#(about the issues from the beginning of june) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

end-otw-racism · 1 year

Text

End OTW Racism: A Call To Action

A fan protest against the lack of action from the OTW on addressing issues of harassment and racism on AO3 and within the organization

This is a Call To Action for Fans of Color and Allies

AO3 has acknowledged that they have a harassment & racism problem that its parent organization, the Organization for Transformative Works (OTW), needs to address. Currently, people can use AO3 to harass others through fanworks, comments, and tags. Just a few examples include: racist Untamed “spitefic” that used anti-Indigenous slurs and was written specifically to lash out at fans of color; a Transformer fic that used its Black-coded character to reenact George Floyd’s murder in July 2020; someone naming a fandom scholar who criticized their Nazi omegaverse fic in the tags of the fic specifically to incite harassment to the scholar; writers using racial slurs against commenters who pointed out racism in their hockey fic; and so much more.

In June 2020, after the murder of George Floyd, the OTW committed to addressing these issues. It has been nearly three years and they have not yet implemented any of the changes they promised, other than a blocking/muting tool that was already in development before 2020. We need to hold the OTW accountable to their own promises. (See the section further down on “Why Are We Doing This” for even more detail.)

As fans, together, we are powerful. We are organizing to protest the lack of action on promises made by the Organization for Transformative works to deal with issues of racism and harassment on their platform, Archive of Our Own.

We call on fans to do any or all of the following actions any time between May 17 to 31, 2023 to send a message to AO3 and OTW that we will hold them to their promises.

On AO3

Change the title of ten (or more!) of your most recent or most popular fanworks to include ‘End Racism in the OTW’ in the beginning, and provide a link to this post in your summary or first/top creator’s note

Post a new fanwork any time between May 17th to 31st with “End Racism in the OTW” either as the title or at the beginning of the title. The fanwork does not have to be long - it can be a 100-word fic, a quick sketch, a podfic of a ficlet, a 20-second vid/edit, a short piece of meta, etc. In the summary or first/top creator’s note, provide a link to this post

If updating any WIPs with a new chapter, add ‘End Racism in the OTW’ to the title and provide a link back to this post in your summary or first/top author’s note

Update your AO3 icon using the profile pic graphic in our Social Media Toolkit

Plan to maintain these changes until May 31, 2023, or longer if you wish

Send a message to the OTW asking for an update on their 2020 commitments!

For Readers: leave encouraging comments on fanworks with the "End Racism in the OTW" title to show your support of this initiative.

On tumblr

Reblog this Call to Action with the tag #End OTW Racism

Update your profile pics and banners using the graphics in our Social Media Toolkit

Follow this account for updates and signal boost our posts

On Twitter

Follow @/EndOTWRacism (remove the backslash) and signal boost our pinned tweet

Update your profile pics and banners using our graphics, and change your display name to include #EndOTWRacism

Use sample tweets and graphics from our Social Media Toolkit to tweet about your fanworks, and use the hashtag #EndOTWRacism

Help us make this a long-term campaign - sign up to help with other anti-racism projects and future actions!

What Do We Want?

Since their June 2020 statement, OTW has been working on updating their Terms of Service (TOS) to address racist and bigoted harassment, but with little transparency and only the vaguest of updates. It has been three years since their commitment to this update - we want to see the results of their work implemented in the next 6-12 months. Their TOS updates and complementary policies should include:

Harassment policies that can be regularly updated to address both on-site harassment and off-site coordinated harassment of AO3 users, with updated protocols for the Policy & Abuse Team to ensure consistent and informed resolutions of abuse claims

A content policy on abusive (extremely racist and extremely bigoted) content; by abusive, we are talking about fanworks that are intentionally used to spread hate and harassment, not those that accidentally invoke racist or other bigoted stereotypes

These points are not particularly new and are not our own innovation; please refer to Stitch's article written over two years ago, asking for several of these very things.

OTW has also already committed to various process-based actions for longer-term works towards centering antiracism, including hiring a Diversity Consultant. The last update that OTW published said that the consultant would be hired within the next five years (after already having had three years to work on it since their original commitment). That is not soon enough. We want to see the following process-based actions implemented:

Hiring a Diversity Consultant within the next 3-6 months

Committing to a policy of transparency on this topic, with quarterly updates on the progress of these projects including challenges and their plan for overcoming those challenges. These quarterly updates should be published on OTW News page and newsletters, not solely discussed in Board meetings

Why Are We Doing This?

16 years ago, Astolat famously published her manifesto calling for a fandom Archive of One’s Own. In that time, AO3 has grown to be a central pillar of fandom, likely far outstripping its founders’ original vision. It is more than just an archive now; it is a central hub of the modern fannish experience. AO3 and the OTW must continue to grow and evolve with fandom over time to remain a healthy and functioning pillar of fandom. To that end, there are several areas in which the organization, as it admits itself, is lacking.

In June 2020, in the wake of the George Floyd protests and the uprising of the Black Lives Matter Movement, The OTW published a “This Week in Fandom” referencing the works of Dr. Rukmini Pande and Stitch, among others in which they discussed ‘making change for a better society’ through ‘conversations about race and racism’. In response, Dr. Pande and Stitch submitted a letter to the OTW calling for a more formal public statement than an offhand reference in a News Roundup that only served to call for thoughts and discussion without any indication the organization intended to do anything, policy wise, to address the issues being raised.

Eventually, the organization did remove the references to the works of Dr. Pande and Stitch and then made an official statement on the issue of racism within the organization and AO3. In it, they identified several things they would be prioritizing to combat harassment and benefit users. Some of those have been implemented (notably those that were already under development). However as of this writing, little else has been done especially in regards to:

Improving admin tools for the Policy & Abuse team

Reassessing the current mandatory archive warnings with the possibility of implementing others

And, most importantly, reviewing the Terms of Service (TOS) to allow the Policy & Abuse team to address harassment that is currently not covered by the existing TOS

By their own admission, the current tools and policies of the OTW are not sufficient to deal with issues of harassment and racism.

Several people who were involved in the founding of the OTW, including previous OTW Board members and staff on the original OTW Content Policy Committee, acknowledge that the founding of the OTW in 2008 and early board iterations failed us as a fandom by not doing enough, and by not even considering the way racism is perpetuated in fannish spaces, despite a long history of racism in fandom.

It has been nearly three years since the original commitment by the organization with little visible, measurable progress on these three crucial issues and a complete lack of transparency on where they are in regards to even beginning to deal with these issues. In fact, in Q&As, it was heavily implied by a member of the board that those calling for OTW to deal with issues of racism (which OTW had already acknowledged as a problem!) were not really fans but outside agitators.

This has cast significant doubt on the organization's sincerity and commitment to their stated goals, and on their position as leaders of a central fan tent-pole. Fans of color are not outsiders. They are right here, members of our community, and they are being harassed and targeted and driven out while space and platforms are being given to racists.

We, as fans of color and our allies, find the current state of fandom and current actions (and lack thereof) unacceptable. Fandom is our space, all of ours. We, as a fandom, have a right to a racism-free space and have a duty to our fellow fans to create that space. Unlike so much of the world, this is a space we can control and make better. It is a space we must make better. To read even more about this movement, visit our FAQs.

#fandom #ao3 #otw #EndOTWRacism #End OTW Racism #racism in fandom #organization for transformative works #archive of our own #antiracism #otw board

9K notes · View notes

slyandthefamilybook · 1 month

Text

okay because I'm seeing some misinfo, here's the story on the Key Bridge collapse

What was the Key Bridge?

The Francis Scott Key Bridge (also called the Key Bridge, the Beltway Bridge, and the Outer Harbor Crossing) was steel-arch continuous-through-truss bridge spanning the Patapsco River south of the Baltimore Harbor. The bridge took 5 years to build and cost an estimated $145 million ($735 million in today's dollars). The full bridge project (including approaches) was 10.9 miles long, but the stretch over the Patapsco was 1.6 miles long and 4 lanes wide, and comprised a length of I-695, the Baltimore Beltway. It traveled between Hawkins Point and Dundalk, and in addition to the I-895 Harbor Tunnel was the primary way for Marylanders to cross from the Eastern Shore to the West. The bridge carried an estimated 11.5 million vehicles per year. There is a lane for ships to pass under the Key Bridge with enough clearance.

Was it structurally sound?

The bridge received its latest inspection in 2022 and received a 6/9 score, which is considered "fair" by federal standards. There was a concern with one of its columns, which was downgraded from a health index of 77.8 to 65.9, but it is not clear yet if this was one of the columns struck by the ship. In 1980 the bridge was struck by a different cargo ship which destroyed a concrete support structure, but the bridge itself was unharmed. There is as of yet no evidence that the bridge collapsed because of poor condition. Experts say the lesson to be learned is about the size and weight of modern cargo ships, and that the bridge was not to blame. Engineers have noted, however, that the bridge's piers lacked protective devices such as fenders.

What was the ship?

The MV Dali is a container ship flying the Singapore flag. It is owned by Grace Ocean Private Ltd. and operated by Synergy Marine Group Ltd. The ship is currently being chartered by Maersk, a Dutch shipping company. It was built in 2015 by Hyundai. The ship is 980 feet long and 157 feet wide. The ship's gross tonnage (its internal volume) is 95,128 tons (190,256,000 pounds). Its deadweight (the weight of cargo it can carry) is 116,851 tons (233,702,000 pounds). The ship was carrying 3,000 containers. The engine is a MAN-B&W 9S90ME putting out 41,480 kilowatts (55,626 horsepower).

Over its lifetime the Dali has been inspected 27 times, and only 2 faults were ever found. On June 27, 2023 the Dali was held in port in Chile due to an issue with the propulsion system. According to an inspector the pressure gauges on the heating system were "unreadable". The fault was fixed before the ship left port.

The Dali is crewed by 22 Indian nationals including 2 maritime pilots.

What happened?

The Dali arrived at the Port of Baltimore on March 23, 2024. At 12:44 AM on March 26, 2024 the Dali left port, beginning its journey to Colombo, Sri Lanka. At 01:26 AM the ship suffered a "complete blackout" and began to drift out of the shipping lane. It is not yet known what caused the electrical failure. The backup generator did not power the propulsion system. At around 01:26 AM the crew of the Dali sent a mayday distress call to the Maryland Department of Transportation (MDOT) informing them of the loss of power and that a collision with the Key Bridge was possible. The anchors were dropped as an emergency measure to attempt to slow or stop the vessel. At the request of one of the pilots traffic flow over the bridge was immediately halted. Black smoke was seen coming from the Dali, which experts believe was the result of the crew managing to restart the power system to regain some maneuvering capability.

At 01:28 AM the Dali, traveling at 8 knots (considered to be a fast speed) collided with a support strut beneath the Key Bridge's metal truss at the southwest end of the bridge. A Baltimore resident said he heard the collision and that it "felt like an earthquake". Emergency teams began receiving 911 calls at 01:30 AM, and the Baltimore Police Department were alerted at 01:35 AM. One of the officers present radioed that he was going to go onto the bridge to alert the construction crew as soon as a second officer arrived, but the bridge collapsed seconds later.

What was the damage?

The Key Bridge has completely collapsed. The metal truss relies on structural tension from the bridge itself to maintain its rigidity. As soon as one of the support columns was destroyed, the rest of the bridge quickly followed.

The damage to the Dali is reported as minimal. The ship was impaled by the bridge's structure above the waterline, but has maintained watertight integrity. The crew has not reported any water contamination from its 1.8 million gallons of marine fuel. 13 containers carrying potentially hazardous material were damaged, and are being inspected by a team of Coast Guard divers. At least 5 vehicles including 3 passenger cars and a cement mixer were detected underwater, but authorities do not believe they were occupied

Who was hurt?

The crew of the Dali reports no casualties, except one crewmember who was hospitalized for minor injuries. There was a crew of 8 construction workers on the Key Bridge filling in potholes. 2 were immediately pulled from the water by rescue crews, with 1 being rushed to emergency care and the other reporting minor injuries and refusing treatment. The hospitalized worker has since been discharged. 1 of those rescued was Mexican. The remaining 6 remain missing. Of those 6, 2 have been identified:

Miguel Luna from El Salvador

Maynor Yassir Suazo Sandoval from Honduras

Of the remaining 4, 2 are Guatemalan nationals. Neither have been identified, but the Guatemalan Foreign Affairs Ministry has stated that they were a 26-year-old from San Luis, Petén, and a 35-year-old from Camotán, Chiquimula. The other 2 are presumed to be Mexican.

Rescue Efforts

The Coast Guard was immediately deployed for search-and-rescue operations. Military Blackhawk helicopters were seen over the river. Rescue efforts were ended at 07:30 PM on March 26, 2024 due to darkness, fog, and cold temperatures. Rear Admiral Shannon Gilreath said "Based on the length of time that we've gone in the search, the extensive search efforts that we put into it, the water temperature -- at this point, we do not believe that we're going to find any of these individuals still alive". Recovery operations resumed at 07:30 AM on March 27, 2024 with all 6 workers presumed dead.

No divers have yet entered the water underneath the bridge. Supervisory Special Agent Brian Hudson of the FBI's Underwater Search and Evidence Response Team said "the debris field is pretty sizable and I know that’s why they’re hesitant to send divers down because some of the debris is still shifting, the heavy weight of the rocks". The FBI has deployed Remotely Operated Vehicles (ROVs) equipped with cameras and SONAR.

Aftermath

At 05:08 AM on March 26, 2024 Transportation Secretary Pete Buttegiege posted on X (formerly Twitter):

"I’ve spoken with Gov. Moore and Mayor Scott to offer USDOT’s support following the vessel strike and collapse of the Francis Scott Key bridge. Rescue efforts remain underway and drivers in the Baltimore area should follow local responder guidance on detours and response."

At 07:30 AM on March 27, 2024 President of the Maryland State Senate Bill Ferguson posted on X (formerly Twitter):

"Over 15,000 in the Balt region rely on daily operations at Port of Baltimore to put food on the table. Today, with Del. @LukeClippinger and colleagues representing Port, we are drafting an emergency bill to provide for income replacement for workers impacted by this travesty."

At around 09:40 AM on March 26, 2024 Maryland Governor Wes Moore and Baltimore Mayor Brandon Scott declared a State of Emergency to take effect at 10:30 AM March 26, 2024, and to last 30 days. Baltimore's Emergency Operations Plan was put into effect.

More than 1,000 personnel from the US Army Corps of Engineers (USACE) have been deployed to assist with clearing the debris and rebuilding efforts. President Joe Biden has pledged that the federal government will pay for the entire reconstruction of the bridge.

Jennifer Homendy, the chair of the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) has recovered the Dali's data recorder, and will be inspecting both the Key Bridge and the Dali to determine the cause of the crash and the collapse. She says the investigation could take up to 2 years to complete.

Was it intentional?

According to William DelBagno, head of the FBI's Baltimore field office: "There is no specific or credible information to suggest there are ties to terrorism in this incident".

Secretary of Homeland Security Alejandro Mayorkas said: "There are no indications this was an intentional act".

At least 3 people have been killed in accidents related to ships operated by Synergy in the past 6 years. In 2018 a person on board a Synergy ship in Australia was killed in an accident relating to the vessel's personnel elevator. In 2019 an officer aboard a Synergy vessel in Singapore fell overboard while performing maintenance. In 2023 at least one sailor was killed when a Synergy ship collided with a dredging ship in the Philippines. In the first two cases safety inspectors noted that proper safety procedures had not been adhered to.

Sources

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

#atlas entry #this is still a developing story but all the information herein is accurate and current at time of publishing #baltimore #baltimore bridge collapse #francis scott key bridge #key bridge #I spent an hour collating all this info please give it a reblog

2K notes · View notes

themoonsbeloved · 4 months

Text

I still need help

Its now the 8th of January and despite being told by my friend who spoke with her boss 3 weeks ago during their meeting that he was to hire me in the beginning of January and would reach out to me, he hasn't. I'm hoping somehow, eventually, when this man finally bothers to, he will contact me for a job offer since he reassured me back in november that he still intends to hire me. But since I have no idea when that will be, that means I'm left hanging completely.

long story short I am mentally ill and disabled who was dismissed from my last and only job that I struggled 2 years to get, only to be fired in 2 months in June because of my chronic fatigue and abusive managers. I rely a lot on my henna but bookings are not consistent enough to make regular income, and majority of the money ends up going to contributing to house bills for my family.

My therapy picks up again this week, very honestly been the only thing keeping me from harming myself at this point with how painful life has been and I want to be able to continue getting it low cost (£25 per session), my therapist is so amazing and we recently came to the understanding that I have complex-PTSD, and plan to look into it more this year. I'm too mentally ill to try and look for jobs right now and am basically doing 3 jobs already (one being joint caring duties with family members for my grandparents since I live with them, which I'm not paid for obviously) with inconsistent money coming in/sessional work that I will be paid for once completed further into the year.

I have so many other costs that are coming in the near future, like paying for more medication, and for more lazer hair removal sessions for my severe hirsutism, which usually is around £300 if I'm lucky to catch offers. This is another I thing I mentally can't afford to stop doing, struggling with severe hirsutism and the trauma of it all my life means its important I can feel and live somewhat comfortably in my body. Lazer hair isn't permanent and I'm looking into electrolysis, but again, I don't have that money yet and would prefer to not leave a huge gap where I don't do lazer and the mental torture of watching my body hair grow back. I also haven't gotten my eyes checked in over 3 years, and know I will need a change in perscription and need new glasses. I hate nothing more than what its come to. I'm just exhausted and burnt out from the constant anxiety and depressive episodes, I'm barely eating or sleeping, I'm sick of everything and everyone and I just wish god would give me a break.

With all of the above in mind I'm aiming for about £600. This is all basically to help me just function and continue getting the things that help me not succumb to my mental health issues. If anything, my birthday's coming up in feb so I would appreciate it if folks gave some money if they have the means to. Anything is fine at this point.

Thank you so much

https://paypal.me/iffiia?country.x=GB&locale.x=en_GB

£0/£600

#help

437 notes · View notes

changes · 11 months

Text

Friday, June 2nd, 2023

🌟 New

Accounts created after May 8th, 2023 have the “For You” tab as the default dashboard tab. Other existing users’ dashboard tabs are not changed. We are also working on making dashboard tabs even more customizable, including adding the ability to choose which tab appears first.

In the Android app, you’ll now see ads in the image lightbox from time to time.

When you’re using Tumblr in a web browser, typeahead search results will show a Live indicator if the blog is currently livestreaming.

Another thing for web users: There’s a new activity filter that allows you to include or exclude notifications about Tumblr Live.

One more web thing: The sample posts on /customize now include NPF posts so you can check how those look in your theme.

Folks who send anonymous asks will now receive a push notification when that ask is answered.

In the iOS and Android apps, we added a button to insert a read more into a post (typing :readmore: + hitting return still works though).

Some folks will start getting access to certain badges (similar to those important internet checkmarks) based on different actions/accomplishments.

On web and Android, we’re experimenting with highlighting tags that are trending, so you might see a different color tag on a post in your dashboard. That means it’s trending on Tumblr! Here’s an example of what that looks like:

You can find this post here.

🛠 Fixed

We fixed a bug that could sometimes prevent the post editor from being closed if you opened it using the C key. This bug only happened if you were using Tumblr in a web browser.

Another web fix: Unpublished submissions no longer show a note count.

🚧 Ongoing

Nothing to report here today.

🌱 Upcoming

We are continuing to remove the option to use the legacy post editor. Next week, we’ll begin removing the option to create legacy photo posts.

👀 In case you missed it

On web, clicking the reblogged-from blog name in a reblog’s post header now takes you to that blog, not their reblog. Clicking in the empty space in the post’s header, and in the header of each reblog trail item, now takes you to that specific post in the blog view popup. This is one of a series of updates we’re making to the reblog consumption experience across all platforms to make Tumblr more consistent.

Experiencing an issue? File a Support Request and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can!

Want to share your feedback about something? Check out our Work in Progress blog and start a discussion with the community.

#tumblr update

2K notes · View notes

strang3lov3 · 22 days

Text

Invisible Line

Summary- Boundary after boundary is crossed when your boss is left with no choice but to share his bed with you.

Roman Roy x F!Reader | 5.8k words

Tags- one bed trope mothafuckas!! mutual masturbation, unprotected piv, cream pie, oral (f receiving), come eating, dirty talk, soft dom!roman, power imbalance, needy and desperate reader, light degradation, manipulative Roman, Roman’s not the nicest but he does let you snuggle him

A/N- This is my first Roman Roy fic, so please be gentle 🫣 I know he’s got his issues with sex, so just play pretend with me. My usual Joel readers, I haven’t forgotten about you, he’s cumming soon 🫡🍆 but if you were feeling so inclined I’d appreciate it if you gave Roman a chance 🥺🩷

I had a fucking team of editors for this fic!! Thank you thank you thank you @noxturnalpascal, @papipascalispunk, @beefrobeefcal and @pinkypromisepascal for polishing this baby up

Fic notifs, Masterlist, Ko-Fi

You’ll never get used to the type of hotels you now stay in. All the lights glittering, floors shining, ceilings so high. You’d call it luxurious, but to your boss, Roman, this is considered modest. You’re always reminded that you and he come from two very different worlds.

As his assistant, you’re accompanying him on his “bullshit amusement park safety meeting in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere,” as Roman had so graciously put it. He’s got such a way with words. He’s exaggerating of course, always so hyperbolic. You’re not in the middle of nowhere, you’re in Nashville, Tennessee. It’s early June and the air is finally beginning to cool for the evening.

“We’re fully booked,” the receptionist says to you after first explaining that no, there’s no mix up of sorts, you had only booked one room and not two adjoining rooms like you’d thought.

Just fifteen minutes earlier, you helped Roman with his bags and such up to his room. Roman carried the heaviest of his own bags to be a gentleman, call it his soft spot for you or whatever, but just to be a dick, still had you carry his briefcase that he was more than capable of carrying on his own. It is your job, after all.

When you arrived with him to the spacious room, decorated with abstract wall art and odd sculptures, Roman wasted no time in flopping on the single king sized bed. After seeing no door to connect to an adjoining room, Roman sent you back to reception. “Well, better figure it out,” he said, waving you away, his eyes never once looking away from his phone screen. “I’m set here, so thanks. You can go fuck off. Have a nice evening and all that. Enjoy masturbating in your crispy white bed sheets, courtesy of Hyatt hospitality.” Always so vulgar. You’re not shocked by it anymore.

“Nothing?” you ask the receptionist. “There’s no way. I just need a single queen, I don’t care what floor it’s on. Isn’t there something?”

“Bonnaroo,” the receptionist explains, once more typing on her keyboard to double check and see if there’s a room for you. “Yeah, I’m sorry, we don’t have any other rooms available. Bonnaroo weekend is always when we’re busiest. People book months in advance. I wish I could help you,” she frowns apologetically.

You’re not upset. It’s your own fault. And you’d seen Bonnaroo posters around the lobby advertising the shuttle that transports people from the hotel to the festival. And you’d seen the headliners, too. Radiohead, Red Hot Chili Peppers, LCD Soundsystem. Friday and Saturday tickets are sold out. You’re not surprised it’s all booked.

“No, I know,” you reply. “It’s my fault.”

You sigh deeply, and the receptionist types into her computer, prints a piece of paper and hands it to you. “This is a list of hotels nearby. Call around, they might have something.” She wishes you good luck, and you pull out your phone to begin making the calls, only then realizing your battery is at 2%. Now you have nowhere to go but back to Roman’s room.

–

You knock on Roman’s door and wait. Nothing. You knock once more, nothing again. You’re about to knock for a third time when Roman finally opens, his shirt a few buttons undone and his belt loosened. “What do you want?”

“Can you let me in?” you ask, “I need to use your phone, please.”

Roman’s taken some getting used to. You never quite know where you stand with him, what exactly he thinks of you. Moment to moment, you never know which Roman you’re gonna get – the flirting Roman, the occasional sweet and tender Roman, or the cold, sarcastic, uncaring and taunting Roman.

“Can you let me in?” Roman mocks, opening his door wider and guiding you into his room with his hand on your lower back. Taunting Roman. His touch makes your tummy flutter. Something about his unpredictability thrills you, excites you. You’re attracted to it, and you don’t know why.

Your phone charges by a nearby outlet as you sit at the desk with the room phone as Roman paces around, rifling through his suitcase to find his pajamas. They’re simple looking clothes, pale blue bottoms and a plain white shirt, but you know the cost of the outfit is equivalent to someone’s rent. He changes in front of you, something he’s always done. You’re not exactly sure why he does that or what he’s trying to do, but you do your best to not steal any glimpses of him as you begin calling the numbers on the paper, though the task proves to be difficult. Flirting Roman?

The first hotel on your list is The Hermitage, which is a bust. The Joseph is also a bust. Conrad Nashville, same deal. You’re keeping your voice as low as possible, hoping Roman doesn’t overhear your conversation. The last thing you want to do is give him more ammo. You sigh as you cross out the names on the paper one by one with one of the hotel’s branded pens.

Roman’s on the bed, smirking, rolling his eyes. You can see it in your peripherals. “You fucked up, didn’t you? Forgot to book yourself a room?”

“Shut up,” you mumble, now calling the fourth and final hotel on your list.

“You shut up,” Roman says. “Told you to double check.”

You wave a hand in his direction to quiet him. After asking your now three times rehearsed ‘Do you have any rooms available?’ and being met with an apology and a no, you reply to the person on the other end of the call with a “Yup, Bonnaroo, understood. Thank you.” Sighing, you hang up the phone and bury your face in your palms. You know what your only option is here, and you’re scared to look at it, to look at Roman. You know that even if you don’t verbally ask, your eyes will say it all.

Roman slides off the bed and makes his way to you, then nudges your foot with his own. “Am I doing you a favor tonight?”

“I uh…”

“Oh, of course I am. Good thing I’m feeling generous, huh?” Roman’s lips are curled into an almost-sweet smile when you finally look at him. “Bed is mine,” he enunciates. “You can take the floor, I don’t care. Or push those chairs together or some shit.” You look at the chairs he’s referring to and nod. Roman goes back to his bed, and you pull your own set of pajamas from your suitcase, then change in the bathroom. Once out of the bathroom, you push together the chairs that Roman was referring to.

“Oh god, I didn’t think you’d actually do that. No, no, I was just joking – we’ll share the fucking bed. Yeah?” Roman pats the other side of the bed. “I’m not cruel like that, Christ. Making me feel like some fuckin’ sort of - sort of sadist. Not gonna bite you.”

“Won’t you?” you tease.

That was the wrong thing to say. Your blood goes cold as Roman glares at you, displeased with your teasing. Reminding you of your place, that even though Roman can joke, make however many unsavory comments as he’d like, you can’t always do the same. Cold Roman. But then Roman cracks a smile, flashing his pretty white teeth and winks, his eyes sparkling. The boss-employee dynamic between you and him is always inconsistent, things going from professional to unprofessional, from friendly to friendlier.

He pulls the covers down the bed, once more patting the space next to him, indicating his invitation for you to join him. You round the bed and slide under the covers, the sheets feeling cool against your bare feet and legs. “You’ve got ulterior motives, don’t you? You fucked up the booking on purpose.”

You roll your eyes, annoyed. “No, Roman.”

“You totally did,” Roman says as you adjust the pillows behind you, “You’re trying to entrap me. You’ve weaseled your way into my bed so you can sue me later for harassment or some shit but I’m telling you, it’s not gonna happen. Trust me when I say that it’s in your best interest to behave yourself.” Roman drags his finger down the center of the bed, bisecting it evenly. “Don’t cross this line. Not even your fuckin’…pinky finger. Got it?”

“Understood, Mr. Roy.”

“Attagirl,” he chirps. “Wait, ew. Jesus Christ, Roman, you call me Roman. Not that Mr. Roy shit. God, that’s gross.”

You’ll take any chance you can to get under his skin after all he does to you. Flipping over on your side, you face the window and watch the city lights dance before pulling out your phone and silently scrolling through Instagram. Roman does similar, though he doesn’t reciprocate the courtesy of doing so quietly. He watches videos at full volume, shaking the bed with his giggles.

You shift to your other side, now facing Roman, who lays on his back. Your phone rests on the bed as you can’t help but admire how handsome he looks. You don’t often see him look relaxed like how he does now – how sexy he looks in those thin pajamas of his, his biceps toned and his bulge protruding from beneath the fabric of his pants. His usually sleek hair is slightly messy, and you wonder how those silky strands would feel between your fingers as you tug on them, with him holding you close in a tight embrace and his lips connected to yours, swallowing your moans.

You tell yourself not to think about it, about him. Don’t think, don’t think, god, do not think about him. Don’t think about his thick bulge or his hands or their wrinkles, the bluish-green veins that climb up his knuckles. Don’t think about his waist, don’t think about his soft tummy, or the thin line of hair leading down his groin and beneath his pants.

Roman’s looking at you, wearing that sly, cocky grin of his, pleased with the knowledge of what he does to you. He shuts his phone off and turns off the light on his nightstand, the faint glow coming from the open curtains now the only light.

He doesn’t take long to drift into a slumber, though you do, still thinking of the things you shouldn’t be. Images of Roman still dance in your mind for hours, you watch the time go by when you check your phone’s lock screen. You hear his voice in your head, that two word instruction from him playing over like a broken record. Behave yourself. And god, you can fucking smell him. He smells clean, like he always does, with notes of Caroline Herrera’s Bad Boy filling your nostrils – a cologne with a truly obnoxious bottle and an even more obnoxious name. Roman picked it out one time you were with him while he was shopping, just to piss you off. You’ve never hated the smell, though, and you love it even more on his skin. But he smells like sweat too, just a bit. So masculine and slightly musky, you can almost taste him.

Your hand has moved on its own accord underneath your shirt and between your breasts. You’re not sure when it happened, but you become acutely aware of it when your knuckles brush against your nipple and you gasp.

Roman stirs in his sleep, but he’s dead to the world. And you’re good at keeping yourself quiet – at least you think you are.

You turn your head to look at Roman, pinching and twisting at your nipples. Alternating between soft and hard, gentle and rough touches. Roman’s got his arm draped over his head, his palm so close to you. You imagine it’s that hand, his hand, squeezing and groping the soft flesh of your breasts, pretending that tingling feeling when you drag your thumbs over your sensitive buds is his tongue, all hot and wet. You let yourself breathe, the quietest moans escaping your lips.

And then you let your fingers dip lower, your fingertips skating down your body, feeling your sides and the soft curve of your tummy, your hips. Your hand goes lower and lower, your thighs parting as you find your core but not moving your legs wide enough to cross Roman’s invisible line. Tracing your lips first, your fingers travel closer to where you need to feel them the most. You’re wet, so fucking wet as you press your middle finger against your hole, collecting your slick and dragging it up to your clit.

You shift in the bed, spreading your legs wider and now circling your clit with your middle and ring fingers, dipping them into your entrance once more to gather your arousal and drag it up through your folds. Massaging yourself, you still pretend it’s Roman’s hand as you take in that sweet feeling that’s quickly beginning to build in the pit of your stomach. You can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter with each circle of your fingertips on your clit, fighting yourself to keep your hips as still as can be.

Romans voice startles you. “For a second I wondered if we’re near a fuckin’... earthquake, or uh– fault line or something, but you’re just rubbing one out next to your boss. Wow. Do you always shake the bed this much when you masturbate?”

You gasp, “Roman.”

“Or just when you’re next to me?” You’re not really sure what the right move here is. You could pull your hand from under your pants, but Roman’s already caught you red handed. Leaving your hand between your thighs is not the right move either. “Funny,” he adds, “I thought we just had a conversation about behaving. Didn’t we?”

“I know, I–”

“I mean, you get brownie points for not crossing the line in the bed, I guess,” Roman lifts the covers of the bed, then reaches for your knee and gently pushes it back on your side of the bed. “But you are crossing all sorts of other lines. You must think you’re sneaky. I heard you moaning, you know,” he accuses. He mocks you then, all snark and derision as he lets out exaggerated and breathy moans you’re almost sure you weren’t making. Roman, oh, Roman! Yeah, right there, Roman, please…

“Are you trying to get yourself in trouble?” he asks as he reaches for your jaw with one of his hands, turning you to look at him. He pinches, fingertips digging into the softness of your cheeks. No hiding now. “Is that what gets you off?”

“No,” you stammer.

“Liar.”

The air feels thick and Roman’s hazel eyes are dark, inky black, perhaps from the lack of light or maybe, you think, his own arousal? No, probably not. He looks genuinely pissed and you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, his intense gaze making you squirm. But you can’t seem to look away, either. He allows a silence to hang heavily between you both as he stares at you with a look in his eyes you can’t quite read. And that’s when you notice it – with the hand that’s not holding your jaw, he’s stroking his cock underneath his pants. You can see the bulge, the shifting of his hand.

“You’re touching yourself too,” you point out.

“Yeah, now I am. I’m a man. You made blood rush to my penis with your fucking moans and your Roman this and Roman that,” he huffs. Pulling down his pants and letting his cock spring free, he continues, “So my dick is hard. It should be your problem to deal with, but I’m bailing you out yet again. Always cleaning your— fuck,” he stutters, “Your messes.”

You have no clue what’s happening here. Roman lets go of his cock for a moment and he reaches for your arm, guiding you to start moving your hand once again. “Get it out of your system,” he says. “Go on. You didn’t have an issue fucking yourself next to me five minutes ago, did you?”

Cautiously, as with Roman you know full well that this could be a trap, you begin to move your hand with his guidance. “Yeah, good girl,” he whispers in a hushed, almost imperceptible tone, one that you probably weren’t supposed to hear. “God, I can’t believe you,” he says more clearly this time. “You better make it quick. We’re getting this over with, and we’re not looking at each other. Call it your punishment or something, just fuckin’— take care of yourself.”

Roman adjusts so he’s flat on his back and resumes stroking his cock. His eyes are screwed shut and you’re watching his chest rise and fall, fully breaking the rule he just set. But you can’t help yourself, he looks so gorgeous like this. His pubic hair is longer than you would have expected Roman to have, but gorgeous nonetheless. He’s not the longest but his head is wide and round, with thick veins climbing his shaft.

“You’re watching, you fucking creep,” he says in a breathy tone, his words slightly broken. He’s not looking at you, only at the ceiling above. “Breaking the rules. You have a hard time with that, don’t you? Look, I can follow rules. Why can’t you?”

“I don’t know,” you admit.

Roman rolls his eyes at that, then flips on his side to finally look at you. A flicker of what looks to be relief quickly washes over his features, but quickly disappears. He reaches for your shirt, hiking it up your torso and tugging – up, take it off. You do as he asks, taking off your top and exposing your breasts to the chill of the air in the hotel room.

“I hope you know that I’m not gonna touch you,” Roman says.

“I know,” you breathe. “I know you won’t, I just, I just…”

“Just what?” Roman asks, still stroking his cock. You take off the rest of your pajamas and adjust yourself slightly, then spread your legs wide, the invisible line be damned as your knees fall back toward your chest and you rub your swollen clit. God, how you need his fingers inside you. You’d fuck yourself on your own fingers, but it won’t satisfy you in the way you think Roman could. “Spit it out,” Roman demands.

Fuck it. You’ll deal with whatever consequences later. In the boldest of moves, you reach for the hand that strokes his cock and bring it to your pussy, guiding Roman’s middle and ring fingers to your entrance and pushing them inside.

Roman wears a twisted sort of smile as he curls his fingers inside you, now playing his own game with you. He taunted you with an accusation of ulterior motives, but it was all talk, like how most of Roman is. He suspected this before, but now he's certain: you have nothing but need for him. Amused by it, he’s now playing his game with you. As you moan for him he wonders, how much can he toy with you, drag this out? How much will you beg for him? Your hand is wrapped around his cock now by your own choice, he wonders how low will you sink, and how high will he feel by the end of whatever this is?

You’re inching closer to him. Desperate.

“Your hand is wrapped around my cock,” he whispers. “And you buried my fingers inside your cunt. Is something not clicking in that head of yours?”

“So good,” you breathe. You work his shaft, twisting your hand up and down. He’s thick, veiny, his head feels smooth in your palm. Roman’s touch is firm as removes your hand from his cock to hover it beneath your chin. “Spit,” he tells you. You’re so pliant, and do as you’re told, spitting into your own palm, Roman putting it back where he wants it. “Wow. I pull my cock out and you’ll do anything for me, won’t you?”

All you do is nod.

“God you’re soaked. Are you always this soaked for me? Just walking around all day, panties fuckin’ ruined?”

“Sh– shut up.”

Oh, you’ve still got some bite left. Roman wonders how quickly he can make that diminish. “Poor thing, did I hit a nerve? You wanna fuck me that badly? Are you really that desperate for your boss?” You say nothing, just inch even closer to Roman now. You hook a leg over his hip, moving your cunt towards what you need most from him, slowly guiding him in your hand ever closer to your entrance and hoping he’ll remove his fingers from you and replace them with his cock. And thank god, he does it. He pushes your hand away, gripping his member and notching the tip in your entrance. Fucking finally.

But he only collects your wetness on his tip, then spreads it down his shaft. He pushes his pelvis forward, rubbing his cock against your hooded clit and making you shiver.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he taunts, now dragging his cockhead down your dripping seam.

“Roman,” you whine.

“Roman,” he says, mimicking your whine, exaggerating how pathetic you sound. “Is that all you can say?”

“Fuck me,” you gasp. “Just fuck me, Roman.”

“Yeah, I know. You know my name and how to nag me to fuck you. I get it. What you’re not getting is that I don’t care. It’s not gonna happen tonight, or tomorrow, or the day after that… Just gonna fuckin’ play with you like this,” he hums, now pushing his cock up against your clit again, tapping you. “Yeah, you’re good. This is… this is good. I’ve been so bored recently, you know? Wonder what happens when I do this,” Roman stops tapping his head against your sensitive clit, now sliding himself left and right across your sex. He bites his bottom lip when you gasp and squirm.

“I wonder if I could make you come just doing this,” he muses, continuing to tease you. “I know I could. I could blow my load on your pussy right now and make you clean up a mess for once. Is that what you need? For me to show you what you’re meant for?”

Maybe, you think. Maybe not. You don’t know what you think. You need his cock. Roman pushes himself forward, fitting just his head into your hole again. And you think it’s coming, the fullness, the pressure, the ache and the stretch and the burn. He’s bent on his two prior rules, but compromise never comes. He doesn’t give in to you. Roman’s grinning, giggling to himself as he draws his hips backward, denying you. Watching how you struggle for him, how you whine and squirm and push your hips towards him. “Is it?” he asks.

“Fuck, is what?”

“Is that what you need?”

“Yeah, I need you to fuck me. Roman, please. Need it – need you inside.”

Roman pushes out an exhale somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Oh, that’s funny. That’s not what I asked at all. Is listening really that hard for you? What do they call that, tunnel vision but for hearing. Tunnel hearing? I don’t think that’s right.”

“I’m sorry–”

“Google it for me.”

“Roman.”

“What the fuck do you think I hired you for? Google it. For me. Thanks.”

Roman lifts his dick again, rubbing it against your clit and then lining himself up again, all as you scramble for your phone and quickly open Safari. ‘Funnel visipn bur for hearin g’ is what you type, the combined sensations of Roman’s teasing and the too-bright screen making your task difficult. “Audi-auditory exclusion,” you manage to tell him.

“Lemme see it,” Roman takes your phone from your hand, squinting at the screen. “Auditory exclusion is a form of temporary loss of hearing occurring under high stress,” he reads in his phony serious tone, still teasing you, bumping into your clit and then notching himself at your entrance, again and again and again. Giving you just a taste of what you know he could offer you instead. He’s opening Wikipedia now. “Auditory exclusion happens as a result of the physiological effects of the acute stress response, specifically an increased heart rate.”

“Fuck me, Roman, fuck me, please, I’m begging, please, please…”

“Begging’s nice, good. Very good. Very cute. But uh–” Roman points to your phone, “I’m busy reading here, so maybe quiet down. I really don’t want to hear it,” he laughs breathlessly, but nothing about this is funny to you. You’re in tears now. Tears of anger, frustration, shock. Roman lines up with your slick hole, just as he’s done repeatedly before. He notices your tears, “My god, you’re crying for it. So desperate, aren’t you?” he mocks your pout, wiping away your tears. You tell him you need him. “Need me? What a strong word. Yeah, I know that you need me. Message clear. God, you repeat yourself a lot. Fucking annoying.”

Fuck this. Roman’s still on Wikipedia and down some rabbit-hole not even related to auditory exclusion. He’s stopped teasing you, his cock just resting, nestled at your entrance as he scrolls. And you take your chance.

You reach for his shoulders and flip yourself so you’re above him, then sink down on his cock. Roman’s startled but he moans as he disappears into you and you sigh, finally feeling that stretch of his cock you’ve been craving since you don’t even know when – long before tonight. Roman watches where your body connects to his, seemingly shocked. He scoffs. “Oh, fuck you.”

Roman pushes your body off of his, he’s small but stronger than he looks. He flips you on your tummy and his touch is harsh but just what you need when he finally grabs your hips, placing his palm between your shoulder blades and forcing your chest down to the mattress. He was somewhat gentle when he was teasing you before, but all of that is gone now, as he lines up with your entrance and slams his hips into you, rocking you forward. He pulls out almost all the way before doing it again, harder. So many noises. You – gushing on his cock, moaning, crying out for him. Roman – his thighs slapping against yours, his grunts and his curses and breathy groans. The bed creaking with each of his thrusts. Roman fills you up better than you could imagine – fucking perfectly –hitting your walls, that sweet spot inside you.

“So fucking wet for your boss. What’s that say about you, huh?”

Roman grips your hips tight – too tight. He’s denting his nails into your skin and it hurts, his thumbs are digging into your lower back. There’s no fluidity to his thrusts, no steady roll of his hips. Just Roman, parting your insides with the harsh rutting of his hips. His heavy balls swinging, bouncing against your clit, his soft tummy warm against your back.

He sets a steady rhythm, a rhythm for his pleasure alone. Fucking you seemingly in two, exactly how you want it. Of course you want it this way. He can hear it in your muffled whimpers and cries, he wonders if the sheets are stained under your face, soaked with your tears. Roman holds your waist, forcing you up with your back against his chest. “Fuck,” you cry, and Roman wraps a hand over your mouth, the other is groping your breasts. Not that he doesn’t love the sounds you’re making for him, he just wants to give you another reminder of who’s in charge here – of how this is gonna go down, according to Roman.

He tugs your earlobe between his teeth, his nose nudging your cheek. His mouth travels lower then, he bites at your neck where it meets your shoulders, the stubble on his cheeks scratching your skin. He’s sucking at your flesh hard enough to leave a mark – for what reason, he’s not entirely sure. To punish and to hurt you, humiliate you, maybe even mark you as his. It’s possessive and primal in essence, how the way you need him so fervently makes him feel powerful in a way he often does not. And you’re not helping your case at all, with your squirming and your whimpers only egging him on. You tried to take what you need from him, but he’ll drill into your head that you’ll only receive what he’s willing to give to you.

He wonders what comes after this. If you’ll turn on your side in bed, leaking with his come and hiding yourself from him, or if maybe you’ll cling to him instead. He knows that he’ll lay next to you after this and wonder what you’ll be like for the rest of this trip. Will you be shyer, about the same as usual, or maybe even bold? He’ll experiment with you, see how you react to a cold shoulder or a shower of attention. See what you’ll do when he squeezes your ass, or when sitting next to him in the car, the helicopter, or at dinner when his hand finds your thigh and inches closer to your sex. Will you lean into it? Will you squirm and push his hand away?

His hands travel along your sides and down your torso, he can tell you’re loving his touch. You’re shameless in your reaction to him, your pussy squeezing him, your wanton moans. Curious, Roman reaches for your clit just to see how you’ll respond. He teases you, tries to write his name with his fingertips into you. Lewd sounds of skin slapping skin, the obscenity of your pussy’s slick noises. He’s not going to last much longer, that is quite clear.

He doesn’t care to try to make you finish first, as a gentleman should, although Roman nor anyone else would describe himself as such. You’re on his time. He knows how desperate you are to come, but he doesn’t care. He’ll get his first, something he doesn’t often get otherwise. And so his pace quickens, still biting and nipping at the flesh of your neck and shoulders. He bets that in all those late-night fantasies of yours about this moment, touching yourself in the dark, you didn't picture him being a biter. This much is evident with your pussy clenching on him and your short gasps showing your surprise.

He savors that feeling in every inch of himself – the power he holds knowing you’re aching not only to come on his cock, but to feel his touch, to experience him. It’s still just a game to Roman. Maybe it’ll always be a game. He’s not sure yet.

His cock twitches inside you, that warm and sticky feeling in his balls is beginning to crescendo. “I need to come,” you beg. “Roman, please make me come, I need-.”

“Shut up. I don’t care.” Roman fucks you with frenzied thrusts, and he doesn’t pull out to stroke himself above you, doesn’t ask you if you’re on the pill or if you want him to come on your ass or your tits or in your mouth. Roman shamelessly lets himself go and fills you with his hot spend. His noises are like music as he comes inside you, melodic grunts and moans coming from deep within him. And you take it all, everything he gives you because that’s what you’re meant for.

Roman takes heaving breaths above you, pulling out and his spend spills onto the comforter. He doesn’t give a shit. And as you collapse down onto your hands and knees you think that’s that, that he really doesn’t care. That all of this was probably about Roman savoring the feeling of having control over another person, and that dangling pleasure over her head is how he’ll get it.

Roman climbs off the bed and you’re trembling. He flips you onto your back, pulls you forward by your legs so that your sex is centered with his face as he kneels at the edge of the bed. His mind has changed quickly – first he wanted to know what would happen if he didn’t make you come. He thought next about eating you out from behind, denying you connection as he tastes you, buries himself in your most intimate place. But you’ve done well for him, and it’s clear that you’ll take what he gives you at any cost. Roman watches you with hooded eyelids, offering you that connection as he brings his face to your center, licking a thick stripe up your cunt. Call it his soft spot.

“Don’t say I don’t do anything for you.”

Roman dives back into you, and you hesitate before reaching for his scalp. Tentatively, you do it anyway, just to see if he’ll react. He might smack your hands away, maybe he’ll place them down on the bed. You’re sure he won’t hold them.

He lets your hands linger. Your fingers tug on those sleek strands of hair as he eats you, his scruff chafing your thighs. His eyes alternate between fluttering shut and peering up at you as dips his tongue into your entrance, licking his spend from your folds. He brings a hand to your cunt, two of his fingers pushing into your heat as his tongue dances circles around your clit. He’ll never tell you how sweet you taste on his lips.

“Yes, oh god, Roman.” He’s kissing your cunt, lapping at your folds, his tongue teasing all of that sensitive flesh. His fingers curl inside you at the same time he sucks your clit between his lips, making you writhe for him. “Right there, Roman.”

You’re not sure if he’s indulging himself or you at this moment. He eats you like a man starved, he eats you like it's his artwork. Nipping at your folds, his fingers inside you never once faltering their movements. You grind against his mouth as his tongue flicks and swirls. After all that’s taken place tonight, it doesn’t take you long to come. You bite down on your moans as pleasure washes over you, and you come on Roman’s tongue, gushing into the palm of his hand. When he’s ensured that he’s milked you entirely, he pulls away and takes his place back on his side of the invisible line.

Roman had wondered if - once in bed - would you cling to him or turn away, but he doesn’t allow you that choice. Instead, he takes your wrist between his fingers as he turns away, curling on his side, effectively wrapping your body to spoon around his. He keeps your arm secured firm under his, tucked around his torso. Tender Roman. You’re on edge, he’s been relatively quiet this whole time, and you’re expecting some snarky comment or a vulgar insult. “I swear to god, I will smother you with my fucking pillow if you snore,” is all he says. His threat, albeit baseless, comforts you.

Tagging some folks I think may be interested? I posted a few weeks ago about writing Roman and he’s finally here!Those of you that engaged with that post plus some other friends, I hope you check this out. If you want me to remove your tag, lmk 🩷 @ievutebebe @notjustjavierpena @dorims @molt3ngold @sweetenerobert @tightjeansjavi @i-smoke-chapstick @w73n @lilipads @annoyingtheoristcloud @meyelowe @I-ange-maudit @val1821 @ladygrey03 @mommymilkers0526 @motions1ckness @wellthisisjustridiculous @marytudorr @yangyangsbitch @trexwithwings-blog @ay3mily @brooklynb8by @cru3lfools @apocolyqse @foreverasleep717 @anyukadfasza @clocksonthewall79 @dumb--blonde @littlevenicebitch69 @mads198-9 @yazsos @smokietaylor

#roman roy smut #roman roy #roman roy x reader #roman roy x you #succession #succession fic #succession x reader #strang3lov3

256 notes · View notes

thechanelmuse · 11 months

Photo

Juneteenth is a Black American holiday.

We call Juneteenth many things: Black Independence Day, Freedom Day, Emancipation Day, Jubilee Day. We celebrate and honor our ancestors.

December 31 is recognized as Watch Night or Freedom’s Eve in Black American churches because it marks the day our enslaved ancestors were awaiting news of their freedom going into 1863. On January 1, 1863, President Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation. But all of the ancestors wouldn’t be freed until June 19, 1865 for those in Galveston, Texas and even January 23, 1866 for those in New Jersey (the last slave state). (It’s also worth noting that our people under the Choctaw and Chickasaw Nations wouldn’t be freed until April 28, 1866 and June 14, 1866 for those under the Cherokee Nation by way of the Treaties.)

Since 1866, Black Americans in Texas have been commemorating the emancipation of our people by way of reading the Emancipation Proclamation and coming together to have parades, free festivities, and later on pageants. Thereafter, it spread to select states as an annual day of commemoration of our people in our homeland.

Here’s a short silent video filmed during the 1925 Juneteenth celebration in Beaumont, Texas:

youtube

(It’s also worth noting that the Mascogos tribe in Coahuila, Mexico celebrate Juneteenth over there as well. Quick history lesson: A total of 305,326 Africans were shipped to the US to be enslaved alongside of American Indians who were already or would become enslaved as prisoners of war, as well as those who stayed behind refusing to leave and walk the Trail of Tears to Oklahoma. In the United States, you were either enslaved under the English territories, the Dutch, the French, the Spanish, or under the Nations of what would called the Five “Civilized” Native American Tribes: Cherokee, Creek (Muscogee), Chickasaw, Choctaw, and Seminoles. Mascogos descend from the Seminoles who escaped slavery during the Seminole Wars, or the Gullah Wars that lasted for more than 100 years if you will, and then settled at El Nacimiento in 1852.)

We largely wave our red, white and blue flags on Juneteenth. These are the only colors that represent Juneteenth. But sometimes you may see others wave our Black American Heritage flag (red, black, and gold).

Juneteenth is a day of respect. It has nothing to do with Africa, diversity, inclusion, immigration, your Pan-African flag, your cashapps, nor your commerce businesses. It is not a day of “what about” isms. It is not a day to tap into your inner colonizer and attempt to wipe out our existence. That is ethnocide and anti-Black American. If you can’t attend a Black American (centered) event that’s filled with education on the day, our music, our food and other centered activities because it’s not centered around yours…that is a you problem. Respect our day for what and whom it stands for in our homeland.

Juneteenth flag creator: “Boston Ben” Haith

It was created in 1997. The red, white and blue colors represent the American flag. The five-point star represents the Lone State (Texas). The white burst around the star represents a nova, the beginning of a new star. The new beginning for Black Americans.

Black American Heritage Flag creators: Melvin Charles & Gleason T. Jackson

It was created in 1967, our Civil Rights era. The color black represents the ethnic pride for who we are. Red represents the blood shed for freedom, equality, justice and human dignity. Gold fig wreath represents intellect, prosperity, and peace. The sword represents the strength and authority exhibited by a Black culture that made many contributions to the world in mathematics, art, medicine, and physical science, heralding the contributions that Black Americans would make in these and other fields.

SN: While we’re talking about flags, I should note that Grace Wisher, a 13-year-old free Black girl from Baltimore helped stitched the Star Spangled flag, which would inspire the national anthem during her six years of service to Mary Pickersgill. I ain’t even gon hold you. I never looked too far into it, but she prob sewed that whole American flag her damn self. They love lying about history here until you start unearthing them old documents.

In conclusion, Juneteenth is a Black American holiday. Respect us and our ancestors.

#juneteenth #juneteenth flag #black american history #black american culture #ben haith #black american heritage flag #melvin charles #gleason t jackson #grace wisher #american flag #mascogos #juneteenth 2023

1K notes · View notes

lets-try-some-writing · 2 months

Note

Sneezes and hiccups are super cute BUT i love the angst of the bots reacting to more serious medical issues. Rafael has to keep a nebulizer at the base, maybe Jack has to give himself insulin injections. God forbid Miko is stung by a wasp and starts to swell up. Humans just got so much going on Magnus in particular doesn't understand how we aren't extinct.

The team would take any medical condition VERY seriously. Squishies are already so fragile. Ultra Magnus is indeed absolutely befuddled when it comes to humanity somehow managing to drag itself away from extinction.

Ratchet would personally tend to Rafael nebulizer. He would learn how to care for it, how to make something similar in a pinch, and probably throw himself into understanding raspatory issues as a whole. One can never be too careful. Bumblebee would also probably begin carrying around an inhaler just in case. The rest of the team would go through a rundown from June in order to help if Rafael needs assistance.

Jack's injections scared the every living daylights of the team originally. To them it looked a great deal like Ratchet's attempt at playing with chemicals over the vorns. However once his issues become clear, the team would largely accept the situation and move on to helping. Ratchet keeps a small store of insulin near his work station. Arcee has been dutifully instructed in the art of giving clean injections. The rest of the bots, being too big to help with such small objects, were given a crash course in how to get to the nearest hospital in record time if need be.

As for Miko? Well let's just say Wheeljack and Bulkhead were absolutely certain she was about to explode until she reached for her epipen. Watching her swell up like some sort of balloon haunted the team for a while and they made sure to begin storing a pen in their alt modes, just to be safe. Smokescreen had to go purge after Miko's first run in with a wasp. Fleshies shifting like that isn't normal and it has haunted his dreams ever since.

Ultra Magnus will never not be confused.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #optimus prime #team prime #ratchet #bumblebee #bulkhead #wheeljack #ultra magnus #arcee #smokescreen #tfp kids #jack darby #miko nakadai #rafael esquivel

207 notes · View notes

hanniluvi · 11 months

Text

LOVE ERROR ! — SUNOO SMAU

(-♡-) synopsis : known as the owner of running a popular confession account, sunoo has gotten plenty of people together. monthly, love news holds an event where anonymous people gets a chance to confess. of course, sunoo is just doing his job — starting relationships. but what he didn’t expect was someone dming him on twitter asking if he was the one behind a confession … who knew a small error can cause him to think about his love life for once?

✰ — “cupid” realizes he should also try to help himself find love too.

trending?! — stranger!sunoo x fem!reader ෆ

— 𖦹 bzzt! social media au, strangers to lovers, slowburn (kinda), high school au, fluff, crack, tba..

(🎧) warnings — cursing, both sunoo and reader will be frustrating, sort of trust issues, use of kys + kms jokes, friends “bully” each other, tba..

NOTE : this is all FICTION! this has nothing to do with any idols irl! + reblogs/likes/comments are appreciated so i can improve later on 🤍

mentions ! enhypen, sunwoo from the boyz, gyuvin from zb1, j from stayc, seonghwa from ateez, hanni from newjeans, brief mentions of other characters (more might be added).

♫ words from soph — can you tell i miss love news </3 anyways, i wanted to make a smau from that universe!! so, why not make a smau about the owner of love news, the matchmaker? + also, other members coming soon? (as you can see right the bottom …) so i hope you’ll have fun reading this one just like how you guys enjoyed love news 🫶

STATUS — June 4th 2023 to August 22nd 2023 !

LOVED LOVE ERROR? CHECK OUT LOVE BOMB, THE THIRD SMAU! (coming soon ??)

(🍥) — profiles : the gaslighters (yn) | the cupids (sunoo) | the helpers (love news people)

and the confessions begin … (chapters)

#001 — cupid can hate couples too.

#002 — yucky month!!

#003 — all over the place

#004 — giving a shot

#005 — piecing the puzzle together

#006 — FALSELY ACCUSED.

#007 — aligned fate

#008 — hiding behind the screen

#009 — sorry that was Tyler

#010 — ur hubby wubby 😊?

#011 — wtf is PDOA

#012 — setting u guys up (for failure)

#013 — Eat up the Concrete I guess!

#014 — what if i cried

#015 — DO IT FOR LOVE

#016 — not so original plan

#017 — wait….WAIT….

#018 — couple goals! ( + written )

#019 — a “friendly” date

#020 — bros beefing w an anon

#021 — NOT VIRGINS?

#022 — cupid is puzzled

#023 — like for real for real

#024 — JAY BIGGEST SUNYN FAN

#025 — mr & mrs cupid

bonuses (special chapters)

strawberry anon reveal | surprise 🤗

ENHA PERM TAGLIST — @flwoie @ixomiyu @yenavrse @shinsou-rii @luveuly @ilovewonyo @yenqa @dimplewonie @bubblytaetae @wtfhyuck @ineedaherosavemeenow @starcubes @starikizs @wonioml @chirokookie @xiaoderrrr @neozon3nha @en-chantedtomeetyou @millksea @enhaz1 @eundiarys @zuyairus @ja4hyvn @judeduartewannabe @j-wyoung @thia-aep @vampcharxter @softpia @officiallyjaehyuns @itsactuallylina @hsheart @sweetjaemss @ahnneyong @hanienie @jwnghyuns @kpoplover718 @jiawji @rikizm @haknom @yeokii

(🎧) APPLICATIONS CLOSED ! — (TAGLIST)

- ask, dm, or comment to be tagged for love error !

@stariszn @astrae4 @tnyhees @y7n2394-ze @beomsitez @viyqe @flwrshee @starz4hyunz @valentineluvr @wonsc4tz @txtmetonight @bekiss-world @elysianeclipxe @shinunoga-iie-wa

973 notes · View notes

ninjago-oc-appreciation · 1 month

Text

Ninjago Oc Secret Summer 2024!

What is a Secret Summer? - It's basically a Secret Santa (A secret gift giving event) but in Summertime/Not-December instead! - For this event, you'll be secretly assigned someone to draw/write a gift for based around their oc(s) - It's very important that no one knows that you are making them a gift and vice versa, that you don't know who is making you a gift!

Are there any rules?

- Absolutely no N/S/F/W or Suggestive content is permitted for prompts, gifts, or references. This is /not/ an 18+ event.

- No direct contact with the person you're making a gift for; you can communicate through me or someone helping run the event, or ask through anon on tumblr if you can.

- No AI art/writing, Gacha edits, face claims, picrews, or bases will be permitted for oc reference submissions or gifts.

- Oc x Canon and Oc x Oc ships are 100% allowed.

- Fankids, sonas, and self inserts are also allowed; my only rule is that fankids of Lloyd x Canon ships are not permitted.

- Please respect requests regarding holiday or seasonal preferences when making a gift. Don't depict an oc participating in a holiday or seasonal activity that the creator asked not be depicted. - For the art portion, you must draw the character(s) you were assigned and they must be visible (feel free to ask for clarification).

How many ocs can be submitted total? - Three ocs can be submitted but only one is required.

What will I need for sign ups? - Refs or art that show a clear, colored depiction of your oc - OR at least two pieces of writing for said oc (does not need to be a whole fic. Could easily just be a quick blurb showing how they're written as a character) - Basic Information/Fun Facts about your character. This can be background information, relationships, likes/dislikes, age and height, personality, etc. - Suggestions or prompts for your gift giver. Stuff to help get their brain going. - Your blog name (not the name you go by but the url name. Like @/Ninjago-Oc-Appreciation, for example. Make sure it's a tumblr url, and not from any other social media).

What's the General Timeline for this event? - Sign ups will be rolling out April 14th and will remain open until the 21st. Requests can be made for small extensions if needed. - Assignments will be made sometime after the sign up forms close; posting week will begin late June (exact date to be announced with sign ups) - There will be exactly one week designated as a late period at the start of July.

How do I sign up? - In April, I'll post a google document where you can submit your ocs! There will be one for writing and one for art! - Please reach out to me after signing up in some way. This can be through messages, asks, comments, etc. In the past we've had issues with the forms, where they'd "eat' a submission, and I'd like to know when to check to make sure this doesn't happen again.

Event Tags

- We'll be using #NOSS2024, #NinjagoOcSecretSummer2024, and #SecretNinja2024 as tags for this event!

That's all! If you have any questions feel free to let me know, I tried to cover everything but I may have missed something!

Feel free to reblog this post and share with people who might be interested!

#ninjago oc #ninjago ocs #Ninjago #ninjago events #NOSS2024 #ninjago secret santa #Ninjago secret summer #SecretNinja2024 #Ninjagoocsecretsummer2024 #Aries posts #Aries talks #Idk my talking tag

104 notes · View notes

psychoticallytrans · 11 months

Text

In case you don't know, the US may be about to breach the debt ceiling. What this means is that we're hitting the limit of the amount of money that our country is able to borrow. If the debt ceiling isn't raised before June 5th, then the Treasury is going to start running out of money.

The problem with this is that if the Treasury runs out of money, our country is going to begin having serious issues. In the very best case, they are likely going to start diverting money from Social Security payments, Medicare and Medicaid reimbursements, and the paychecks of government employees- pretty much any government payments that are to people who can't raise enough of a fuss to cause an issue for the government.

This would be catastrophic for many people on an individual level, and lead to a rise in people unable to pay rent. It also may cause some medical providers to perceive government insurance as unreliable and stop taking it, shrinking the already small pool of providers that take it.

If this is the best case, you may wonder what the worst case is. The worst case is that the Treasury opts to divert money from our principal and interest payments on our debt. The problem with that is that a cornerstone of our economy relies on our government's ability to pay its debts, and to borrow against its good credit. Not paying our debts would, in the best case, create economic shockwaves, and in the worst case, collapse our economy.

If the government can come to an agreement to raise the ceiling in a few days, say, by June 8th, then things should be alright overall, with some late checks and paychecks and a slight lowering of our national credit score. However, if it takes weeks or longer, the consequences are going to get progressively more severe, with the consequences of a protracted default estimated at the loss of 8 million jobs, and a second Great Recession.

If you receive money or benefits from the government in any way, buckle up and hunker down. You are going to be the first and the worst hit by any breach of the debt ceiling. If you don't, get ready to support those around you who do.

#us politics

446 notes · View notes

devildom-moss · 10 months

Text

June poll story

(Mammon x gn!MC)

(NSFW) (sub!Mammon) (dom!MC) (NSFW tags: anal on Mammon, MC with a dick or strap-on - called a"cock" regardless, marking/biting, slight degradation/calling Mammon a "slut" and "greedy" affectionately, but mostly praise, lots of "good boy"/"baby boy"/"baby", missionary position, kind of vanilla maybe? a little bit of malewife Mammon at the beginning, so soft for this man)

Word Count: +1,900

Mammon gently tapped his notebook on the top of your head before you both left for school that morning. Despite the embarrassment that rose inside of him, he tried to sound cool as he told you, “hey, clear your plans for tonight, ‘kay?”

“What for?” you asked him.

“Cause I said so. I know ya got your little Solomon lessons after class, so just come straight to my room when you get home, got it?”

“Can I at least shower after I get back?”

“Huh.” Mammon thought about it. That would give him a bit of extra time. “Yeah, that works. Just text me when ya get back. After your shower, come over.”

“Deal.” You figured you could amuse Mammon for the night. It would be nice to spend a bit of time with him anyway. “So, what are we doing?”

“Don’t worry about it. We’re gonna have a relaxin’ night in.”

It had been a long week. Mammon had picked up on your rising stress – especially in the last two days. If Solomon tried to cook for you during his tutoring today, Mammon wasn’t certain that the old sorcerer would make it through his lesson unscathed. Although there was no way Mammon would tell you he wanted to help you de-stress, demanding your time was his way of trying to help.

You did as Mammon asked. Nice and clean, and with the scent of smoke from your failed potion finally washed from your skin, you headed to Mammon’s room. Out of politeness, you knocked on his door and waited for a response – something you hoped Mammon would someday learn by example. Although, at least (thus far) you had avoided anything too awkward with your one-way open door policy.

A very quiet “shit” was whispered before Mammon replied at full volume: “one sec, MC.”

When Mammon opened his door, you immediately noticed that he had tidied up his room recently such as two seconds ago. It was sweet of him. The next thing you noticed was that something smelled good in there – like homemade food.

“Ya hungry?”

“A little, yeah.”

“We’re eatin’ in here tonight. I made ramen for ya, com’ere.” Mammon pulled you to his couch. On the table in front of it were two large bowls of ramen – along with a bottle of Demonus and two glasses. The only issue was that when Mammon said he made ramen, you didn’t expect it to actually look delicious. There were chopped vegetables in there – Mammon had even gone through the trouble of cutting carrots and tofu into small flowers and shaped the soft-boiled egg into a heart.

“You made this?” you asked, surprised.

“Hey, I can cook if I gotta,” Mammon got defensive, “or if I wanna.”

You couldn’t suppress the grin. You pulled Mammon in for a quick kiss. “Thank you, baby.”

“Hm, I could get used to you thankin’ me.” Mammon played cocky to distract from his embarrassment. “Dig in, already.”

You didn’t expect the food to taste as good as it looked. Mammon must have gotten help some way or another; all you knew was that he was trying so hard to make you happy – and it was working.

After dinner and a glass of Demonus, Mammon put on an action movie that he had brought up a few days ago. He was going on about how cool the trailer made the villain look and how you just had to root for him. Mammon tangled his body up with yours on the couch. With all of the enthusiasm about the movie from the other day, you expected Mammon’s attention to be fixed on the screen. However, he wasn’t even watching the movie; he was staring at you. It was a hungry sort of stare, and you knew he wanted something.

“What’s the matter, Mammon?” His face burned when you asked him. Somehow, he believed that his staring wasn’t so obvious. Still, he might as well say something.

“Do you want to fuck me?” Mammon asked, shy-sounding and slightly nervous. What he meant was that he wanted you to fuck him, but he figured if he phrased it like an invitation, you’d take him up on the offer without him having to voice his desires. Sometimes, his trouble expressing his wants was difficult, but right now, when you knew exactly what he really meant, it was adorable.

You didn’t say anything – just pulled Mammon into a more desirable position. You had Mammon on his knees with his back against you, half-pressed into the back of his sofa. His ass was flush against your body as you boxed him in. There was only so much room on the couch, after all; you had to get close.

Your hand snaked around him, under his shirt, and up his chest so you could caress his neck. As you did, you nibbled on his ear. You could feel the rising heat hit his ears as they reddened slightly. A deep, desperate moan escaped Mammon’s throat. He hadn’t expected you to get into this so quickly.

Between switching from one ear to the other, you pulled Mammon’s shirt off and tossed it to the side. You felt a brief moment of guilt. He had just cleaned up in here, and now you were tossing clothes on his tidy floor. But when Mammon tilted his head back to rest on your shoulder, you didn’t care anymore. The rest of his clothes, and most of yours joined his shirt in a messy pile – except for his underwear that you had accidentally tossed on his staircase because of your own eagerness. Your hands were all over him as you kissed his neck.

“Ya can’t get enough of me, can ya?” Mammon asked, shakily.

“Not when you react so cutely,” you smirked. “Lube?”

“Under the table.”

You chuckled. Did he usually keep a bottle of lube under there or had he been expecting this? It didn’t matter. You grabbed the bottle and coated your index, middle, and ring fingers. You rubbed a slow circle around him before slowly giving him your index finger. The sharp gasp followed by a shaky sigh said enough. He was so eager to take you.

“Were you thinking about this all day?” you questioned him – low and seductive – while running your other hand up his thigh.

“N-no.” He shuddered under your touch.

“Liar,” you teased. “You’re acting like such a pretty little slut for me.”

“Only because it’s you,” he admitted with a faint blush on his cheeks.

“Such a good boy.” You kissed his cheek, causing him to close his eyes and scrunch up his nose, and gave him another finger.

You continued kissing his neck, stretching him out at the same time. In response, Mammon was left moaning and rocking his hips back onto your hand. You bit his shoulder lightly.

“You can bite a little harder than that.”

“Of course,” you whispered and got closer to his ear, “sometimes I forget what a little masochist you are. Should I call you a little pain slut, instead?”

You bit him harshly, and he groaned. Through that desperate sound, he corrected you, “it doesn’t hurt – if it’s you. I just feel good.”

He was so cute.

You licked over your teeth indents in his skin, blowing over the drying saliva. There were so many marks left on his neck that you were going to have to make him cover up tomorrow. If anyone saw the extent of what you did to him, chaos would erupt. Then again, he might not listen and start showing off the second you left him alone. He wanted everyone to know that he was yours – that you claimed and marked him.

“M-more, gimme more. I can take it.”

“Oh? What can you take? Say it if you want it that bad.”

“Gimme your cock, hurry.” As much as he wanted that “hurry” to sound demanding, he just sounded desperate.

“Greedy boy.”

You pulled your fingers out of Mammon. He waited patiently while you prepared yourself. You warmed the lube up in your hands before coating your cock/strap-on generously. (If you’re using a strap-on, you cannot convince me that Mammon wouldn’t insist that you keep one in his room for convenience but also so he could masturbate with it when you aren’t around and imagine that you’re fucking him.) With Mammon still pressed against the back of the couch, you teased his hole from behind without inserting into him. He reached back and grabbed your thighs, squeezing firmly.

“Stop teasing, yeah?” He was panting already.

You obliged and pushed into him. Your hand snaked around his front to rub his chest gently. He whined in response. With your other hand on his boney hip, you squeezed him and pulled him closer, filling him deeper.

“F-fuck. I – I, MC,” Mammon tried to find the words.

“Yes, baby boy?” you cooed in his ear.

“So deep, but – but it isn’t enough.”

You hummed and slid your hand down his stomach and to his cock. You stroked him slowly while continuing to rock your hips against him in steady, deep thrusts. “Like this?”

“No,” he whined. “Not enough of you.”

“I don’t have any more inches to give you, baby.”

“No, I wanna look at ya. I wanna see your face.”

You chuckled and pulled out of him. The little noise he made in response was adorable.

“Look at me,” you commanded.

Mammon turned around. His eyes were starry and wide – blissed out from pleasure and affection. You pushed him on his back gently and grabbed his legs to wrap them around your hips. As you stared down at his pretty little face, you caressed his cheek; he nuzzled into your hand.

“Ready, baby boy? I want you to take all of it at once, okay?”

Mammon nodded, still nuzzling into your hand. With your thumb, you brushed over his lower lip. You loved seeing him like this.

“Good boy.” You pushed into him, and he nearly screamed – covering his mouth with the back of his hand to muffle his voice. You forced his hand away and pinned it above his head. “No, baby. I want to hear you.”

“But I’m too loud.” It was a feeble, little protest.

“Then I’ll shut you up.” Leaning down, you kissed him roughly, picking up your pace as you thrust into him. His nails scratched down your back, leaving long red marks along your skin. All you could hear was kissing, moaning, and the sound of slapping skin. The movie seemingly faded away.

You were eager to make him feel even better and reached your hand down between your bodies to stroke Mammon’s throbbing cock. More moans escaped his mouth. You could feel him getting closer, and you pulled away so you could look at him while he came. The desire to see that pretty face twisted up in pleasure felt more like a need. Your fingers slowly traced down his neck. Mammon writhed under your touch, making the cutest noise as he arched his back off the couch. He clenched around you and came all over your hand and his stomach. He craned his neck and shut his eyes. Mouth wide, he moaned so beautifully that you couldn’t believe that sound came from a demon.

When Mammon opened his eyes and saw you above him, staring down lovingly, he felt like he had somehow entered a world more heavenly than the Celestial Realm. You were both panting, but an infectious smile creeped up on Mammon’s lips.

Mammon’s eyes locked on yours, still filled to the brim with lust. His kiss-bruised lips parted to speak, “more.”

#mammon #gn!mc #spice tier #moss poll fic #obey me #obey me mammon #mammon smut #obey me smut #mammon x reader #A little late but I still got it done! yay

274 notes · View notes

humanpurposes · 9 months

Text

Just for a Moment, part iv

Tom Bennett has a habit of climbing through her bedroom window whenever he's in trouble // Main Masterlist

Tom Bennett x OFC

Warnings: 18+, mentions of war and death, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, smut, Tom Bennett's daddy issues, death, mourning/grief

Words: 8100

A/n: This acts as a final part and an epilogue. Also available to read on AO3.

In early June, Lois Bennett knocks on the Wheelans’ front door. She has tears in her bright blue eyes and her hands are shaking.

“It’s our Tom,” she says, when Kitty has sat her down at the kitchen table and made her a cup of strong tea. “He’s missing.”

A hole tears itself in her chest.

His ship had been part of the evacuation at Dunkirk– a triumph, so the headlines say. But that’s the way of the world, she thinks, men lay down their lives, others have their lives taken from them by force, and all the while the press and the politicians declare each one a step towards peace.

“You think Churchill and Hitler give a flying fuck about peace?” her father says one night as he nurses a glass of whisky. “They want victory.”

Every night as she lies in bed, she imagines some new possibility. Tom could have run to safety, sought refuge in the town or gone elsewhere. Maybe he’s just biding his time, maybe he’s on his way back to her.

He can’t be dead. He just can’t be.

He promised he would come home to her.

Monday 2nd September, 1940

She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to the sirens, that blunt, whirring, wailing noise that sparks a primal fear in her chest. Somehow she always wakes up before they go off, like her instincts can alert her of what’s coming just a second before the noise begins.

The baby starts to scream from the space beside her– since Lois has started working as an ambulance driver, she leaves Vera with them most nights. With shaking hands, Kitty takes her into her arms, keeping her close to her chest as she fixes a woolly hat over her head.

“I’m sorry darling, I know,” she says, pulling the hat over Vera’s ears. She keeps meaning to buy some earmuffs for her, but then, it’s not her baby.

It’s pitch black in the house, it has to be. No lights or candles allowed unless you want the Germans to drop a bomb on your house. Kitty keeps one hand on the wall as she finds the stairs, and hurries down to the kitchen. Mam and dad’s footsteps follow behind her.

They have a routine by now. Dad grabs a coleman and a box of matches, mam grabs a photo from the front room and a basket with bread and blackberry jam, and Kitty holds tight to Vera. Then they file out the back door, into the garden, down the ladder into the shelter. Dad shuts the door, lights the lamp, and finally they can all see each other.

Then comes the waiting. Some nights dad sings The Fields of Athenry and Kitty joins in. Vera seems to love singing, her eyes go wide and she lays completely still against Kitty, hypnotised by the humming in her chest.

After a few slices of bread to keep them going, dad lies along the bench and closes his eyes and mam takes Vera into her arms. “Get some rest, love,” she tells Kitty.

How can she? Beyond the shelter the world is nothing but uncertainty, sirens sounding, bombs booming, spotlights and distant fires cutting through the darkness. Only the morning will tell what the true damage is, once the sun starts to rise and the smoke and dust have settled. Houses and livelihoods will be left as rubble. More lives lost, people who didn’t sign up, people who couldn’t, people who thought they might at least be safe in their own homes.

She looks at the photograph mam always brings in from the house. It’s of the four of them, Eddie, Art, Stevie and Kitty, lined up in the front room before the eldest two Wheelans left for the continent, over a year ago now. Eddie and Art look handsome in their uniforms and Stevie is uncharacteristically glum. He hated that he didn’t sign up sooner, he said he didn’t want to look like the one being left behind.

They all came home after Dunkirk, a few precious weeks when the world felt normal again.

Only not quite.

Because she still spent every night alone, and Tom Bennett was still gone.

“Where’s Douglas?”

Kitty snaps her attention to mam, as dad starts to stir on the bench.

“Eh?” he grumbles, “he’ll be along now in a minute, I’m sure.”

They wait.

And keep waiting.

The bombs dropping on Longsight are louder than they’ve ever been before. Closer than they’ve ever been before. Each thunderous crash rocks the ground and the walls of their shelter.

BOOM– the roof trembles.

BOOM– dust and dirt fall from above them.

“We’ll be alright, here,” dad says, beckoning Kitty to sit between the two of them.

They huddle together. Kitty curls her knees into her chest like a child and leans into her father’s embrace. Mam has Vera on her lap and places a hand on Kitty’s knee.

BOOM– mam whimpers and Vera is crying again. Dad holds her tighter.

BOOM– Kitty reaches for one of Vera’s tiny hands, and she clutches tightly onto her finger.

Then a final, earsplitting BOOM. The bench jolts beneath them. Kitty clings to her family and squeezes her eyes shut, waiting for something awful to happen.

Only it doesn’t. The bombs become fainter.

They slowly pull away from each other, looking each other in the eyes and nodding, to make sure they’re all alright– as much as they can be.

When the all clear sounds, they make their way back into the house.

Glass litters the floor of the front room. The windows are shattered, so is the glass cabinet with mam’s best china, photographs are cracked. Anything that isn’t broken has been blown back by the force of a hit.

Through the tatters of the curtains and a haze of smoke, a fire burns out on the street.

Dad calls her name as she runs for the front door and yanks it open, but she can’t bring herself to step past the threshold.

The feels the heat against her face, as number 27 has been reduced to a pile of burning rubble.

The AFS arrives in time to stop dad from digging through the remains in search of Douglas himself.

Everything that belongs to the Bennetts is crushed under brick or goes up in flames.

It’s like losing Tom all over again. The house where he grew up, the kitchen where Josie used to feed the Bennett and Wheelan kids ginger beer and sandwiches, the bedroom that smelled of cigarette smoke, where he told her he loved her, exist only as memories.

She doesn’t go to bed that night– there are only a few hours until daylight anyway. She sweeps up the glass in the front room and the bedrooms while dad boards up the window frames. Hardly any light reaches inside the house, the air is still thick and hazy with lingering smoke, so they keep the back door open. It airs the place out, but lets in the cold too.

When Kitty answers the door in the morning, Lois’ back is facing her. She’s still in her uniform with her hair in a neat bun and a helmet in her hand.

“Lois?”

She turns towards Kitty with her lips slightly parted in a passive expression. “Dad’s gone,” she mutters. And once she says it the vacancy melts into grief. “He’s gone,” she cries, “everything’s gone!”

Kitty leads her into the house, but there’s nowhere comfortable to sit. The front room is in tatters and the kitchen is a mess with everything they’ve managed to salvage piled onto the table and chairs.

“Tea?” Kitty asks quietly, but she feels stupid for asking.

Lois leans against the wall and holds her face in her hand as she cries.

Kitty unsurely places a hand on Lois’ shoulder and tries to think of something to say, but all she can think of is “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

First her mam, then Harry, then Tom, now her dad. She must feel like her life is slipping away.

Mam appears from upstairs, dressed for the factory with Vera in her arms.

Kitty frowns as she hands the baby to her. Lois has lost her father and her home in one night, and her mother hardly looks phased.

“There’s still work to be done, Kitty,” she says, grabbing her coat before she leaves through the front door with her head and shoulders straight.

But this is just war. Men die in trenches and on beaches, bombs fall on cities, tragedy unfolds and they Keep Calm and Carry On.

Kitty carries Vera into the kitchen, but she doesn’t like the sound of her mother crying. Her little face goes red and twists before she makes a sound, then she’s crying too, burying her head into Kitty’s chest and clinging to her arms with those small, pudgy hands.

Lois doesn’t look up, like she can’t hear her daughter crying at all.

Sunday 29th September, 1940

Weeks go by. Douglas is interred with his wife, in the churchyard of St Jospeh’s. Kitty spends her days in the shop and her nights in the shelter, rocking Vera through the air raids, humming lullabies and muttering stories about her brave mam and her fearless uncle Tom.

The Wheelans never used to go to church every week, but mam insists now, anything for their family to be kept safe. As they head home, Kitty looks up the hill, to the gravestone she knows is marked Josie Bennett. She pictures Tom and Lois standing by the graveside at the funeral, twelve years ago now. It doesn’t feel that long ago they were all children.

She walks ahead of her parents– dad’s been having trouble with his knees and it slows him down. Her head is hung, she’s staring at her shoes, the same black pair of shoes she wears everywhere.

What’s she got to walk so fast for anyway? Their house doesn’t feel much like a home anymore. They at least have the windows fixed, but she tends to keep her curtains drawn, because where she used to look out to Tom’s bedroom window, there’s just empty space.

What’s the point in rushing home to a house that isn’t safe? That’s ghostly and quiet? That has a bomb shelter instead of a garden? What’s the point in carrying on when surviving the night is something they have to hope for? When each day brings a possibility that Eddie, Art or Steive could be missing or dead? What’s the point in clinging onto hope if Tom is truly gone? What’s the point? What’s the point? What’s the point?

Someone knocks frantically on one of the doors ahead, their door she realises. Her vision is blurry through tears, but she can make out the shape of a tall man, with dirty blond hair.

She blinks.

“Tom?”

His body collides into hers. He hugs her so tightly he crushes her chest but she doesn’t care. He could squeeze the life from her and she wouldn’t care, as long as she gets to hold him. Her hands find their way to grasp at his neck and his hair, pulling him closer and crying silently into his neck.

He doesn’t smell like cigarettes, which she finds unusual. He smells like dirt and sweat, and when he pulls away from her she realises he’s dressed in a khaki blazer, slacks that are too big for him and a mismatching grey shirt.

“What happened–”

He looks frantic, stroking his hands over her hair and down to cup the sides of her face. “Kitty, I’m sorry, I know it’s been a mad few months but where are they, dad and Lois? Are they safe?”

He doesn’t know. How could he? Lois tried to send a letter. Where would it be now? Collecting dust or sitting at the bottom of a pile of unimportant paperwork in a naval office because there was nowhere for it to go.

Her eyes well with tears all over again. His face is leaner, the lines of his jaw and cheeks more defined, the left side of his face littered with bruises and scars. She traces her fingers over his cheekbone, and down to the coarse, blond stubble along his jaw.

“Kitty,” he says, shortly, taking her hand away from his face. “Kitty, where are they? Tell me they’re okay.”

She glances over her shoulder. Mam and dad are approaching them now. Their faces mirror each other, confused, horrified, sympathetic.

“Come on,” she mutters, taking Tom’s hand and dragging him with her as she walks solemnly up Slade Grove.

They stayed joined at the hip as they walk, Kitty curling slightly into his arm, their legs brushing with every stride, bumping into each other and pulling themselves back in.

His hand is warm and his grip is firm, but she can’t stop herself from shivering. As much as she wants to gaze up at him, melt into his embrace again, kiss every inch of his face, she can’t help but feel guilty. He doesn’t ask any more questions, or so much as speak a word, but the concern is written all over him, the clenched jaw and the stiff shoulders that don’t sway as he walks.

She won’t be the one to tell him, she can’t be.

Lois has been living in a boarding house with Connie since the bomb hit. Mam had offered her a place at their house, but Lois wouldn’t take it. Luckily the house isn’t too far away, and when Lois opens the door, she’s utterly stunned.

Kitty waits outside, with her hands behind her back, leaning against the brick wall. Now her hands and her skin feel cold, so she tugs at her coat, keeping it tight around her body to keep out the autumn chill.

For a few moments she wonders if she hasn’t just made the whole thing up; Tom, waiting outside her door, running into her arms and vanishing again. She rubs her fingertips together. She had felt him as she feels her own skin now, she’s sure of it, the scars, the stubble, the hair on the back of his hand.

Tom Bennett, her Tom Bennett, though not quite the same man he was, before whatever happened at Dunkirk, before the war, when his place in her life was vague but at least it was consistent. She knows things will be different again when he comes out of that house.

She hears raised voices through the door, the unmistakable, raspy bass of Tom’s anger. Lois shouts back. Then it goes quiet again.

Her heart leaps out of her chest when the door swings open. Tom slams it shut and turns his head around, frantically, before his eyes find her.

He opens his arms and falls into her.

He lets out a few short gasps for breath as he leans his forehead against her shoulder and wraps his arms tightly around her waist.

She stays like that for as long as he needs, until he pulls back for breath. His face is red, it only makes his eyes seem brighter.

“Sorry,” he mutters with a sniff, “haven’t even said a proper ‘hello’ to you yet.”

Given the circumstances, she thinks that’s forgivable. She runs her hands over the sides of his face, his ears and his overgrown mop of hair.

“Hello,” she says.

Tom smiles, taking one of her hands in hiss and placing a peck to her knuckles. “Hello.”

They walk slowly back to Slade Grove. Tom is a little more subdued, but not quite settled.

She can only imagine the thoughts racing through his head. He wasn’t here to save his father, he wasn’t at the funeral, there was nothing he could save from his own home. Time has slipped by, the formalities have been carried out and Tom couldn’t have stopped any of it from happening.

Mam opens the door, takes one look at Tom, and purses her lips.

Kitty rolls her eyes and pulls Tom into the hallway.

The house has been cleared up a little better recently. They’ve gotten rid of everything that was broken, mended the curtains and the tears in the sofas, only the front room feels empty and impersonal without the china cabinet and the photographs they couldn’t save.

They walk on through to the kitchen, where dad is sitting by the wireless. He stands to take Tom’s hand. “Sorry for your loss, lad,” he says, giving it a short, firm shake.

“Cheers,” Tom mutters, “good to see you again, Mr Wheelan.”

Kitty makes tea and splits her rations of bacon and eggs between her and Tom.

“We were part of the evacuation effort from Dunkirk,” Tom explains, looking up to Kitty as she sits beside him. “I don’t remember much, but I woke up in a hospital in Paris, bullets and shrapnel in my chest, and the doctors were telling me the Nazis had taken the city.”

“Bloody hell,” dad sighs.

Mam sits stiffly in her chair and sips her tea.

“They were telling me I had to register as a prisoner of war, but there was this American bloke, a doctor, he told me they were trying out an escape route through Gibraltar.”

“We thought you were dead,” Kitty says. “Lois showed us the telegram. We all thought you were dead.”

She can see Tom’s hand flinch as if to reach out to her, but he stops himself and clenches his fist. He turns back to her parents across the table. “I had to die, officially like, they had some spare bodies and put my name to some poor bastard with 80% burns–”

Mam clears her throat.

“Sorry,” Tom says, trying not to smile. “Had to walk to Spain, then hitched a ride with these two blokes to Gibraltar. Onto Plymouth from there, and then…” he trails off. He has a distant look in his eyes that reminds her of Lois.

“Home?” dad says.

Tom shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, ‘spose so.”

“Will you stay with Lois?” Kitty asks.

Tom gives her a pointed look.

The raised voices, the slammed door. Maybe not.

“You could stay with us,” she says.

Mam tilts her head. “Now wait a moment–”

“Of course,” dad says, “we’ve got three empty beds upstairs, I’m sure we’ll be able to spare one.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Tom says, slipping his hand under the table and brushing his fingers over Kitty’s knee. She checks her parents aren’t looking at her and tries not to smile.

Dad holds up his hand in the way that means his decision is final. “Not at all, lad. We’ve known you since you were a childer, I think it’s the least we could do for you now.”

Lois drops Vera off at 5 o’clock, the usual time. She doesn’t ask about Tom, in fact she hardly looks Kitty in the eye as she hands the baby into her arms and places a bag by her feet. She presses a quick kiss to Vera’s head, and then she’s gone.

Tom is in the front room, splayed out on one of the sofas, flicking an unlit cigarette through his fingers– because if he smoked in the house, mam would actually kill him. He sits up when Kitty walks in with the baby on her hip.

She sits beside him and places Vera on her lap.

Tom takes one of her little hands, and his thumb is almost the size of her palm. “Can’t believe she named the kid after my fucking canary,” he grumbles.

“Tom,” Kitty chides.

“Fuck, sorry– fuck.”

Vera lets out a vague gurgling sound and Kitty giggles. “Say it enough, it might be her first word.”

He chuckles, and gently waves Vera’s arm about. “When do babies usually start talking?”

“Give her a chance, she can’t even sit up yet.”

He strokes his finger along the baby’s cheek, and grins when he coaxes a smile out of her. But it’s like he stops himself, pressing his lips together as his eyes darken.

“What happened with you and Lois?” Kitty asks.

Tom heaves a heavy breath and takes his hand away from Vera. “I lashed out.”

“Christ, Tom.”

“She left dad alone,” he says.

If she didn’t have a baby in her lap, she thinks she could throttle him. “It wasn’t her fault,” Kitty snaps. “She couldn’t have saved him. No one could have.

He turns to face her with a devastated look in his eyes, the kind of look he makes when he knows she’s right. “How did it happen?”

She shifts Vera in her lap. “We didn’t see, we were in the shelter. We heard the bombs getting closer, and when we heard the all clear…” she blinks a few tears from her eyes. She doesn’t mean to cry, and she feels ridiculous, crying over Tom’s father when he’s sitting beside her.

Tom shifts closer to her, and wipes her cheeks with his thumbs.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I’m so sorry.”

Tom nods, running his hand over Vera’s head. “He died thinking I was gone. He didn’t know I was alright.” He draws his tongue between his lips. “But he’ll be happy now, with mum and that.”

“I hope so,” she says.

“And I didn’t leave things on a bad note,” he says, keeping his eyes on Vera, “like you told me. I shook his hand before I left.”

“See? When has my advice ever let you down?” she says, trying to sound as lighthearted as possible through the thick feeling in her throat.

Tom keeps his chin tilted down but he looks up to her. He looks more peaceful than he did this morning. His lips are settled in their natural curve, his brow is soft, and there’s a sadness in his eyes that he won’t allow to become more than a glisten.

“Never has,” he says with a smile.

He shuffles closer to her, cautiously cupping the side of her face like he’s forgotten how.

She instantly leans into him, bringing their foreheads together until she can feel his breath echoing over her lips.

It’s been so long since she’s felt him in the way she wants. She’s hardly given herself a moment to even realise that he’s here, that her months of anguish are finally done because he’s safe, he’s alive, and he still didn’t break his promise to her.

“I missed you,” she whispers. If she speaks any louder she worries her voice might falter.

Tom draws his thumb over her cheek and nudges his nose against hers. “Kitty,” he utters. His lips twitch like he can’t quite find the words he wants.

“I know,” she breathes. “I know.”

He angles his head a little before he leans in closer and presses a soft kiss to her lips, and her heart breaks a hundred times over. She feels his sadness in the tentative movements of his mouth, like he’s still scared, like he’s waiting for something bad to happen.

So she pours all her longing and reassurance into him, as far as she can without speaking or pausing for breath. She holds onto his neck and deepens their kiss with firm lips and a deft tongue.

She wants to feel him, long after they’ve parted. She wants to remember how he feels, the warmth he gives her, the way his little hums make her feel weightless and set her skin alight.

Now, in this moment, the world feels perfect.

Until Vera makes a whining noise that means she wants attention.

Kitty pulls away with a short gasp, moving Vera to her hip and she stands and tries to bounce her into content.

“She’s probably hungry,” Kitty says, and nods to the bag Lois dropped off earlier. “Her formula’s in there, bring it into the kitchen.”

Tom does as he’s told and pulls the tub out of the bag. He walks into the corridor first, and as Kitty goes to follow he stops, and turns to her.

“You look good with a baby by the way,” he says with a grin.

She scorns herself for the thrill it sends through her stomach. “Don’t, you’ll give my mam a heart attack.”

At 6 o’clock, they put the lights out for the blackout, with only the fading sunset to light the kitchen as Kitty makes a vegetable stew and spuds for dinner. Thankfully they have some beef stock she can throw in as well, which stops dad from complaining that “just veg doesn’t count as a meal.”

Evenings are tense and uncertain now. They all try to make small talk with each other over dinner, but silences are frequent and imposing.

Once they’ve eaten, Kitty puts Vera to bed and mam and dad head upstairs shortly after, hoping to get as much sleep as they can before the sirens start.

Tom sits in the lounge, on a sofa by the window, keeping the curtains open just an inch, but all there is to see is black.

“It’s cloudy,” he says as Kitty appears in the doorway in her nightie. “Can’t even see the moon.”

She comes to join him, curling up into his lap and placing her head on his shoulder. “That’s good news for us.”

Tom wraps his arms around her and kisses her head.

The sky stays cloudy and quiet all night, no droning of planes, no sirens.

All she hears is the sound of his breathing and his lips against her skin as he nuzzles into her neck, kissing and nipping at her skin.

“Did you miss me?” she finds herself saying.

Tom pauses and pulls his face away from her with a furrowed brow. “Do you really think I thought of anything else?” he says. “It was all that got me through, the thought of coming home to you.”

In the morning she wakes with a sliver of sunlight creeping over her eyes, still in Tom’s arms, still clinging to him.

Lois comes to collect Vera before Kitty leaves for her shift at the shop.

“Is Tom with you?” Lois asks as kitty lowers Vera into the pram.

Kitty hesitates. “Yes,” she says, bracing herself for Lois to storm in and start shouting at him.

He appears in the doorway, with his head down and his hands in his pockets.

“I’m going to the churchyard,” Lois says to him, “if you’d like to see mum and dad.”

Tom looks to Kitty and she sighs, overemphasising the movement of her chest as she breathes. Don’t leave it on a bad note.

He looks back to Lois and forces a small smile. “Yeah.”

Tom stays with the Wheelans, sleeping in the boys’ bedroom, in the bed closest to the door. Each night, once Vera and her parents are asleep, Kitty steals into his bedroom and tucks herself into the space beside him.

“It feels funny like this, doesn’t it?” she whispers to him, brushing her lips over his cheek as she throws her arms around him and presses herself into his back.

“What, you being the one sneaking around?” he says, falling onto his back so she can drape herself over his bare chest.

“It’s exciting,” she says, kissing a path along his jaw and down his neck. “I don’t see why you got to have all the fun.”

“Made it worth your while, didn’t I?” She can hear him grinning as she reaches the hollow of his throat. She swipes her tongue over his skin and delights when he suppresses a grunt and grasps at her hips.

She sits herself up, letting her nightgown hitch up to her hips as she starts to rock against him.

Tom slips a hand between her thighs and smiles when he swipes his thumb over her bare cunt. “Right little whore I’ve turned you into, hmm?”

Kitty braces herself against her chest and nods, as Tom presses into her, dragging from her entrance to her pearl.

“So fucking wet,” he whispers. “All for me?”

“All for you,” she breathes as he starts to circle over her most sensitive spot. “Fuck–”

Tom places a finger to her lips as he keeps working over her. “Shh, you have to be quiet, you know that.”

She nods again, dreamily, moving her hips against him, adding and withdrawing pressure to his movements, treading the line between pleasure and longing. Until she falls apart, shuddering, pressing her lips together tightly and snatching back the one wanton whimper that sounds in her throat.

“Good girl,” Tom snarls. His hips are bucking against her and his jaw is tight. “Good fucking girl.”

She wastes no time slipping his cock free from his briefs and sinks herself down onto his length. He’s done for with only a few rolls of her hips, pulling out before he finishes and spilling himself onto her stomach.

He’s so pretty when he comes, with a silent sigh, his jaw hanging open and his nostrils flaring. Every part of his body tenses, his abs, his neck, his shoulders, as he squeezes his eyes shut tight and throws his head back against the pillows.

Another perfect moment, she thinks, bright and beautiful, and already slipping away.

He registers with the navy again, and in a few weeks he has his next assignment.

Before he leaves, Kitty insists on getting out Eddie’s camera (even though he’d kill her if he knew he went near it), and takes some photos of Vera for Tom to keep while he’s away.

She takes some of him too. They’re hardly high art– he wouldn’t stop laughing at his own snarky comments, but she manages one ‘serious’ one.

His mouth is halfway to a smirk, his smile lines apparent around his mouth, but his eyes are dark and almost sinister. He hates it but there’s nothing he can do to stop her from keeping it in the envelope of one of his letters, under her pillow for safekeeping with the rest of the pieces she has of him.

He has leave in the new year, and then he’s back in October, just over two years since he first left.

By then Lois is gone. She had come into the shop, with a letter for Tom and Kitty in the pram. She had said she was going to leave her with Robina.

“Over my dead body you are,” Kitty said before she could think it through. Mam and dad were slightly horrified when she came home early from work with baby Vera in a pram and all of her belongings in a bag.

Vera is a right little character now, a stubborn but happy girl. When Tom comes back to Longsight, he stays with the Wheelans again, and he’s utterly devoted to his niece. When Kitty’s at work, he walks into the shop with Vera in his arms to buy her a bar of Cadbury’s ration chocolate. It’s awful and bitter, but it’s the only kind Vera has known and she treats it like gold dust.

When Mr Gregory gives Kitty a few days off, she and Tom take her for walks to the park. It’s freezing, but she’s happy enough wrapped up in a coat and a woolly hat, squealing with delight when Tom picks her up and places her on his shoulders.

How remarkable are kids, that they can so easily forget about worries and fears, as long as they have something that keeps them happy.

Even with Douglas and Lois gone, she hopes Tom knows that something still remains.

Time slips away too quickly. Suddenly Tom’s in his uniform again, ditty slung over his shoulder. He takes Vera into his arms and hugs her tightly into his chest. “Be good for your aunty Kitty,” he says, “and take care of her until I get back.”

Vera nods frantically.

He says goodbye to dad like an old friend, and even mam has warmed to him a bit now. Kitty sees the way her mother looks between her and Tom, the knowing nod of her head. It’s acceptance, and she’ll take it.

“Shall we?” Tom says, taking Kitty’s hand and leading her through the door.

It’s a short walk to the bus stop, then a twenty minute ride into the city. She keeps a tight hold of Tom’s hand the entire way.

They settle in seats at the back of the bus. It’s the middle of the day, kids are in school and their parents are at work. Only a few other seats are filled.

“Thank you,” Tom says as the bus pulls away from the stop.

“For what?” Kitty says.

“For being there,” he says, “for looking out for dad when he was around, for taking care of Vera, and me.”

She wants to frown, but can’t bring herself to. “Of course,” she says, stroking her thumb over the back of his hand. “Of course.”

Tom’s been assigned to HMS Prince of Wales, docked at Scapa Flow in Scotland. His train leaves within the hour, and the moment they step off the bus onto the busy streets of Manchester, she feels herself walking slower.

Tom keeps going, letting her fall behind him slightly, but never letting go of her.

No matter how she tries to drag this out, she cannot stop time altogether and they eventually reach the train station.

She could spend an eternity in his arms, cheek to cheek, breathing along with the rise and fall of his chest.

“I want to do right by you,” Tom says.

“What do you mean?” she mutters.

They still hold each other close; she doesn’t think she could bear to look at his face.

“Once the war is over, I’ll save up my wages, get us a place of our own. It’ll just be the two of us.”

“And Vera,” she adds.

“Yeah,” he says, stroking his hand up and down her back. “I’ll get a proper job. You should do that clerical training you’ve always talked about.”

No more sneaking around. No more nights cut short when he has to leave her.

He pulls away from her, keeping his hands on her waist. “I know your parents don’t trust me and your brothers think I’m a no-good-thieving-bastard. But I love you, Kitty, and I don’t know what I’d ever do without you.”

“Once the war is over?” she says.

“As soon as.”

“Tom,” she sighs. She doesn’t want to imagine the possibility, or speak it into existence, but it’s still there. “What if you don’t come back?”

Tom smiles with a small hum. “I’ve died once before, didn’t stop me coming back to you, did it?”

Kitty believes him wholeheartedly.

Thursday 11th December, 1941

Vera’s being fussy about her nap again. No matter how much Kitty tries to hush her, rock her, or hum a few lullabies, she just won’t settle.

Eventually she tries just holding Vera close to her chest, letting the side of her little head nestle just over her heart. She stops crying almost immediately.

“How hard could it be to look after a baby?” she asked herself when she refused to let Lois leave her daughter with Robina Chase. Quite hard, as it turns out.

The peace doesn’t last for long. Mam’s shoes come clattering down the stairs, the doorbell rings and Vera starts wailing again.

“Oh come here,” mam coos, taking Vera from Kitty’s arms. “You get the door, I’ll see this one gets her nap, eh?”

Kitty takes a quick breath before she opens the door. Hearing Vera cry makes her want to cry too.

The postman stands below the front step with a telegram in his hands.

“Catherine,” he says with a polite smile, “haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Been… busy,” she says through Vera’s wails.

The postman hands her the telegram and she reads over the address: Lois Bennett, 27 Slade Grove, Longsight, Manchester, only there’s no house for it to be delivered to, and no Lois to take it.

She feels the tears start to prickle in her eyes as she waves him off, and when she shuts the door she can no longer stand. Suddenly she’s on the floor, her back against the door, unable to catch her breath as hot, stinging tears stream down her face and the telegram crumples under her fist.

She thinks maybe Vera keeps crying and mam calls her name, trying to get her to stand but she can’t. She just… can’t. A sinking feeling washes over her and keeps her pinned down, like the waves pummeling against the shore, over and over again.

If there’s a telegram addressed to Lois, it can only mean one thing.

Tom.

Monday 24th December, 1945

The bus to Longsight stops outside the shop. She lifts Vera under the arms of her little red coat, onto the pavement, and takes a mittened hand in hers as they head inside. Mr Gregory sold it a few months ago and she doesn’t know the name of the new owners.

The woman behind the counter smiles down at Vera. “Aren’t you a gorgeous little madam?” she coos.

Vera rolls her eyes. “I’m not a baby, I’m five,” she says.

Kitty smiles to herself. “Bottle of sherry and a bag of Yorkshire mix, please,” she says. She crouches down beside Vera and spots a shelf of Christmas wrapping. “Go and pick out some ribbon for the bottle,” she whispers.

She pays for their items and Vera comes back with a bright red ribbon.

“Perfect,” Kitty says, and ties it into a bow around the neck.

As they walk towards Slade Grove, Kitty picks out some red sweets for Vera and a pear drop for herself. The rest she saves for later, finding she now prefers the sweets she never used to eat.

It’s nice and warm inside number 28. A Chorus of Christmas carols plays through the wireless from the kitchen, a backdrop to the bustle of the house. Mam is in the kitchen, making her final preparations for tomorrow’s dinner. Art helps her, albeit, his version of helping is pouring out gin and tonics. Dad, Eddie, Stevie and Connie are sat around the table, engrossed in a game of cards. But everyone stops when Vera comes bounding into the room, Kitty close behind her.

They each take their turns to smother her, and it feels good. Stevie practically jumps up and down as he hugs her, Art hands her a drink and Eddie hugs her the tightest.

She manages a sip of her drink and places it on the table as she goes to greet her dad, still mulling over his hand of cards as he kisses her cheek. Then she goes to her mam, and hands her the bottle of sherry.

“I chose the bow!” Vera proclaims proudly.

“And a lovely bow it is!” mam beams, placing the bottle amongst their Christmas stash of whisky, gin and dessert wine. “I have something for you, love,” she says.

“Oh?” Kitty asks as mam disappears into the front room. She comes back with a pot of poinsettias in a red pot, thick green leaves with bursts of blood red petals and golden seeds at their hearts.

“I thought we could put them out, tonight,” mam says.

Kitty opens her mouth to thank her, but she can’t. She nods as mam places her hand on her arm.

Even months after the war has ended, meat is still scarce, especially at this time of year, but mam had saved up her rations for a beautiful joint of beef, which she presents in the centre of the table.

It’s a cheerful occasion. The boys are rowdy, dad is quizzing Connie on her latest gig with her new band, mam is fussing over Vera.

Kitty watches them all. It’s hard not to feel like a ghost, an outlier, simply observing. Sometimes she thinks the others are still too scared to talk to her, in case she bursts into tears or shatters completely. She knows she won’t though. It’s Christmas. She’s supposed to be happy, surrounded by family and people she loves.

“We’re going to see her daddy for dinner tomorrow,” Vera says, stabbing at her boiled carrots.

“What’s Christmas dinner with Robina Chase like?” Stevie asks Kitty.

Her face freezes into a terrified smile to the others’ amusement. “No, it’s fine really,” she says. “Your grandma spoils you rotten, doesn’t she missus?”

Vera nods enthusiastically.

She’s such an easy girl to love. She has bright blue eyes, plump, rosy cheeks and dark brown curls, like her mother’s, kept in pigtails. But while her face is deceptively sweet, she has an awful habit for mischief and stubbornness. Kitty doesn’t mind that though. Girls should be stubborn, she thinks.

Stevie and Connie are expecting now. Dad insists it’s going to be a boy because he saw four magpies in the garden last week. They have a modest little house a few streets away and they’ve made it nice and homely. She’s had tea there and helped Stevie set up a crib for the nursery.

After they’ve eaten, dad insists they all go to midnight mass, as he does every year, despite Kitty’s insistence that it’s much too late for Vera. Still, she puts her in a pretty blue dress and shiny black leather shoes, and makes Stevie promise he’ll be the one to carry her home.

The church is mostly shadows at night, a few candles and lamps doing their best to fight off the darkness and the cold. Vera hates it. She pulls her woolly hat over her ears, swings her legs and on three occasions asks “is he done talking yet?” She likes the hymns though, even if she doesn’t know the words, mouthing some kind of nonsense that has them all in fits of giggles.

And once it’s over, they don’t follow the path down to the street. Kitty leads the way, with the pot of poinsettias in her hands. Stevie follows behind her, carrying a sleepy Vera in his arms, curled into his chest.

She stops before the grave she first stood by seventeen years ago.

Josie Bennett

Douglas Bennett

and in loving memory of Thomas Bennett, 1919-1941

Kitty crouches down to lay the poinsettias down when Vera gives a little squeak in protest. “I want to do it!” she cries.

“Come on then, missus,” Kitty says.

Stevie lowers Vera and she rubs her tired eyes as she staggers to Kitty. She tries to take the pot but with her mittens she can’t get a good grip on it.

“Together?” Kitty asks.

“Yes please,” Vera says.

They place the flowers down together, making sure they don’t obstruct the names.

“There,” Vera says with a little huff. She reaches out and puts her hand on the stone, brushing over the names of her granny and granddad Bennett, and then she traces over the letters of Tom’s name.

Even seeing it written in stone, she doesn’t think it will ever truly sink in.

A report said Tom had been in the makeshift aid centre on the main deck of the HMS Prince of Wales, when the final bomb hit. He could have run for the lifeboats. He would have had plenty of time. But he didn’t. He died to save his injured crewmates, men who would have never seen their families again.

For all the times he told her he would come back, for the life he promised they would make together, for all the nights she clung onto hope, she wanted to hate him for throwing it away.

She knows now that she can’t hate him. She could never hate him.

Vera falls back into Kitty’s arms. She catches her and places a gentle kiss to her soft cheek. “They would have loved you, you know,” Kitty says. “They would have loved that you’re brave, and funny, and that you drive everybody round the bend.”

Vera giggles and turns around, flinging her arms around her neck. “I love you, aunty Kitty,” she says.

Kitty hugs her tightly into her chest, with that strange sort of urge to just squeeze her and squeeze her and never let her go. “I love you too,” she whispers, so Vera won’t hear the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

Vera manages to walk down to the gate before Stevie has to carry her, and by the time they get back to the house, she’s fast asleep.

Kitty takes her in her arms and carries her up to the little box room. Connie and Stevie have the other big bedroom, and Eddie and Art are roughing it on the sofas in the lounge.

She places Vera down in the bed, as gently as she can, and takes off her shoes and coat so she won’t have to sleep in them.

It’s almost like a ritual now, but every time she finds herself in her old bedroom, she unlocks the window and brushes her fingers over the scuff mark on the windowsill.

Vera stirs slightly when she joins her, curling into Kitty when she places an arm around her. The bed is hardly big enough for the two of them, how she and Tom ever managed to fit seems somewhat miraculous.

Tom Bennett should have been hers to keep. They should have spent all their savings on a little terraced house or a flat in Manchester, squabbling over the things husbands and wives argue about and making up between the bedsheets. In the winters they would have walked home from the pub through the snow, hand in hand, and huddled for warmth at night. In the summers they would have spent their evenings in the park with a punnet of strawberries, taking the train to the coast on the weekends, to Southport or Blackpool. Maybe they would have had kids of their own. She often pictures a little girl with big blue eyes and a bright smile. They might have named her Josie, after Tom’s mother, and Vera would adore her.

There is so little left of him now, the bomb that hit the Bennett’s house ensured that well enough. She would have liked to have kept his lighter, his wristwatch, maybe some of his shirts.

Instead, she finds other ways to remember him. She reads his letters every night tracing over his terrible handwriting, the imprint of the words in the paper and his fingerprint in a smudge of ink. And she has the photo she took of him on Eddie’s camera. She keeps it framed, proudly on display on the mantle in their flat in the city.

She feels him, in the smell of grass, the flick of a lighter, the smoke from a cigarette, whispered secrets between lovers and Vera Bennett’s laugh, the way she squints her eyes and shows her teeth, just like he did.

Two decades of friendship and it wasn’t enough time. They should have known sooner, she should have knocked on his door more often and he should have spent less time getting into trouble. She should have told him to join the pacifists while it was still an option, she should have convinced him not to go away, she should have held him tighter and never, never have let him go.

In the end though, she doesn’t linger on the times they weren’t together. She remembers them being children together. She remembers the first night he climbed through her window. She remembers his warmth and his infuriating smirk. She remembers the first time they kissed and the nights they spent together, when she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began. She remembers every time he told her he loved her, and she remembers every time she said it back.

She falls asleep to Vera’s fluttering breaths, the sound of the lads and Connie in the front room and the hymns playing on the radio.

The world is cruel and cold, but through it all she finds moments like these, when the tightness in her chest is replaced by something light and hopeful.

She clings to that feeling because tomorrow she’ll wake up surrounded by her family, and Vera’s little face will light up when she sees the gifts they’ve been saving for her. Dinner with Robina Chase will be worth it for the moments Harry will get with his little girl, and in the evening she’ll come home and laugh herself silly over glasses of whisky with her brothers.

For all the grief she remembers how he loved her. She’ll keep clinging to that feeling because Tom Bennett was hers, if only just for a moment.

Disclaimer: I only skimmed through the episodes that Tom wasn’t in and don’t actually know what Lois’ deal was, so I’m taking some creative liberties here.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya

Series taglist: @hanula18 @azxulaa @whoknows333

#my fics #tom bennett #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #world on fire #wof #world on fire bbc #world on fire season 2 #world on fire fanfiction #tom bennett x ofc #tom bennett x female reader #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennet x reader #ewan mitchell #tom bennett smut

153 notes · View notes

taegularities · 11 months

Text

colour me in: timeline | jjk

numerous main parts and several drabbles in, i realised how easy it is to lose track of time. considering how we’ve been jumping between the present and the past, it’s become necessary to illustrate what cmi’s timeline looks like, especially since we can’t store every bit of information ever mentioned in the chapters in our brains at once! so i decided to make this little post that outlines the cmi couple’s entire story chronologically. i will explain things that aren’t explicitly mentioned in the series in detail – the rest is only briefly listed.

in case you haven’t read the series yet and plan to do so – spoilers ahead!! hope the timeline makes sense! 💕

⤑ SERIES MASTERLIST

⤑ last year, sometime in late spring. break up with nara:

mentioned in cmi4/lights and cmi8/blurred: ⋆ jungkook and nara separate. ⋆ there is a back and forth for a couple of days, but they settle on a mutual decision: it’s over. ⋆ jungkook, hurt by loneliness and tempted by freedom, sleeps with other girls. ⋆ nara and jungkook cannot keep it at this break up – more to this later.

⤑ last year, july. frat party:

cmi8/blurred: ⋆ jungkook and oc meet at fratboy choi yeonjun’s private party and talk. ⋆ they hook up and build a connection without any high expectations of crossing paths again. ⋆ jungkook is not hooking up with nara at this point. ⋆ oc rejected hoseok whom she had a fling with during freshman year and again a couple months ago. he’s a fleeting friend.

⤑ last year, fall/september. accounting/business class:

mentioned throughout the series: ⋆ jungkook and oc meet again; oc is a business major, and jungkook attends this class for extra credits. ⋆ not long after meeting again, they fall into constant bickering, competitive in class but secretly fond of each other. lowkey even friends. ⋆ oc tries to push him away bc she’s sure this won’t end well. ⋆ soon after the semester starts, they start hooking up again.

⤑ last year, beginning of october. nara cont.:

partly mentioned in cmi4/lights and explained here and here: ⋆ jungkook and nara have a history together that goes beyond what they were to each other. they grew up together and are used to that connection, even though the depth of the relationship and its importance has faded throughout the last few months. ⋆ they hook up again, multiple times, but eventually realise that neither of them will benefit from this. it’s unhealthy – they need to move on and remain friends. ⋆ they part in good terms; a huge weight is lifted off their shoulders. nara and jungkook are officially over. ⋆ moving on is easier than it was right after their sudden decision to separate as a couple.

⤑ last year, end of october. the fwb deal:

cmi7.5.2/unhindered: ⋆ jungkook and oc have sex and seal the fwb deal. ⋆ jungkook hasn’t slept with anyone but oc since the beginning of october, and with nobody except nara and oc since the frat party.

⤑ last year, end of december. new year’s eve:

cmi5.5/not enough: ⋆ jungkook and oc, still in a fwb thing, are invited to a big party at hoseok’s place. ⋆ oc doesn’t reveal that she knows hoseok and jungkook doesn’t know. hoseok might or might not be aware that oc’s been hanging out with jungkook (more to this after cmi9).

⤑ this year, february 14th. valentine’s day:

cmi6.5/undying roses: ⋆ fwb still ongoing! jungkook and oc aren’t attending any classes together anymore; they’re friends now. ⋆ jungkook gifts her a ‘beauty & the beast’ rose bc he remembers her talking about the movie during choi yeonjun’s party. ⋆ but the movie isn’t mentioned in cmi8/blurred, so guess oc truly cannot remember this bit anymore – it’s not in her diary either.

⤑ this year, june. the fake dating deal:

cmi1–cmi3/layers: ⋆ sealing the fake dating deal. ⋆ jungkook and nara are still somewhat friends. ⋆ more that unfolds: the paparazzi issues, jungkook’s first experience with newspaper headlines, clubbing with all their friends before oc finds out jungkook’s going away for a month.

⤑ this year, july. jungkook’s vacation and the journalist reveal:

cmi4/lights & cmi5/the canvas: ⋆ oc finds out about jungkook and nara’s history; jungkook goes on vacation after that. ⋆ jungkook comes back and needs to tell her something: a journalist, hired by her mother, has been following jungkook around for a while to find content for drama. this creates a huge rift between oc and her parents, and she temporarily stays at jungkook’s place.

⤑ this year, august. the confession and the break up:

cmi6/silhouettes–cmi7.5/letters from the heart: ⋆ oc spends her time at jungkook’s place. ⋆ they make a trip to a smalltown nearby and confess their feelings for each other in the rain, but the next day, everything collapses due to more terrible headlines and jungkook breaks up with her. ⋆ weeks later: they meet again at the hospital after yoongi’s accident. they accompany their friends to the movies where they impulsively kiss but unfortunately part again. ⋆ jungkook starts to realise that and why this was a mistake. he attends an exhibition hosted by namjoon where he displays two of his paintings. ⋆ it’s his birthday, and oc, despite receiving an invitation, doesn’t show up.

⤑ this year, september. the birthday and exhibition:

cmi8/blurred: ⋆ oc has started looking for apartments. ⋆ oc goes to the exhibition. ⋆ what next?

i will add more as we go! this is a late night post, so i might come back to edit it later; i hope this helps for now. please remember that this timeline isn’t supposed to be a summary; it merely provides some insight into what occurred when. only those who have read the fic will find this actually helpful – if you’re interested in the storyline, please do read the series 🤍

#hope this helps a little! lmk if you have any questions!!#also pls praise this lil post it took longer than expected LMAO #n we have a banner hehehehe 🥰#fic: colour me in #jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook angst

229 notes · View notes

jmdbjk · 1 year

Text

Oh, Jimin...

These are my personal impressions, thoughts, interpretations and opinions on Jimin’s solo FACE album. Some of the things I say here are built on things I know from past original content, interviews and what Jimin has shared personally. Some of it is just me reveling in my first experience with Jimin’s long awaited album.

It is such a serious album. Jimin said this is the story of what he was feeling, chronologically, 2020-2022, during the pandemic era. At the beginning of 2020, BTS was rising higher than any Korean artist ever had before and then all of a sudden the momentum came to a halt, and there was nothing. Having the life you’ve known suddenly jerked away from you is traumatizing.

Once the king of social media, Jimin almost ceased by the end of 2020 and never went back. “Oh, he just outgrew it.” No, the man was struggling with his issues and not only did he not need to see the extra crap spewed all over social media but he had nothing left to give, nothing left inside.

I noticed how Jimin looked physically back in 2020. He was downright frail y’all. The man was trying to give us what we wanted at the expense of his mental and physical health. That breakdown he had during the ending ments in Memories 2020 was too much. They were all stressed out, but Jimin... those that said he was being over dramatic... the man was struggling with his mental health.

I wrote this last June, 2022 but never posted it:

After Memories 2020 dropped, we’ve heard Jimin say he struggled after everything got canceled. Days upon days that turned into months upon months and more than two years passed before they finally returned to in-person performances. He stated that during isolation and lockdowns he wondered what was the purpose of his life, or that he had lost his purpose.

Jimin’s struggles were most likely much more severe than he let on and he 100% kept it to himself because he didn’t want us to worry about him. That sounded like solo delusional projection but think about Jimin and how he’s behaved in the past...always telling us not to worry. Always saying things to reassure us that he’s happy, he eats well, don’t worry.

There was no working, no performing, their lives and his life changed drastically overnight just like all of ours did. Would we ever get back to normal? What will happen in the future? When will all of this end?

Face-Off

The album opens with a carnival calliope, it was a little jarring and unexpected. The images it conjured in my brain as the notes played were of a worn out circus winding down. It made me think of the big wild circus that WAS his life, and it just wound down and keeled over.

Knowing the premise of the album, I think the title, Face-Off, implies Jimin is looking at himself. Speaking to himself. The lyrics could also imply he is speaking to someone else, like people he once trusted. But I don’t think so.

He was having a confrontation with himself. Reasoning and bargaining with himself.

Maybe he once trusted himself but in this time and place in which he finds himself, he questions what is he doing? and second guessing himself. Day in and day out, the days are all the same nothingness. Hiding his feelings, faking it, pretending it was all ok. It’s all cool. It’ll be all right. He has said many times he looks back at that time and thinks he could have done more for the fans. Being hard on himself. His own worst critic.

And then this enters the picture: using alcohol to self-medicate. Getting drunk. Numbing the pain. Forgetting. Drink all night. Oh, Jimin...

We know he has a very high alcohol tolerance. He once mentioned that he used to drink a lot. When he declined the champagne during the live after the Busan concert, we all made jokes about it and moved on. Oh, Jimin.

Face-Off feels like it could have been a purging song when he wrote it. A little primal, you know... just scream, get it out. Painful but cathartic.

This is the lyric that was scary: “tonight is a beautiful night, I think I’m close (or I think I have it all/I think I’ve found myself)” were chilling to me because they did not come across as optimistic, they came across as being at the end of one’s rope after becoming a shell of a person. He follows that line with “tonight I don’t want to be sober.” Oh, Jimin.

His vocals open very low and moody then transition to a plaintive cry, punctuated with anger.

Pour it down, pour it out... the anger, the emotions, the words, just pour it out.

Interlude: Dive

Like the calliope that sadly wound down, Dive opens with the melody slowly winding back up to speed. Another day starting. Someone knocks, voices, the ambience of a normal day, breathing, running footsteps. The crowd cheering and Jimin’s voice during his ending ments at the Busan concert, more sounds of people in his life. We hear Jimin’s footsteps trudging, it sounds like we hear him climbing steps, entering his house, closing the door, and first thing he does when he is alone in the quiet is pour a drink and drinking deeply. I am concerned.

Maybe it is supposed to represent the closing of Chapter 1, about a day in the past that was once a “normal” day, since it included the last things he said during that concert.

The music track is dreamlike, repetitive. Living in a dream. Every day. Same thing. Go home. Drink. Do it again. Dive means go deep. In deep. He’s in deep.

There is a very subtle line between drinking in order to make it through another day/night versus drinking to relax and wind down. A slippery slope to walk on every single day.

We’ve transitioned from the world changing overnight to living in a daze trying to pretend everything is ok. Coping.

Like Crazy

(I am going to express my thoughts using the English version of the song.)

Jimin has explained the song is influenced by the movie of the same name.

I have learned that the dialogue from the movie was NOT original to the movie but hired voice actors specifically for the song: “I think we can last forever.” “I’m afraid that everything will disappear.” “Just trust me.” And at the end: “How long again?” “What’s the point?”

He has said the dialogue that was used fit the message of the song. I have not seen the movie. I don’t think the song is a literal interpretation of the movie. I think the song’s basic concept is the emotional struggle trying to maintain a dream. But maintaining a dream is unrealistic no matter what you do to try to make it last. Jimin had to come to terms with that.

Jimin’s vocals begin very light and airy, very dreamy.

[God, he’s fine.]

The vibe of the song is sort of retro, very much evokes the artist, The Weeknd. It has a very 80′s synth beat. It is a very danceable song. Like I said, on the surface.... very dreamy.

Vocals transition and it still seems like he’s having a conversation with himself, or with a voice within himself. A voice telling him to “trust me, follow me... I will make it good for you.” Me: gives a side eye to that voice in Jimin’s head because now I know it’s not trustworthy. “I’ll take the pressure off, been reaching for the stars.” Chasing that high. Go easy, Jimin. Please be careful.

Yes, the lyrics are also very sexy... “give me a good ride,” and “Let me have a taste.” Yep, I’m with ya on all that... ahem...

[Wow]

[side note: I love the make up in the bathroom scene with that stroke of silver under his eye.]

“All my reflections, I can’t even recognize.” ...what he sees of himself is not reality. He doesn’t recognize himself. Don’t try to save me. I want to stay like this.

To me, the mud on the floor, the mud flowing down the walls, the mud on the hand that grabs his wrist at the beginning of the song, the mud on his hand at the end... could represent his perceived imperfections, flawed, therefore dirty: his struggle to cope, his less than perfect thoughts... substance abuse... the struggle that he needs to be perfect on the outside or the attempt to appear perfect on the outside but there’s all this dirt on the inside that he can’t hide any longer.....the huge pile of mud at his feet is out of place in the otherwise normal room of his life. Becoming overwhelming for him.

Some of the visuals of this song are, to put it bluntly, very, not heterosexual. Again, these are just my impressions and opinions. But a friend pointed out the photo on the front of his pants and I went looking for information about the art photographer, Robert Mapplethorpe. He was heavily involved in New York’s gay BDSM scene. Some of the things written about him:

“In a rapidly changing society, he fearlessly confronted taboos surrounding gender, sexuality and mortality, seeking to instill beauty and dignity into subjects that lay outside accepted social norms.”

“... a man who consistently brought his audience face to face with the unknown and the unseen.”

The song ends with him reaching toward the camera to smear it with the mud to hide his imperfect self. When Jimin puts his face in front of the camera, he doesn’t want us to see his imperfections. He wants to be as perfect as he can, he says it all the time, he wants to look pretty for us, but I hope he has realized we accept him as a real human being even with his very human imperfections.

Alone

The alarm clock goes off...yet another day...doesn’t trust the people even if they are nice to him...he’s lost...day in day out... passing out drunk and not remembering...what am I doing? am I the only one feeling like this? Alone, pretending to be ok...every day the same...how much more until I can go back to before? Feeling more and more isolated within his own mind, pretending to be ok but losing himself every day. Mayday. The cry for help. Telling himself it will be all right (we all told ourselves this back then). The small nagging voice that doesn’t believe it.

Realizing you’ve changed and you are never going back to the way you were before.

Not gonna lie, that line right there broke my heart. Gives new meaning to Set Me Free Pt. 2′s line: "raise your hands for the past me.”

He was in so much trouble and no one knew. He reassured us over and over that he was fine. Not to be over-dramatic but I don’t want to think about how close he was... I have seen a few people say this song really resonated with them. It is a very powerful cry for help.

Jimin’s vocals blew me away. The vocals start out very subdued, almost beaten down. His vocal fry squeezes my heart. He ends crying out “what do I have to do to end this darkness?” Bad twilight. Night’s can be hard.

Set Me Free Pt. 2

From my post on March 17, 2023:

Going insane to stay sane. Raise your hands for the past me. Now set me free. This is where I literally cried. Oh, Jimin.

Going crazy trying to fake being ok.

Now I know this song is about him saving himself, setting himself free from this prison he was in, the depression, breaking the chains of alcohol dependency, of telling the naysayers out there and his own internal naysayer to go fuck themselves, Park Jimin is back. Strong and beautiful and fierce. The light of the moon shining on us.

We know he still considers soju his joy. He sounds like he’s taken control, not totally abstaining, but in control. I only wish the rest of his days are happiness and stable mental health well-being.

Letter

So unexpected. I was in shock. My heart floated away.

People talk about how Jimin’s album has no collabs on it, unlike the previous member’s solo work. My opinion is, when you are sharing deeply intimate feelings and emotions and struggles about yourself you don’t want or need other people/voices on your song. It’s not appropriate.

The only exception to this was… Jungkook…not exactly a collab, but he’s there. The other songs used background vocalists who are not members of BTS.

This song was hidden. Yes, there have been other hidden songs. But come on...

Letter has a strong stroke of Promise in the “oh, oh.” And when Jungkook starts singing it is like the world is set right because those two voices blend like nothing else I’ve ever heard. And he comes in in the middle of the song gently supporting Jimin’s vocals. But unmistakably Jungkook. I know it’s up to interpretation, but for me, the lyrics from then on take on something a little extra in meaning with Jungkook there singing with Jimin.

You held your hand out to me and now I will hold on to you. So simple and beautiful. The sounds of the surf remind me of the song “Okinawa” that Jimin posted once. Which also reminds me of their pics at Santa Monica beach...

Letter seems to be an actual letter. When the members told him to write it down, put it in a song, maybe Jimin’s first impulse was to write it as if it was a letter. The lyrics are simple and very to the point and convey:

“...though I’m not good with words, I want to sincerely say let’s make each other happier. You who showed me I am bigger than my small self. You've been by my side and I will be by yours. I hope we stay together until the cold winter. Though the future is unknown and scary, let’s stay together. Never forget we’re together.”

There are references to past songs: Sea, Spring Day. Both of those songs were from 2017.

But Jungkook. On a Jimin song. That was hidden. Clever. That we had no idea about...even though Kookie knocked us over the head with it when he played the guitar for us, making sure we knew he’d only had one lesson. Who do you think gave him that first guitar lesson? Jimin... and Kookie blurting out some English in his last live... who do you think he’s been practicing English with? Duh, Jimin.

It was a hidden song AND the credits were hidden on the page in the book. They were printed in varnish only, which is basically shiny, clear ink.

You know what I think? Jungkook knew about this song since Festa dinner. The teasing about not being offered the chance to listen to the song. That little shit. I KNOW IT WAS THIS SONG!! I JUST KNOW IT!! This was the rumored subunit. Or at least one of them. I guess we’ll eventually see if there are any more between the others.

They sound so beautiful together. I love them. And as I keep saying, they are fine… they’ve been fine.

Last words...

Anyway, that was a lot of words. Maybe I got too deep. Jimin explained himself about how the album originated.

As I was telling my friend earlier...everything in this album has peeled a layer, or several layers, away from EVERYTHING I've seen and heard from Jimin and the group since 2020. I had written some things in the past, like last June and even before that, about how Jimin seemed not well mentally. Things that I had no business saying in public because who the hell am I to think I can say something like that about someone I have never met? So I never posted those words. I never thought I would be so close to the mark in thinking those things. He’s been through it, wrote songs about it, and moved on. And I am so proud of him and this album.

#jimin face #face-off #like crazy #i'm so proud of jimin #if they were trying to quash any ships this was not the way to go about it #i said that after hickey-gate too #also jikook #did i mention i am so proud of jimin?#and kookie is so funny

263 notes · View notes