#no??? coming into MY inbox as a person you do not know&asking for free labour irt the risk factors associated w my work

[jvzebel-x]

🦋

[im-a-goat-in-disguise]

maybe a heterosexual cisgender person shouldn't be telling trans people how they feel about a party endorsing transphobia. you cannot understand the way it feels to walk into a supermarket and see every newspaper call you a nonce because of your identity. regardless of how we will actually vote, it isn't your place to speak over us when we talk about our disillusionment regarding parties that are supposed to be 'left wing' throwing us under the bus to 'pander to the moderate right." what are trans people in rosie duffield's constituency supposed to do?

I am not trying or intending to speak "over" trans people. Is simply sharing my views on a matter overriding others? I wouldn't think so, but I could always be wrong. I am completely open to becoming more informed on this matter by trans people and others more educated on this specific subject.

You're right, I cannot understand what it's like to be told I should be exterminated. I should also not be telling you how to vote. What I am adamant upon is that you do need to vote, at the very least. For somebody, for some party. And given the past few decades, I'd say it definitely shouldn't be the Tories. They've had their time and proven utterly incapable of running the country or doing what's good. If it comes to choosing between the Tories and Labour, I would personally choose Labour. You are free to vote how you want (not something you need my permission to do - I have no way of forcing anybody to vote for anything or anyone), but you do need to vote. Even if you don't want to vote for any party, a spoiled ballot is better than an absent ballot.

I know you may not have looked completely into this, but from what I can tell, Labour hasn't actually "adopted" the guidelines in any meaningful capacity. They haven't even been silent on the issue - many labour MPs have come out saying it's unworkable and pointed out how it threatens the lives of trans children. They aren't pandering, they just straight up don't have much they can really do in this specific circumstance. It's not a policy they can reverse right this second or can even vote against. Schools have been encouraged not to follow the guidelines but it's basically out of Labour's hands.

I can't give advice for specific constituencies, but having a look just on Wikipedia about Rosie Duffield's rapport of transphobic sentiments, I can see why you wouldn't be interested in voting for Labour, but I don't really see how not voting would be a better choice. The last Tory MP for Canterbury was adamantly against teachers even being able to talk about homosexuality, wanted abortion essentially torn down and was an avid brexiteer. I'm sure that wouldn't particularly be favourable for you either.

I really don't want to come across as antagonistic, but it does seem a bit strange you're simultaneously telling me I shouldn't tell anybody how to vote, and then promptly pry me for instructions on who to vote for. I'm not entirely certified how I can satisfy this ask by doing two mutually exclusive things.

At the end of the day, I'm not a grand arbiter of whom exactly every individual in the UK should vote for. All I ask is that you get out there and at least leave your mark in the ballot box. There is no real formal system that allows citizens to request a party change who they put up as a candidate for a specific seat, but you can join the people who already campaign for the labour party to do something more than investigate.

If you have any suggestions on how I could improve what I'm saying, or something I can do to not speak over trans people simply by speaking, feel free to shoot me an ask. My inbox will never be closed

[onewomancitadel]

I have been firm but polite in some unusual private messages I’ve received on FFN, but I’d like to take this time to speak on the topic of criticism:

1. Critical feedback is best received when asked for; 2. Critical feedback which appreciates the thematic thrust of a story, and what a story is trying to do, is most respectful, particularly when a story is shared for free as a labour of love.

Learning how to criticise something and figuring out what doesn’t work for you as a reader is a real skill, so I understand if there are readers who don’t know how to do this! I’m actually not generally looking for critical feedback, because that’s not really the fanfic culture I come from - I only write for joy and I already spend a lot of time technically thinking about my work, and I bounce ideas off my best mate, so things already go through the technical wringer. I spend a LOT of time on the mechanics, and if something’s not working for a reader, that might, too, even be down to personal taste. That’s ok! I’m fine with people not liking my story, but accounting for personal taste doesn’t improve a story.

However, I’m always happy to receive comments from compassionate commentators who want more detail, clarification, or pick up on typoes, so on and so forth. Especially if you’re a regular commenter (you know who you are), we have somewhat of an established dynamic and I know where you’re coming from; I know sometimes there are things that might work for you, and occasionally don’t. I have a lot of fun with those interactions!

In fact, comments are the absolute highlight of my day! I really can’t stress how much I love nerding out over these characters with other people. I value all comments I receive.

That being said, if you:

1. Repeatedly come into my inbox, and don’t listen to me when I communicate the themes you’re telling me to put into my story don’t fit, despite all my attempts to cease conversation politely and encourage you to execute your ideas elsewhere;

2. Repeatedly message me about the ‘technical issues’ of my story because I won’t give Jaune a gun, or reference John Wick or other such action materials in character design;

3. Repeatedly ignore me communicating that I care about metaphor/symbolism/spectacle, NOT ‘realistic’ action in a show about gunswords and ladies with magical powers which are symbolic of matrilineal heritage and Ozma and Salem losing their daughters

then eventually I am going to have to very firmly say that your criticism is unwelcome and unwanted.

If you are the individual in question, and you happen to see this post: I hope you understand where I’m coming from and why I decided to make this post, because I need to communicate expectations of critique and etiquette. And also have a whinge and moan, because sometimes you need that.

[itsforexposure]

Transcript of several emails from a Gmail inbox:

“Hi [artist],

I don’t know if you remember me but we used to go to school together in Dubai (I sat opposite you for most classes!) well your email was on your FB and I know that your doing art now so I was wondering if you would you would paint me something to go in my house! like a big mural or something! It would need to be done in the next couple weeks or so cuz I’m sure your not doing that much due to the pandemic! 

Anyway let me know what you think.”

“Hi [client]

When you say Dubai do you mean in year 2? Because I’m having a hard time placing you. But anyway I’m still doing my essays for the end of year but I think I’ll be able to work on something. Exactly how Big are you wanting this painting to be? I have a couple canvases already primed at my house so you’re in luck, there’s a one that’s 2m by 2m or a one that’s 1.5m by 3m. Also what exactly are you wanting me to paint because that might effect how long it takes. 

Thanks.”

“Hey [artist]

I can’t believe you don’t remember me that’s actually a bit rude by anyway it’s going to be a picture of me and my dog. It’s his my mums birthday coming up and I know she’ll just love it cuz she loves us so much. For the size I was actually wanting a whole lot bigger like maybe 5 meters by 7 meters because it’s going to be a statement piece. For time I need it done in two weeks please as that’s when her birthday is!! Also I won’t be able to pay you until this whole pandemic thing is over just in case your about to ask about price. I don’t know if you know but my mum owns a hairdressers and she would be willing to come to yours and do your hair when she picks up the painting in exchange.”

“Hi [client]

As nice as that offer is I think I’m going to have to decline. For starters for me to get a canvas that size it would cost a lot of money and labour (not even factoring in the pandemic to just get it to mine. Then it would take me waaaaaay longer than two weeks to paint something that size. Also if I’m not going to get paid for it then there really isn’t any point in me going out of my way for this. I’m sorry.

Thanks.”

“Wow omg you’re so fucking rude. First you’re like “I don’t even know who you are” and now you’re like “I’m not even getting paid” what is it about “a free haircut!!!” that you don’t understand. People are literally out on the streets demanding haircuts and here’s me offering you one for free. Second of all you’ve met my mum and now you’re actually ruining her birthday by refusing her gift. So I’m telling her that this is all your fault. I know when I met you that you’d be useless. So fucking selfish.

Don’t ever contact me again.”

“Subject line: Suing

I’m emailing you to inform you that I will be suing your ass! I was watching r/slash the YouTube channel and I saw our email conversation on there! This is completely unacceptable of you to post my private information and our private conversations online for people to stalk me! Your lawyer will be hearing from my lawyer about this as this is a breach of trust. Do not contact me again.

Regards, [redacted]”

“Okay so firstly, I don’t have a lawyer... I’m 22. Secondly, yeah I saw it too haha I thought he captured your likeness pretty well, but you’re dumber than I thought if you think people are going to stalk you from that. There is no information what so ever on reddit or YouTube so calm down. I don’t know who your “lawyer” is going to be contacting but we don’t live in the same country so I’m pretty sure nothing will come of this. Hope your mum had a good birthday.”

[Note: the good folks at It’s For Exposure dot tumbler dot com offer our readers $5 to the first person who can give us the link to this r/slash video.]

[mxxnspells]

Pick a Card - Spring 2021

Hello! I hope you’re doing well. Today, I bring you a new pick a card, this one focused on Spring! There are three rows, each one referring to something different:

Life: Where I get the general energy for this season and how it connects to your past, present and future. Any message that doesn’t fit in the next two categories will appear here. Love: Where I read your love energy for the season. Remember that love can come and be in many forms. Money (finances): Everything related with money, your job, career will have its message here. It is also related with practicality and tangibility. If money can buy it or acquire it, then its message fits this category.

I will use Tarot to get the messages, my intuition and the language of flowers (in the life reading) as well since it fits with the spring theme!

How to make your pick: Firstly, take a deep breath. Close your eyes and become aware of your body and ground yourself in the question “What can I expect from this year’s Spring?”. When you are ready, open your eyes and look at the different images. Select the one in each row that sparks a memory in you.

Disclaimer: As always, these readings are for fun. Take what resonates, leave the rest. I am not qualified to give any legal, medical advice. Any major decisions should be consulted by a professional. This reading should not replace any of that.

Feel free to let me know if this resonates with you or not! I’d love to hear your thoughts about this so that I can improve and give you more quality pick a cards in the future! Any suggestions you may have, feel free to leave them in my inbox!

🦋Life #1

Tarot: VII (Seven) of Pentacles (Reversed), The Empress (Reversed), VI (Six) of Pentacles

I feel like you have been holding on to something and you don’t want to let go. I sense this can be someone, rather than something, and for some reason, it has to do with the idea you have of this person, not necessarily them. This has caused you to be extremely confused about where to go and what to do. I feel like you don’t feel capable of letting go of this and in a way, you feel trapped. However, with the VI (Six of Pentacles), help is on the way. I feel like this help will come in form of a conversation. I am getting the strong message that you need to open up. That’s what you need to let go of. These thoughts, ideas, whatever it is... you need to open up to someone about them.

Flowers: White Rose (Worthiness), Sweet William (Gallantry), Rosemary (Remembrance)

This is an advice from the universe to you. Somewhere along the way, you lost yourself. You don’t recognise who you are anymore and that is taking a toll on you. However, you must stay brave and remember you are capable of taking the next step. Remember that by finding yourself, by remembering who you were, you are acknowledging that change can be made. So allow yourself to grow this Spring.

🦋Life #2

Tarot: III (Three) of Swords, Queen of Cups, The Devil

This past year hasn’t been easy on you, has it? I feel like you keep blaming yourself for things that you had no control over, you couldn’t have possibly change that. People come and people go. And someone you loved dearly has left you. It wasn’t your fault, though. I don’t know if this is someone who has passed on or someone who broke your heart. Take what resonates. This Spring, you’ll be walking towards a more compassionate version of yourself. You will accept things, recognise that what is done is done and that the past cannot be changed. This is a different message but this Spring you might be asked to make a choice? Between ending something which you know will break your heart and something that on the surface seems like everything you ever wanted but deep down there’s not a lot of substance. You are the Queen of Cups in this situation. Between a promised white lie and a heartbreaking truth. Remember that whatever ends up happening, you have everything you need to deal with it. Just allow yourself to feel for once.

Flowers: Lilac (First Emotions of Love), Honeysuckle (Generous and Devoted attention), White Rose (Worthiness)

This can be two things. Either you are slowly coming to terms with who you are, learning to love yourself or someone else or this is someone else finally giving into their feelings for you. Just remember your value and self-worth. Remember that above anything else, you are the most important and precious thing in your life. You are worthy of love. And it all begins with your own.

🦋Life #3

Tarot: V (Five) of Pentacles (Reversed), The Sun, Queen of Pentacles

Look, I’m just going to say it, good for you! I don’t know exactly why but good for you! I feel like you have been in this semi-hermit stage recovering or planning something and this Spring, you are going to finally show the world your creation. I don’t know what it is but good for you. I am ecstatic, you feel euphoric or extremely happy, don’t you? I want to laugh, giggle, jump up and down in excitement. You are happy and you should be! Whatever it is that is happening at this time, seems to be providing you with stability for the long run. I have a feeling that because we’ve got the Queen of Pentacles, this will take some time to be noticed. I feel like by the end of Spring the fruits of your labour will start to show up. Just allow yourself to fully feel comfortable and then step out of the shadows and into the sun. It will shine on you.

Flowers: Petunia (Soothing Presence), Red Rose (Fidelity and Love), Lilac (First Emotions of Love)

This is a similar message from my teacup reading so maybe you also read that and now you’re here again. This to me, screams commitment. Commitment to someone, commitment to yourself, commitment to something. Whatever you are committing to, it brings you peace. It’s like that feeling “I am where I’m supposed to be,”. It is also something or someone you love with all your heart and you are ready to have it/them in your life for the long run.

🐝 Love #1

Tarot: III (Three) of Pentacles (Reversed), VIII (Eight) of Pentacles, V (Five) of Swords (Reversed)

If you picked this pile, then you are either in a relationship or you have been trying to fix a connection. I sense this is a love connection and I guess there has been a lot of fights, lack of communication, something related to one of you not understanding the other. I get that one of the people involved wants to either go back to studying or do something different but the other party is like “What for? You won’t need it,” which is leaving a big portion of you upset and devastated. You feel like there needs to be better communication and you want to put in the work to fix this. However, you are not sure how the other party feels. Do it. They are also ready to work on this. You need to honest and practical too. Maybe one of you is too idealistic and the other too practical/realistic. Just meet in the middle. And like the card in the middle of your spread, you have both to put in the work.

🐝 Love #2

Tarot: II (Two) of Swords, Knight of Swords, The Magician

This Spring, you will most likely meet someone. I feel like there will be a lot of chemistry between you two and it will come out of nowhere. However, I feel like you are blocking yourself to this connection. It’s not that you don’t want love, it’s just that you don’t know where to find it. But this person will come in quickly and swoop you away. You are not sure whether or not you should give into this connection. “Are they the one?”, “Am I ready for this relationship?”. I feel like these are questions that have crossed your mind at some point in time and you are letting them blind you. The thing is darling, you are the magician. You have everything you need for this connection to work. You may not have all the answers just yet but allow yourself to give in this time. It will feel magical. 

🐝 Love #3

Tarot: Queen of Pentacles (Reversed), X (Ten) of Swords, Queen of Cups

I assume your work has been taking a big toll on you. I feel like you work long hours or spend a lot of time away from the one you love which is causing you and them pain. I also sense that the X (Ten) of Swords here represent your thoughts but also how you are seeing this. I assume you have made up your mind: they will leave me. I will be alone. Or you feel alone. Either way, the Queen of Cups is your partner in this situation. They understand you and they care about you. They are giving you space, that’s what I’m sensing. They know you are busy but they also know how much you value your relationship with them. And they know that right now, you need to prioritise your work. Just tell them you are thankful to have them by your side. They will appreciate it.

🌷Money #1

Tarot: VI (Six) of Swords (Reversed), The Fool (Reversed), V (Five) of Swords

There’s a lot of things you need to deal with but since this has to do with finances, be careful where you put your money in. I feel like you see this opportunity and think “this is great!” and probably invest with not enough knowledge which is not good. I feel like you are trying to get into the stock market or investments and you think you are ready but you aren’t yet. You want financial freedom so you are trying to find ways to make it happen at all costs. Just because something looks appealing, doesn’t mean it is. Remember the long run. 

🌷Money #2

Tarot: King of Wands, The Emperor (Reversed), X (Ten) of Cups (Reversed)

In this scenario, you are the King of Wands. You are passionate, imaginative, you love what you do. Not only that, you are also a great leader. And I feel like you have been looking for a promotion at your job or a job offer for that matter. For some reason, I also sense that even though you are represented by the King of Wands, you are not in that energy yet. That is where you want to be. The leader, the one calling the shots, the one guiding and inspiring. But there’s someone on your way, The Emperor. This is someone who is above you. Someone with more power that doesn’t want to share it with you. The thing is, they know the value you bring but they don’t want others to see it. You are also not easily manipulated which they don’t like. I sense this promotion or whatever you desire will go to someone else. It will be shocking, devastating, heartbreaking. But remember, as I said, you are walking towards that King of Wands energy. You are not there just yet. But soon enough, you’ll get your chance to shine. Just don’t let this get in the way of the big picture.

🌷Money #3

Tarot: The Hanged Man, Death, V (Five) of Swords

Do not be scared by the Death card. I feel like this is something you have seen coming. I sense you want to quit your job? Or have a change of scenery, at least. I sense you have been weighing the pros and the cons and for sure you have come to the realisation that quitting will come with certain sacrifices: financial freedom you currently have. However, this step will lead to a new path and you know you need to do this, even if those around you don’t understand it. I feel like your colleagues will be resentful of you. Either because you left them without a notice or because you are jumping ship (which I don’t think it’s the case, this is how they see it). They don’t see you as a quitter, though. Quite the opposite. And that’s why they are resentful, because you were able to take that step whereas they are too afraid to do so. It costs you your financial freedom but I don’t sense you overspend. Maybe you even have some savings which have allowed you to come to this decision. Whatever it is, it has been a long time coming. And you need to leave the old to receive the new.

[yourehomesickiunderstand]

About/Rules/Verses

Hello, and welcome to my Bofur RP blog. This post is a HUGE wall of text, if you are on desktop and would like to see it a little tidier, please see the separate pages in the sidebar to the right. 

Promo Post Found Here

About the Mun

1. Firstly I am over 30, own a house, have a husband, 1 baby, 2 cats, and a wealth of commitments and responsibilities. I will do my best to reply in a timely manner, but will state up front that sometimes life gets in the way.

2. I am in EST and work M-F from 9-5, plus a half hour commute. Please understand that I can not post from work, and will not be posting during those times.

3. In addition, I am Mom to a very active toddler who is my priority over writing and who’s nap schedule tends to dictate when I can post.

4. My native language is English, though I can understand French, and a little bit of Spanish and Japanese. Don’t bank on me carrying on a decent conversation in any of those languages though.

About the Blog

1. When I first set up this blog I didn’t realize that secondary blogs can’t follow back, ask, or submit. My main blog name is Saffity, so if you see that blog follow you, it’s me. If I send an ask or submit, I will mention this blog name so you don’t get confused.

2. My inbox, ask, etc. is open. Please feel free to write me any starters, questions, or whatever.

3. Please send any critiques or suggestions to me. I’ve been on Tumblr forever, but have never really been a poster. If you see me doing basic noob mistakes with my posts that can be easily fixed, please let me know.

4. I will be tracking #yourehomesickiunderstand so please use that tag with our threads.

Mun’s Playing Style

1. I prefer my Bofur straight. I understand Boffins and other ships and have no qualms with them, I’ve been known to enjoy a good fluff fic once in a while, but this Bofur is straight.

2. Please send me an ask or fan mail if you would like our characters to have an already established relationship, I’m totally cool with it. I respond to all cannon characters as known as it shows in the books or movies, but if you are an OC and want something other than a “Nice to meet you” please let me know first.

3. I’m willing to do some fluffies, but not full on smut, if the thread calls for smut (which will often happen), I’ll fade to black when I’ve gone as far as I feel comfortable with. (Don’t worry, I’ll fade when I’m ready, you’ll never get any angry messages from me about going too far.)

4. Bofur here is multiverse, au, indie, whatever you want to call it. I’m sure he’ll fit into whatever crossover or world you decide to drop him in, he’s very easy going after all.

5. I tend to write in the past tense, third person. If you’d prefer a different style, just let me know and I’ll try to accommodate.

6. I’m bad with my images, so bad! I’m still figuring everything out, so if I’ve royally screwed something up, please let me know and I will delete and repost correctly.

7. I am super okay with editing anything I write if it doesn’t jive with your character or where you want the plot to go, please just let me know.

8. I mainly play on mobile, as such, I’m not able to cut my posts down. Please do so whenever you feel the need/want, I won’t be upset.

Head Cannons that go across all verses

1. Bofur has a Northern Irish accent and his hat, always his hat.

2. Bofur has named his hat Bundushathur, which in Khuzdul means “Cloudyhead” and will sometimes refer to his hat as a sleeping rabbit. If Khuzdul does not exist in the verse (like Modern) then the hat is called Cloudyhead and still referred to as a rabbit.

3. Bofur is the everyman, he isn’t special or high born. He is good natured, friendly, and the world’s best wingman, even if it means connecting someone he pines after with someone else. He would rather see them happy and keep their friendship than try to force his feelings on them or lose their friendship because of his pride.

4. The main characteristic about Bofur is that he is unimportant in the hierarchy of society.

Main Verse - The Hobbit/LOTR

Bofur is 4'6" but fairly thin for a dwarf.

Bofur is a dwarf who’s family line comes from Moria. He is of the mining class. He was born and raised in Ered Luin with his brother. Shortly after Bofur became an adult, his parents died, leaving him to raise his brother. Shortly after that, Bifur was injured in an orc attack. Bofur and Bombur took Bifur in, however there were a number of difficult years as they all got used to Bifur’s new personality.

Once Bifur was stable enough, the brothers decided it would be a good idea to head out and find new customers for their skills. They ended up at Bree, opening up a shop to sell Bifur’s fabulous toys, and offer tinkering services.

During their stay in Bree, Bombur got married to a passing female dwarf and moved his overly large family near the shop. Bifur and Bofur live together in living quarters at the back of the shop, Bombur lived with them until he got married.

Bofur travels around Middle Earth, usually west of the Misty Mountains, and most often between Bree and Ered Luin by way of the Shire. He collects supplies, sells wares, and visits many friends and family that are about the lands.

When Thorin calls for assistance in taking back Erebor, Bofur and his kin lock up their shop and head for the Shire.

After the quest they settle in Erebor, though Bofur heads back to Bree to close up their shop and settle accounts prior to settling in for a long life of enjoying his 14th share of the treasure.

Head Cannons that can totally change if my partner is a Bifur or Bombur

1. Bofur’s father was killed in Moria at the battle of Azanulbizar, his Mother died in an Orc attack when Bofur was in his 40s. He has taken care of his brother ever since.

2. Bofur took Bifur in after Bifur was orphaned as well, the three are like brothers, having shared the experience of loss and growing up together.

3. Bombur stopped speaking after their mother died. Bofur’s tried to get him to speak, and has managed to get him to speak sometimes, but usually just small replies and often with much prodding. Bifur and Bombur use the same sign language to speak to each other and those who don’t speak Khuzdul. Bofur takes care of both of them and is the one who speaks to customers.

Modern Verse

High School

Bofur is not popular, though he’s friendly and basically knows everyone. He enjoys shop class, classical music, and historical literature.

Studious and hard working, Bofur can often be found with his nose in a book, when not sitting on the bleachers playing the tin flute he always has on him.

College Student

Bofur is a TA in college. His major is historical literature, and his goal is to eventually become a professor. His passion is delving into historical fanatasy from cultures other than England and Western Europe.

He enjoys learning languages in order to read what he is researching in its original state.

General Modern Adult

In most modern adult verses Bofur is a general labourer, most often a janitor. If he is a teacher, he teaches music and drama.

Ice Cream Shop

Bofur runs a small home made ice cream shop that is part of a coffee shop run with a companion or family member (his partner can be any member of the company). He makes a variety of flavours, and offers lactose and gluten free varieties.

He prides himself on being able to guess his customers’ favourites on sight (like the movie Chocolat).

Marvel

Bofur is a janitor within shield. He can be found on the helicarrier, within the Avengers training base, or basically anywhere the heroes may be destroying things that need to be cleaned up.

While he is quiet and without powers, he has wisdom and a patient ear to lend to those supers who require a moment to vent.

Star Trek

This is the only verse where Bofur stands out. Bofur is a red shirt, but by some miraculous turn of events, he has gone on a number of away missions and made it back alive. Poor Bofur would love to get off the enterprise with his life, and shirt, in tact, but it appears some of the higher officers like to see him lose his mind and suggest him for more away missions, even if only in jest.

Head cannons that exist in all modern verses

1. Bofur and his family are from Northern Ireland, though Bofur travels around, goes to school abroad, and in general can pop up anywhere in the world.

2. Bofur is short for a male - 5'6", with a stocky build, and fairly strong.

3. Bofur’s younger brother Bombur is still at home (or married with kids depending on their age).

4. Bofur’s parents took Bifur in after he got injured during Armed Forces training, as Bofur’s family lives closer to the rehab resources that Bifur requires.

[tessimagines]

Heroes // Sirius Black - Part One

Pairing: Sirius Black x Potter!Reader

Summary: Sirius Black has woken night after night to the screams of one of his best friends, (Y/N) Potter. It’s just a dream, he tells himself. A nightmare, fuelled by the ever-darkening war around them. In the morning, she sees him and smiles, blissfully unaware of the effect that smile has on him. But when the dreams grow darker and more ominous, Sirius begins to notice the similarities between them and reality and he feels closer than ever to losing the woman he loves.

Series Masterlist is linked in my bio!

Warnings: angst, mentions of kidnapping and nightmares.

Wordcount: 2.9k

A/N: Here is the first part! I hope you all like it :) I would love to know what you think, so please feel free to leave a comment or let me know in my inbox. Gif not mine. Also, I would like to let you know, I will be adding some characters for the sake of the story. Most of these will be just names (despite one). 

The dream always goes like this.

He’s tired. He can feel it in his bones and aching muscles. For whatever reason, blood coats every region of his hands, a thick layer sticky and warm on the wand he grips tight in his fist.

It's night. The moon glows bright and luminous above them. There are trees everywhere and a smothering layer of fog clings to the damp ground. He can smell rain and smoke and the rusty tang of freshly spilled blood.

He trips. He can see her ahead of him now. She doesn’t stumble like he does. She is running towards something, someone. She is determined, focused and in no way he has ever seen her before - deadly.

He follows her to a small cliff, the sound of rushing water below them. He can hear the sound of the water rushing rapidly below him and the smell of rotting leaves. It’s too dark to see anywhere below the surface. 

There is someone else there but he can’t see them. He can hear their footsteps crinkling up leaves underneath every step. There could be a whole group surrounding them for all he knows. His breaths are laboured and so are hers, each one rising with an audible wheeze. When the two of them are caught against the edge of the small cliff, he finds her hand between them. Her fingers are icy cold. 

And then there is a flash of green. He is pushed out of the way and he can feel as her fingers slip from his own. He catches a glint of pink and she falls backwards.

And that’s when she lets rip that scream. That fucking scream. Every time it rips a hole right through him. And no matter how hard he reaches out for her again or how loud he screams her name, she tumbles backwards and is swallowed up by the black, unforgiving water below him. 

And that’s when he wakes, covered in sweat, the sound of her scream still lingering in his ears.

“Sirius.”

He jolts upright at your voice, lungs heaving. beads of sweat glisten on his forehead in the low light of the room. He watches your face change as he takes in the expression on it, a mixed look of both concern and confusion. He runs a hand through his black hair, the roots of every strand damp with sweat. He can still hear that scream and he has to double-take at you in his doorway to make sure it really isn’t coming from you.

“Hey, are you alright?” you ask, your head tilting to the side and leaning on the frame of the doorway. His breaths are still shallow and sharp and he forces himself to take a deep one. 

He nods first, and when he feels his lungs can take it, speaks. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He can tell instantly that you don’t believe him but you don’t push him any further. Instead, you slowly nod, letting a small comforting smile form upon your lips. It’s warm and would normally in any other circumstance, make Sirius’ heart flutter. This time, however, it just causes his insides to drop.

“Alright, well, Ma’s got breakfast ready.” You’re drumming a beat on the wooden frame of the doorway, a smile still resting upon your lips. “She wanted me to come and get you. James is already down there.”

Sirius nods as you leave, watching as you close the door behind you. His head is light, it almost feels as if it is fluid and unnatural on top of his neck. After a moment, he tries to get up and stumbles. His hands grip the oak desk next to him, trying to steady himself. He brings the glass jar closer to himself before he conjures a bright light inside, illuminating the room.

Sirius tries to take another grounding breath. The smell of rust is still toxic in his nose, reminding him of the image of numerous trees flashing pass as he runs. It’s the third time he has had the same dream, each time waking up to that same ear-piercing scream. And every time, he will wake and you will be there waiting for him, your smile so blissfully unaware of the reason for his laboured breaths or the effect that its warmth has on him. The first time, he had almost reached out and tugged at your wrist, wanting to bring you towards himself in the hope that his own body would protect yours. The dream had felt so real, every sound, sight and smell still clear on the surface of his mind.

Every morning, he tells himself that its nothing. That the dream is nothing but a nightmare, fuelled by the war that rages on around them. And most of the time he believes it.

Because, really, there isn’t much else he can do.

James sits across from you, his black, unruly hair getting caught in the arms of his glasses. He is eating a piece of jam toast while laughing at the same time, Your mother whacking him over the head in order to settle him. She knows it won’t work and instead looks up at you and rolls her eyes. 

“I’m telling you Ma, you walk more like a penguin than a person.”

“How did I raise such a rude son?” She is trying to keep a straight face but she can’t help but let it falter. Your father is sitting across from your brother, trying to stifle his laughs into today’s copy of The Daily Prophet. It deepens the wrinkles that mark his aged face and he only puts the paper down when he watches his children’s best friend enter the room. 

“Ah, Sirius. Morning.” He lifts his porcelain teacup to his lips and takes a sip. Sirius doesn't notice the greeting was addressed to him and by the time he has, Fleamont’s eyebrows have already drawn closer together. “Are you alright, Son?”

Sirius nods but you can tell his mind is still distracted. It’s like there is a glaze over his eyes, keeping him just out of reach of the present. “I’m okay, thanks Fleamont.”

“He just doesn’t eat enough, that’s all. I know you have your own place now, Sirius, but I want you to stay here more just so I can make sure you’re eating.” Your mother brushes down her floral dress before pulling out a chair between you and James for Sirius. She motions for him to sit down and then pats him on the shoulder. “Eat up, honey.”

Sirius tries to smile for her, and manages well enough to fool Euphemia. You keep your eyes on him for another second, looking at the tiny features in his face that tell you something is wrong. When he catches your eye, he quickly looks away and down at the plate of eggs and toast that Euphemia has put down in front of him. “Thanks, Mia.”

Fleamont’s eyes are back on his paper, his wrinkles tightening as he reads the words on the page. He keeps his eyes on the paper when he opens his mouth and speaks, his voice as soft as it always is. “There’s been another disappearance. Two of them, Amaryllis Shacklebolt and her husband in North Yorkshire.”

“That’s Kingsley's sister, isn’t she?” James asks and Fleamont nods. 

“Such a nice family. They think it’s that Flint, the one who blew up the Muggle post office in South Wales a few weeks ago. Apparently, he was sighted in their town a few days before it happened.”

Euphemia is sitting down beside her husband and reaches across to grab his hand. Her greying hair is loose and sitting freely around her face. When a strand falls in front of her eyes, she doesn’t bother to wipe it away.

“Kingsley is part of the order with us,” you say. “I met Amaryllis a few months back, coming back from a scout with Kingsley.”

Your mother shakes her head, bringing her fingers to rub the area between her eyebrows. She then looks up at the three of you, her hand still in your fathers. 

“I know you three are trying to do the right thing by joining that Order. But you worry me when you go out doing stuff like that. You’re all so young.”

“Mum,” James says, that charming smile of his wide and bright on his lips. He’s doing his best to be comforting and manages to pull it off quite well. “We’re 19 - of legal age. We want to do our part, okay?”

Your mother doesn’t say another thing and just nods. The expression on her face is still one of fear and discomfort, but when your father squeezes her hand, you watch as she calms a little. 

“We have a meeting tonight,” you say. Your mother looks up and you feel the need to reassure. “Don’t worry, it’s not a scout or a mission or anything, just a meeting. We won't get home till around 11 or 12.”

You mother nods, trying her best to give a warm smile. It’s only a flicker, still masked with worry for her children and their friend. You do your best in returning it before taking the last bite of your toast. James follows suit before getting up from the table. 

“Alright, Padfoot. Sister. Let’s go find the rest of our little group, shall we? There is a particular redhead that I find myself wanting to snog.”

“James Potter!” Euphemia shouts, her face going a deep magenta. “Do not talk about your girlfriend like that! You have no manners!” 

Your laughing when you get out of your chair, James cackling at himself in front of you. Sirius stands, his face blank and remote. His mind is somewhere else, somewhere far away from the teasing and laughing at the table. When you watch him follow James out of the room, his shoulders tense and set like stone, you can't help but sigh, the familiar tang of concern sour on your lips. 

A fire crackles in the corner of the room when the six of you enter, Albus Dumbledore at the head of the long oak table. He’s adorned in his usual flamboyant robes, this time a vibrant lilac with silver stars decorating the material. His face softens into a smile when the lot of you enter and his bright blue eyes catch yours. He winks when you smile at him, watching as you take a seat down next to Sirius.

Your group, containing the usual Marauders and Lily, are still bickering with one another about the relationship status of Gideon Prewett and Marlene McKinnon. You watch as Lily rolls her eyes at your brother once again as James whips around to face her.

“I’m telling you, Lily. I saw them together at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour last Saturday. Marlene even took a lick of his raspberry ice cream! Do you take me for a liar?”

“James, all I’m saying is that I think Marlene would have told me if she was planning on going out on a date with Gideon. We’re good friends.”

“That doesn’t mean anything!” Your brother shouts. You can see Alastor Moody next to Dumbledore turn to James when he hears it and roll his glass eye. The sight makes you grin, before James sucks in your attention again. “Maybe she hasn’t told you because she is waiting to see how things go. I’d say most people would do that with their friends.”

Lily raises an eyebrow and swings around to face him directly. “Excuse me, Potter? Most people would do that? When I agreed to go on our first date you got up on one of the tables in the Gryffindor Common Room and announced to our entire house you were taking me to the Three Broomsticks!”

James crosses his arms and leans back into his chair, one of his trademark cocky smirks finding their way upon his lips. “Well, I guess we could say that I’m not most people am I, Evans?”

Lily rolls her eyes again and tries to hide the smile that threatens to show. You laugh when you see her playfully hit the side of his arm, and then as James throws his head back in an overly dramatic display of pain. When the two of them start at it again, you turn to face Sirius beside you.

“So, Padfoot. What’s your take on it?” When you address him, Sirius’ dark eyes turn to look up into yours. He’s happier than he was this morning, more aware of the situation and people around him. But you can still sense a tinge of discomfort inside of him, enough to make you worry.

James and Lily are still bickering only a few seats away from you, and Sirius’ eyes flicker over to them one last time before answering. “Oh,” he says, the corner of his lips pulled up into a smirk. “There is no way that Gideon could have landed Marlene.”

“Are you sure?” You laugh, cocking an eyebrow up at him. “You know, I don’t think I ever told you this but Gideon was my first kiss. Or it could have been his twin brother Fabien, I’m still not one hundred percent sure.”

Sirius smiles, followed by a laugh that exaggerates the pinkness of his lips. When you realise how close they are, your skin begins to tingle and then James releases a final shout of victory.

“What did I tell you, Evans!” James is grinning, large and bright. Lily is shaking her head while looking at Remus. “Look at the two of them now!”

Both you and Sirius turn around to face the entry of the room. Gideon and Marlene are walking in together, with Marlene’s hand sitting snugly in Gideons. You can’t help but smile at James when he gets up and struts over to them, extending his hand to shake Gideons in congratulation. Lily is yelling at him to stop, each word coming out with a laugh she can’t help but let slip.

“Jealous, Potter?” Sirius laughs beside you and you roll your eyes at him, whacking him on his arm beside you.

When everyone sits down, Dumbledore rises from his seat at the head of the table. His outstretched hands demand the absolute silence of everyone present, each movement laced with a thick concoction of gravitas and weight. When he opens his mouth to speak, not a single person dares to whisper.

“Hello, friends.” His eyes flicker around the room from person to person, the expression on his face serious. “It’s with great sorrow and pain we gather here today. Last night, it was discovered that a family member of one of our Order and her husband have gone missing from their home in North Yorkshire.  Amaryllis Shakelbolt is Kingsley’s sister and we all hope that she and her husband will be recovered sometime soon.”

“It is also a great hope that the people who carried out this terror will be brought to justice. No facts are official as of yet, but it has been discovered that Oswald Flint, a well known and high-ranking Death Eater, was spotted in their hometown only a few days before the disappearance.”

“As all of you know, Flint has been on our radar for some time. And after the incident in South Glamorgan a few weeks ago, I have had many of you researching and scouting him. After this most recent event, I have been given direct orders by the Ministery that they wish two members of this Order work alongside Aurors to capture and recover Flint.”

He pauses, and then Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes are on you.  For a second, your brain fumbles and your hand snaps at Sirius’ arm beside you. You’re gripping him tight, without realising, when Dumbledore begins to speak again. His eyes are glittering, and he gives a slight nod in your direction.

“(Y/N), how would you feel about this assignment?” His voice is low and composed, yet still managing to convey the seriousness of the situation. Sirius’ eyes are on you, his dark brown irises dancing all over your face. You risk a quick look at him before speaking.

“Uh-” you stutter, closing your eyes for half a second in order to try and reinstate some sort of order to your thoughts. “I would be honoured, Sir.”

There is a small smile on his lips when you agree, but within a moment, his eyes have flickered to Sirius beside you. You feel your grip tighten on Sirius’ arm. Dumbledore doesn’t even need to speak before Sirius nods at him, his face blank and impossible to read. 

“Very well,” Dumbledore says, the silver stars on his robes glittering in the light of the fireplace behind him. “I will inform the ministry who will be taking this task. Now, Edgar, Is there an update on the Lestrange Brothers?”

When Sirius’ hand clasps over yours, any words that come out of Dumbledore’s mouth are long forgotten and distant. He looks at you and you try your best to give him a warm smile, letting the end of your eyebrow cock up into an arch. 

“A Potter and Black, eh?” you say, letting a finger entwine with one of his. “When has that combination ever gone wrong?”

There you go! I hope you all enjoyed the first part of this series. Please let me know what you thought by either leaving a comment down below or dropping something in my inbox.

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[forgottenpasta]

Teach Me Dirty (m)

➤ Summary: Taehyung has a lot to teach his English teacher. Fortunately for him, you’re an eager and willing pupil.

➤ Taehyung x Reader

➤ Warnings: Oppa Kink, Unprotected Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Urethral Stimulation, Squirting, Fingering, Creampie, Pregnancy Risk(?)

➤ Word Count: 2.9k

➤ A/n: This is something I wrote a long while back, recently made some changes and decided to put it up. If the writing looks weird, then its probably because some parts were written more than a year ago. Also wrap it before you tap it please. Enjoy :D

Your feet moved fast on the pavement, breath laboured as you rushed past the pedestrians on the busy footpath. For the first time you were late for your tutoring session.

A tutoring session with the most coveted heartthrobs of the nation.

How did you get this job? Well, family ties tend to take people a long way. Just that one right connection and poof, you’re being paid 3 times more for a job that would otherwise make chump change for a person with way more experience than you. You were just an average university student who took a one year foreign exchange program with one of the biggest universities in South Korea.

Until you came here and the weight of the living expenses almost drove you to starvation. The scholarship only covered your tuition and the extra menial jobs didn’t even come close to paying the full rent of your apartment.

Fortunately and through sheer luck, your uncle was an old friend of Bang Si Hyuk.

You’d met him before on family gatherings and other such occasions and he was almost like an uncle to you too. He trusted you. You’d mentioned in passing that you were a literature major and joked about having no money and no life in the typical self condescending humour of someone trying to look cool in front of an intimidating elder. The next day you had an email siting in your inbox asking for your credentials and an interview for a teaching position with his entertainment company. 

The thought had crossed your mind that you were ultimately selected only because of your uncle, because it couldn’t possibly be that half a million English teachers wouldn’t jump at the chance of teaching Bangtan. But you didn’t want to hear the truth, so you’d never brought it up to either your uncle or the Bighit CEO. 

It had been a month into your new job and you still weren’t used to teaching boys who made your hands tremble and palms sweat with just one casual look in your direction. And you knew that they knew that you were a fumbling, nervous mess in front of them 90% of the time. At least they were gracious enough to not laugh at you or point out how maladroit you were for this job. 

Well, except for one person that is

The familiar quickening of your heart meant that you were going to be one single jittery girl in between seven testosterone filled sex-on-legs boys who probably thought of you as their daily one hour of free amusement.

But when you opened the door to their dorm after a quick customary knock, Taehyung was the only face you could see. Sitting on the long couch, he munched on an apple while a wildlife documentary played on the television. 

Of course it had to be him. 

He glanced at you lazily as you entered the living room. "You're late. The others left."

"Huh.", you huffed, still catching your breath as you put your heavy bag full of assignments down. "Where?"

He gave you a playful smile which did not match the heat in his roving eyes at all. A slow once over of you from head to tow. When his eyes reached yours again he tilted his head, as if in approval. 

"For practice. Our comeback is soon. You know that, Ms. __.”

A shiver rushed down your spine at the way he said "Ms.__". He was the only one who called you that, the rest just calling you __-ssi. Apparently, calling you Miss instead of the honorific made the English lessons more "immersive" for him. 

His words not yours.

You gulped. "And you didn't go?"

He gave you a wide eyed innocent stare. "I couldn't leave you here alone. Besides you gave me a punishment last time remember?"

You raised an eyebrow. His puppy dog eyes always spelled trouble for you. 

"You told me I'd get an F in evaluation if I didn't complete my assignment this time."

Right. The assignment. Every other member, even Jeongguk who struggled with English, had completed it. But for some reason Taehyung always day dreamed in class instead. 

Daydreamed or gave you heated stares which made you blush in unspeakable places. More than once you’d caught him staring at your legs. 

"Okay." You sat down on the carpet in front of the coffee table. "Give it to me."

His voice went husky. "Give what to you, Ms.__?” He joined you on the floor, sitting so close your knees were almost touching.

He always did this. Turned your conversations into sexual innuendos, while purposefully teasing you.

You gave him a stern look and held out your hand. "Your assignment."

His cute box smile made an appearance."Of course." He grabbed a paper from the side table and handed it to you.

Ugh. He could go from intense sex god to aegyo expert in a second. It gave you whiplash.

You grabbed your marker to evaluate him when he spoke again, shifting even closer to you. "Are you sure you want to read it though? I was brutally honest with my answers."

His deep baritone so close to your ear made goosebumps break out on your skin. You tried your best to ignore the lack of proximity between you.

"Good. Honest answers are exactly what I want.” You opened the front page.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

You furrowed your brows but ignored him, focusing on correcting his English. 

1. Write a compliment for someone you admire.

~ Ms. __ has the most kissable lips ever. 

Your breath caught in your throat and your heart raced a mile a minute. You hadn't expected this. You could feel Taehyung's heated gaze on you. 

2. What is your biggest motivation to wake up in the morning?

You were sure his answer would be regarding their fan base, the Armys being his motivation. That's what most of the other members had written. 

Boy, were you wrong.

~ Seeing Ms.___ in short skirts. 

You didn’t dare look up at him. Your face was ten different shades of red.

3. What is the one wish you want to fulfill?

~ My English teacher's long legs wrapped around me while I fuck her against her precious blackboard.

Your eyes almost popped out your sockets as you looked up at the blackboard you had had installed in their dorm during the first week of your classes. 

"Are you thinking about it, Ms.___?", his whisper snapped you out of you daze. 

You blushed even more, if that was even possible. You had been imagining you both doing it against the blackboard.

Face screaming embarrassment, you looked at him finally. The top buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, you realised for the first time. His hard pecs visible.

He smirked. "My eyes are up here, Ms.___."

"Hmm.", you snapped your eyes up, your own chest heaving with heavy breaths. "Taehyung-ssi you can't write-"

His lips crashed down on yours. 

He moved his mouth against yours roughly, then softly, with expert ease that scrambled your brain and made all thoughts in any language nigh impossible. You were in sync when he moved above you, placing his large hands on your dainty shoulders and pushing you back on the carpet. 

"Kiss me back, __.", he breathed harshly against your mouth. You gasped at him calling you by your name.

And he took the opportunity to thrust his tongue into your mouth, tasting yours. Your mouths made a frenzied mess as you couldn't hold yourself back anymore, pushing your hands in his soft hair, you clutched him even closer.

His tongue moved in and out of his mouth, mimicking his pelvis between your now open legs.

You moaned loudly at a particularly harsh thrust between your legs, your core pulsing with pleasure.

He broke the kiss abruptly, a string of saliva still connecting your mouths. "Say my name.", he ordered as he ground himself against you. The hard outline of his dick stimulated all your right places. Apparently he was generously endowed, and with that you had knowledge about something you were sure a good percentage of their fan population would want to know.

"Taehyung!", you screamed as you felt yourself gushing down there. Your panties were ruined and you could smell your arousal clear in the air.

"Properly!", he scolded, clutching your jaw in his hand. "I'm older than you."

"Taehyung oppa...", you trailed off as one more thrust made you topple off the edge. "Aahhhh.", you moaned as spasms after spasms of uncontrollable pleasure fired your nerve endings, your orgasm crashing through you out of left feild.

A first off. It usually took you at least thirty minutes to come by your own fingers and he hadn’t even touched you and you had went off in two.

He gave you no time to be mortified though.

When you finally opened your eyes after coming down from your orgasm induced high, you saw Taehyung smirking down at you. He clearly wasn't done with you yet.

"That's one out of the way. Shall we focus on making you come again now, Ms.___?", he asked, trailing his hands under your shirt before pulling it over your head. 

The cool air on your naked breasts made you shiver. So did his reverent gaze. You hadn't been wearing a bra. 

“Fuck. Such a tease. I knew you were purposefully driving me wild." He unhooked the belt on your short shorts, then proceeded to pull them off you, leaving you in your panties. "All these shorts and mini skirts. And don't get me started on those crop tops. I’ve wanted you beneath me since the first moment you stepped inside our dorm, all awkward, clumsy and so fucking sexy I could barely restrain myself from eating you out in front of my members.”

“I’m not gonna restrain myself now.” He hovered over you now, scooping down for a quick kiss as you still couldn't feel your limbs after the earth shattering climax. "Tell me you want this,__." , he pleaded desperately against your lips. "Please. I'll go insane if you stop me right now."

You pulled his shirt over his head in response, trailing both your hands down his toned chest and abdomen. "I want this.", you whispered just as urgently.

"Good girl." He moved your panties to the side, abruptly entering one long finger inside you. You grabbed at his hand as your eyes rolled back in your head when he sought and found your g-spot in less than a second, pressing against it in a circular motion. 

His head swooped down covering you nipple with bites and nibbles. He took one in his mouth, suckling for a minute before doing the same to your other breast. Both his finger and his mouth were sending you to heaven.

He was good at multitasking. 

Not wanting to be a passive lover, you pushed your hands inside his sweatpants and boxers, taking his thick cock in both your hands. He was rock hard and hot as you stroked his long length up and down.

"Fuck, baby.", he groaned against your breasts, his rhythm faltering between your legs. He sat back up and pulled your hands out of his pants.

"What?", you whined. He pecked your lips.

"I won't last long if you continue that. When I come it'll be inside you." 

With those words he moved between your knees, pulling his own finger out of you. Only to replace it with his hot mouth on your core. 

"Oppaaa!" Dizzying pleasure overwhelmed you when he caressed your sensitive clit with his tongue in a manner that told you he wanted to take his time enjoying eating your pussy. One finger circled your entrance delicately, only pushing inside shallowly to make you keen with wanting something to fill you up asap. Preferably his engorged cock. 

“Your pussy tastes divine,__. I could spend hours between your legs.” A wide lick up your inner labia punctuated his praise of your cunt. Then he went exploring, parting your folds to go deeper, to the parts of you no one, including you, had ever even thought to stimulate. Pulling apart your labia with his fingers, he tongued your urethra, digging at a hole too small to penetrate and a shock of forbidden sensation jolted through you. 

“Taehyung! What are you—”

“Do you squirt, baby?”

You peeped down at him, your heaving breasts small mountains of obstruction to your line of sight. He grinned against your pussy, a mischievous glint in his eyes setting you on edge.

“N-no, I haven’t before.”

“Great.” He gave your cunt an open mouthed smooch. “Lets see if you can.”

With one thumb he pulled back the hood of your clit, exposing the sensitive bundle to his hungry gaze. Two fingers slid inside your entrance with a slick sound, thrusting in and out, making you clench yourself around his digits. Then the torture began.

He would lick your clit till you felt your high approaching, his fingers exerting the exact amount of pressure on your g-spot as he drove them in you in shallow thrusts. Just when you started spasming around his fingers, he would slow them down, a smirk on his face as he abandoned your clit for the tiny hole hidden deep in your folds. And a different kind of sensation would assault you, a pleasure-pressure you associated when you wanted to pee real bad but couldn’t. 

“Tae! Oppa, I don’t- I wanna—“, you cried for something, you didn’t even know what. “Please!”

Then he backed off, and repeated the whole thing all over again. By the third time, you were a sobbing mess, tears running down your temples from the way he denied your orgasm multiple times. 

Grabbing his thick hair in tufts, you made him look up at you. “No no. Tae please, let me come.”

He tsked, pouting. “I will, Ms.__. But you taste so fucking sweet I just can’t help delaying the inevitable.”

“You can eat me out anytime, alright!”, you almost shouted at his cavalier tone. “Just let me come right now.”

Taehyung brightened up at that, like you’d just handed him a trophy. “I’m gonna hold you to that, Ms __. Don’t think you can back off later.”

“Whatever. Just make me come!”

He happily dove back down, fucking you with his finger with a renewed vigour as he finally took your clit in his mouth instead of giving it teasing licks. 

“Oh, fuck, yes!”

That forbidden, delicious pressure built again, peaking into a crescendo as Taehyung pressed your every right pleasure point, his fingers thrusting into your pussy with a rough speed that sent you to heaven on earth. 

“Tae, I’m gonna— Oh my god!”

Taehyung pulled his head back at the last minute, watching with a delighted groan as your abused pussy gushed clear liquid in quick streams, drenching you and the carpet below as your hips involuntary lifted with spasms. 

“Fuck, that is such a pretty sight. I knew I could make you squirt.”

Taehyung pulled his fingers out of you abruptly, rushing to shuck his pants and boxers. Evidently, he’d had enough of neglecting his own needs. He lined up against your well lubricated opening while you were still coming down from your climax. 

He didn't give you a moment to breathe before he pushed inside. Seating himself inside you completely, bottoming out and stuffing you so full, you twitched when the smouldering embers of pleasure flared up in your core again. 

"You're so fucking tight,__.", he exclaimed. Even after two orgasms your walls clasped around him greedily, making him throb inside your tight sheath. 

"Baby.", he called turning your face up with a hand on your chin. His fingers smelled like your arousal. Desire reflected in both your gazes. "Keep your eyes on me while I fuck you.”, he commanded, slowly pulling his thick length out of you, only to glide back in with a satisfied grunt. “I want it rough, is that okay?”

"Yes, oppa." You clutched his back, your nails digging in as he increased his speed. Overstimulation making you more desperate, you moved your pelvis along with his, meeting each and everyone of his downward thrusts. It was frenzied attempt to reach the fastest route to the finish. He gripped your hips harshly, leveraging himself with his feet to fuck down into you with brisk precision. 

Taehyung made sure to go in deep though, letting you feel the tip of his cock against your cervix with every drive of his hips, pummelling your cunt into complete submission. 

Your foreheads touching, you breathed each other's air, never breaking eye contact. 

"You look so beautiful underneath me, baby.", he grunted. "So wet yet so tight. You're gripping me so tight...", his words turned into incoherent, half complete whispers and sweet nothings. He thrusted in you with lightening speed now, both of you so close to finishing. 

"I-I'm gonna...", you gasped feeling herself losing control once again.

"No. Wait for me. Together baby." 

You wrapped your legs around Taehyung, clenching your core muscles to delay your climax. "Faster, oppa.", you moaned. 

"Almost." He thrusted twice. "There." One more time. "Now, __.”

You let yourself go. At the same time you felt Taehyung come as he emptied himself inside of you. He groaned your name like a plea, slowing down. 

You raked your nails down his back, aftershocks coursing through your every nerve. You felt like a limp noodle and you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to walk again.

Taehyung slumped down on top of you, his warm comforting weight felt relaxing. Lips moving on your neck as he leisurely gave you a few loving kisses. 

After a minute he spoke. 

"I hope you're on birth control."

Oh shit.

[mixingpumpkins]

Sighhhhh... really? Is this really a post I have to make in the year of idk what but clearly not our lord since 2020 is... well... ?

Fine. Here goes.

Friendly reminder to everyone that this is my blog, and that I’m “allowed” (lmao) to post:

Things about current events / real-world issues

Things that are fun and not about current events / real-world issues

Serious posts

Satirical or funny or weird posts

US-centric things

Non-US-centric things

Whatever the hell I want because it’s my goddamn blog

I know “whatever I want” covers a lot of things, since this is my catch-all space. I have a lot of interests, and I probably end up posting a lot of shit that any one person isn’t particularly interested in.

That’s cool. Filter out the tag / ask me to tag something (if I don’t already), or unfollow if it’s just too much for you. I won’t be offended. Promise. I’ve unfollowed blogs that I didn’t interact with that morphed into only posting about an interest I didn’t really care about. No harm, no foul.

Or if something I post troubles you and you want to talk about it, okay. My inbox is open. Let me know if I said something that wasn’t cool or hurt you/another person. Maybe I need to do a learn. It happens. If I hurt you with something I post regularly and you want to unfollow, that’s all good. You don’t owe me an explanation or emotional labour on why what I said wasn’t cool with you. I’m not trying to hurt anyone and I’d rather you bring it up so I can learn, but I’m not entitled to your bandwidth. That’s cool. 

But the instant you come screaming into my inbox demanding I cater all my blog content to exactly what you want to see? 

Get out of here.

You’re not paying me to produce or curate specific content for you. If that’s what you’re interested in, I’m more than happy to direct you to other places online where I have a presence specifically for that reason. But those avenues exist with the intent that I will create things my market wants in exchange for getting paid for it. It’s a business.

This is a personal blog where I mostly just dick around and share random stuff I think is neat or important or whatever because I want to. It’s for fun.

See the difference?

I’ve been on this hellsite for over 11 years. 11. Fucking. Years. Before that was LiveJournal, and various fansites, and web forums held together with duct tape and scrap code. And much as this is a nicer platform than anywhere else I used to hang out, I miss how much people on those old sites seemed to better grasp the concept that the entire internet is not required to cater to your exact tastes and when it doesn’t, you are responsible for moving on. 

So, no, you don’t get to demand that I keep all the “serious stuff” off my blog because you want to keep your dash a real-world-free place.  You also don’t get to demand that I stop posting pictures of puppies or fashion or fandoms or whatever just because you think I can’t care about something important unless I post only about that 24/7. (Which... lmao.) Use. The. Tags. Or unfollow. This isn’t an airport; no need to announce your departure. Either one. I don’t care. You do you. But want to control what I post? Rates start at roughly $100/hr. Pay up or stfu about this little personal corner of the internet and remove yourself if you hate it so much.

Fuckin’ yikes, y’all. Seriously. Tumblr drama, the curse that keeps on cursing, I guess.

[dirgeofcerberus111]

Tagalongs - SU Fanfic Chapter 5

Happy New Years everybody! Starting off 2019 with a new chapter. Sorry for the delay, was busy with work, school, and other stories. I wanted to also release the next chapter of No Home at the same time, but it should be ready in a week or two. Also, in regards to the recent episodes, keep in mind that this was made way before any of that and is a light-hearted AU. Otherwise, hope you enjoy! 

@directorhachi

Ms. Yellow finally stepped out of the conference room and shut the door behind her. Not stopping, she march straight to the nearest elevator and let it close. Once she was sure she was alone, and that no one was watching, she finally let her shoulders down and let out a sigh of relief.

Damn jackals, she thought. Try and make a power move in her tower will they? Not a chance. She pressed the button for her office floor. Well, she certainly showed them, and after that, hopefully next time they’ll know better than to cross her.

The elevators hummed quietly as she waited in silence, arms folded, to arrive. Finally she felt the elevator stop and the doors opened with a ding.

Now then, time to call the police and finally get those kids out of her-

Where were they?

They were not by the elevators where she left them. They were not here. They were gone. Why were they gone? Where were they?!

Yellow’s mind raced. Where could they be?

Wait, she left them with Pearl. Where was Pearl?

Ms. Yellow stalked out of the elevator with a rushed pace. Looking around, she could see a colossal mess by the printing machines, with the employees from Blue’s department picking up the pieces of what seemed to have been a catastrophic parchment explosion.

What on Earth happened around here? She hadn’t even been gone an hour!

Yellow’s thoughts turned to dreadful visions of legal action and the scandals that could follow if something were to have happened. Her company had enough bad rumors circulating about it as it was. She didn’t need child neglect added to the list. That would be a PR nightmare. They could be sued! Or worse!

The worst part about it was that, this was on her. She brought them in because she it would be safer- less risky to bring them in and resolve this quickly than to just let them wander around on the streets. Now she had no idea where they were and no control over the situation.

She turned her head and finally spotted her secretary. She was heading back towards the office, with the both kids secured firmly under each arm. Letting out a grunt of irritation, Yellow marched over to them in a huff.

“Oh Ms. Diamond, there you are! How did the meeting g-”

“Pearl!”

“IDIDN’TLOSETHEMISWEAR!”

“How many people know about them?” “Wait wha…?”

“How many people in the office know they’re here?”

“Weeeell...” she glanced uncomfortably at the wider floor.

“Oh lord, they all know don’t they?”

“I’m afraid so...” Meanwhile the children looked up and waved.

Ms. Yellow put a hand to her face and groaned.

“B-BUT, there’s absolutely no reason for anyone to connect them to you! Because of course, I would never divulge any of your personal affairs,” Ms. Pearl professed as she set the two back down.

“Good.” Yellow let out a covert sigh of relief. She did not need anyone in the office thinking she had gone soft. This whole situation was ridiculous enough as it is. “Stay here and prepare everything for the merger, I’ll take it from here.” She then snapped her gaze back down to the two wandersome children.

“You two, come with me!”

The two snapped a hasty nod and followed the tall CEO into the office and the door slammed shut behind them.

Inside it was a well-lit and very modern cubic space. Everything was perfect ordered and designed to radiate the utmost efficiency and authority. Warm yellow lamps hung from the ceiling and the books were arranged on their shelves in perfect straight rows. Her desk was on the other end of the room, meticulously clean almost to the point of barreness, while the guest seats were mathematically positioned in front of it to offer the ideal power distance.

“Wow! Is all this really yours?” Steven asked.

Yellow didn’t bother answering. She didn’t have time to answer obvious questions. She had to get back to work and finish all this so she can finally send these blasted kids home already! Here at least no one will bother her.

The boy spoke again. “So do you call people from here or...”

“Listen up, I have piles of work to do, and a limited window of time to do them. The sooner I get them done, the sooner you can be out of here!” she told them. “So keep quiet and don’t bother me anymore!”

Suddenly there was a long rumbling gurgle as their stomachs growled. The two looked up from their stomachs at her but didn’t say anything.

Yellow felt an eye twitch.

Two juice boxes and a box of raisins from the breakroom later, they were seated in one of the guest chairs, both of them in the same one.

Yellow finally settled down into her seat. At long last, she could get back to work. She began to pour through the torrents of emails, memos, and notices that flooded her screen, answering, filing, deleting, and organizing them all with industrious efficiency.

Once she returned a few phone calls, she can send them home. So one by one she listened, responded, gave orders, gave ultimatums, and deleted them. Sometimes she berated. Sometimes she veiledly threatened. Other times she offered assurances. Whatever was needed to keep the wheels turning.

She glanced at the clock. Still plenty of time left before the big meeting. She thought about calling the authorities now, but noticed her email notifications blinking again.

Alright, she had time, maybe she’ll check just a couple of more emails. She clicked through her inbox and saw how many of them there were already. Okay, maybe she’ll just quickly respond to a few of these and then-

The phone started ringing.

Okay, fine, she’ll just quickly deal with this and...

One thing after another. Five, ten, twenty, it just never seemed to end. Just one more thing, she kept telling herself. But it never was. It would all go by so much faster if the phone didn’t keep ringing, every second someone else demanding her attention.

The CEO pinched the bridge of her nose. No rest for the wicked, she thought to herself and her grumbling intensified.

Steven took notice of this and went up to Ms. Yellow’s desk. He placed something by her side. She looked down and saw that it was a juice box. She pretended not to notice, and Steven, thinking that she didn’t see it, pushed it a bit closer to her.

“Are you thirsty? You can have mine!”

“I don’t have time for such things,” She waved her hand at him dismissively.

Steven gasped in abject horror. “You don’t have time for yourself? But you-time is super important!”

“I have a multinational conglomerate and thousands employees to take care of first.”

“Mom says that working hard is good, but you shouldn’t work too hard. If you do that then you’ll get so tired your arms will fall off!”

“Oh really...” Ms. Yellow murmured absently.

Connie poked her head over the desk and chimed in. “My mom’s a doctor, and she says you should always stay hydrated. Steven’s mom’s also been talking her about making time to relax. Maybe you should talk to them?”

Oh she did not need this.

She didn’t go through eight years of university to be lectured by two kids who thought a box of cereal was a legitimate means of navigation. If she didn’t find some way to keep these kids occupied soon was she was going to go insane.

“Alright you two, if your going to lounge around in my office, then your going to at least make yourselves useful.” She pointed to Connie. “You, Connie was it? I’m putting you in charge of the answering machine.“

Connie came around side and tried to access the answering machine, but found she couldn’t reach. Determined, and with Ms. Yellow waiting on her, Connie looked around and figured something out. She pulled out a few of Ms. Yellow’s drawers to form a staircase. The executive watched this clever little problem-solving with mild amusement before deciding to make this easier on herself and her desk. She picked up the girl from under her arms and sat her down on her desk.

The CEO pointed to the answering machine. “Every time the phone rings, push this button right here. Got that?”

“The one that says ‘Ignore’?”

“Correct.”

“Yes ma’am!”

Right on cue, the phone began to ring, and as instructed, Connie pressed the button with her finger and the ringing stopped.

“Very good, keep doing that.”

Next, she pulled out a stack of papers from her desk drawer, tapping them against her desk before handing them to Steven. “And you, take these papers and go shred them.”

The boy gave a salute. “Yes ma’am, ms. boss lady!” before taking the papers and running off with them.

There, that should keep them occupied for a while, Ms. Yellow thought. Though she might have to consult Yevona later on about whether this constitutes as child labour or not...

Finally free of the endless parade of nagging phone calls, Ms. Yellow was finally able to focus herself back on clearing her emails. Without the constant distractions she was actually able to make some headway. In a way, she was almost able to relax. She was in her element, productive and undistracted, with the periodic phonecall swiftly silenced by Connie, and the boy taking care of the pesky paperwork. She just felt like she had less to worry about.

After a while though, she noticed that she hadn’t actually heard the sound of paper shredding yet…

She looked up as Steven returned to her desk. To her confusion, he laid out several papery objects on her desk. After a moment, she realized these had once been the papers she gave him. He had turned them into an assortment of paper chains and angels.

“All done!” he saluted.

Yellow looked at him for a moment. “I suppose I didn’t actually say to use the paper shredder…” She hadn’t intended for her tax returns to be turned into arts and crafts, but at this point, she was much too tired to object. At least they were shredded.

The intercom buzzed and she smacked the receiver with a hand.

“What is it?” she demanded impatiently. Couldn’t anyone leave her alone for a few minutes?

It was Ms. Pearl. “Ms. Diamond? It’s almost time for your big afternoon meeting. Shall we get going?”

Yellow looked back up at the clock. She hadn’t realized how much time had past! It was already almost time for the big merger. Yellow cursed herself for getting so distracted. She had wasted too much time and now there wasn’t enough time to call the police!

She put her face in her hands as she groaned.

Ms. Yellow got up and headed for the door. She was about to open it when something occurred to her. Wait, how would it look if she walked around the whole building with two kids trailing her? She would look ridiculous! But she couldn’t leave them with Ms. Pearl again, this time she actually needed her secretary with her. She looked back at the kids who were watching her. Leaving them with another employee was out of the question, she couldn’t risk something happening again while she was gone. To her dismay, she realized that would have to take the kids with her. Yellow groaned again.

She’d have to find a way to keep this all under wraps...

The kids watched as Ms. Yellow took out her wallet and opened it.

"If anyone asks, you’re my interns. Then, give them this and ask them if they understand,” she told them as she pressed something papery into each of their hands and Steven and Connie looked down at it. In each of their hands was a hundred-dollar bill.

They looked up at her in confusion.

“They'll know what it means."

With that, she swung the door open and marched out, Steven and Connie in tow. Her secretary didn’t miss a beat and quickly fell in line beside her. On the way they passed the cubicles and the printer ladies again, who were still cleaning up the mess from before. Yellow had hoped to slip out unseen without much fuss. They seemed rather ensconced in their work, so perhaps they would be able to slip out unseen without much fuss.

“HEY, HEY LATER KIDDIES!”

Today was just not Yellow’s day...

A big one with a noticeable curl in her hair shouted, waving her arms wildly at them trying to get their attention. Yellow flinched and tried to pick up the pace. The other employees around her also took notice of who she was waving at and followed suit. The kids did not help matters.

The two turned and waved to the rest of the floor. “BYE EVERYBODY!” They shouted back, matching their volume. The printer ladies were hollering and waving, behind them some of the other nameless workers in the cubicles also waved a little. Even the two lawyers standing in the breakroom doorway bid a gesture of farewell.

Ms. Yellow grumbled something unintelligible to herself and hurried them all out.

[garywonghc]

The Suffering of Busyness

by Charlotte Rotterdam

I grew up with the idea that the rich and powerful lounged on a beach all day, without a care in the world. Now, I feel like everyone proves their social status by flaunting how many commitments and responsibilities they have. A recent study found that busyness rivals wealth as a symbol of status in America. I’ve certainly found myself commiserating with friends about long to-do lists, countless work duties, and an overflowing email inbox. “How are you?” they ask, and I respond, “Busy, busy, busy.” It’s an easy and almost-always-accurate answer.

Dzogchen Ponlop Rinpoche writes that the particular suffering of humans is characterised as “busyness.” We humans are adept at enveloping ourselves in a web of distraction, going out of our way to fill our free time with more to-dos. We are fighting to fill space.

Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche described one of the primary human anxieties as a “fear of space.” Activity gives us a point of reference – something to do, somewhere to be. We get uncomfortable in the empty slots in our schedules. Alone at a restaurant table, we check Facebook, write a text, or read an article. The line between activity and distraction becomes blurred. When I read the news, am I educating myself about the world, or distracting myself from the looming question, “What am I doing with my life?” When I do the dishes, am I cleaning up, or avoiding a tough conversation with my husband?

Our busyness keeps us from facing impermanence and uncertainty — the basic truths of our existence. I do; therefore, I am. I’m busy; therefore, I exist.

All things are passing. When we rest in the present moment, we’re faced with this directly. This realisation doesn’t have to be cause for depression. It can be a reminder of the preciousness of our life. Relaxing into the vulnerability of unknowing and facing our direct experience can be courageous. It’s an opportunity to taste vast, interconnected spaciousness — the groundless ground that has no reference points or handles.

For me, solitary retreats force me to face my fear of space. In retreat, alone in an eight-by-eight foot cabin, I often ask myself why I ever thought it would be a good idea to separate myself from my children, my husband, and all the fun things I could be doing at home. Retreat can be lonely, with nowhere to go, no one demanding anything from me. But, over time my eyes see in a new way, my ears hear new sounds. I coo duets with an evening dove, watch dragonflies hook their front legs to a Ponderosa branch and hang until the early dawn. I’m able to recognise that I am far from alone, feeling the seamlessness of my connection to the world. But we shouldn’t have to go into retreat to press pause on our busyness.

My personal mantra has become “Could I just stop?” Stop the dishes, emails, planning, and worrying? Can I rest in the now as it is? This might mean that I turn off the faucet, close the computer, or put down the phone. Sometimes it means taking a moment to let my awareness expand — to feel my body… hear the rain hit the windowsill… rejoice in a gap between thoughts. With awareness, I can recognise the space, and find that it isn’t scary. It’s open and gentle.

Busyness also serves as a distraction from dissatisfaction — the sense that somehow right now is not quite it. Maybe in the future, in some different, better place, things will be right. So often, we drag our dissatisfaction around with us like a dead weight.

The Buddhist teachings on karma can lend some insight into the source of this dissatisfaction. Karma literally translates to “action.” In Vajrayana Buddhism, there are five wisdom energies, known as “Buddha families.” The karma family is related to envy and jealousy; but it also relates to enlightened wisdom, described as “all-accomplishing action.” Envy and jealousy arise out of the feeling that someone has something we would like, but do not have, reflecting an underlying sense of lack and craving. We become painfully aware of others’ success. Having toyed with the idea of completing a PhD for the last 15 years, I notice a twinge of pain whenever someone talks of finishing their dissertation.

When I feel that uncomfortable twinge, I can turn on the radio and distract myself with the latest political upsets. I can dig into the sink of dirty dishes, or sweep dust from the floor. These activities keep me from inquiring into my sense of unfulfilment.

The wisdom aspect of the Karma Family is “all-accomplishing action.” This is the wisdom of our inherent buddhanature. It is our true nature, not created or manufactured. We don’t need to busy ourselves with fabricating or establishing it — it is already accomplished, already perfected. The point of all our spiritual practice is to realise this nature, rather than madly engaging in actions to fix our imperfections. No action can fulfil us because what we’re inevitably searching for – the fulfilment of our true nature – has already always been present.

So are we supposed to just do nothing from now on? Of course not. We engage with the world — creating, serving, planting gardens, and raising children. Our actions do not need to come from a place of wanting to fix anything. One activity doesn’t need to catapult us into the impatient arms of the next. We can cultivate a sense of “all-accomplishment” with very simple actions, resting in the experience of fulfilment. Before we fork up our next bite of food, what might it be like to just chew the one we already have, taste it fully, and feel it nourishing our body? We can learn to take a moment to recognise completion in any activity, stopping us from rushing onto our nextdistraction.

I had such an experience when I gave birth to my first son, Mateo. The labour had gone on far longer than I had hoped, but with one final push he was here. The nurse and my husband took him out of the room to be washed. I lay alone in my bed, gazing out the window. Relaxation flowed over me — my work was done, my labour completed. I felt no sense of urgency to move to the next thing. For that moment, the present was absolutely perfect.

That feeling has remained with me as a reminder of the possibility of true satisfaction. Every action we take offers the opportunity to experience this. With every sip of tea, and every email sent, we can take a moment to acknowledge that we’ve have completed that task — to feel its satisfaction. Perhaps this can begin to heal the sense of dissatisfaction that so often haunts us.

It’s easy to see ourselves as a victim of our busy world. In my own life, I realise that much of my continual distraction is my own responsibility, and choose to take ownership of the ways that I perpetuate a never-ending cycle of activity. This awareness inspires me to step into every experience with ownership knowing I could just stop. I can stop seeing busyness as proof that my life has meaning. With nowhere to go, and nothing to do, I can rest for a moment in the satisfaction of completion.

[banhchao]

a note:

my anon is currently off (and will be for awhile) because my inbox has been crazy hectic for the past month or so & i rlly feel like my inbox has been lowkey getting taken advantage of (??) if that makes sense. although i’m fine with discourse and whatnot and i am relatively strong mental health-wise atm and try my best not to get too bothered, some messages have been quite rude and the negativity of them have been detrimental to my own mental health and quite unhealthy in general for me to have to intake. it’s caused concern for my friends and family and i do not like that. whilst i do like to help when i can I also am hesitant as i’m no expert in anything ! if i was able to help anybody i am happy to but plz remember i am human too.

tbh it feels like ppl just hop into my anon to fight with me on a stance i have made or even just reblogged (tht usually relates to Asian issues and/or Kpop) and that close surveillance of my activity is a lil... uncomfortable. i’m aware that my activity here is public but seeing as i reblog multiple posts everyday, it’s unusual that ppl are able to keep track and pay attention to what i reblog. even i can’t keep track !

i kept my anon on for so long cause it truly felt worth it to give words of affirmation or to give advice in any way but rn it feels so unhealthy for me. especially since all i get now are discourse asks that don’t bother to even listen to me despite coming to me in my own inbox. i’ve repeated the same points over and over again and there’s no need to keep coming back if u repeatedly ignore them.

as much as i am up for debate, remember that i never asked for debate nor are u entitled to debate every little thing i say. if i were truly up for debate on a certain topic i would be reblogging discourse and inviting u to speak with me; in my inbox i am not.

i am open to criticisms (as i am wrong a lot and don’t know a lot of things) but if those criticisms do not make sense or if i put up a rebuttal in which u can’t introduce new valid points, there is no point in continuing. there’s no point of butting heads and wasting time and energy by re-explaining the same thing over and over again on both sides.

as a general psa for the future, I advise that anons anywhere refrain from casually dropping trigger words such as r*pe, or speaking of violence etc. especially when not necessary. u never know what the person behind the screen has been thru and it lacks empathy and compassion for that person’s potential experiences. u don’t know the person behind the screen and what possibly triggers them and it’s inconsiderate to so casually talk of such serious and sensitive topics.

Also refrain from saying slurs. A) You are on anon and idk who u are and if u are a part of that group to reclaim it. B) again, slurs can also have traumatic connotations. I’ve had the word “ch*nk” in my inbox and despite the fact I’ve never been hit with it myself, it’s insensitive to go around dropping slurs, even with an asterisk. Please don’t.

white ppl, u rlly shouldn’t be using POC as ur search engine when the google is right there. exhausting POC’s labour and time when u can and should do the work of education urself is quite exploitative. POC shouldn’t have to shoulder the responsibility of educating ppl to be anti-racist and u shouldn’t be actively putting that burden on them. again, google is free and there are multiple resources out there already written for u to learn from.

& honestly if u r white and not listening to poc on issues pertaining to them, then no matter how much social justice vocab u have picked up on to form ur own biased narratives, u r not a good ally and are the very definition of performative activism. u r willfully ignorant and should not be framing urself as “woke”.

please remember that a human is behind this screen. a human with a life, school, their own troubles and problems and their own stress. if you really don’t like me, just block me ! it’s fine ! but hopping on anon to bother a total stranger is just not productive in any way. please re-evaluate and engage in self-reflection.

& don’t lie. i can see right thru u.

ALSO ! any hate (racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia etc.) are prohibited here. do not make up scenarios to justify ur hate. do not cherry pick rare cases and pass them off as common to villainize oppressed groups. do not say bigoted things about oppressed groups. reverse racism doesn’t exist so don’t hit me with that argument either.

overall, do not feel entitled to anything from me. i don’t owe anybody on this site anything and vice versa. respect ppl please.

[soundonreadings]

Sound On InstaReadings Series Volume 3 with Amber Dawn, Amy Leblanc & Nancy Lee

Welcome to Sound on InstaReadings Series. Our second installment features readers Amber Dawn, Amy Leblanc & Nancy Lee and is hosted by Dina Del Bucchia and David Ly. Posted here for your enjoyment are the bios of our fine readers and the text of their readings. Thanks!

Amber Dawn is the author of five books and the editor of three anthologies. Her sophomore poetry collection, My Art Is Killing Me and Other Poems, launched in March 2020.

Reading text:

fountainhead 

Sure, I’ve tossed three pennies over my left shoulder into Trevi 

Fountain in Rome, but the mermaid fountain in Piazza Sannazaro

Napoli is my favourite. Napoli is a city of mermaids. I lost count 

of mermaids. Two tailed and bathing in cracked frescos. Marble 

reliefs carved into arched doorways. Mermaid faces on old coins. 

I almost bought myself a tears of Parthenope necklace. A gold 

chain hung with two blue teardrop shaped Swarovski crystals. 

Parthenope and her sisters swam (or flew, myth shows sirens as half 

bird or half fish. Either femme beast works) to Ulysses’ ship to curse 

him with their song, but Ulysses tied himself to the mast, stopped 

his ears with wax and withstood. The entire crew of men survived

simply by not listening, so the story goes and goes. The defeated 

mermaids wept at their failure and filled the bay of Naples. 

Parthenope died from the shame and was swept ashore. Her blonde hair 

turned to sand and her body, stone. A beach I myself have walked along. 

I audibly sobbed before the gorgeous baroque blood of Artemisia

Gentileschi’s famous Judith Slaying Holoferneson, on permanent 

display at the Uffizi. A man my father’s age asked me nine 

times to leave the gallery with him. One of the only Italian 

expressions I know so well that my subconscious has spoken 

it back to me in dreams is lasciami stare. It means leave me be. 

I drank too much at the strip club in Pescara, Abruzzo as a topless dancer 

listed the times homophobia nearly killed her. I understood her perfectly

when she asked what Canada is like. Is there libertà per lesbi in Canada? 

I furiously recorded the words that I misunderstood in a notebook 

as if I might one day retroactively follow meaning. I couldn’t call 

upon language fast enough to console her in real time. I couldn’t say 

fuck this shit, I’m sorry or chin up, tits out, you know or you

deserve better, femme. I’ve come to associate speaking half a language

or less than half, a tender handful of comprehension, with being 

a survivor of sexual violence. My body has breath and spasm where it

should have words. My body can picture ease and desire, but is forever 

learning how to say what it wants. I’ve spent a humbple lifetime looking 

for others who labour to live inside their skin  My kink is to loudly love those 

who’ve been told to keep quiet. Erotic boom. I want outlaster’s love. Against-

all-odds love. I, finally, want myself, and slick fluency in this desire.  

While in Napoli I wrongly read a museum label to say that Parthenope 

wished to marry Circe the sorceress. I read queer determination, and imagine 

how that beach might feel if my mistranslation was an origin story.  

Image if the grounds we walk were build from queer love? What song

would our queer scion sing six thousand years from now? What shape 

would story take? If our bodies were fluid loose, waxy and loud 

and fluent in our madrelingue, in a kin spit, in the looped vernaculars 

we have long deserved, then imagine what words we’d know so well 

that even our subconscious could speak this love back to us in our dreams 

tragic interview

An anagram for “creative writing” is “tragic interview”

We will ask you if it is true

We will ask you how true it is 

We will ask you where you’re from

We will ask you to verify you belong

We will ask you about vice and god 

We will ask you to legitimize blood 

We will ask for a pathos worthy childhood

We will ask you about your thronged body 

We will ask why you inhabit both and many 

We will ask if your kin tolerates such veracity 

We will ask if you’ve told the whole story

We will ask if you are attracted to danger

We will ask you if your shame overlingers 

We will ask for trauma to be in past tense

We will ask you to narratively arc triumph 

We will ask you to lip service progress 

We will ask you about free speech 

We will ask to contract your name 

We will ask you to trouble in stereotypes 

We will ask you stroke those fleshy ethics 

We will ask how outsiders may write about you

We will ask you for your blanket endorsement 

We will ask you wax widespread as hot and now

We will ask you attest to your own exceptionalism

We will ask to couch your fine ass in the theoretical 

We will ask you to table round with your enemies  

We will ask that you prove pain makes great art 

We will ask you to represent en masse

We will ask you to do it for less 

We will ask for your free consultation 

We will ask you to recommend your own

We will ask where do you find the time

We will ask you to exalt your labour 

We will ask if your success is a surprise 

We will ask if you’re surprised to be alive

We will ask you to front face as the hero

We will ask you exhibit the future possible

We will ask how the next gen will fathom and ken

We will ask for a kind offering to the institution 

We will ask you for the ever positive spin 

We will ask you cleave homage and imitation 

We will ask your craft for credible dimension 

We will ask if the work appears to be uneven

We will ask you to trial your live version  

We will ask you how true it is 

We will ask you if it is true

Dear IncorrectName: found and redacted from my inbox

Please allow me to introduce myself as the OfficialTitle at the College_University_ GovernmentFundedInstitution. At my InstitutionalPlaceOfEmployment we are Studying_OtheringtheLivingHellOutof Prostitution in Canada_FeministViews
on Prostitution_ProstitutionExploitationTrafficking_and other topics related                       to your “hellish existence.”

Your book How Poetry Saved My Life is on my students’ critical book review list alongside TextsbyFeministsWhoHateYou and UnethicalResearchers. I feel strong- ly that your perspective would contribute to my students’ learning. Sorry
for the ridiculously late notice, but I want to invite you to visit our class
next Friday. I do not have funds for guest speakers, but I would be happy to offer
a $50 honorarium from my own SalarythatIsFourTimesWhatyouEarnedLastYear and parking permit for the day. Please let me know if this would work for you.

Dear IncorrectName

I am writing on behalf of the AcademicConferenceWithA$200+FeePerAttendee. Part of this year’s goal is to include a performance “cabaret” [erroneous use
of quotation marks for reasons unknown] that will feature any or all varieties
of literary performance (spoken word, performance poetry, slam poetry, sound poetry, etc) with a focus on the voices of diverse populations.

Your presence at this “cabaret” would be of great value
to the conference attendees in their role as AnalyticalOnlookers.

I have heard back from the PlanningCommittee regarding finances and what we can offer you is a BelowStandardArtistFee honorarium, but we are tight so__could you accept a conference pass? We have several other authors who are only getting conference passes. So paying you is a bit of a “double standard” [substantiated use of quotation marks] and there might be hard feelings. 

I look forward to hearing from you.

Dear IncorrectName

WeAreOtherArtists. We’d love if you would come to OurSHOW and read
your work_talk about your work_talk about your life_talk about the state of our community_talk about doing work in community. No hard hitting talk_just talk talk_casual talk. You would be fabulous. Our stage is yours
for one hour. We expect around 150 guests.

This is your opportunity to reach a large crowd.

We don’t offer you an appearance fee, but you will see OurVision is VeryInnovative.

Dear Amber Dawn
I  am a Writer_Artist_BodyThatisHoldingStory.

I have always loved &admired your work &it would be an honour to have your feedback. It would be awesome if you could read my ScriptCollectionNovelOutlineTreatise &give me some honest &brutal feedback. Read it whenever you want! I hope I see
you in person soon! I can come by your office. Do you still work at ArtsCommunityJob_ FrontLineSupport_DropIn_HeathCentre_CollegeUniversity?

I am HoldingaStory &it is PAINFUL. How did you write your first book?

I have always wanted to be             a writer. 

Did it feel                    like a relief
to get that first book out?

How do you read in front of all those people &do interviews &does your mom 

still speak to you? I’m afraid                    of my parents
&hometown &people 

I used to know                             &MySurvivorsStory &what 

people will think if I                           SpeakMyTruth.

What do you like about being a writer

Amy LeBlanc is an MA student in English Literature and creative writing at the University of Calgary. She is currently non-fiction editor at filling Station magazine and will be assuming the role of Managing Editor in July. She is the author of three books: her debut poetry collection, I know something you don’t know, was published with Gordon Hill Press in March 2020. Her novella, Unlocking, will be published by the UCalgary Press in 2021. Pedlar Press will publish her short story collection, Homebodies, in 2022. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Room, PRISM International, EVENT, Prairie Fire, CV2, and the Literary Review of Canada among others. She was recently a finalist for the Minola Review Inaugural Fiction Contest judged by Heather O’Neill.

Reading Text:

Wintering

 He torched the skin that I’m still in. 

Counting Januarys— 

I hold my hair

to sing psalms

and semi vowels.

The wasps bloat with 

my belly in December, 

gashing panty lines

and pot holes.

The burnt space will tear from my hips.

I am a calamity

asking for armistice. 

   The storied life of Grace Poole

         She dangled striated

         scarves from the window

         rattling her head as I

         held her waist.

 He told me to keep her

quiet, to keep her safe, compliant—

this significant

paranoia

that she might be

         vaulting

         purging

         dancing

         like red fiber from rafters.

          She tells me

         my hair reminds her

         of a fox. My brush is

         a signal to enemy lines:

         her lips parting

         on a stolen glass

         of honey soaked wine.

 She and I

watch the tree,

as it splits and succumbs

in the orchard, a slit

where the tree was licked

with a voltage charged tongue.

 She says that it will never

be the same again.  

 We are both behind

the lock and chain, but

I can abscond

to the halls and gates.

         She lingers behind

         the latch—

         her fingers

         entwined in a lock

         of my red hair.

 We are curious bedfellows

with sweetness on our thighs,

         the topographical curving

         of bones and banks.

She is hers and I am mine.

 I will never ask

for more than the chill

of her hands that cool me

until I drown.  

         She won’t jump with someone

         to hush the light.

   Girls reading in red coats

– For Paula Jean Welden

 She tucked a book

into the folds of her red coat 

when she left her room.

 She felt the spine against her ribs,

and the edges of paper wrapping

around her skin:

a pair of legs in a claw foot tub

a little birth with a belly full of rocks.

 The book would last her

the better part of three days.

 She buttoned a scarf to her throat

and picked bloodroot and ate carrots,

nine almonds a day with a glass of water.

 She expected to wander and to find an altar

in the trees, in the wasps, in moist roots

and the mud that caught her heels.

 She freed insects from jars that never held water

and heard a rattling sound

in her bone marrow,

in her ears eyes hands and teeth.

 They searched and searched,

but she stayed hidden at her altar

or the meeting point

of her own sternum and her spine.

 She read her book

in her red buttoned coat.

 She thought about ivy

and garden walls,

moths that bleed cyanide,

women in turtlenecks,

wine and cake and uncomfortable pantyhose.

 Her coat, red as pomegranate seeds

trailed behind her, moist and well-watered.

 Her exposed belly could cut open letters

and bloodroot was the bedrock of her spine.

 Her book had moistened in the rain,

so she made an herbarium

and slept in the vines.

 Stripping the moths of their poison,

she dripped them over a porringer

and encouraged them to dry.

 When her fingernails rooted to the paper,

she swallowed herself whole. 

The brief reincarnation of Mary Webster on the Amtrak from Boston to New York

Leaves clung to the woman’s shoe


and hair hung from the sides of her face.

 It had rained for a week.

 She’d eaten a biscuit,


then fell asleep on the train

to the hissing until the low whistle sang.

 The man across the aisle

was watching her sleep.

 He pretended to read his newspaper

licked his inked fingers,


smudged editorials, blurred black

and white photos with spit on his hands.

 She dreamt about being a cat, a fox,

an apple hanging from a tree.                         

 She opened her eyes and found


the man had moved to sit beside her.

 He’d been so silent,


she’d hardly felt the air move.

 He held out a cigarette


which she placed between her lips.

 When his hand shifted closer to her hip,

she put her bag between them


and asked if he had ever played scrabble:

 He played cart,


she played cruel,


he played slick,

she played sway,


he played cyan,


she won by adding an i and a d and an e.

 She sent him back to his side

of the train with a biscuit

wrapped in a napkin

and a half-drunk mug of tea.

 She returned to her dream of the hanging fruit,

felt her small body sway in the breeze

until the train arrived in New York.

   Hereafter

He says that she’s unattractive, but the subtext is that he doesn’t like girls who are more comfortable in their skin than he is

with his masculinity. He made me realize I can stop apologizing to the mannequins I run into—stop slipping confession notes into the books

I read for whomever needs them after me. I don’t apologize to the boy who left his gum between my knees, because my arteries continue

to pump and my feet fit into my shoes without him. The amassment of buildings and bodies and dealmakers and white men tells me that I don’t

need to rip eyelashes out for wishes. I’ve learned that the squeaky wheel gets taken away. The arbiter of wineries, golf clubs, mortgages,

window frames, casinos, finds that these are grasping at the ceiling, fingers spread into spider webs. In this bottom-less wanting,

unnecessary roughness earns you a slap on the shoulder and an extra hour of locker room talk. We learn to grab back (if sex happens before

you wanted it) with chemicals between our fingers. I burn my throat on oatmeal and my skin turns to scales– my pages are dog-eared

from turning corners too soon. In this one hundred and forty character locale, I’ll blast out a constant reminder that

this mimeograph heart won’t be stopping any time soon.

Nancy Lee is the author of two critically acclaimed works of fiction, Dead Girls and The Age, and a new poetry collection, What Hurts Going Down (McClelland & Stewart). Her poems have recently appeared in Ploughshares, The Adroit Journal, The Puritan, Arc Poetry Magazine and The Malahat Review. She teaches at the University of British Columbia and lives in Steveston, BC with her husband, the author John Vigna, and their jerk of a dog, Rudy the cardigan welsh corgi.

Reading Text: 

four-eyed girls 

I’m sitting at the bar with Mary Katherine Gallagher watching prospects grind hope into anything blond. 

I’ve peeled off wool tights so my pleated skirt flashes white cotton panties when I cross and uncross. No one notices. 

For fun, we switch eyeglasses. In hers, I drown. Fish wriggle and shimmer, groove beyond my reach. She says, 

Through these glasses everyone looks thinner. She says, Why aren’t there more girls like us in movies? I tell her 

there are plenty, floating in rivers, folded in dumpsters, naked, nameless. She says, It’s time for another shooter. 

Something to clean the sink, something the bartender will set on fire, something that hurts going down. 

no place for a heart 

Start a fire with women’s bodies; stack them deep for heat. What keeps a kind girl alive in the wild? The men in town are crapshoots, sawbucks, coins striking heads and tails. They post naked snaps of her on 4chan, ferry fifteen-year- olds across state lines, weigh options like: hands up her skirt, hands around her throat. She’s ready for a chorus of frogs, a convent timeshare, ready to train a dildo to mow the lawn. Abandon romance. This one’s for mothers who catch their boyfriends fingering their daughters. Here’s to bff date rape in the old man’s sedan. Today a high school football coach showed cheerleaders the glory of his half- hard penis in a hot dog bun, tomorrow a man will cram his wife into a Naugahyde suitcase and drag her to the river. It’s so fucking hot inside; she isn’t surprised. 

alphas 

i. At three a.m., lip gloss and crop tops wasted in empty clubs, only you are brave enough for new terrain. We hunt at a crawl, every gin joint gated, marquee dim. On the boulevard, we roll down windows to watch a coyote lope, head bowed. A bloody rabbit swings from his jaw. I tell you he’s my first. 

ii. Alphas beside the car. Caps pulled, track suits baggy, shoulders rolling, chests sunk, a lazy jog with beer cans, sidewalk be damned. The pack must get hungry at three a.m. They stare through glass, blow their liquored smoke. I say, Ask where they’re going. You shake your head. The night is wild with them. 

iii. Once, in a town on the coast you chose celibacy over the hazard of ocean men, woodsmen, mountain men, unwashed hair in pelts. Men with thick paws, bark faces, who stank of wood chip, coal dust, fish. When they entered your bed tangled in nets and splinters snuffled wet muzzles to your neck, you played dead. 

iv. Now you raise two hatchlings in a sanctuary. You pound fence posts, lay tripwire, stock bear bangs, kneel at the water to check muddy ground for tracks. Satellites beam our hushed talk of coyotes, mangy middle-aged cheeks, half-eaten carcasses, how they chew old wounds, cut and run. We forget their feral cologne, teeth and charm, until they startle us from the stupor of married sleep. 

daughters 

i. Tell the daughters we were heartless, crouched behind trees with rusted wire. That flanks bucked as we bled the bodies on beds of pine, stabbed with flint blades and the ends of spoons from a grandmother’s hope chest. Eyes whaled white, pupils drained of ink. One by one in the fog of morning, we scrubbed them from our petticoats. 

ii. Stretched and sticky in the sourdough starter, shovels scraping the stable floor, scouring water in the tin tub, sewing flecked with blood. A childhood bridled, saddled, stung with lye, hung to cure in salt and sun. No one believed what their eyes didn’t see, what gnawed through a girl, rustled her work-worn body in the brush. 

iii. Did they even want daughters? Sons so adored, rut-hungry, bottle-weak, sloppy work with a scythe. Who didn’t know his charm, the lanolin musk of his wool? And what if all daughters turned to ghosts? Whale bone, sadness, smoke. Tell them, it was kill or be killed. Tell them, we shivered for days beside their cribs, then stood to answer our own prayers.   

wife at the end of the world 

Fever on the streets as our planet swings closer to the sun, as ocean levels rise, biohazard atomizes, nuclear runoff seeps. Lives mundane 

with disaster. At the store, we snipe over which canned soup has more nutrition, chunky or creamy, which shattered pack of crackers 

has mice. A stock boy with peeling palms counts water bottles, while outside, men in lab coats debate timelines of extinction. 

I climb into a shelf for the last box of oats, and a woman in full makeup, French twist, purse dangling from a charmed wrist, stretches 

on tanned legs to help my husband reach a can of waxed beans. Her fingers pulse his biceps. His eyes finish her like a meal. 

My T-shirt smells of dead guinea pig, and I wish for one last bolt of catastrophe: a fissure, a sinkhole in the dry goods aisle. 

So that weeks from now, it will be my hair unravelled, flecked with debris, my ash-smeared skin in a strappy slip as I lie beside a naked man 

whose name I do not ask. Too busy tracking diseased dogs with my night scope and rifle, too busy brewing carboys of anti-toxin, 

wielding my flamethrower against mutant spiders, too busy calculating orbit-altering supernovas to settle for repopulating the earth. 

[tessimagines]

All Nights After // Thomas Shelby

Summary: Tommy comes to a conclusion one night late in bed.

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warnings: heatedness and nakedness, I guess? No actual smut though.

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: requested by anon. Kudos to whoever you are!

Prompts:

32.  “I want to wake up to you for the rest of my life.”

Tommy picked up one of your many loose strands of hair, fiddling with it between his fingers. Each movement was precise and gentle, his pale fingers tucking the strand carefully behind your heated, red ear. You could feel the heat of physical exertion radiating off the both of you, your tangle of sweaty limbs still wrapped around each other and your flustered face resting comfortably on his chest. Both of your breaths were laboured, taking their time in recovering from the second round you had been through that night. The both of you were still wide awake in each other’s arms despite the physical activity, a comfortable silence warm and peaceful in the air.

Tommy’s hand still roamed the strands of (h/c) hair on top of your head, his long and pale fingers picking up individual strands and watching the way the moonlight streaming through the window would bounce back off of it. The flickering candlelight coming from the bedside cabinet lit up some of the strands of your hair, giving it the appearance of a lighter hue. It was one of the many physical aspects of your body that he loved. The appearance of a shy lock falling in front of your face was enough to bring a feeling of warmth to his chest and have it spread throughout the rest of his body.

“I think I can hear Ada downstairs,” you muttered against his chest. Tommy cocked his head down to look at yours before an amused smile spread across his lips.

“Well, I’ll bet that she definitely heard us then,” he said, a playful smile still sitting on his lips. He reached across you to grab his tin of cigarettes off the bedside table before falling back onto the bed, flicking open the lid and taking one out. Within a second, it was lit and hanging from his soft, pink lips.

You leaned across and placed a kiss to his cheekbone before swinging your feet over the edge of the bed. Wrapping the thin white sheet tighter around your naked body, you stood up and walked over to the window across from you. The street in Small Heath was empty outside, only illuminated by a stand-alone yellow street lamp. A small breeze blew in from the window, ruffling the sheets and cooling down your heated body.

You turned around to face him again, looking at the smile still hanging off his lips. He brought the cigarette up to his mouth and took a long drag before letting the smoke out of his lungs. You smirked at him, the moonlight from the window making the silhouette of your body visible from underneath the sheet. It enticed him, letting his eyes linger on the curves of your breasts and waist.

“Come here,” he said, using the cigarette between his two fingers to wave you over. You obliged, the sheet grazing along the floorboards as you walked around until you were at the end of the bed. After he waved at you to get closer, you climbed over the top of the wooden end, your body moving to lean down next to his.

“I’m going to ask you a question,” He said. He opened his mouth to continue but was cut off by your own words.

“And what will that be, Mr Shelby?” You raised a single eyebrow in his direction, your (h/c) hair falling over your shoulder.

“A very important question.” Your lips were so close to his and all he wanted to do was lean over and kiss them. But he had to get the words out of him right now. Otherwise, he knew that they would eat him from the inside and out.

“Then ask away,” you said, plucking the cigarette from his lips and taking a long and drawn-out drag. Tommy raised an eyebrow as you let the smoke out into the air, a hint of amusement sitting on his features. Plucking it from your fingers, he looked back up into your shimmering (e/c) eyes.

“I’ve been thinking lately-”

“You do do a lot of that, don’t you?”

Tommy paused for a second and sighed, his eyes never moving from yours. “Just let me speak, (Y/N).”

You nodded and let him go on. Your face was so close to his that you could feel his breath in the air between you. His icy blue eyes caused goosebumps to rise on your bare skin, the air from the window now sending a cool chill down the length of your body.

“I’m not the most romantic man; you and I both know that. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t love. And I love you, (Y/N). I’ve never been much certain about anything else in my life.”

You laid down next to him, your head on his shoulder and your arm on his chest, your fingers moving around to trace the dark circle of the tattoo that sat there. Tommy dragged the fingers from his right hand along the length of your forearm. It sent a tingling sensation throughout your nerves, only heightened by the cool breeze of the night’s air on your naked skin.

“Marry me.”

He spoke the words like a declaration, as if it was already certain that the two of you would wake up married in the morning. Yet Tommy couldn’t help the swift beat of his heart, its quickening pace only adding to the lightness he felt rising in his chest. He could hear the rush of blood in his ears as he looked down at the dazed look on your face.

“What?” You couldn’t help but feel dumbfounded at his statement, each hair on your body rising to stand on edge.

“I want you to marry me.”

You couldn’t speak or say a single world. All you could do was look up at him with a bewildered look on your face. His blue eyes were stuck on your own, your hand falling from its place on his chest and into the space on the bed between you.

“Look, (Y/N),” Tommy said, sitting up on the bed. He placed a hand on the side of your face, his fingertips moving to weave in and out of strands of (h/c) hair. “I want to wake up to you for the rest of my life. I want to come home to you every day. I want to start my own little family with you. I want to introduce you as (Y/N) Shelby to every person I get the chance. So marry me, (Y/N). I want you to marry me.”

You laid there for a second, an elated smile sitting snugly on your lips. You couldn’t help but feel your cheeks blush red at his words and bring your own hand up to rest on his against your face. Leaning in closer, you placed your lips to his in an ardent kiss, bringing your other hand up to sit on the nape of his neck. Tommy fell into it, moving his body to lean over yours laying down on the bed beneath him. Your head was haloed in the sheets around you, your face glowing back at him like a lighthouse on a rough night at sea. He would follow you anywhere, no matter how dangerous, if he knew that you would be there to kiss and to hold afterwards.

“I think you’ve grown soft, Tommy.” You had broken the kiss to look up at his now beaming face. Tommy couldn’t help but lean back into you, connecting your lips in another short yet loving kiss. His hand sat at the top of your head as he placed another tender kiss to your forehead, closing his eyes as he did so.

“Just wait until John and Arthur hear about this, eh?”

Something in the air had changed, it cocooned the two of you in a euphoric bliss and held the two of you tightly together. The connection between you was just as strong as it had ever been, but there was now something new there. You both knew that the day was a while away but its effect was still felt in the room, Tommy whispering your soon-to-be name in your ear.

You had to admit, (Y/N) Shelby did have quite a nice ring to it.

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