your own peace of mind, do what is best for you. Take care of you. That goes for all of you, besties.

[lcndonboysstuff]

She’s a coward🤷🏾‍♀️ i’m finally starting to realise that//

WELCOME! 😅

Absolutely she’s a coward. She might lose a fan or two if she calls out fan behavior, meaning she might lose money. And she can’t have that!! But more than anything, it would mean acknowledging the role she plays in the harassment, because it doesn’t exist without Taylor. And it’s why she will never say a word.

Anon is right that it won’t stop the crazies. They will say what they say. But might get many others to back off and will actually show that she cares that people who were very important in her life or people she considered friends at one point are being treated like this by HER fans. The power imbalance alone and her role in how fans come to their conclusions should have her speaking up. Instead, she just looks like a total c**t (excuse my language) that is at home cackling that her fans are treating Joe and his friends like this.

WELCOME! 😅

took my a while but i finally got there lmao.

people will always be crazy but you’re right, her saying something would at least decrease the amount of people that are believing every lie they spread.

i can’t imagine why she wouldn’t at least want to clear her conscience. Alison is someone she spent a considerable amount of time with too. at least with Emma Laird she could justify it being just some random she’d never met.

[bestshipsmackdown]

Hey, so what I’m not going to do is be posting messages on here about why XYZ creator is problematic. Especially when I know for a fact that the entire team working on XYZ project have been doxxed and harassed. I absolutely am refusing to add to it.

If you don’t like XYZ or ABC that I post about, you are more than welcome to unfollow. But assume that I do have eyes and ears and am far too aware of exactly what people do behind the scenes. Unless XYZ creators are inciting violence and/or cruelty towards a minority, I cannot in good conscience sic mindless classless cancel culture minions to harass them. Not that that tactic even works. But that’s a whole other topic.

Unfortunately, putting up socially relevant materials about anything these days will incite violence by people who think that they are on a pedestal for being “morally more correct” than the people they are attempting to destroy. And I simply do not want any part of contributing to that mentality. And since the influx of twitter users coming back to tumblr, the toxic fandom mentality has risen back to what it was before those same people left tumblr during the mass adult content ban.

If this was back in 2013 I might have posted the message that caused this PSA, but alas, I’m not a middle schooler anymore. And I’m far too old to placate and/or prove how woke I am to anons.

The anon was polite in wording which is the only reason I thought about responding to it. However, as the rules state: internet etiquette. “curate your own experience.” I curate my internet experience to be mostly Ao3 centered. I do not center my internet experience around lambasting creators for every single one of their flaws. That sounds absolutely exhausting and I have such a low tolerance for seeing just how ugly this world is. There’s some creators you can’t avoid how nasty they are, because they scream it from the rooftops, so the best you can do is report them or block them.

Being socially conscious in this world means realizing that not a single person in this world does everything correctly. Not a single person is good. Not a single person is evil. Not a single person is worth supporting or believing in. Not a single person is worth wasting time on. Everyone is bad. And not one person can be redeemed without having everything they’ve ever done wrong being thrown back into their face. Everything is owned by a corporation. Corporations keep people in poverty whether it be their workers, their consumers, or the people they exploit to get materials from.

You will never see me saying that a creator of anything is good or should be supported. Because I cannot. Because I will always be wrong if I do. That’s the bleak reality. And that’s why the toxic nature of the internet and its ideas on morality make being alive in this time such a pain in the ass.

While everyone in this world is flawed and immoral, you have to stop finding the things to hate in everyone. You will always find things that people have done wrong. That they shouldn’t have done. That are not okay. And if all you can see is the worst things people have done, you will never see the good things.

And sure. There are some people who do things that are so far beyond wrong that they cannot be looked at without that standing out as the most important thing about them. Their failures as a human outweigh any good that has or could ever come from them. But often times, the world just isn’t that black and white. If you ignore the shades of grey, you will never see what color you really are. You will become exactly the evil that you believed you were stopping.

Anyways I don’t know if that all makes sense. But I’m just so tired of people. The more energy you spend on things like this, the less you have to fight actual oppressors. The focus should be on taking down the infrastructure. And you need the shades of grey to be on the correct side in order to battle true evil.

Being kind and compassionate and aware of people is important. Reflecting on yourself and trying to be a better person than you were yesterday is important. And everyone should be doing that. But the fact is, not everyone will. And they are far less likely to when they know that the only thing they will ever be seen for is each of their missteps. That if they make any new mistakes, it will all be linked back to their previous ones.

And idk about the rest of you, but I just don’t have the mentality to keep a mental list of just how good or bad each and every person on this planet is. I’m just here to make two or three or four or more characters kiss each other, because I’m a romantic. And sometimes making a few dudes kiss is just enough to pretend the real world doesn’t exist. That everyone, I’m trapped on this earth with, aren’t horrible in one way or another.

[onward--upward]

my hockey team is horrible should i become a leafs fan

oh god!! i would love to welcome you into leafs nation, anon, but i also cannot in good conscience reccomended that anybody become a leafs fan… they are a rollercoaster-ass team and they cause me immense psychological suffering

you can join me on the suffering train though if you’re a fan of chaos!! i’d be happy to have you!!

[domoriu]

hi i’m a new reader here and i love ur fics sm !! ^_^ u can call me 🥐 if it isn’t already taken btw haha :p i’m on riwoo brainrot recently and i love the way u “characterise” bnd if that make sense? basically i love the way u write sm!! u’ve inspired me to write again hehe i was on a huge writer’s block

btw what r ur stances on the riize boycott? although you’ve made it very clear on ur acct but i’ve seen some people wanting to boycott other sm groups as well. to be honest i only like boynextdoor when it comes to boygroups but i will be wholeheartedly boycotting riize and their management in justice for seunghan because he rlly doesn’t deserve this :( the korean entertainment industry is so fucked man. i’m not a big riize fan nor do i stan them but i really want to respect seunghan w the things he’s gone through for absolutely no reason! no fan should be gotham-level violent over ur idol having a gf predebut! sorry i went on a tangent but i wanted to know what ur thoughts are on boycotting the other sm groups as well… i’m an aespa ult and they’re having a comeback soon but the guilt conscience is still there even though i’m boycotting riize… sorry if i sound mean but it’s a genuine question!! 😢 i hope seunghan’s ok and i hope you’re ok as well!

anyways all love, if 🥐 is taken i can be 🧀 cuz i love cheese :pp

hi love !!! thank you !! i also got your other asks so ill put you down as 🧀 anon welcome 😊

for my stance on the boycott besides the very obvious that im partaking in it LOL im boycotting sm all together !! it does really suck bc all my ult groups are under sm unfortunately and i do wanna support aespas cb but i will be streaming off a third party music source !! honestly i feel like for me boycotting isnt that bad because i listen to so much music, and i know i can just listen somewhere where streams aren’t counted. i was talking to my friend about it and how we think that ppl make not listening to a kpop group seem impossible when theres plenty of other music to listen to and if ur not a strict kpop listener then it shouldn’t be that challenging. but to each their own !! i was/am a big orbit and i was very quick to boycott loona… i still stream their songs off musi and thats where i was listening to riize from for the past 10 months (i cant even listen to them anymore without feeling depressed, but i also wasnt a big listener to riize music regardless of the boycott)

only thing im off about is that i planned on buying aespa tickets so im not really sure how tour ticket sales are gonna work if i buy one… since most them are resale they’re technically already bought ?? idk

[the-mighty-het-speaks]

Shall we talk about the fact that Lars shaved his beard off tho??? Why??? And James keeping his hair so short??? What’s with this band and changing their looks the minute they look amazing

well beard lars is fleeting..... i’m patiently waiting for the day he shaves his head and keeps the beard permanently, that look when it DOES happen not IF, we will dub fisherman lars.

as for james,, the last time he cut his hair this short was obvs mid 2018 and well what did he proceed to do? not cut it for a year!!! so maybe he’s starting over and we’ll get to see all the awkward fluffy phases all over again (🥺)

kirk and rob however win the eternally handsome and fashionable award and will always be in my good graces. ALL HAIL STACHE ROB

[ef-1]

Do maybe secretly still have a soft spot for max?

I miss the times where I knew less about him

[theshelbyclan]

Mine

Summary: When she took a job at the night club, all the second Shelby sister wanted was to be in control of her own life. Unfortunately, her brothers don’t approve

(gif by @tatianapetrovna​)

A/N: Okay so this one took me ages, because I spend way too much time researching the history of dance, of prejudice and even old maps and descriptions of 1920’s Birmingham XD All because anon requested: Thura, you wonderful wonderful person. I’ve been saving this request and waiting for your requests to reopen for your talents. Could I please request a Shelby sister where she loves dancing and becomes an exotic dancer at a club, and of course her brothers are horrified when they find out but she manages to convince them that it’s all for her own empowerment Historically, I hope this is all correct, but I put my best woman onto the research as well as I did my own research. There’s no such thing as an exotic dancer yet at that time, or at least the term doesn’t exist, but things like ‘dancing girls’ or ‘the variety’ obviously do exist. These forms of variety were more entertainment for the upper class btw, because they didn’t have to bother with mores as much. You did have different kinds of ‘music hall’ entertainment, a little similar, which was more the working-class entertainment. This wasn’t prostitution, but there were a lot of grey areas. Either way, all women up on the stage, whether they performed half-naked or not, were suspected and accused of prostitution. Legally, the Criminal Law Amendment of 1885, the law that also made ‘gross indecency’ between men punishable, also dealt with sex trafficking and blurred the lines between acting and prostitution even more.

Shelby sis a few years younger than Ada in this, 18, older than Finn, and this takes place around season two. Hope you like this! Words: 3411 ***

Ada’s London home still looked like a vardo, you thought, as you sat on the brightly coloured sofa in het front room. Sure, it was big and fancy, provided to her by Tommy, but half the rooms weren’t being used. The maids’ rooms in the back of the house were simply gathering dust, because Ada couldn’t bear it on her political conscience. And the furniture, well, it wasn’t very different from their interior at Watery Lane: a strange mixture of old items and always a little too colourful and crowded to be properly respectable. 

“What?” your sister demanded, reading the deep thoughts on your face. “I like your home,” youquickly said. “Liar,” Ada threw back, “What’s brought you here, then?” You got straight to the point, “I’m sick of Tommy looming over me like I’m still a child. And it’s not just him. John feels he can interfere in whatever I’m doing as well, keeps banging on about me getting married. Even Arthur keeps taps on where I’m going and where I’ve been. I feel like a fucking prisoner in my own house.” “Ah,” Ada said sarcastically, “Welcome to the life of a Shelby woman. Must’ve been nice, being their little princess, but now it’s time to grow up.” “And that’s what I fucking want! I want to be able to make my own way.” “Well, you can’t sweetheart, not while they’re around. Remember I moved to London to get away from them? And here I am: sitting in Tommy Shelby’s fucking house,” she sipped her drink a little too aggressively. You downed yours and sighed, “You got married, Ada. I have no fucking intention of doing that.” “Oh? Why not?” “No one’s good enough.” Ada laughed, “Bravo.” The two of you sat in silence for a while. In many ways, you were very similar. Two sisters, quite close in age, who were Shelby’s without a doubt, but sick of the business. Ada coped with all of it by distancing herself, through sarcasm and aloofness. You had tried to do the same and cursed your Shelby name in silence, but your brothers wouldn’t let you. They were always so protectiveand it irritated you to no end. Even when you decided to buy a dress for yourself, one that you had picked out, it was theirmoney you were spending. “I want out, Ada.” “So get out.” *** Being a woman in the 20’s wasn’t easy. You’d heard talk of women being more liberated now, of fighting for their rights and being able to control their own lives. This may have been the case for rich upper-class women or those without brothers, being able to march in protests, but not when you were a Shelby from Small Heath. As you walked through muddy streets, you saw all those women selling their bodies and you wondered: were they free? Did they choose? Probably not. Not here. At night, you loved to dance. Often, you walked for over an hour to get to a pub or club where your brothers wouldn’t find you. The Shelby name did help you there, it meant they served drinks to a woman alone, but it wasn’t so much about drinking alone. What mattered to you was the feeling of freedom, of going out and a party never seeming to end. Of dancing, dancing and dancing, and no one telling you to stop. And so you walked until you ended up at the club where you wanted to be. Being blessed with the Shelby good looks wasn’t a bad thing either. Outside, you saw the rich and fancy young men lining up. They didn’t have to worry about their reputation, they didn’t even have to worry about getting arrested, because if they were, the judge would simply let them get off with a simple fine, which they would be able to pay easily. “Alright, fella’s!” you called out cheerfully, turning on your best smile. At once, you noticed them checking you out. You made sure you’d put on your best dress and just as easy as that, you were on the arm of one of them, and he happily paid your fee for you to get inside. “Dance with me, sweetheart,” he breathed into your ear, already drunk by the smell of things. Intoxicated by the music and atmosphere, you danced and forgot all about being a Shelby. Drinks were offered to you left and right, so you eventually had to excuse yourself to visit the powder room. Another girl eyed you as you were fixing your lipstick. She asked, a smile playing around her lips, “First time out in ages, love?” “Nah,” you replied, “But it feels like that sometimes. Finally, free again.” The girl laughed and you noticed how absolutely gorgeous she was, pearly white teeth blinking against dark brown skin and a skirt that seemed to sway even when she didn’t move. Immediately, you were envious of her and all that she represented. She said, “You work at the Alex?” The Alexandra Theatre offered many variety acts and you knew your brothers went there on occasion. What really went on in there, you couldn’t be sure, but you were certain they’d never want you to come along. “No,” you sighed, “My brothers would kill me.” “Luckily I don’t have to worry about mine anymore,” the girl replied airily, “All of us girls, we got ourselves a lodging together. The people don’t approve, but we’re free to do as we please.” “I want that,” you said, without even realising you’d spoken out loud.

“Well, you can, sweetheart,” she turned to you, “If you really want it.” “How?” “I know a man who can get you a job at the Hippodrome. I mean, I’ve seen you; you’re good with people and you know how to dance. And if you ever need a place to stay, if your brothers kick you out, you’re always welcome to stay with us.” Everything she said made you feel so excited, but also scared. And then you asked doubtfully, “Why would you help me?” “Oh, I was once a lot like you. You want to get out, right? You want to make your own money and have your own life. Fuck what people will think of you, they’ll judge you no matter what, at least you can decide on this. You decide to dance and who to make eye contact with and who can touch you and most of all, who fuckingcan’t. Men no longer control your body, only you. That’s what you want, isn’t it, sweetheart?” And that was exactly what you wanted. ***

Weeks had gone by and you were managing your double life quite well. Your brothers were busy with doing whatever it was they were doing and Ada kept her mouth shut. She was too busy trying to not be a Shelby anyway. At the club, you’d met the most amazing girls and had finally found likeminded souls. It was as if they belonged to a different era. The idea of girls having so much freedom to work, earn their own money and just have a good time in the process had been mind-blowing to you, but so, so liberating.

At first, you’d only been a background dancer for the different variety acts, but eventually you’d moved up to doing your own acts as well. Your fan-dance was particularly popular amongst the rich student boys. And, truth be told, you loved the attention. You loved being up on the stage, dancing away and being no longer made to cover up. Of course, many wanted more of you than just to watch you, but you still managed to turn them away with just a cheeky laugh or a decisive ‘no’. This was the life for you, you were certain.

Aunt Polly, however, did have her suspicions and one night she straight up told you, “Are you safe, working down at that club?” You’d tried to deny it at first, but there was no point: Polly had seen you exit the club and you quickly realized she knew everything going on in Birmingham. “Take this,” she’d told you and handed you a small revolver, “It’ll fit down your dress.” You’d protested a little, but knew she was right: better safe than sorry. Still, you didn’t plan on living like this forever. Freedom was limited if it meant you had to sneak about in the evenings and lie to everyone you loved. The girl you’d met at the club kept on offering you a room though and you thought seriously about taking her up on her offer. This, however, would force your hand: you’d have to tell your brothers about your work. *** It was a few days after your brothers had had their holiday in London. You’d come home from work late at night and Tommy was sitting there, waiting for you in the kitchen. “And where have you been?” he demanded, darkly. “Out.” He nodded slowly, but kept looking at you, “I have contacts inside the factories, Y/N. They tell me you no longer work there.” Obviously, you’d given up your job at the BSA, because why would you do both? “You always told me there was no need for me to work,” you threw back, “You always said that you’d take care of me.” “I did. But you never wanted that, did you? You wanted to be your own fucking woman.” Head held high, you asked, “What’s wrong with that?” “Nothing,” Tommy shrugged, “If you don’t mind people talking.” “Fuck people.” “Where did you get the coat, Y/N?” he fired next. “I bought it.” But you realised your mistake at once. Tommy smiled coldly, “With what money? There was nothing taken from the safe.” You started fidgeting a little and turned on your heels, planning to make a quick getaway. Your brother continued, “See, me and John and Arthur went to London today. Business. And we went down to the Eden Club, you might have heard of it? And the things I saw there, Y/N… The music and the booze and all those fucking half-naked girls, men fucking them right there in their seats. Nothing but fucking maniacs out there…”

“Get to the point, Tommy.” Tommy’s eyes went dark again and he pointed at you, “They might as well be fucking you.” “I’m not fucking anyone!” you protested. But he slammed a hand down on the table, “I know you’re working at once of those clubs, Y/N, and you tried to keep it a secret, but guess what? Nothing happens in this city without my consent. And you’re not having it.” The same fury you saw in him was rising up in you as well, “You don’t control me, Tommy.” “I do. And you will do as I say.” He whispered venom, “I will discuss this with your brothers, but I can tell you right now, they feel the same. So here it is: you’ll stop working there right fucking now.” “No!” you shouted out, “I fucking won’t!” “I will not have a fucking whorefor a sister!”

That hurt, so you turned around and left. Behind you, you heard Tommy shouting, “You’ll stop, you hear me?” *** But you didn’t stop. You just told the other girls you were sick and had to take off work for a few days. The boss wouldn’t put up with it for much longer though. For another week you kept pretending you had errands to run or friends to meet at night, but your brothers would no longer let you out of their sight. Surprisingly enough, none of them approved. One night, you’d had enough and the warning had come that if you didn’t dance tonight, your job would go to another. So, putting on your best dress, you were planning to leave the house and no one was going to stop you. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Arthur growled from the betting shop. You hadn’t even noticed his presence. “Out.” “Tommy’s told us…” he started. “Yes, I know what he’s told you, alright?” you said without patience, “He told you your sister is a whore who fucks rich men for money, right?” Arthur looked down, but repeated, “You’re not going nowhere.” “Watch me,” you hissed and made your way to the door, but Arthur grabbed your arm before you could leave. At once, you spun around and slapped him, shouting, “Get the fuck off me!” But your brother was the stronger one, raising his voice to drown yours out, trying to calm you down, but to no avail. That’s when John came running, bellowing, “What the fuck is going on here?” “She defied Tommy’s orders, John,” Arthur explained, “She’s still working at that club.” “Fucking orders,really?” you breathed. John sighed, and for a moment you thought he’d side with you, but then he said, “I’ll go and get Tommy.”

“I’m going to be late,” you tried desperately to sound casual, as all three brothers now gathered around you. Tommy smoked emotionless, “And maybe then they’ll fire you instead of you leaving like I fucking told you to.” Roughly, you pulled back your arm from Arthur’s grip, “ And I fucking told you, Thomas, I’m keeping this job. Now, if you don’t want me living here anymore because I’m such a fucking embarrassment to the good Shelby name, I’ll move out!” “Move out to where?” he scoffed. “A friend has a place where I can stay.” “Fine,” he raised his eyebrows, “Go and fucking live with her.” “Thomas,” your aunt had now also joined the party, “Let’s talk about this first.” “There’s nothing to talk about, Aunt Pol,” Arthur said, “It’s all in hand.” “I can see that,” she replied sarcastically, “I’m guessing this is about Y/N’s new job?” John looked at Polly, “You knew about this?” “Of course, I do. Nothing goes on in this house without me knowing about it.” John turned back to you, “Why the fuck would you think you can do that job without any danger?” “Because I have a gun!” Smiling, you held up the weapon that you’d just produced from your garter. “Pol, I decided,” Tommy continued, “She’s not doing it.” “Why!” you called out, exasperated, “Why are you all so against it? I mean, it’s not fucking morals that’s the problem, is it? We’re the Shelby’s! And people already think we’re scum, so who the fuck cares!” “It’s not safe,” John replied at once. And you actually believed his main worry was for your safety. After all, he’d been the one who had wanted to marry Lizzie Stark. The others had all laughed at him. Hell, even you had. And in that very moment, your view of him and that entire situation, which had seemed so funny back then, changed. “It’s not… right,” Arthur protested. You rolled your eyes at that, “You, all of you, all the time, pay for sex. Don’t fucking tell me it’s not right.” “So, that’s what you do, eh?” Tommy asked, “You sell sex.” “No!” “And you somehow think we’d be alright with that,” he continued, voice softening a little bit, “It’s not alright, Y/N.” Polly looked from him to you, and said, “She doesn’t, Tommy. She’s a dancer.” “What’s the fucking difference?” he laughed. “This is the last time I’m going to say this:” you sighed, “I do not fuck men for money!” Three pairs of eyes looked sceptically back at you. “I’m a dancer, like Aunt Polly said. I do the variety on most nights, when they do they sketches about the politicians? I’m a background dancer.” You paused for a moment, “And recently I’ve also been asked to do some solo performances. It’s just me dancing on stage, yes I’m not covered from head to toe, but I’m up on stage. No one can touch me. My body is there to look at, nothing else.” “Your body is there to look at,” Tommy shook his head, cynical smirk playing about his lips. “Yes,” you hissed, “Because whether you like it or not, my body is mine. I fucking decide what I do with it and you know what? I’m fucking beautiful and everyone over there thinks so. And I’m good at dancing, Tommy, I’m actually really fucking good at it. But I dance, because I decide. I can flaunt all of it, because it’s mine.” Arthur still had a very dark expression, “What about after the show. Me and John, we’ve been to the Alex, so we know what the girls do…” “They walk around, chat up the men and sip their drinks while sitting on their laps,” you filled in the blanks, “I know.” “Oh, they do a lot more than that,” John smirked, but he quickly looked down to hide it. “But I don’t.” “Why would you even want to do this?” John looked up, “Why this of all the things you can do?” “Why not?” you threw back, “I’m good at it, I’m making my own money, and for the first time I don’t feel ashamed or scared for being a woman.” Tommy shook his head again, “You’re being exploited, Y/N.” “That’s rich coming from you,” Aunt Polly laughed, “So it’s alright if you go to them, alright for you to exploit them, but not when your sister dances out of her own free will?” “Do we have a man inside?” John asked Tommy, “Like the doorman?” And when tommy nodded, he said, “I’ll talk to him and make sure he looks out for Y/N.” “You’re bloody agreeing to this?!” Arthur shouted. John only shrugged in reply, but when you shared a look with him, you knew he understood.

Arthur opened his mouth again, but you quickly cut him off, “It’s feminism, Arthur, and you wouldn’t understand.” “What the fuck is feminism?” “Exactly.” Now the only one left to deal with was Tommy and he was obviously the most adamant one. Stubborn and angry, he stood there, cigarette against his lips. But he wasn’t the only Shelby who wouldn’t budge when pushed; you could be just as stubborn as he was. “If you hate men looking at me or the idea of them paying for my body, maybe you should reconsider using women like that yourself, Tommy,” you fired. He locked eyes with you, which made you more nervous than anything he could’ve said. Then ground out, “That’s the thing, Y/N, I know men.” “Oh, so do I, Tommy. Better than you do, I’m sure, especially now that I’ve worked this job.” He rolled his eyes. “Listen to me,” you urged, “Because I know you can understand. It’s all just a game, everything I do is a game. I do what I’m good at and I show them what they can’t have, and they fucking pay for it. They pay for what they can’t have, and even you have to be impressed by that. I know how they think, these rich boys at the Hippodrome, and when they think I like them or just talk to them for a second, they’ll give me everything I want. The rich toffs in control? I can play them all. I’m in control, Tommy. I am. They think the girls are easy? Theyare. They don’t buy me and I don’t sell sex. I own them.” A glimpse of something like recognition passed over Tommy’s face and you knew what you said made sense to him. Because in many ways, you weren’t as different. “You think I’m a whore?” you asked, “You really think so?” He looked down and thought about it. Then he said, “Everyone’s a whore. We just sell different parts of ourselves.” “Exactly.” And that’s when you knew he did understand. “Let her go,” Polly said softly after a while. “Fine, you can go,” your brother finally agreed, “But you come to me if there’s any trouble.” With a smile, you nodded. “Also, don’t expect to see us in there,” Arthur grumbled, sounding a little sad that he could no longer come to the club now that his baby sister was working there. Absolutely excited, you sprinted out the door, because you really were running late now. But after about a minute, you came back running inside again. “Now what?” John asked. “I forgot my feathers!” you called out, while thumping up the stairs. “Fucking feathers,” Tommy sighed. And with your most charming smile, you came hurrying back down again, “For my fan-dance!” But none of the brothers really wanted to know. *** Masterlist