#had terrible trauma and turned out as different as they did | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

saintobio · 10 months ago

Text

sincerely yours. (10)

↳ gojou satoru/reader

when a twist of fate led their marriage to the path of a quintessential tragic romance, two past lovers go through another series of experiences on love, heartbreak, identity, illness, and trauma along the road to a happily ever after.

genre. heavy angst, amnesia, modern au, 18+

tags/warnings. depression, intoxication, trauma, implied suicide attempt, toxic relationships,

notes. important announcement ! as you all know, this series has always had an extensive approach into detailing the events in its side stories (ie. sera x sukuna x naoya, yuuji x megumi, maki x yuuta x miwa, etc), but while writing the chapters, the word count and the plot building had become too exhausting for me to produce consistently, esp with the amount of scenes and side stories i was introducing to the story, so i've decided it's best for me to stick to the main characters, reader & gojo, and will only add side stories as necessary. this really hurts me knowing that i can't achieve the level of comprehensive writing and world building that i did for sincerely not, but i really want to finish sy as soon as possible and removing a chunk of side stories would be some of the things that'd help me achieve that 😭 i hope you guys understand. hopefully i'll figure out a way to write those side stories instead of completely abandoning them mid-way in this series. but as always, thanks for ur continued support <3

series masterlist -> episode eleven

“It’s a little weird.”

What was supposed to be her bed time had turned into a moment of reflection for Sera who, instead of being fast asleep at this time of the night, had unconsciously brought herself inside Sukuna’s home office to join the up-and-coming tech mogul in his late-night programming.

She wore her silk pajamas, pacing back and forth in her boyfriend’s office as her mind flew back to the recent encounter she had with her ex-boyfriend. Who knew that Satoru’s kid would look just like a carbon copy of him? No, actually, the question should be: who knew it would be a different woman by his side acting as the mother of his child? Sera had to laugh at herself, shaking her head as she realized how truly and undeniably ridiculous her ex was. It was clear that day that he wasn’t really as loyal of a partner as he claimed himself to be.

Did he really just go through all those crazy things with you, only to look like a whore-hopping fool now?

If he was bound to end up with someone else other than you, then why did he have to make Sera’s life miserable in the first place?

She may have done terrible things before as a selfish and materialistic lover of his, but that wouldn’t change the fact that Satoru also contributed to her role as the side-piece in his marital relationship. He allowed her to cling to him like a mistress. Being his side-piece wasn’t even something that she had forced upon him. It was his promise, an idea that he planted on Sera’s head, saying that she would need to stay by his side and that he would marry her guaranteed that he had already secured the merger and divorced you. He swore like a fool that he would divorce you. But guess what? The jerk ended up falling in love with his wife and suddenly had no use of Sera. Suddenly, he was such a good husband who couldn’t be more loyal. Suddenly, he was a lovestruck man who had always been in love with his childhood friend. If he had downright dumped Sera the moment his engagement was announced, if he had not been prideful and ambitious since the beginning of his marriage, he probably would have had better luck at having that healthy relationship he yearned from you.

But how come the blame of being the third-party was all on Sera when her only mistake then was loving the person who promised her all the good things in life?

Now, you see, this was all just bitterness brewing at the back of her head. She knew what she did was still wrong and that she wasn’t innocent. Sera swore to herself that she would never look back on those awful days ever again, but seeing how Satoru was running around freely with a different woman just reminded Sera of his days as a spiteful, two-timing man. Somehow, it felt like he had changed and yet didn’t at all.

Ha ha ha. How ridiculous was that?

“What’s funny?” asked Sukuna, her present boyfriend and thankfully so. He was Sera’s blessing, because she never would have thought that a man like him could still exist in a world full of Satoru’s and Naoya’s. “You look cute smiling to yourself, though.”

“I know,” she responded to the compliment, shifting to settle herself on his lap, though his attention remained fixed on his laptop screen. “It's just strange to me,” she continued, her voice thoughtful, “how Gojou appears his usual self, yet there's something off about him.”

The question clouded Sukuna’s eyes in confusion, tilting his head to the side as he tried to comprehend her description. “You mean dude got uglier?”

I wish, Sera thought. “No, he’s… he’s different. The vibes are different. For a second, he even looked like he was dissociating the whole time he was with that girl,” she said, referring to Satoru’s new girl as though she was your cheap alternative, “But then again, why is he with her in the first place if he looks absent-minded the whole time, you know what I mean?”

“Was he like that with you before?”

“At times, but it’s not like the way he’s acting right now… I don’t know, I can’t explain it. The energy is off. That’s just not how he acts when he’s really, really into someone.”

To be honest, Sukuna didn’t give a damn about Satoru Gojou’s life and any normal boyfriend wouldn’t really like hearing their girlfriend talking about another man, especially her ex at that, but he knew Sera found joy in old money gossip and he was aware of the demoralizing past she has had by associating herself with them. Sukuna was acting all engaged in their conversation because he wanted to make her feel heard and that he shared her simple joys in life. Besides, it was through her that he learned so many inside scoops about the people that ran the country’s biggest conglomerates. It was like watching one heck of a messy episode of Dynasty.

“Didn’t he get into a car accident?” he recalled, remembering the headlines on the news that day, “Then, we saw him at the expo and he couldn’t really remember you. The guy’s probably got his head all messed up.”

Sera was bitter at the time thinking that Satoru was toying with her when he asked who she was, when the truth was, he was actually diagnosed with amnesia. It was such a shock to her, truthfully, because having amnesia felt like something you would only see on a movie’s screen. Well, in that case, she could also say karma’s a bitch. The director might be onto something here.

“He’s probably not mentally fine, but still…” she thought carefully and played the scene in her head again. What was it about the Gojou that she saw the other day that was different? “He just has a different vibe to him that it feels uncomfortable. It’s like he’s rude, but not so rude? He doesn’t have much of a personality anymore. Like a complete stranger.”

“Maybe it’s the new girl rubbing off on him.” Sukuna was back to typing on his laptop as he said that. Frankly, he was just saying anything at this point.

Sera shook her head in response. “Well, I don’t know about that girl he’s seeing and I don’t really care, but it’s common knowledge to the filthy rich that she’s Y/N’s best friend. That’s why I recognized her right away, and that’s why it disgusted me,” she pressed on, “Tell me, would you—and be honest about this—would you fuck your best friend’s ex?”

The humor on her boyfriend’s face came right as she asked that. “Babe, you fucked a married man. It’s worse than fucking somebody’s ex.”

“Shut up.” Rolling her eyes, she got up from his lap and sighed, but Sukuna wasted no time in pulling her back onto his lap. His chuckle was mingling with the gentle kiss he had planted on her cheek, unaware that his actions made Sera’s heart flutter. “Forget it. I shouldn’t even be talking about Satoru with you.”

The man stretched his arms and finally closed his laptop, patting Sera’s thigh afterwards. “On that note, I do have another ‘dude from your past’ that I gotta meet tomorrow.”

Her reaction alone was a response for him. “Naoya?” she protested, face contorting with disgust. “What for? I told you not to take on that project.”

“Yeah, I considered it, and you know, the partnership could really benefit CleaveTech,” Sukuna reasoned, leaning back as he outlined the situation to her from a business standpoint. Given her own background working for the Gojou Group before, he expected her to grasp the significance of this partnership and set aside any personal grievances or emotional attachments. “The Zen'in Group is a major client. It’s all pros and no cons here.”

“The contra is the guy you’re gonna work with,” she highlighted with a hint of annoyance rising from her throat, “Naoya is nothing but an opportunistic motherfucker. Mind you, he’s a stupid elitist, too.”

He held back a laugh, not even threatened by a man who had a terrible history with his girlfriend. “Nah, I’ll deal with him. Just trust me on this.”

As much as Sera wanted to object, she knew Sukuna had a point and that she really shouldn’t hinder his company from being partnered with such a large conglomerate. She just didn’t like the thought of her boyfriend being around a man who manipulated and humiliated her to the point where she had been blacklisted by multiple companies, leaving her to resort to being somewhat of a prostitute just to make ends meet.

The world was harsh for the not-so-rich, and all Sera wanted was to give those upper class people a taste of their own medicine. But seeing as her desire for revenge would clash with her boyfriend’s chance at company growth, she had to set aside her personal grudge and support him on this one.

Still, there was nothing wrong with being curious. “Is there any other reason you agreed to this partnership?”

Sukuna smirked as if he expected that question from her. “Blame it on my little brother, he’s been bugging me ‘bout it.”

“Yuuji?” Sera asked, clearly confused.

To which her boyfriend quickly answered, “Yeah. He said it’ll give him an opportunity to work with his best friend. You know that kid, Fushiguro, right?”

Ahh. Toji’s kid aka the heir to the Zen’in business empire. Sera had met Megumi before, and while that other brat Mai used to be unreasonably rude to her, the younger boy was always civil and respectful at least. He never even once treated Sera like dirt when she was spending time with Naoya at their mansion. Perhaps their upbringing really differed because he was raised by Toji and the other Zen’ins were raised by demons.

Nevertheless, with a connection now established between Sukuna and Naoya through Yuuji and Megumi, Sera couldn’t help but feel that her peaceful days as a nouveau riche were about to become far more intriguing. Depending on the cards she would choose to play, they could even turn into a living nightmare.

— —

You weren’t exactly abandoning your company; you were merely taking a break, a necessary pause given your current mental state after the whole break-up with Toji and the Osaka thing. Your mind was just too overwhelmingly occupied to even properly function. Each day, mustering the energy to show up at Hearte's head office became increasingly challenging, especially when faced with individuals who relied on you for major decisions and creative direction.

To make matters worse, Akemi’s sudden resignation hit hard.

You received her decision by a simple letter, a mere piece of paper, without even having the guts and decency to meet with you in person. Was she scared? Or was this her way of rubbing salt on the wound, shoving it in your face that she was now taking things to the next level with your ex-husband?

She did cite in her resignation letter that her reason for resigning from the role was due to conflict of interest. You wanted to laugh when you read that part. No, you wanted to choke in your fit of laughter after reading through her asinine reasons. She could have been upfront and mentioned that the so-called ‘conflict’ was the very man her best friend had previously married.

Obviously, everyone in the office felt sad knowing that a core member of the company left without at least a 30-day notice, but they were all also aware that her resignation was due to personal albeit controversial reasons. Did Akemi not care about her image at all? The same colleagues she had trained, managed, and collaborated with would now likely gossip about her behind her back. She would become a hot topic of disrespect among the people that once heavily respected her. Did she also not care about the company you two created together anymore? This was the same company you two had passionately dreamed of during your late-night conversations on a New York rooftop. She was the one who wanted to build a fashion house together with you.

Yet, it seemed she was willing to throw it all away for a man already entangled in complicated familial dynamics. Her immediate resignation and refusal to speak to you in person just further confirmed it to you that Akemi was willing to forsake your friendship by choosing a man who already had a child with someone else.

Since she chose that path, you couldn’t help but interpret Akemi’s actions as a deliberate slight against your friendship. It seemed clear that she no longer viewed you as a friend and was essentially cutting ties with you. Otherwise, why would she take such a step? Akemi wasn’t the type to be vindictive; she likely believed she was sparing you further pain by severing your connection. However, regardless of her intentions, her actions felt deeply disrespectful and hurtful.

If this was what she wanted, then kudos to her and her unbelievable confidence to choose a man like Satoru Gojou. Besides, it didn’t even take you a week to find another replacement. Your family connections were powerful after all. You readily had a pool of potential candidates for the role of the Head of Sales, Retail, and Merchandising—all from prestigious backgrounds and unparalleled expertise. While the competition was tough, you selected the person you deemed was the most qualified to be your second-in-command. This was someone you had esteemed since college, a person who excelled in both business acumen and creative vision.

Yuki Tsukumo. She was influential in every sense, and you trusted that she would be able to manage the high pressure environment of a start-up fashion house and transform it into an iconic brand, a household name that would one day rival Chanel and Miu Miu.

You may have succeeded in replacing Akemi. You may have shown her that her position in the workforce was easily replaceable, but her role as your friend still left a lingering, repugnant mark that proved far more difficult to erase. This underlying sentiment could explain the unreasonable anger festering in your heart—a visceral reaction born from feelings of backstabbing betrayal.

It was hard enough for you to travel all the way to Osaka with a broken heart, but it became much more agonizing to watch your own son run up to Akemi like she was his mother. It was a goddamn slap to your face, indeed, to see that your ex-husband had already chosen a woman to have his happy, little family with. That he wanted to be a good man and be everything you wished for in a husband for her.

As they say, nothing hurts more than building a man for another woman.

And honestly? You cried so much on the way home that you became numb. Now, you were just trying to get over it. You were trying to bury the searing pain in order to forget the betrayal you felt. It was all too much for a person to handle and it wasn’t like you hadn’t gone through the same old shit before. Wasn’t it worse before with Satoru actually cheating and all? He technically wasn’t crossing any lines here, so it shouldn’t hurt you. It shouldn’t. You had been here before. If you had managed to get through such an awful time as his previous wife, his relationship with Akemi shouldn’t be too hard to accept. No, you weren’t trying to lowball your pain, but it was better to be an optimist in this situation than be a suicidal, self-destructive person. You had a business to run and a child to raise. You had to be strong.

Or at least, that was what you told yourself. That was what you had been telling yourself over and over, each time you got up from bed forcing yourself to have a false positive mindset. In fact, that was also why you had to take this extended break because you had to have your peace of mind. You had to have some form of release to remember why you needed to stay alive and keep yourself going.

Not just for Sachiro’s sake, but also for your own.

Your safe haven for now was at the horse ranch, where the tranquility of riding and the beauty of nature provided the perfect ambiance for reflection. How long has it been since your last visit to Willow? Your father had been joking that you shouldn’t be leaving a beautiful, white Friesian horse unattended for years, especially not for the expensive price he paid her for. True enough, because the moment you saw the mare again, you almost forgot how majestic she was for her breed. Willow was a completely docile and graceful horse, so alike to you in many ways. However, one thing that was unlike you, was that she lived in peace, existing solely for herself and not for anyone else.

If only you could be like her.

As you reached out to stroke your rare-breed horse, a new and unfamiliar stallion in the stable caught your eye. To think of it, your family shared this equestrian estate with the Gojou family. This realization meant that the strikingly elegant and tall gray horse in the adjacent stall belonged to none other than Satoru.

“It’s a Thoroughbred,” the equine caretaker informed while guiding your horse out of the stable, “Mr. Satoru got him recently and named him Six.”

A gray Thoroughbred, renowned as the most expensive horse breeds out there. It could fetch a price as high as $70 million, and of course, Satoru was the perfect owner for such a prestigious horse. The stallion embodied his essence completely—its color, its build, its rarity. On the other hand, you couldn’t help but find his naming convention by number a bit odd. His previous black stallion was named Eight. This time around, it was Six. Couldn’t he be more imaginative?

“He’s beautiful,” you mumbled, nonetheless, in awe with the regality of the horse.

“He’s a good boy, too,” added the enthusiastic horsekeeper in a thick country accent, “Mr. Satoru was here yesterday and played polo while riding him. They were perfectly in sync even if it was his first time riding him.”

Of course, he would play polo. That was one of his favorite recreational sports. The burning question at hand was, who was with him during his visit? Because if the caretaker mentioned Akemi, you would certainly lose it. This was your private space with him. This estate was a place that none of his other women had access to, not even Sera. This was a location filled with memories from your childhood. For him to bring another woman here would be crossing the damn line.

“Did he bring anyone with him?” you asked, trying to sound casual as you dusted off your boots.

The caretaker denied. “No, he was alone. He just came to play polo and check the horses he recently bought.”

Oh… “He bought more than one?”

Did he seriously get Akemi her own horse? Your heart was racing at the thought, but the caretaker led you to the stable near the exit to show you the other horse than your ex-husband had purchased. It was a brown Shetland pony.

“He got a fully trained Shetland for your son,” the horsekeeper proudly declared, showcasing the pony as if he had been instructed to do so in anticipation of your visit. It was obvious that Gojou had already briefed him on introducing Sachiro’s new pony to you because he knew you would be asking about it. “His name is Elmo. He is kid-safe and very friendly.”

Frankly, you wanted to sigh in relief, but at the same time, it warmed your heart to know that Satoru got his son his own horse at such a young age. You could already sense him planning to make Sachiro take equestrian classes when he gets older, and probably join him on his horseback riding sessions, too. You could imagine just how perfect it would be to see the father and son bonding here, racing together, playing polo together… yet it would not be you who would be watching them on the side.

This future he was setting up with his son would be an experience he would share with Akemi.

There was no you in that vision anymore.

The caretaker likely questioned your sanity when he noticed the bitter smile on your face as you mounted your mare. He might have even doubted whether you were sane enough to ride alone, without a guide, particularly through the woods since Willow had not been ridden for some time now. However, you had done it countless times before and were quite familiar with the trail, and so you dismissed his offer to lead you and assured him confidently that you knew your way back.

You needed this solitude. You craved this moment of peace, alone with your thoughts and surrounded by nature, to reflect on the ceaseless torture of your life. It was just never-ending, squeezing every drop of happiness out of your system to make sure that you would only live to suffer. You really thought you had your happy ending with someone else? You actually believed you had found the perfect man to be your actual husband?

Well, unfortunately for you, Toji was not the one.

At first, your mind flew to Toji as you went on to the trail, allowing the mare to continue trotting as you held the reins to control her. You remembered Toji’s text that morning, asking you for the hundredth time if he could meet with you. He likely wanted to apologize in person, but you doubted he would change his mind and take back the things he said. Because they were true. He could never fill the void left by his deceased wife by being with another empty soul. It was painfully, unmistakably true. You were better off dead if that was the case, because even if you did end up marrying him, you would never be regarded as the person he loved the most. After all, your role in this world seemed to always be the second option. You were never the first in other people’s books. Not with your ex-husband. Not even with your family, especially with Gen around. You were meant to be a bystander, watching others live their perfect lives while you were forced to be in your misery. Someone like Toji would not have a guaranteed blissful marriage with you and you had to spare him from that. You had to draw the line and step back from this charade that you were playing with him, knowing that you were never the right person to be with him, so at some point, you had to accept his drunken words. They came from a place of truth, and that truth would set the both of you free.

Even it hurt. Even if it fucking hurt to hear his words. You couldn’t deny them.

You could easily forgive him, but his words might take a while for you to forget because even thinking about it now was bringing a wave of pain into your chest. You didn’t even notice that you were losing control on Willow’s reins by the time you entered further into the woods, bouncing on the saddle as you galloped along the challenging path. With the speed you were riding right now, inexperienced riders would certainly find it unsafe and scary. But for you? It was just what you needed. The breeze of fresh air, the thrill of riding alone, the peaceful sound of nature—you could die there and be at your happiest.

Maybe that was where you had to be; to disappear and leave them all behind. Wouldn’t that be best for everyone? If you were to vanish, they could finally be free. Your presence, even from the beginning, was a burden for everyone—for your dad, Gen, Satoru, Toji, and even Akemi. The people you trusted the most would be the same people who would secretly celebrate your demise. So, what else was hindering you from taking matters into your own hands and ending it all yourself?

“Giddy up!”

Was it Sachiro? Definitely. But now he had his father, and he was likely starting to see Akemi as a mother figure as well. Your role as his beloved mama could be easily replaced if you were to leave him now. It wouldn’t hurt him as much that way. Three years with Sachiro seemed sufficient enough, and he was at an age where he could grow up alongside his father. In this short span, he would have lasting memories with you, yet not enough to deeply grieve your absence. He was a young child, surrounded by people who would offer the whole world to him. At least, for that, you were eternally grateful. It brought you comfort knowing that your son would have support after you were gone, and that he would find a mother figure in Akemi. Given the brief time he spent with you and the rest of his life with her as his stepmother, Sachiro would likely come to love and accept Akemi as his own mother. This was the best outcome you could hope for.

My child, my son, my baby… please don’t get mad at mommy.

Tears were gushing out of your eyes and you hadn’t even realized it until they started blurring your vision. You were far too lost in your own thoughts, unaware that you were now in an unfamiliar and seemingly dangerous part of the trail. The path was getting a little bit too steep and poor Willow was clearly stressed at your inconsiderate handling. There were multiple obstacles on your rocky terrain and you weren’t as steady and controlled as you wanted to be because the horse wasn’t comfortable navigating such a difficult path with the pace you were forcing her to.

“Ah!”

Your attempt to balance was interrupted by Willow’s loud neigh, signaling her distress before she bolted into a full rampage. She was sprinting at an estimated speed of 20 miles per hour. Not even a skilled rider like Satoru himself would be cantering that fast on unfamiliar terrain and an unfit horse. But you, you clearly had a death wish, because instead of fearing for your own life, you were far more concerned at the thought of how dreamy Satoru and Akemi’s wedding would look like after your demise. They would definitely make Sachiro their ringbearer. Suguru would be the best man. Shoko, the maid of honor. People on the internet would praise them for being an attractive couple. They would anticipate their beautiful kids together, living in the same mansion he bought as a gift to you. He would kiss her good night, tell her loves her, and offer the whole world to her. They would exchange vows and promise themselves a lifelong commitment to be by each other’s side through sickness and in health, and only in death would they part.

“Willow!”

You let out a shriek as the reins slipped from your grasp, causing you to tumble off the saddle and crash onto the ground. The impact was first felt in your elbow, and a sharp, searing pain then radiated through your body. There you lay, sprawled on the dirt, helplessly watching Willow galloping out of control up the mountain, and then tragically plummeting off a cliff.

“Nooo! Willow, no!”

Utter hysteria overtook you. You sobbed uncontrollably, unable to determine which pain was more agonizing—the clearly broken elbow, the loss of the horse you had inadvertently led to its death, or the heart-wrenching reality of Satoru starting a family with someone else.

You were pathetic. You were such a pathetic excuse of a human being and this was why you deserve hell.

“Willow!”

Toji couldn’t love you. Your own son didn’t want to be around you. Satoru had gotten over you. And now, you drove a poor innocent horse to its demise because of your recklessness!

You were crying hysterically as you held your pained elbow, crawling by the cliff’s edge as you screamed for your horse’s name, but in the end, there was nothing you could do. You could only apologize to poor Willow for having such an irresponsible owner, and now she was dead because of you. 16 years of her life, she was able to live in peace until you came and ruined it all for her. It should have been you. You were the one who should have jumped off a cliff. You should atone for your sins and follow her, but you were too weak, far to overcome by the excruciating pain on your hip and your broken elbow to move or do anything at all.

That was, until your mind had completely shut down, leaving you as a mere body to be discarded alone in the darkness of the woods. You hoped that no one else would find you soon.

— —

“A-Angina?” Satoru’s eyes went wide. His whole world stopped before him.

“Yes. She was diagnosed with stable angina,” Dr. Mori confirmed, much to your husband’s horror. “But there is another factor that requires her to have more rest. You need to take good care of your wife, Mr. Gojou. Her body needs a lot of nutrients so she can carry safely.”

He could barely process the whole thing in his head because the news kept coming one after another, leaving him in a befuddled state with a flood of unanswered questions running through his mind. “What do you mean…?”

“Your wife is seven weeks pregnant.”

…

“Y/N?”

“Y/N!”

“Are you out of your mind?!”

You could barely pry your eyes open, but when you finally managed to, you were met with the concerned expression on Gen’s face. The harsh glare of fluorescent lights and the antiseptic scent confirmed to you that you were in the ER, likely an hour or two after the incident in the woods. The memory of the trail quickly flooded your thoughts, and a pang of sorrow gripped your heart as you recalled Willow's final moments before she fell off the cliff. The poor horse had lost her life, while the one responsible for her tragic death remained alive, save for the bandage wrapped around your arm.

“Why did you ride into the woods alone?” Gen persisted with her barrage of questions, standing by your bed as you attempted to sit up. “Are you suicidal or what? Riding your horse in a dangerous trail like that—”

“You know what, maybe I should have just died back there!” you snapped, wincing from the pain in your elbow. Her choice of words struck a nerve in you. “Maybe I’d prefer that over sitting here, listening to your sanctimonious lecture like you're so perfect yourself! How obnoxious.”

“Then, maybe you shouldn’t be riding so recklessly and causing alarm to everyone else!”

“Did I literally ask you to come save me?!”

The atmosphere around you two just became even more uninviting, with discomfiting silence seeping through as you and Gen were engaged in a sharp glaring contest. Your father stood behind her, clearing his throat to cut the tension.

“That’s enough, Gen.” Your dad placed a hand on her shoulder, and although she wanted to protest, she knew better not to keep stirring the pot after receiving his strict gaze. “Let’s just be thankful your sister is safe. There’s no need to be so overwhelming.”

You rolled your eyes, drawing in a deep breath before you looked away from them. None of them would ever understand your pain unless they were in your position. They didn’t carry the same baggage as you, so they would never fully comprehend the weight of your suffering. You had already dealt with similar pain on your own before and that was why you didn’t need any of them to come to your aid, meddling with your life like they knew exactly what you were going through. “Just leave me alone, you guys. I wanna rest.”

Since when did your relationship with your sister start to get rough? It wasn’t really like this before, but ever since she started to become too overprotective over you and your choices in life, particularly choices linked to Satoru, Gen had started to become insufferable in your eyes. She was acting too much like a mother; controlling your decisions, lecturing you about your personal relationships, being too involved with your private life. There, ever since that, you started to distance yourself from her, and she didn’t like that. Her stubbornness wouldn’t allow her to cease acting like this mature, picture perfect big sister to you.

With that said, Gen would have normally gotten annoyed when you asked them to leave you alone, but this time around, she seemed to have reflected on her insensitivity a lot better with your father around. “I’m sorry, okay?” she said, her tone still tinged with stubbornness, “I just got worried. I don’t know what’s gotten into you to put yourself in danger like that, but… please, Y/N. If you’re going through something, you can always speak to us. Dad and I, we’re here for you.”

To be fair, if you had to put yourself in their shoes, it really would have been alarming to know that your sister almost died. This wasn’t the first time you were at death’s door either, so they were probably scared shitless when they were informed of your situation. Your absolutely reckless situation. You didn’t mean to cause a scene, neither did you intend to bother them on their already busy schedules. You just had so many things in your mind while you were horseback riding, too engulfed by your own sorrow that you didn’t realize the repercussions after the incident had already taken place.

“I’m sorry, too.” Your voice softened with humility. “I didn’t mean to worry you guys. It was just really an accident.”

Of course, Gen suspected it was more than just an accident. Your dad did, too. It was obvious on their forlorn faces that they were worried for your mental and emotional well-being, but none of them dared address the elephant in the room. It seemed they didn’t need to, anyway, since one of the many reasons that contributed to your earlier breakdown took a peek from behind the curtains, clearing his throat and sending you a look of sympathy.

“Y/N?” Toji looked at your father and your sister for approval before stepping further inside your space in the ER. “Can I talk to you?”

There was no escaping Toji’s presence anymore. No more hiding, no more avoiding. You knew you had to have this talk with him no matter how many times you ignored his flood of texts and calls. While this may have struck as an opportune moment for him to speak to you in person, facing the painful truth of your situation weighed heavily on you. Besides, hadn’t the irony presented itself right there? If Satoru were the one trying to speak to you, even if he was the father of your child, Gen would have been quick to lash out at him. Yet with Toji, even with the general knowledge of what had transpired between you two, your sister still showed no hostility towards him, allowing him to approach you freely and without interference.

But then again, Toji was far from being a cheating, manipulative scumbag who not only caused you suffering but also sought to selfishly acquire your family’s company. Therefore, he wasn’t considered a threat.

Alright, then. Since Toji genuinely wasn’t a threat to your current emotional state, you agreed to talk with him. It was the first time you had seen the not-so-confident side of Toji Zen’in. He was typically a man of virtue, often holding his chin high, offering the best advice, and having insightful perspectives on life. However, it seemed you had shattered that confidence in him. You could sense his cautiousness around you as he stood by your side in the ER, assisting you with your needs, and eventually agreeing to your request to walk you to the rooftop garden.

“I don’t really think there’s anything else we should talk about.” It was you who first broke the silence, staring at the cityscape while sitting on a wheelchair. The calm breeze allowed your mind to seize the moment with a peaceful mind. “I already heard what you had to say.”

Toji found it better to kneel down in front of you to meet your eyes as he spoke to you in a sincere and earnest voice. “Y/N, I was drunk when I said all that shit back there. I didn’t mean them. I didn’t mean to hurt you with my callous words, and I feel awful that you had to hear them from me. You trusted me. You sought comfort from me. I wasn’t thinking like a normal person when those things came out of my mouth.”

“That doesn’t mean they weren’t true,” you replied with quiet resignation. It was the acceptance in your face that seemed to have caused Toji’s heartbroken gaze. “It’s okay, Toji. I think, when you said all those things, it actually made me realize some aspects of our relationship that had to be addressed. It made me more self-aware and it opened my eyes on the bigger picture.” You touched his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze as you mustered the courage to speak your next words. “It’s for the best that we part ways. It’s not fair to me to become a placeholder for your wife the same way it isn’t fair to you to have to deal with my ex-husband always being present in my life. Our unresolved feelings won’t really be resolved by being together.”

“Y/N…” Toji’s voice hinted at his vulnerable emotions, though he restrained himself from showing it fully. And you didn’t miss the apologetic look he had presented to you. “Despite all that, I hope you know that I’d been true to you. I do love you and will always love you. I’ll always be someone you can rely on, someone you can seek comfort from, someone you can turn to when you need help…”

Damn it. Why did he have to make it sound like an actual break up? Now, it tugged at your heartstrings and hit you in a place it shouldn’t have. You weren’t good at these things and it certainly was your first time dealing with such a mature and mutual separation, but wasn’t that a good thing? No further drama was to happen, leaving a stark comparison to your separation with Satoru. While this one didn’t hurt as much, it still brought a hollow feeling in your chest.

“Same for me,” you agreed, displaying a weak smile. “You’ll always have a spot in my heart, Toji. I’ll always be grateful that I met you.”

Sometimes, two people didn’t need to be together to love each other. Friendships could still thrive between ex-lovers, and that was why closure was so important. It not only closed a certain chapter of your life in a healthy way, but also allowed you to heal and open yourselves to a new beginning without any bitterness left behind.

It shouldn’t be considered bad to remain friends with an ex. It also shouldn’t be bad to give a parting kiss from said ex, right?

You weren’t the one who initiated it, after all. It was Toji’s hand that gently stroked your cheek. It was him, who leaned forward and pressed his lips onto yours. It wasn’t forceful, but neither was it passionate. It was simply a tender kiss of goodbye, feeling the warmth of each other’s lips for one last time before you two would transition from being lovers to friends. What you didn’t understand from this supposedly bittersweet moment was the faint tears that somehow managed to escape your eyes, perhaps because you knew that once Toji left, you would be alone again.

You had no one by your side to love you, cherish you, choose you, and offer their entire world for you. You were meant to live this cruel world all by yourself.

As he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours. “Please learn to love yourself before anyone else, Y/N. It’s what you need and what you deserve.”

That night, while you were getting your MRI, your mind kept flying to the possibilities of a future without having anyone by your side. Any normal person would tell you to focus on loving yourself first, as Toji did recently, focusing on what matters most, and ridding yourself of the toxic things that hinder you from moving forward with your life. Things weren’t as easy as they sounded. Besides, it was different being on the receiving end of the said advice. How could you do those things when the primary cause of your pain was someone whose life would always be linked to yours forever?

Based on the result of your MRI scans, your doctor recommended that you undergo elbow arthroscopy. It was just a minimally invasive procedure compared to open surgeries, but considering how much of an overthinker your dad was when it came to your health, he insisted on your confinement at the hospital until you had been completely cleared of any other issues. He really placed a big deal on your condition and emphasized to the doctors that they make sure nothing was missed. It could have been worse; you could have had a broken hip or a fractured leg, but at least you only had a dislocated elbow. Nothing that couldn’t be easily corrected by surgery and physical therapy.

The decision was for you to stay there for two days, and on your first night, a crying Sachiro ran inside your private room because his ‘mama has a boo boo’. Gen said he was picked up from daycare and dropped off at the hospital because the poor kid was looking for you. She didn’t mention who dropped your son off to you, but you could tell it was Satoru. You could sense it by the glances she exchanged with Ian after you asked how Sachiro came to the hospital.

So, in that case, Satoru must have found out about your little incident and didn’t care enough to see you. Did he not even have an ounce of care anymore? Or was it Gen who stopped him from seeing you?

“Did you ask him to leave?” you confronted Gen in a mellow voice, rubbing Sachiro’s back as he snuggled into you on the hospital bed.

Your sister knew exactly which man you were referring to, and she denied having done such. “No, I didn’t even talk to him. He took Sachi here and left.”

You didn’t know why you looked at Ian to confirm the truth of his wife’s words, but hurt yourself upon seeing his bowed head. It was an apologetic expression that did signify your ex-husband’s blatant act of ignoring you. To hear about your near-death experience and simply leave without even checking on you should be your wake-up call. He didn’t care anymore. No, why should he care? He had Akemi. His only responsibility with you was to be a supportive father to your son.

Why did the pain in your heart feel far more agonizing than the discomfort on your dislocated elbow?

If anything, you wanted to ask for the strongest anesthetic they could offer to numb your pain. You were desperate to have anything even if they had to put you into an eternal sleep. That would have been much easier to deal with than feeling disregarded by a person you supposedly had moved on from. Satoru did nothing wrong here. It was you who had that expectation, only to disappoint yourself when things didn’t happen as you imagined.

And just when you thought things would get better as long as you ignore your torturous thoughts, it didn’t help that being in the hospital kept giving you flashbacks of the time you were in this exact room, hearing Satoru crying helplessly from outside and begging for you not to terminate his child. What comes around certainly goes back around. Or worse.

Such depressive thoughts had you occupied throughout your stay there, and your unusual placidness alarmed the nurses instead of being assured that you were doing well. You heard your doctors telling your father and sister to always keep a close eye on you as the incident may not seem serious, but the trauma would undoubtedly be present somewhere and somehow. Were they aware? Of your intrusive thoughts of wanting to hurt yourself?

The elbow arthroscopy was successful and by the second day, you were free to go home. You were placed on certain medications to help with the swelling and the pain, and while you were walking around the hospital with a listless mind, you happened to pass by the Obstetrics and Gynecology Department. What a deja vu it was, remembering the time you had seen Satoru there waiting outside for Sera. Back then, it was one of the climactic events in your life that led to a domino effect on the downfall of your marriage. Not that you were reminiscing, but it did remind you that Shoko was probably there in her consultation room and it would be nice to talk to a friend who had witnessed the wild history of your marriage.

You asked Gen to wait for you in the car while you headed to Ieiri’s consultation room, assuring your visibly worried sister that everything was fine and that you wouldn’t take too long. You had to give Gen some slack, because despite the strains in your relationship as sisters, she was still always there for you. At the end of the day, she was family.

Shoko, on the other hand, was the next closest thing you had for a sister. She welcomed you inside her room in a very worried embrace, telling you that if she had known about the incident, she would have gone straight to your hospital room on your first day, but you told her not to worry about it and understood that being in the medical field already had her schedule tight.

“Well, I guess it’s perfect that you’re here, too.” Shoko smiled warmly, sitting behind her desk. She had exciting news to offer, it seemed. “I just wanna say that… of course, I’ll still be sending you a formal invitation and everything. I actually have a few gifts along with it.”

You shared her enthusiasm. “Hmm… is it what I think it is?”

The wedding. The most eventful day of her life would be arriving soon and you were the first one to hear it.

“Yes!” she answered, with the utmost joy coruscating from her eyes. “I want you to be my maid-of-honor, Y/N. I’d be extremely happy if you could make it. I know you just got into an accident, but it won’t be until two months, so—”

“Hey, it’s okay.” You eased her worries by chuckling. “I’m completely fine, of course I’ll be there. I can’t miss it.”

Shoko was grateful to hear your answer, relieved even, because by asking you to be her maid-of-honor, you should already understand who Suguru’s best man would be. That was a touchy subject for you and she was keenly aware of it, but you didn’t want her to worry. You didn’t want your relationship with your ex-husband to have a negative impact on the relationship of all the other people surrounding the both of you. It was already bad enough that Shoko and Suguru almost called off their engagement after they fought over their morals as you and Satoru’s friends, and you were glad that they somehow made things work. They somehow set aside their disagreements and ultimately chose their love over anything else.

Their love was beautiful, and while that wasn’t something you could easily have, it was something you deeply admired.

“Where are you guys planning to hold your wedding?” you asked, steering the conversation away from any mention of your ex-husband. “Here or overseas?”

She delighted you with her answer, sounding as if this was the perfect wedding she had always dreamed of. “It’s an intimate wedding on the lakeside. Suguru chose the location, actually, since he wanted our wedding to have the view of Mount Fuji.”

“That’s perfect,” you said with wide eyes. “Lake Kawaguchiko?”

“Yep. That’s exactly where it’d be.” She smiled with her eyes. “You know this resort… Hoshinoya Fuji? We already booked the place, and we have a luxury cabin for friends and families to stay at.”

You had been there before, but you were too young to remember. All you knew was that it was a high-end resort that had the best panoramic views of Lake Kawaguchiko and Mount Fuji. The hotel owner was also a close friend of the Gojou family, so that was probably why they were able to rent the entire place for the wedding, especially at a peak season for tourists.

Since the fall season was arriving, you could only imagine the stunning views of the autumn foliage there. It offered the perfect weather, too. It wouldn’t be as hot as summer, nor as freezing as winter. Surely, it would be nice to do some nature walks and stargazing, maybe ride a boat or bathe in a hot spring. You looked forward to it, except for the fact that your ex-husband would also be there.

And just what a perfect timing it was, because as Shoko sorted through her patients' medical records above her desk, a file slipped from the pile, revealing the name of your very friend, Akemi.

“Oh,” Shoko murmured apologetically as she retrieved the record, not wanting to ruin the mood of your conversation. “She, uh, came by a few days ago... with Gojou.”

You didn’t need to ask. You didn’t need to hear any further detail. Akemi’s visit likely revolved around her desire to conceive, as she wouldn’t have visited Shoko otherwise. Why? If it were simply to monitor her polycystic ovary, why did she choose Shoko instead of her own gynecologist? Thinking of how your ex-husband and best friend were attempting to start a family together left your heart shattered in unimaginable pieces, stirring up painful memories of your pathetic marriage with Satoru and reopening old wounds you thought had already healed from. Wasn’t it ironic that a couple of years ago, you were crying over the same situation with Sera?

You couldn’t stand this feeling anymore. You thought you had already freed yourself from the pain of loving him, yet here you were suffering from the same heartbreak over and over and over again. Tears threatened to spill, but you held them back, the ache in your chest too raw to confront just yet.

“It’s funny.” Although you displayed an outward smile, the sadness in your voice reflected your otherwise inward thoughts. You didn’t know why you said that. You were just too… too emotional. Almost like you couldn’t breathe. “He was never this passionate with me. They seem so in love.”

Ieiri’s eyes carried sisterly concern in them. “Y/N, it’s not really what you think.”

Was it? You weren’t sure what to feel anymore. You certainly weren't there to hear it anymore, either. Satoru chose her, just like what you wanted for him to do. Just like what you asked him to do. He had moved on, he had found someone who would love him for who he was, he had chosen the woman he would share the rest of his future with. Call yourself ridiculous for even feeling hurt about it, because you had no right to be and you definitely chose this. Either you own up to it, or you cry about it for the rest of your life.

Both choices had no happy endings.

— —

When Satoru learned about your incident in the woods, he thought he was going to lose his mind.

Was it out of love that he swiftly left the office in the middle of a meeting just to get to where you were?

He still had to pick up Sachiro from daycare, and he felt bad telling his son on the way to the hospital that his mother was hurt. It actually gave Satoru a hard time explaining to the 3-year old that they had to go to the hospital because his mommy was there and that she had an unfortunate encounter while riding a horse.

“Dada, is… is mama okay?” Sachiro pouted with wide, tearful eyes as he clung to his father’s hand. “Sachi wants to go to mama!”

“She’ll be okay, Sachi.” Gojou carried his son and soothed him as they went inside the hospital, searching for you. “Mommy’s strong, remember?”

Was it out of love that he wanted to be the person that brought your son to you when you most needed him?

According to the nurse, your room was on the seventh floor, but when he got there, your room was empty. It was Ian who told him that you went up the rooftop garden to get some fresh air, insisting that if Satoru wanted to go and talk to you, that it was best to leave Sachiro with them.

And so he did. He ran hastily, almost out of breath, until he reached the rooftop, scanning every face within the vicinity until his tired blue eyes finally landed on you.

Satoru laughed in disbelief. He scoffed bitterly, with each breath full of disgust. The tips of his fingers felt cold, while his breathing grew thin and ragged. He could feel his stomach clenching at the humiliation of seeing you engaged in an intimate make-out session with Toji Zen’in.

How sickeningly sweet.

At that point, he was laughing at his own expense, ignoring the elderly lady who looked at him like he was a crazy person. He stood there frozen for a few minutes, watching you kiss another man before it finally woke him up from reality.

It was out of love that he let you go.

You see? This was where his attachment to you would lead him. It was pure and unreasonable selfishness, but he would gain nothing at all from even seeing you. He didn’t need to care for you at all, no. You had Toji. You seemed to be goddamn happy with your life with Toji. And what a romantic fucking moment that was, too.

Satoru couldn’t think straight when he hurriedly left the hospital and got inside his car. He desperately wanted to forget the painful image of you locking lips with somebody else. How? How would he? Fuck! He was mad, mad at himself for choosing to come to your aid like he still had any role in your life. He was disgusted at himself for ignoring Akemi’s calls after promising her a movie date after work. He couldn’t believe he had her waiting all by herself in that cinema, waiting for him to come while he was stupidly running around the hospital to see his ex-wife.

You chose Toji, then you better be happy. Satoru hoped you were happy, and that wish came from a place of genuineness. He genuinely hoped the best for you. Because for him, it was time to fully let go and stop himself from trying to be the superhero whenever you were in danger. You weren’t his wife anymore.

So, was it out of love that he headed straight to Akemi’s apartment that night with a bouquet of red roses?

She didn’t know what happened nor was she given the full detail as to why he unintentionally stood her up on their date night. He had just briefly explained that he had to drop Sachiro off to you at a hospital because you got into a small accident. Akemi, being your friend, got immediately worried upon hearing the situation and asked if Satoru was able to check on you.

He said no. He said Toji was there. He said he left as soon as dropped Sachiro off.

And in an effort to apologize for not paying attention to the current woman in his life, Satoru pulled Akemi in a tight embrace. He held her in her arms, drunk from the sweet and citrusy notes of her perfume, before pulling away to kiss her. He kissed her with the same passion as you did with Toji. Perhaps even more, even better. He completely devoured her lips, with a hand on her cheek and the other on her waist. The taste of her tongue was sweet like strawberries, while her lips were red like cherries.

This woman was all he needed.

But was this love? He didn’t know. It was too soon to tell, too early to answer, too hasty to even consider.

— —

The current situation you were in reminded you of your younger self after your mother had died. It was the same before; you never left the house, often locking yourself in your room, shutting yourself off from the world, and drowning yourself with the pain and loneliness of losing somebody important.

Sure, no one really died for you to be acting this way right now, but the feeling was still the same. Was this really a comeuppance to all of your wrongdoings before? But just how terrible were you of a person to be hit by this unbelievable truckload of sorrow? You might as well spur on the physical pains of your angina again if this torment continued. Otherwise, how else do you avoid it?

You were being a terrible mother, too. You were too engrossed by your own misery that you couldn’t even properly take care of Sachiro. He didn’t deserve to have an incompetent and irresponsible mother like you. He deserves someone better, someone like Akemi, who not only has all the motherly traits a woman should have, but also the physical and mental capacity of being a true, strong woman.

Sachiro was bound to have that, anyway. Now that his father was planning his lifelong journey with another woman, and now that he was trying to build a happy family with her, you were no longer needed in the picture. There was no need for you.

How many more times would you tell that you have accepted it?

Because, god be damned, you knew you couldn’t. You knew you were lying to yourself when you said everything was fine, lying to Satoru when you told him you didn’t need him in your life anymore, lying to Toji for telling him that you wanted to marry him, lying to Akemi that you didn’t care if she was seeing your ex-husband, and lying to Sachiro when you promised to him that you would never leave his side. You were a liar. A terrible liar. A pitiful, terrible liar.

How would you tell the universe that you couldn’t take it anymore? That, for once, you wanted to be showered by happiness and all the good things in life?

Sera was right. Not everyone could have it all. There were people of lesser fortune who weren’t blessed to live a lavish life like you, yet still work hard to achieve what they want. Why couldn't you achieve your own happiness without blaming it on the universe? If this was simply a lesson, then weren’t you the top student at this rate?

God. God, help me. You really didn’t know how to deal with this life anymore. You weren’t sure how to proceed. You couldn’t rely on anything other than the bottle of alcohol on your hand—what was once full was now half empty after you took another swig. This was your second bottle already, wasn’t it? Or third?

You got up from the floor and failed to walk in a straight line as you made your way towards the balcony. Your steps were unsteady, wavering like a leaf caught in a gentle breeze. With each attempt to move forward, your body swayed from side to side, struggling to maintain balance. You almost lost grip of the bottle you were holding. No, it did, in fact, slip from your hand and ended up crashing into the floor. Shards of glass lay across the ground, ready to pierce the soles of your feet to mirror the same physical pain your heart was experiencing.

“Stop,” you muttered under your breath, begging for your chest to stop hurting. But it only worsened, and your antidote to that was to wash it down with even more liquor. No matter how expensive it was, you didn’t even like the taste of alcohol. You hated the sting on your throat whenever you drank it. You despised the bitterness it left on your tongue. However, it did great at numbing your emotions.

It just felt wrong in many ways that you were seeing Satoru’s face whenever you closed your eyes. You could see his smile, his loving eyes, his beautiful lips. You missed his embrace, his kiss, his touch. You missed hearing his I love you’s. Him. You missed him. You yearned for him. Three goddamn years, and you were still undeniably in love with him.

“Satoru…” you cried, sitting on the floor. Each breath made it harder and harder for you to catch as tears continued to stream down your face. You were tired of pretending, denying that you no longer had feelings for him when you knew deep down that you would always choose him. “S-Satoru… come back to me, please.”

Was it him coming inside your room? Or was it your vision making a fool out of you?

“Baby, what are you doing?” Satoru’s expression was engulfed in immense worry as he knelt down and reached out to you, touching your cheek and looking at your eyes somberly. “Don’t do this yourself, Y/N.”

Your head hung low, your gaze unfocused and glazed, as you fought to keep your eyes on the path ahead. You had to reach him. You wanted to touch him, hug him. And despite your best efforts, your movements were disjointed and erratic, betraying the effects of the alcohol coursing through your veins.

“Y/N, that’s enough.” Gen had to use force just to be able to snatch the bottle away from you, forcing you to wake up to the reality where Satoru no longer existed to be there for you. It was her who came rushing inside your room in the middle of the night. The bottle of liquor was now spilled all over the floor. The same could be described with your emotions. “Get it together. You haven’t been acting like yourself lately!”

You couldn’t, even if you wanted to. You were in delirium after having dealt with all the terrible things the world had thrown at you. If you couldn’t drown yourself in alcohol, how else would you have been able to numb the pain? How else would you have been able to… forget?

As much as your sister tried to hide the obvious sympathy in her voice, even your drunken mind could recognize it. “We all know you’re going down the depression lane again, but never to this extent.” Her voice cracked in the middle of her sentence, cradling you into her arms as a tear fell down her face. The Gen who would usually lecture you, was now holding you in her arms as her only baby sister. “Stop this, Y/N, please. Don’t ruin your life the second time. I-It’s hurting me. It’s hurting Dad. Do you… do you realize what Sachiro’s gonna think of you when he sees you like this?”

“Gen…” Muffled sobs unwillingly came out of you, leaving you with such excruciating pain in the chest, so much so that it didn’t even feel like you had done surgery to fix your (quite literally) broken heart. “I w-want him back,” you continued to cry, “I want my husband back. I want to be with h-him, Gen.”

“Y/N.”

“Where’s S-Satoru…? D-Did he leave? Please take me to him—”

“Y/N, listen to me.” She gently cupped your cheeks, forcing you to look at her pained eyes. “You’re intoxicated. He was never here, and he’d never come for you. You have to let it go.”

“But—”

“He’s not good for you. He never will be.”

— —

It had been two weeks since Satoru last heard about you. Miwa was the one who updated him that you had already returned to your family’s mansion, letting him know that you were okay and that you were recovering well. Frankly, Satoru was starting to get annoyed at the fact that his secretary was still giving him updates about you. What did he care? He wasn’t your husband anymore.

Besides, Toji was probably visiting you every day, so why did he have to worry about you? If there was anyone he should be worried about, it was Akemi. She had been experiencing terrible pelvic cramps lately, which needed to be given serious attention, but you would never see her being dramatic about it. The only thing she needed was for Gojou to accompany her visits to the OB-GYN, and even then, she never showered herself in self-pity. She carried herself like an independent woman, and that was exactly what Satoru needed in his life right now.

He had a son to raise. He had a company to run. It wasn’t the perfect time to commit himself to someone lawfully. Heck, he didn’t even believe in marriage anymore. He realized that two people could still love each other without getting married. As long as Akemi didn’t pressure him about such things, he was fine with having her around. She didn’t ask for anything much, anyway.

As for you, well…

“What are you planning with that mansion you gifted Y/N?” asked Nanami, seated on the couch inside Satoru’s office, casually reading a newspaper. “Do you even remember that?”

He certainly did. “What about it?” he questioned, idly toying with a pen on his desk. “It’s her property now. She can sell it if she wants.”

Better yet, you should let Sachiro inherit the property someday. His son was already set for a life of privilege having wealthy parents on both sides, but wouldn’t the mansion be a substantial addition to his assets in the future? Satoru couldn’t help but envision the kind of man his son would grow up into. He hoped Sachiro would not inherit his father's immaturity and pettiness but would embody the kindness and altruism of his mother. From a business perspective, however, Satoru planned to groom his son to be a leader, as he was the sole heir to the Gojou Group. Additionally, he would also inherit half of Creston and the entirety of Hearte. No wonder Sachiro was recently listed as the wealthiest kid by Forbes Japan. He even beat Megumi Zen’in from the list even though the teenager was the heir of the Zen’in business empire.

These were the thoughts that should consume Satoru—the future, not the past. His kid, not you. And he was right about doing so, because when he came home to his penthouse, he was told that he had a visitor.

A visitor on a Wednesday afternoon?

Your brother-in-law, the esteemed prosecutor who sent his evil stepmother to jail, appeared on his front door, carrying Sachiro in his arms. It was hard to tell what type of emotions were visible on the man’s face, but he definitely didn’t bring any good news.

“Ian?” Satoru promptly made way for the man to come in, ushering him into the penthouse and allowing him to set Sachiro down. The young boy was quick to dart off to his playroom, leaving the two men in an uncomfortable silence. “What’s going on? Weekends are usually my schedule with Sachi.”

Ian cleared his throat, a hand on his pocket. “Do you mind looking after Sachiro for the time being?”

By saying ‘for the time being’, it seemed like Ian wanted to actually say ‘until further notice.’ But that confused Satoru even more, because what was happening for the man to come here and ask him to let Sachiro stay beyond the agreed schedule with his father? He couldn’t read through Ian’s expression and it was making him uneasy.

“I can, but… why so suddenly?” Gojou asked, glancing at his oblivious son.

“It’s Y/N’s idea, Gen doesn’t know about it.” Ian released an awkward chuckle. “You know how my wife is.”

Gen would absolutely hate it, Satoru was aware for sure. Though the questions lingered in his mind. “Why would Y/N want Sachi to stay with me? Where’s she?”

Was it him or was Ian having a hard time explaining the situation? It felt like he was walking on eggshells, deciding between what had to be said and what shouldn’t. He was careful with his words when he spoke again, “Y/N flew to Monaco this morning and will be back when she’s ready. She says Sachiro should spend all of his time with you while she’s gone.”

Monaco? Why would you be there?

Confusion bathed Satoru’s eyes. “Is it for a fashion event or something?”

“No, she’s just…” Ian struggled heavily. “Well, to sum it up, she has to go there to sort some things out. It’s a personal thing, but she really needs this time for herself and we think it’s the best for her right now. I don’t know how long she’s gonna stay there or when she’ll be back, but I hope you understand what I’m trying to say here.”

No, he didn’t. Satoru found it difficult to fathom his ex-brother-in-law’s words, seeing as he had no general idea of what was truly going on. But if you were flying to Monaco, surely Toji wouldn’t allow you to go there all by yourself?

Ahh. It made sense now. I see what’s happening here.

Satoru’s lips curled into sarcasm. You would be vacationing with the love of your life. Is that what it was? Planning your halted wedding? Choosing wedding gowns? Looking for venues? There was no way you would be flying to Monaco alone, especially without Sachiro around when you two had been inseparable since his birth.

“What kinda mother is she?” Satoru muttered in disgust, unaware that Ian had overheard him. But Ian had heard loud and clear. How could you leave your son behind like this? Couldn’t you face your ex-husband to discuss it, instead of just dropping Sachiro off as if he were some unwanted toy?

“Hold it right there,” Ian interjected, becoming defensive at the accusation. “You have no idea what she’s going through.”

How would he know? No one was telling him shit. No one was giving him details, so did they expect him to understand things and accept them as they were? Did they do the same thing to Satoru when he was at the verge of losing his sanity asking everyone for forgiveness over and over?

“I've never taken sides between you two, Satoru, you know that,” Ian continued, trying to maintain a calm demeanor and speak with clear judgment, “But one thing I’m not gonna let you do is call Y/N a bad mother.”

Satoru’s chest tightened at Ian's words, a mixture of guilt and frustration bubbling up inside him. He knew he shouldn’t have spoken out of turn, but the pain and resentment were too raw to contain. It felt like you were abandoning him and your child, like you were off to a new chapter in your life again, and leaving everything behind. Perhaps this was his trauma from the New York thing crawling back at him, but it definitely reminded him of the day you had abandoned him. For three fucking years. How long would it take you to return now?

Why do you keep doing this? He was sick of it. You kept running away instead of talking to him. He gets it, people change, circumstances change, but couldn’t you at least have the decency to talk to him about it? Was it wrong for him to wish you’d handled this differently? To wish that you’d talked to him, involved him in the decision-making process, instead of just making this unilateral decision and leaving him to pick up the pieces?

Satoru took a moment, collecting his thoughts before continuing. “It’s fine, I’ll take care of Sachi,” he reassured, “I’ll take some time off work and have ‘Kemi help me out.”

He looked back at Ian, his eyes pleading for further details, for answers, for some semblance of clarity in the midst of this emotional turmoil.

Yet none of it was given.

And so, would it still be wrong to assume that he could now completely forget about you? That this opportunity to be with Sachiro would allow him a chance to share it with someone else? If you spent three years of your life playing house in New York with Toji, would it still be unfair for Satoru to do the same with Akemi?

#series: sincerely yours #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo angst #jjk angst

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 7 months ago

Note

first of all, this is all legit, and not bait, though i have a feeling it may come off that way, this did happen to me. please don't publish if tumblr sends it off anon.

i'm a lesbian with gender dysphoria, and while i haven't had much sexual experience, i would consider myself a stone top. in the last year and a half i began reading "terf"/radical feminist writings and reading "terf" tumblr blogs fairly actively, largely out of frustration with misogyny i was experiencing IRL. though i never engaged with the community i did stop identifying as genderfluid and started understanding my dysphoria as stemming from the trauma of being bullied by other girls for having a high-androgen DSD, and using different pronouns/transition thoughts as unhealthy coping mechanisms. i'm happy with this, but i also don't know if i'm attracted to women anymore.

i've always been attracted to women in a way that's stereotypically guy-like; i find feminine women very attractive and not so much fellow(?) butches, want to penetrate with a strap on, don't like bush much, cursory interest in BDSM/daddy kink. i read/watched het erotica and porn sometimes and identified with the man. what i read problematized pretty much every aspect of that- femininity as a cage, penetration as violence/straps as disidentification w the female body, infantilization of women, bdsm as abuse etc. also, desisting making me more conscious of dysphoria/knowledge of how extensive sexual dimorphism is putting me off both women with larger breasts and hips AND smaller breasts and hips/unrealistically masculine body types as well. so a lot of what turned me on before isn't arousing anymore, or i feel guilty about it, and i haven't been able to find butch4butch stuff which is much healthier very interesting.

i consider my sexuality healthier now on a political level but my ability to get aroused/jerk off has plummeted (used to be i could jork it sunrise to sunset) and thinking about being in a relationship w another woman makes me feel uneasy and weird, especially since a lot of what i read emphasized reciprocative cunnilingus/tribbing (which i don't like) as the healthiest sex options. i also think about both my dysphoria and my sexuality issues 100x more than i did before, even though i was promised the opposite (freedom from dysphoria and feeling happier as a lesbian), and it's stressing me out day-to-day. i'm aware based on your general ethos that you probably think i'm a terrible person right now, but i figured it'd be useful to seek the opinion of someone who radically disagrees with what i've read on what i could/should do next, since i admittedly miss being at peace with my sexuality.

thanks for reading.

hi there anon,

it's a bummer that you'd think I would assume you're a terrible person based on everything you've told me here. I generally try not to consider people terrible unless they're actively being shitheads or hurting other people, which doesn't sound at all like you're describing. from what you've told me, you've been up to your eyes in some information that's made you feel deeply uncomfortable in your sexuality and now you're seeking out a new perspective to help you make sense of that hurt. that describes most of the people who send me questions!

it's so striking to me that much of what you're describing is very reminiscent of what's recounted in The Persistent Desire, an anthology of writings on butch/femme identities edited by femme historian and archivist Joan Nestle that was released in 1992. in various essays and interviews countless butches and femmes recount their discomfort with the feminist turn against butch and femme identities that too place in the 70s, when both roles were declared problematic recreations of heterosexuality and summarily decried as politically "incorrect" for lesbians. it's shocking to me how much what you've described echoes these accounts experienced by lesbians half a century ago - the disowning of women who are "excessively" feminine or masculine, the demonizing of penetrative sex, general insistence that there are "correct" sex acts that every lesbian is supposed to enjoy, and the deep discomfort and insecurity that this causes among people who don't fit into the very rigid standards of proper lesbian identity set forth.

here's a link to a PDF, if that's interesting to you at all. it's very long, so feel free not to read it straight through; it's a great project to skim and an incredible way to get in touch with the lesbians who came before us. their accounts of their lives are so wildly different from the boundaries of "good" queer representation that feel so universal today; in discussing their own lives many of these women speak very bluntly about their experiences with abuse, drugs, sex work, and violence. it's a great glimpse into the lives and history of a lot of very ordinary lesbians just living their lives, and I'm very grateful it's been preserved.

now, as for what you're actually gonna do: hey. listen. first of all, if you haven't given up reading this stuff yet, you've gotta. you simply cannot keep internalizing stuff that makes you overanalyze your own sexuality so hard that you feel uncomfortable about being attracted to women. that's not "healthy," that's conversion therapy lite. there are other places to talk about feminism without being made to feel ashamed of yourself.

listen: there's nothing unhealthy about anything that you described about yourself. being a stone butch, being attracted to certain looks and aesthetics, watching porn, wanting to use a strap and roleplay during sex and not being interested in other sexual activities - all of those thing are completely normal and, yes, healthy. certainly healthier than feeling the need to repress your sexuality so hard that thinking about being with a woman doesn't feel right!

should we run through that list?

femininity as cage - sure, okay, femininity isn't for everyone, and there are parts of it that suck. that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with women who like to wear dresses or put on makeup or shave or whatever, or anyone who's attracted to those women. genuinely I cannot think of anything less interesting or important to feminist organizing than getting hung up about what people want to wear. it's clothes, dude. it's fucking clothes. pick a more important hill to die on, I implore you.

penetration is not the same thing as violence. there's just nothing to debate about that one; it's patently absurd to pretend that every act of penetrative sex is rape and you'd have to fundamentally misunderstand how consent works to believe that.

straps are not about "disidentification with the female body," they're about augmenting a sexual experience. a strap-on is not more problematic than a vibrator or a massage oils or a pillow used to prop up a body part. unless those are also bad? are those bad? are pillows disidentifying from the female body also? I'm not up to date on this.

straight up I don't even know which part of your whole deal the infantilization of women is supposed to address, but a thing that I've always found interesting about a lot of radical feminists who are deeply distrustful of sex is the way that many of them seem to assume that women can't be trusted to understand their own sexual desires and need to be taught what's appropriate. seems kind of condescending to me, personally.

BDSM isn't the same thing as abuse. abuse, crucially, is not a situation that people can safe word out of or negotiate the constraints of. it's kind of like how, you know, I purposefully pay people to shove needles in my skin when I want a tattoo, but I wouldn't be stoked about it if somebody just ran up to me in public and started stabbing me without any warning or conversation. context is crucial. there can certainly be abusive people within BDSM spaces, but that's true of people of literally every sexual proclivity on earth, and certainly not an innate feature of BDSM. it's just make believe, dude. it's dress up. it's sex LARPing.

also, psst, hey. that thing about being attracted to women in a "guy-like" way? no such thing. men are humans, dude; they experience attraction in as many different ways as anyone else. for every dude interested in the same stuff as you there are men yearning for hairy women, muscular women, masculine women, women who will dominate them, women who would rather be eaten out then penetrated, and so on. to say nothing of the men who aren't into women at all! and, as is obvious from your own experience, men don't have a monopoly on those kinds of feelings, anyway! there are no men or women feelings, dude; it's all just people having feelings and fighting for their lives trying to figure out what they're into to.

I want to particularly talk about that last bit, where you mentioned not enjoying or wanting to engage in cunnilingus or tribbing. that's totally fine! people like different shit in all kinds of combinations - I'm personally a huge fan of getting eaten out and scratched up or bitten, but I don't do penetration and I've genuinely never met anyone who actually liked tribbing - and there are absolutely people out there who will, to paraphrase the poet Tinashe, perfectly match your freak.

(have you heard about the perpetual, critical shortage of tops that the queer community faces? you'd be a godsend, just saying.)

also, actually, hey I wanted to circle back to another thing as well: it's deeply alarming to me that whatever radfem stuff you've been reading has you feeling "put off" of women with wide hips and large breasts as well as women with small breasts and hips. what is wrong with either of those? both of those are just ways that women naturally look. women just look a wide variety of ways, and it's sad that that's upsetting you now. just thinking about this, conceptually, is giving me hives.

having been up to your eyes in all of this, I can definitely understand why you'd feel the urge to overanalyze you own gender and sexuality to the point of completely talking yourself out of identifying with anything that feels good for you. as I said, that's actually not healthy in any way, and as a sex educator I can't say that I think anyone genuinely invested in your well-being would want that for you.

entirely aside from their feelings on trans people, which I obviously disagree with pretty vehemently, one of the things about radfems that's most endlessly vexing to me is the insistence that such an extremely narrow range of sexual behaviors are appropriate. seems like a miserable way to live, and I sincerely hope you can detangle yourself from the morass of shame it's landed you in. you deserve better.

#sex edventures 2024

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alessiathepirate · 10 days ago

Text

Squid Game

SMILE FOR ME: Hwang In-ho/Frontman/Oh Young-il x fem!reader

Summary: Manipulation - that was his greatest weapon...

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistakes I may have made while I wrote this short story.

Warnings: swearing, referenced PTSD and/or trauma, emotional manipulation, referenced death, referenced betrayal, heavily implied obsession, (Gi-hun and reader are besties, since the writer aka me loves him too much to not baby him)

●●●

She doesn't smile anymore...

That was In-ho's first thought when he met her in person for the first time.

And oddly enough - since he played a pretty big part in the cause of that - he really missed that: her smile.

There used to be something about it - something special.

In-ho had watched and sat through his fair share of games; and during those every player's positivity, hope and smile disappeared after the very first game. They acknowledged the consequences of failure - and accepted the fact that there's nothing they could possibly do about it. Even if they found some allies or friends, they never smiled again. Not really. Only with those false, fake ones.

But not her.

They were different - her and Gi-hun, especially.

Even after red light, green light; after the dalgona; after the tug of war -- they still smiled, especially with each other. They sat down to eat with their group and they shared stories, the old and fun ones, and those could make their teammates chuckle.

In reality, In-ho thought, it must've been to keep themselves and the others calm. To give them a false sense of security and hope.

In-ho couldn't exactly say when was the exact time she stopped smiling. The marble game; player 067's death or player 218's betrayal... It didn't really matter - the when. What mattered was the fact that she changed - and In-ho didn't like, even though he should've.

There was still a small shine in her eyes whenever she talked to Gi-hun and Gi-hun alone, but it wasn't the same...

It wasn't the same at all.

●●●

"Gi-hun..." her voice made In-ho turn slightly, as quietly as possible, so he could watch their interaction play out. "I'll take over. You need to get some sleep."

In-ho watched as she sat down next to Gi-hun, her thigh pushing his, so he would get a move on. During moments like these, she almost looked like the old her -- cheery and playful; still, it was only almost.

"You don't have to. I'll keep watch, I'm not tired anyway. You can go back to sleep."

She pushed his thigh again; and even though her lips didn't curl upwards into a smile, her eyes seemed happy.

"You are still a terrible liar, Seong Gi-hun..." her hands pushed his chest, so he would move. "Now go before I make you."

Gi-hun reacted the same way she did - he didn't smile, but the muscles around his eyes softened. He seemed calm, almost safe as he looked at her.

"Promise me you'll wake me if anything happens."

Her lips twitched.

"I promise." she punched his shoulder playfully. "Now go."

Gi-hun got up painfully slowly, as if to give her time to change her mind, and then did what she said. He lied down, pulled the covers over himself and after a few moments, he closed his eyes.

In-ho watched her for a while. He witnessed how all the tension and stress disappeared from her shoulders when she thought no one was watching. He saw how she let the sadness she was truly feeling appear on her face.

She seemed oddly calm.

In-ho let the minutes go by, he waited patiently until he was sure no one else was awake; and then he walked up to her, letting her shake in fear from the sudden presence behind her.

"Young-il." she whispered as she let out a long breath. "You scared me."

"My apologies." he said, almost frowning at how she immediatelly went back into her protective shell - she didn't feel comfortable around him, unlike the others, and In-ho didn't like that at all. "Would you mind some company? I can't sleep, we might as well keep watch together."

She looked up at him, clearly contemplating what she should say.

"Be my guest." she said in the end.

He sat down next to her, and watched as she pulled her feet further away from him. Silence began to set in - but In-ho wouldn't let it win. This was the first time he found a chance to talk to her alone, and he wouldn't waste it.

"You and Gi-hun seem to be close."

She turned to look at him in the darkness as if she could figure out his real intentions.

"We are." she said. "I've known him for years. I don't understand how it affects you though."

In-ho almost smiled at the accusatory tone.

"I'm just making conversation." he said, trying to sound kind. "And I noticed that you only talk to him and no one else."

She seemed irritated - ready to curse him out, to tell him to shut up or wake Gi-hun up, so he could come to her rescue.

In the end she just scoffed.

"I don't have much to talk about these days."

"Or smile about." In-ho added and this time he let himself smile at the look on her face. He might as well test her - her and her trust, the holes on her shell. "You seemed ready to sacrifice yourself - during the first game. The same goes for Gi-hun." he tilted his head slightly. "I think I just don't understand what you're doing here. You won the previous game. You have all that money to spend... Yet you two are here; and you seem unhappy."

She swallowed and then took a deep breath. She didn't know what she should say and how she should say it. She was completely at his curiousity's mercy, which didn't seem to have a filter - and she couldn't find the right words for an answer.

In-ho's lips curled upwards and he chuckled before she could come up with an answer. His laugh confused her even more.

"I'm sorry." he continued. "You just don't seem to trust me very much."

She pointed at his jacket's number without hesitation, then at the 'O' sign - the sign what previously had been 'X'. She looked him in the eyes before answering.

"The last 001 I trusted turned out to be a liar and an asshole." she pulled her legs up and hugged her knees to her chest. "So I apologize for not trusting you. Besides, your name is Young-il and you are player 001?" she scoffed. "Either the guards have a great sense of humor and they gave you that number, or you're a bad guy with zero creativity."

In-ho wanted to laugh. Really laugh. Even though her trust-issues made her unable to have fun, they made her more fun.

What would be the right reaction? Half a chuckle maybe, plus a small smile.

Then, In-ho waited. He waited for her facade to break - and it did. Because even though she changed, she still had characteristics every human had -- well, most had --: regret.

He waited for her too feel remorse. He waited until she was drowning in it for being too harsh. He waited and didn't say anything.

"That big pile of bloody cash is in a motel room." she said suddenly as she continued to hug her knees.

"What?"

"You wanted to know about the money. Well, it's in a dimly lit motel room." she explained.

In-ho chuckled. "Really?"

"Yeah." she nodded, but this time there was something about her expression: as if she just admitted to herself that the picture of a fortune in a motel room is oddly funny. "As for the sacrifice part - there's nothing wrong with helping others."

"I'm not saying there is." In-ho explained. "It's just that most people in here are selfish. They would choose to save themselves instead of others." he stayed quiet for a while, letting his words sink in. "But you and Gi-hun still choose to save them. All of them."

She tilted her head.

"I asked myself if I'd like to be a rich murderer or a dead person who chose to save others." she said, her tone turning sad. "I chose the latter." In-ho's lips twitched from trying not to smile, when he noticed that she stretched her legs, no longer being careful around him. "I guess I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I was to ever cause someone's death. Besides, everyone here has someone to go back home to; I don't. Gi-hun's here and my only other friend isn't even really my friend." she shrugged. "So then why not help?"

Her knee almost touched his.

Trust. That was what he wanted.

"People who think they don't matter are the ones who matter the most." In-ho looked at her. "Are you sure that playing hero is the best decision you can make?"

She shook her head. "What do you mean?"

In-ho let out a fake chuckle.

"You have people who love you, who think you are important. I'm sure of it." he leaned forward. "And heroes, even if they succeed in the end, don't usually have an easy journey. There are losses - and consequences."

"You think I don't know that?" she started to get angry again. "What do you know about loss?"

"Everything. Sadly." he sounded more honest than he intended to be - and she noticed it too.

Regret. What a beautiful human emotion.

"Oh, God. I'm sorry." she said as she looked at him with remorse in her eyes - her body language showed no fear or protection. She gave up, she showed him the real her. "I didn't know."

"No need. You couldn't have known." he gave her a weak smile - he showed weakness so she would do it too. "Although when I sat down I thought we would speak about something more... fun."

The muscles in her cheeks twitched and In-ho knew she was so close to smiling, yet she held it back.

She looked around the room, looked at the beds and the people who were sleeping in them. In-ho followed her gaze.

"Well then..." she began, not yet knowing what she'd say in the end. "You are a good fighter. I mean you beat up two guys without even lifting a finger." the compliment sounded nice coming from her. "Police or military?"

In-ho wanted to grin.

"Good deduction. Both, actually. And thank you."

"I have a friend who's a cop. Well, I don't really know if he is my friend, but he seems nice regardless." she intertwined her fingers. "Next time I see him, if I see him at all; I'll have to ask him if he knows some... ancient martial arts too."

He just chuckled.

"Who knows... He might surprise you."

They stared into the darkness for a second, since one of the other players started to move around. In the end it turned out to be just a woman, who was having a nightmare - she soon sat up in bed while breathing heavily.

"If we're talking about skills..." In-ho began, so he could get her attention once again. "You are surprisingly good at ddakji."

Her lips twitched and he knew he wasn't too far from getting that smile.

"Yeah, I am." she admitted. "I'm much better than Gi-hun at the very least. You should've seen him playing against that recruiter guy. He was horrible! Absolutely horrible!"

"And you?"

"I beat him almost always. He must've been... quite annoyed."

Suddenly her lips curled upwards into an honest, teasing smile. The muscles under her eyes twitched, as if they have forgotten how to act during a smile.

In-ho found himself smiling too. It was like going back in time and seeing her old self.

Sure, this smile wasn't that pure and innocent, but it was a start. A pretty good start.

"You know, Young-il, I wish I could say the same, but you were God-awful at paengi chigi..." she giggled and pushed her fist against her teeth to not be too loud.

"Yeah, I was. It's not one of my proudest moments."

She continued to laugh and by the look on her face she herself couldn't tell what was so funny. But once she started to giggle there was no going back - years or surpressed emotions came running out as small wrinkles of joy appeared on her face.

In-ho joined her and as the final test, he put his hand on her knee, then he leaned in.

"Quiet, you'll wake up the others..." he said through a small laugh.

She let his hand rest on her leg as she tried to quiet down.

"I'm sorry. I don't even know what's so funny - but damn I needed this."

Got you, he thought as she leaned back, resting her bodyweight on her hands, while letting his touch linger.

Despite everything, all that change, she was still the same person with the same weak points on her shell. In-ho knew them all - he had watched her play her very first game.

"I missed your smile..." the sentence rolled off his tounge before he could've stopped himself.

She giggled, not noticing the major give-away on his perfect mask.

"Careful..." she warned him and for a moment In-ho thought she put the small inconsistencies together -- but then she continued: "I might think you're flirting with me."

"I wouldn't even dream of it." he said; realizing she let her vigilance leave her completely with a grin.

"Good." she sighed. "Now tell me, is there anything else you absolutely suck at?"

In the end In-ho got what he wanted - he always does. Trust, honesty - smiles... It didn't matter.

He had her on the hook too, her and everyone else, and there was no amount of doubt what would be able to ruin his perfectly painted picture about himself and the situation.

Doubt. He could use it against them.

That's what he does best after all.

#squid game x reader #hwang in ho x reader #in ho x reader #frontman x reader #young il x reader #squid game x fem!reader #in ho x fem!reader #young il x fem!reader #alessiathepirate

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jedimayukidaawesome · 9 days ago

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I have a hot take, and I just wanna air it out here.

I’m going to be honest, I wonder if deep down people actually hate Caitlyn because of her wealth allowing her to act upon her grief. And I mean what she ACTUALLY did, not what she did plus huge doses of exaggeration (looking at you “she gassed the lanes and everyone suffered because of her” crowd - she gassed the HQs of two chembarons and the arcade where Jinx was. She didn’t gas the whole of the lanes and none of the innocents there).

If Caitlyn didn’t have the wealth and status that she has, she wouldn’t have been able to hunt Jinx, the Chembarons and the Shimmer factories with a strike force. She rolled up with her team to a secret council meeting and didn’t get locked up or thrown out because she had a cause to be there as the Kiramman heiress. She also more than likely wouldn’t have been chosen by Ambessa to rule under martial law if she was a commoner. Her convictions aside, no one of the ruling families would’ve respected that decision, and Salo would’ve been manipulated and given control instead.

If Caitlyn had no status whilst being an enforcer, and Cassandra was a lower class woman who died working in that building, it would’ve more than likely been a one woman rampage through Zaun, with or without Vi, trying to hunt down her mother’s killer. She still would be pissed, she would still be grieving, she may still try to get the Chembarons and Shimmer destroyed, and her quest for revenge would be seen as more justifiable and sympathetic to the average viewer. Her not being rich makes her “relatable” and “misunderstood”, whilst her being rich makes her “monstrous” and “not relatable”.

The difference is that it’s far harder to do so as a simple enforcer as opposed to someone with power. If you’ve ever hated someone that deeply - a drunk driver that killed a relative, a bully that drove your friend to self harm, a parent that abused you severely - you at your angriest would wish for the worst to happen to them, and those with power make it so.

Caitlyn’s wealth allowed her to achieve her desire for vengeance far more easily. She had the resources, respect and voice that Ambessa exploited and the elites listened to.

She had the power many of us wished we had when we were so terribly wronged.

Do I think she fucked up? Yes. Do I believe she deserves to be crucified and hated because of it? No. She still had lines she wouldn’t cross (the cells where Vi was kept we’re not allowed to be used, causing violence at checkpoints got her pissed at Rictus and Ambessa, improving prison food because of an off handed comment from Vi and still have it to her mother’s murderer etc), she didn’t want things to turn out the way they had, and actively tried to do better: not for the sake of redemption, but for the sake of doing what’s right (giving Sevika the Kiramman council seat, allowing Vi to free her sister and letting go of her hate, betraying Ambessa etc).

I believe in “do not turn people away from a better path even after they fall”, and many here grant that concession to Jinx, who has murdered, kidnapped and destroyed, some of that for years. Yet people say “she was traumatised so young and she deserves to be protected”. She does, but when a victim of hers - who got ambushed in her shower whilst naked, kidnapped, vandalised and lost her mother in the same night- needs the same, everyone cries “ShE’s a MoNsTeR and a FACIST! I HATE HER - Vi DeSeRveS BETTER!”

Like bruh … the fuck?

Tl:dr - Caitlyn haters may just subconsciously hate her for being rich enough to enact revenge against an unstable, possessive and murderous teen who killed her mother and assaulted her, and those same haters cannot comprehend that Jinx caused Caitlyn’s own trauma and don’t even care to acknowledge it because of her wealth and Jinx bias. You see “rich” as an insult (hell, it’s the first “insult” Vi flings at Caitlyn after reuniting with her), and a negative character flaw; even though we’d all like some level of wealth in our lives to make it easier.

Caitlyn Kiramman deserves better, end of story

#arcane series #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn arcane #violyn #caitvi #vi arcane #violet arcane #they can never make me hate you

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swans-chirping-in-the-distance · 9 months ago

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all prevs tags btw. realest ever.

sophie has more/worse trauma than keefe

#what the HECK is this #FIRST OF ALL. WHY ARE WE PUTTING THESE GUYS THROUGH THE TRAUMA OLYMPICS #they all have VALID trauma and issues and comparing them does NO ONE any good!#SECOND #this is just flat out wrong #like you can debate all you want whether it was worse to hear the thoughts of parents who wished she was normal #or to feel the emotions of your parents and know firsthand how much they don’t love you #but what it really comes down to is that Keefe has been used and abused in horrible ways??#and I’m not saying Sophie HASNT been used #and she’s also been kidnapped and tortured #like she has serious trauma too I’m not saying she doesn’t #but if we’re comparing Sophie’s torture to Keefe’s ‘transformation’ in legacy #…..I hate comparing them bc they’re both so hurt #but if one is worse #it’s not Sophie’s?#that’s IF one is worse #again why are we doing the trauma Olympics here #also they’ve both been used and hurt #but feeling used by the black swan #and feeling used by the neverseen who is led by your own mom #are two very very very different feelings of exploitation #both bad! again! why are we even comparing!#but you’re not gonna stand here and tell me sophie had it worse?#also at least sophie lived with a family who loved her #hence she misses them terribly and loves them so much #and then she got adopted by more amazing ppl #who are there to support her all the way #and Keefe knows how awful his family is #he has nowhere to go no one to turn to #no adult role model at least so no Sophie did NOT have it worse DONT ever say that anywhere near me again

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spicyllewyn · 1 year ago

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Kinktober 6. - Mirror sex.

Moon system x F!Reader

Tags & warnings. Mirror sex + hair pulling. (+18)

Word count. 2.8k

Summary. Marc got tired of Steven and Jake breaking his rules.

Kinktober masterlist.

So far, the agreement had been going relatively well. You were in a serious relationship with Marc at first, you met in a café like those silly romantic movies, with the small difference that you almost killed him by spilling your cold drink on him and tripping over him.

Neither of you could deny that things were moving very fast, but everything with him was so ridiculously easy that you weren't afraid to give him your all. You told him about the pet you lost when you were young, about the disagreements with your parents, and the occasional traumatic event in your life. He did the same.

When he told you about Steven and Jake, you joked that he was winning the trauma competition, and he could breathe easy knowing that this was not even close to being an obstacle to your relationship. He could trust you.

Things began to get a bit out of control when everything also became easy with Jake and Steven, each with their own personal charm. You never imagined being with three very different guys, but starting to experience it was a real adventure. The problem was that while you were having fun, they had endless discussions about you and the boundaries they set for each other.

Well, the boundaries that Marc set.

The main and biggest one was that marks on your body were prohibited. He understood that all four were part of the relationship equally, but he also used something he liked to call "privileges of having met you first and being the main reason why everyone is together." Or something like that, he always changed the name for it, the thing is he couldn't help but be a jealous man, he hated that Jake and Steven would forget who you belonged to first.

The first one to break the rule was Steven, unconsciously. You didn't know anyone who was a bigger fan of make-out sessions than him, and when his kisses got deeper, more desperate, he had the habit of holding onto your hips as if you were about to run away at any moment, or as if he wanted to verify that you were real and that you were in his arms, devouring his mouth as if you depended on it to live.

That, combined with the fact that he had a terrible habit of forgetting that his muscles were stronger than he thought. You tried to be as discreet as possible when his fingers left marks on your skin, but with someone as touchy as Jake, it was impossible to keep secrets about your body.

He took it as a challenge, of course. If Steven could break the rules, why couldn't he?

The next day, you could be sure that he saw you as a blank canvas because your neck, your shoulders, and even your breasts were covered in bites and hickeys. You didn't remember him being so aggressive, but maybe pleasure had blinded you.

"What is this?" Marc held your chin, turning your face slightly, just enough to get a better view of your neck.

"It was Jake." You chuckled, still distracted by your phone as you let him guide you, without noticing how his jaw clenched, but feeling his fingers tighten on your jaw.

"Darling?"

Your eyes traveled to him.

"Mhm?"

"Will you come with me to the bedroom? We need to talk."

With a furrowed brow, you obeyed because the hand that held your chin ended up in one of your hands, pulling you as if he were a child wanting to show you something very important.

"Am I in trouble?" You joked as you watched him close the door behind you.

"Sit on the bed."

"Am I...?"

His brown eyes on you were enough for you to obey once again.

"Could you explain to me what the hell is this?" His hand in your hair made you turn your gaze away from the mirror you had in front, leaving the marks in plain sight.

You immediately understood who he was talking to.

Or whom.

"Oh, come on, hermano." Jake rolled his eyes in the mirror's reflection, his arms crossed over his chest. "Steven broke it first."

"False!" The mentioned objected after. It seemed like a competition of who could make Marc lose his patience first. "I would never do something like that."

"Check her hips if you don't believe me."

Raising an eyebrow, Marc released your hair.

"Stand up, sweetheart."

If there's one thing you've learned over time in this relationship, it's that it's not worth objecting when one or all three of them are arguing, especially when you don't even know what the problem is. You stood up slowly, wearing Steven's blue sweater that you slept in, which only covered half of your thighs.

He slowly lifted the edge of the fabric, his fingers brushing your thighs and causing a slight shiver. You could swear you heard him growl when he found the damn marks that fit perfectly with the size of his hands. Some of them were covered by your panties but they were pretty visible, already turning to a purple color.

“I-I didn't even notice those were there!”

“Why can Steven do it and I can't? That’s a damn injustice if you ask me.”

“Fortunately, Jake, I'm not asking you.” He rolled his eyes while you tried to imagine what the other two boys responded to him from the headspace. "On your knees."

The cold of the floor on your skin felt good and you had to look up to meet your boyfriend's chocolate gaze. You never had a problem following his orders.

“The problem here…” His fingers ran through your hair slowly, making you close your eyes for a few seconds. “They are forgetting who you belong to. Who do they think they are to mark my girl like this, huh?” He cooed, the gaze of the other two fixed on him.

Your hands went to the hem of his pants, and when he didn't object, you understood well what he wanted. A small smile spread across your lips as you freed him from his tight black jeans, as well as his underwear.

He wasn't completely hard yet until your tongue ran along his entire length from base to tip.

“I want you to show them who was your first, my love.” Your fingers, as if you were an expert, wrapped around his cock, giving it a squeeze before beginning a slow, up-and-down pace. “Who you think about every fucking time you cum.”

You couldn't see it, but in detail you imagined the way Jake was rolling his eyes.

“It's a punishment for all 3 of you, you understand, don't you, honey?” His eyes boring into you as you kissed all around his cock wetly. “What makes you believe you should allow yourself to be treated that way?”

You parted your lips, taking the head inside before starting to suck. That always gave him chills, the way you didn't rush.

“No-oh.” His fingers tangled in your hair, those soft caresses had stopped. One push of his hand and you had half of his erection inside your mouth. He groaned.

Although you enjoyed taking your time and savoring every inch of Marc, he seemed to be in a hurry, you thought that perhaps the clumsy and aggressive way in which he was directing your head movements was part of the supposed punishment.

Were you supposed to not enjoy that?

“Push deeper.” Jake's voice caught Marc's attention, who a few seconds ago had been distracted by the messy and sloppy way you were sucking him off. He could have sworn there was a point where the only sound in the room was your saliva every time he slid over your tongue.

Marc looked at the mirror with a frown.

“Push harder.” He repeated, looking up. “Steven always fucks her mouth until she cries, if you want to prove your point push harder. Right, Steven?"

The other boy received an elbow against his ribs that forced him to look up. It seems he was enchanted by watching the way your left cheek bulged against the pressure of the head of Marc's lenght against it.

Still distracted, he nodded quickly.

It was that what resulted in you suddenly feeling him push your head harder. The brush against your throat brought tears to your eyes and you heard your boyfriend grunt. He was never so rude.

You didn't complain, though.

You tried your best to relax the muscles in your throat around him, but you were so caught off guard that a couple of gags only did the opposite, feeling you squeeze him every few seconds until he guided your head back.

Saliva ran from your lips to your chin, some drops ending up on your neck. You broke the string of saliva that joined his cock to your mouth by licking your lips.

You sniffed, looking up before giving Marc a smile.

“Oh, you like that, don't you?” His fingers wrapped around himself so he could hit your tongue with his heavy member. You kept your tongue out, happy to receive it and hear the wet slapping. “Or does Steven do it better?”

Another movement of his hips was so abrupt that you felt your nose eventually collide with his lower abdomen, having to close your eyes as your tears ran down them. Still, you didn't give up, you didn't use your well-known "signal" to ask for some mercy.

Instead you moved your tongue slowly underneath, you only managed to graze his balls with the tip of it but it was enough to get a gasp from his throat. You held on for more seconds than you thought you were capable of before it was Marc himself who pushed you away.

It took you several seconds to even out your desperate breathing, you wiped your lips on the sleeve of Steven's sweater.

"Stand up." He ordered. His chest rising and falling rapidly. Jake's smirk on the other side of the mirror screamed at him that he knew. He knew Marc would finish stupidly quickly if he kept fucking your throat like that.

You swallowed hard before standing on shaky legs, the intense heat between your legs beginning to burn through your entire body, without receiving any kind of attention the only thing you could feel was the way your insides clenched around nothing.

"Turn around." Your cheeks took on a reddish color as you remembered the two pairs of eyes that were on you on the other side of the reflection. You slowly turned your back on him, your fingers gripping the wooden cabinet that held the huge mirror. “You better not close your eyes, I want you to look at them.”

Marc's hands took care of the job, pulling the hem of the sweater up to your waist and pulling your panties down to your ankles. You didn't need instructions to spread your legs and raise your ass for him.

He positioned himself behind your body, holding his cock for help. The tip separated your lips and you flinched when it brushed your swollen clit, it was just a couple of brushes as if he wanted to collect your juices on it in order to make penetration easier.

Although with you dripping and him full of your saliva, at this point it was just his pettiness and his desire to make you beg. You lifted your hips higher.

Marc looked down, his hand positioning itself exactly over Steven's finger marks and with a single movement you felt him slide inside you. Your legs trembled as you received him this deep and rough way, an action that you recognized as more typical of Jake.

“M-Marc, fuck, Marc.” You stammered as your body tried to get used to his size. No matter how many times you had done this, it was like your body insisted on giving him that death grip that drove him crazy.

"That's it." He caught her bottom lip between his teeth in a lousy attempt to silence her gasps. “Louder, baby, remind them who's fucking you.”

Somehow you felt like Jake and Steven's eyes burned into your skin. You couldn't look in the mirror, not while you were babbling Marc's name between moans, with that look that made it obvious how cockdrunk you were with just a couple of thrusts.

When Marc hit that sweet spot that made you vibrate from head to toe, your eyes closed automatically, your head falling downward.

"No." He growled, his hand rising to place it in your hair where he tangled his fingers. The sudden tug he gave to your locks made you snap your head up and let out a loud gasp, your eyes snapping open. "Look at them."

On the other side Jake was leaning slightly so he could be at your face level, analyzing every small expression of pleasure he saw in you. Your cheeks are flushed, your pupils are dilated, and your lips are red from biting them so much.

Steven was too lost in his own thoughts to object anything, the truth is that he was enjoying this new angle he had to see his cock splitting you and making you whimper more than he would like.

“Tell them how good I'm making you feel, honey.” He cooed, his fingers giving your hair a harder tug to force you to keep your head up. “Remind them who was the first to break that tight little pussy.”

You stifled a moan, making your bottom lip bleed with a bite.

“Tell them.” He growled, his fingers squeezing your hips so hard you feared your body was going to give up at any moment.

“I-It was you, Marc.” You whimpered in pleasure as his thrusts pushed your body forward, you were already on your tiptoes so as not to end up with your entire body against the furniture.

“Repeat it, I want them to listen to you.” His entire length remained still inside you, brushing against that spot that made you lose your mind. "Louder."

Your parted lips took in deep gasps of air and you had to swallow hard to recover your voice by moistening your throat a little.

“It’s you M-Marc.” He didn't give your hair a break, he was pulling with his fingers so hard that it was starting to hurt. “Fuck, Marc! A-Ah, fuck. It’s you, it’s you, only you.”

Bold of you to assume that Jake wouldn't have that in mind the next time he had his turn with you.

“Fuck her harder.” Marc looked at the mirror when the opposing voice caught his attention. “Come on, she can take it.” A mocking smile appeared on his lips, only irritating Marc even more.

Still, he obeyed.

You could hear the slapping between your bodies every time he thrusted into you. Your legs were threatening to stop supporting your body weight as they began to shake, your entire body feeling small spasms as you got closer and closer to the end.

“Marc?” Steven's soft voice caught the attention of the other two. His pupils were dilated and there was an adorable blush on hid cheeks. "Touch her."

Marc grunted when he realized that this wasn't the punishment he'd originally thought, but who was he to say no to Steven? The hand that was holding your hip slowly slid between your legs, separating your pussy lips with his fingers and then pressing his thumb against your sensitive clit.

He immediately felt your little hole tighten around him.

“Circles.”

“I know how to touch her, Steven.” He growled in your ear, only reminding you of the pair who were probably enjoying the show. The pleasure you were experiencing was too much to rescue the few grams of shame you might have somewhere on your body.

Your nails scratched the wood of the furniture in front of you.

“Cum all over me, honey.” He managed to whisper between moans. Two more thrusts of his body snatching the air from your lungs. “I bet they’ll like it.”

And that was enough for the wave of pleasure to make your body tingle from head to toe, your walls milking Marc until he followed you immediately after, filling you with his warm, thick liquid, which he pushed deeper inside you with a couple more strokes.

For a few seconds the only thing you heard along with the ringing in your ears was Marc's heavy breathing. After a moment his fingers gripped your hips, drawing your attention.

He gave you one more thrust and you squealed, sensitive, overstimulated.

“Marc.” You complained, looking up at the mirror in front of you once more as you tried to catch your breath.

On the other side, Jake's smile greeted you, almost playful.

“Let's see which name you can shout the loudest, princesa.”

Tag list. @ninebluehearts @shousha133 @unear7hly @onefinnedwonder-fm @automnepoet @lokisremainingsanity @uncle-eggy @just-a-nightdreamer @spktrgantenk @chinglewingledingledong @queerponcho @faretheeoscar @spideyman-peter

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hadescavedish · 3 months ago

Text

Some snippet of Jon Steinberg interview from Fathoms Deep on Silver's background (probably someone showed before but I hadn't seen one):

Steinberg: No, I spend a lot of time thinking about it. I think– I don't think it's that he doesn't have one [backstory]. Everyone has one, and I think, when I watch it, the clear implication is that his is awful. Which if– I think, if this story is going out of its way to suggest it's unspeakable, considering the things we have spoken about, I, as an audience, I think, am willing to take its word for it, I guess, is I guess a way of putting it, that if you are invested in that character and you understand where all of the norms are set for the show, for someone to say “I can't say it out loud” suggests that it really is awful. And we played with versions of what it could be. In the moment you name it, it just becomes less scary.

And it weirdly becomes– there is some instinct to explain it, to rationalize it, to suggest it's his fault, to suggest it’s someone else's fault, to suggest it could never happen to me. I think it's the “it could never happen to me”, maybe, that's the most destructive to the story we were trying to tell, that it had to feel like he was everyone and that requires him to kind of be no one at the same time, which sounds like bullshit, but I don't think it is, I think– the less specificity he has, yeah, the more you can see in him what you need to, and so– and it also felt right.

This is one of those moments that I think it depends on how you turn it, it will look different, is that it is clear, I think, from the first frame of season four that there is a point at which these two guys aren't connected. It takes a little while for that to get said in text but it's clearly Flint's concern, and I think on some level Silver's aware of it, and it was it felt both meta and interesting to me that the point at which they were not connected is how they feel about story and how they feel about their obligations to it, their place in it, the burden of it. They just don't agree that there is some need to create stories to explain things, and that that ultimately is the death of that relationship, that they– because they have that discontinuity between them, they– that is the thing from which everything else unravels, it's the thread of the sweater. So, you know, that felt right, too, that we were able to kind of strangely name something you didn't think you were looking for a name for, which is the space between them and not, you know, specifically who did what to Silver when he was a kid. [...]

I think it suggests the horror from another direction, that whatever happened was so terrible that it broke his ability to exist within a story. There is something that is therapeutic about existing within a story and something that I think is normal and also a part of the human condition, to find a place in a story in which you feel like you make sense, and I think whatever it was that happened to him that made him incapable of reconciling that, that is his trauma, you know? His backstory was that he was removed from his own story.

[x]

#Jon Steinberg #john silver #black sails #um amazing he and the actor have the same brain #veryyyy interesting

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just-aake · 2 months ago

Text

Everlasting Devotion - Part IX

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel of Boundless Devotion Series. MedievalAU. With her coronation over, Natasha is now the queen of the Romanov Kingdom. However, the position comes with challenges from both old and new enemies as Natasha tries to maintain the peace while also navigating her relationship with you.

Warnings: light fluff, light angst, slight violence

Words: 4817

The narrow, dimly lit alley was eerily quiet, save for the soft shuffle of boots on cobblestone. Two figures move with purposeful grace, their sharp gaze scanning the path ahead.

“Queens don’t usually involve themselves in investigations and missions like this,” Steve remarks pointedly, casting a sidelong glance at the concealed figure beside him.

“That’s not true,” Natasha counters smoothly, not breaking stride. “My parents didn’t stand on the sidelines when they were king and queen. They were always involved. Besides, she’s my sister,” she adds firmly. “It’s my responsibility to know what she’s up to.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, unconvinced.

“And I’m sure this has nothing to do with avoiding your mother’s request for some of your time today.”

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line, choosing to say nothing as her response, but that silence is answer enough.

Steve sighs knowingly.

“If you don’t want a big celebration for your birthday, you can just tell her.”

Natasha’s mouth twists slightly, though her hood hides the expression from him.

It wasn’t the celebration itself that she had a problem with.

The real issue was that no matter how extravagant or intimate the event, it wouldn’t change the fact that she couldn’t spend the day with the one person she wanted to celebrate it with the most.

Her thoughts flicker back to last year.

Of how the supposedly joyous occasion had instead become a day marred by chaos and trauma.

She had hoped this year could be different—a chance to create a new memory of happiness to replace the past.

But with circumstances as they are, that hope seems far-fetched.

Natasha lets out a quiet sigh, pushing the thought aside.

There was no use dwelling on it now. She’ll just accept whatever idea her mother comes up with when she returns.

Refocusing, she turns her attention to their current mission: finding Yelena and figuring out exactly what she’d gotten herself into this time.

The investigation had led them to this part of town, notorious for its shady dealings and less-than-reputable characters.

Natasha’s sharp eyes dart to the buildings they pass, noting the darkened windows and wary faces that peeked out from behind curtains.

As they go deeper into the streets, more signs of life emerge, yet it’s still strangely hushed, the air thick with unspoken tension.

Natasha notices something else, too. The way the crowd parted as they walked, people giving them a wide berth.

Suspicious glances were thrown their way, not at her—her cloak did well to obscure her identity—but at Steve.

The towering blond man was receiving a mix of wary and curious looks, and it didn’t take much to figure out why.

Natasha sighs again, this time with a hint of exasperation.

“No offense, Steve,” she begins, her voice carrying a dry edge, “but you’re terrible at blending in.”

Steve glances down at himself, confused. His attire was casual, certainly nothing out of the ordinary—simple trousers, a loose shirt, and a cloak.

“What do you mean?” he asks, genuinely puzzled.

She gestures toward him.

“Your posture, your stance. The way you carry yourself. It screams ‘knight.’”

Steve straightens reflexively at her comment, clearly unsure whether to take it as a compliment or a criticism.

“I’m just walking.”

“You’re marching,” Natasha corrects, her tone flat. “Head high, shoulders back, always scanning like you’re guarding someone.”

“That’s cause I am,” Steve points out, only half-defensively.

Natasha rolls her eyes and continues down the path with her leading the way as Steve falls a step behind, attempting—unsuccessfully—to appear less imposing.

As they round a corner, the faint sound of barking reaches Natasha’s ears. Her eyes scan the area, and she spots two dogs just outside a tavern.

At first glance, their coats muddied and darkened with soot nearly fool her, but when Natasha observes them closer, she recognizes the familiarity.

Narrowing her eyes, Natasha whistles softly, a distinct sound she knew only a select few would recognize.

One of the dogs immediately perks up, its ears twitching. It turns toward her, tail wagging enthusiastically, before trotting over with a familiar bounce.

“Hey, Fanny,” Natasha greets, crouching slightly to pat the dog’s head. Her voice carries a mix of affection and exasperation. “Where’s Yelena?”

The dog barks once in response before turning toward the tavern door, her nose pointing unmistakably in its direction.

Natasha straightens with a sigh.

“I’m guessing Kate’s with her too,” Steve remarks, his eyes drifting to the other dog in the distance. He sighs heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “As a knight in training, she should know better than to let Yelena be in places like this.”

“Trust me,” Natasha says knowingly. “I’m sure she tried her best to stop her. This is Yelena we’re talking about.”

Her focus shifts to Kate's dog, Lucky, who is still barking excitedly at something high in the air.

Frowning, Natasha tilts her head, trying to glimpse whatever had captured the dog’s attention.

Her heart stops when she notices the faint outline of a bird circling above—and the unmistakable flash of red feathers on one of the wings.

“Steve,” Natasha says sharply, grabbing his arm and pointing toward the falcon. “Tell me that’s just some random bird.”

Steve follows her line of sight, his jaw tightening as he hesitates. Finally, he lets out a low, noncommittal sound, which only confirm her suspicions.

Natasha exhales a long, frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose, wondering why in the world you are in such a dangerous part of town.

Steve must’ve mistaken her reaction for nervousness to meet with you again after witnessing the small confrontation between you and her during the council meeting.

“You want to stay out here while I go in?” Steve offers, already stepping forward.

Natasha stops him with a wave of her hand.

“No. You’ll draw too much attention in there,” she says. “Stay here and secure the perimeter.”

Steve nods reluctantly, stepping back as Natasha moves to step inside.

The moment she enters, a wave of noise and activity hits her. Natasha’s eyes quickly scan the space, taking note of exits, potential threats, and the clusters of people gathered in conversation.

Her attention is soon drawn to a commotion at the far end of the room.

Rowdy onlookers surround a table, their cheers and jeers rising above the din. As she moves closer, fragments of conversation reach her ears, punctuated by a familiar voice.

“Aww, is the big man scared?” a teasing tone rings out, followed by a roar of laughter from the crowd.

Natasha sighs exasperatedly, muttering under her breath, “Yelena…”

The crowd shifts, giving her a clearer view of the table.

There was her sister, masked and oddly sporting black hair but unmistakable as she leaned back in her chair with an infuriatingly confident grin.

Across from her sat a burly man, his face red with anger as he glared at his cards.

Behind Yelena, another figure stands nervously—a masked woman fidgeting with the bow strapped on her back.

“Kate,” Natasha murmurs, shaking her head.

Her gaze sweeps the crowd once more until it finally lands on you.

You were blending in among the other patrons, partially obscured by the hood of your cloak, but to Natasha, you always stand out above everyone else in her eyes.

Natasha immediately moves toward you, weaving her way through the crowd.

As she approaches, she notices your body tense as your gaze locks onto something at the table.

Natasha follows your line of sight, her expression frowning when she sees what had caused your reaction.

Yelena was casually twirling a dagger in her hand, the blade catching the light.

Natasha’s frown deepens when she realizes it wasn’t just any dagger—it was the one she had lent Yelena, the one you had gifted her.

And Yelena appears to be contemplating using it as part of her wager.

At the possibility, Natasha could see the tension increase in your frame, the way you clench your fists and begin to step forward.

Not wanting you to be in the middle of a confrontation, Natasha reacts instinctively, reaching out to grab your arm and pulling you back into the cover of the crowd.

What she didn’t expect was for you to jab your elbow sharply into her side.

The sudden impact made her loosen her grip slightly, though she didn’t entirely let go.

Instead, she tilts her head to meet your gaze, her hood revealing just enough for you to recognize her.

“Natasha?” you hiss, your tone both surprised and accusatory.

Natasha rubs the spot where you’d elbowed her, a smirk tugging at her lips despite the situation.

“Not bad,” she remarks, a note of pride in her voice.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you whisper, flustered.

Moving closer, you instinctively rub soothing circles on the spot you had hit before your eyes widen in realization.

“Wait a second!” you continue, giving her a softer but reprimanding smack on the arm. “You’re not even supposed to be here! What are you doing here?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, throwing the question right back at you.

“What are you doing here?”

Your eyes widen as if remembering the reason for your presence here, and you hesitate, your eyes darting away.

Natasha recognizes the look immediately—it was the one you always wore when you were about to dodge a subject.

Before she could press further, you shake your head and deflect the conversation.

“Why does Yelena have the gift I gave you?” you ask, your tone sharp.

“I let her borrow it,” Natasha replies simply, though her voice carries an edge of regret now.

“Well, she’s about to bet it in a game of cards,” you snap back, frustration clear.

Natasha’s brows furrow, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“I’m sure Yelena is just messing around. She wouldn’t—”

“All right, all in!” Yelena’s voice rings out, triumphant and smug.

Natasha’s jaw drops, her eyes snapping up.

“I’m going to kill her,” she growls, about to push through the crowd, but you hold her arms, stopping her in her tracks and blocking her way.

“You can’t risk revealing yourself here, Natasha,” you whisper in warning, your voice low but firm. “Think about it—one wrong move, and everyone in this room will know who you are.”

Natasha pauses, her gaze flickering between you and the other shady characters around her, weighing her options. More than half of them probably wouldn’t hesitate to attack or try to capture and use who she is for their own gain.

Knowing you’re right, she exhales sharply and gives you a curt nod in agreement to stay put.

The two of you turn to watch as the game proceeds.

Despite the precarious situation, Natasha can’t help but feel her focus shift momentarily when your hand finds hers, gently pulling it around your midsection.

The inviting gesture is instinctive–natural–as though you belong there in her arms.

Natasha’s hold tightens slightly, drawing you closer until your back rests entirely against her. Her chin dips subtly, brushing against the edge of your hood, and she allows herself a moment to simply exist in the comfort of your warmth.

The chaotic noise of the tavern fades just a little, replaced by the steady rhythm of your breathing.

Like always, you fit perfectly against her, a seamless connection that feels as familiar as it is grounding.

Natasha’s fingers spread against your midsection, her touch firm yet protective, as if anchoring you to her in this swirling world of chaos.

A small smile tugs at the corner of her lips, one that she doesn’t even try to suppress.

If she could stay like this—holding you close, feeling your warmth and presence—she wouldn’t ask for anything more.

To stay in this moment, that would be her perfect wish for her birthday: no grand celebrations, no feasts, just you in her arms, safe and near.

But the moment is fleeting.

Natasha’s attention is pulled away when the crowd erupts with cheers and groans. She stiffens slightly, her gaze snapping back to the table.

Yelena is standing now, triumphant as she gathers her winnings, your gift safely returned to her side.

You release a sigh of relief, relaxing back against Natasha as the possible conflict appears to subside.

Her arms remain around you for a moment longer, her protective instincts keeping you close, but her eyes also focus on her sister to ensure her safety too.

As Yelena turns to leave, the burly man across from her slams his fists onto the surface. The noise reverberates through the room, silencing the crowd and drawing every gaze to him.

“You think you can just make a fool out of me, take my money, and walk away?” he growls, his face flushed with anger and humiliation. His chair scrapes loudly against the floor as he stands, towering over Yelena.

“Sit back down. We’re playing another round.”

Yelena’s masked face tilts slightly, her body language relaxed, almost amused.

“Sorry, big guy,” she says airily. “A deal’s a deal. You lost. Better luck next time.”

The man’s hand darts out, grabbing her arm in a bruising grip.

“I said sit down,” he snarls, his voice dropping to a dangerous level.

Standing just behind Yelena, Kate freezes, her hand twitching toward her bow, but she hesitates, clearly unsure how to proceed.

Natasha tenses, her protective instincts flaring as she starts to move forward.

“No,” you whisper sharply, stopping her with a firm grip on her arm. “You can’t.”

Her head snaps to you, disbelief flashing in her eyes.

“He’s threatening my sister,” she hisses, her voice low but deadly.

“And if you step in, they might recognize you, and we’ll have an even bigger problem,” you remind her, your voice calm but insistent. “Let me handle this.”

“Handle it?” Natasha repeats incredulously, her gaze flicking between you and the escalating situation at the table. “How?”

“Just trust me,” you say, already stepping forward before she can stop you.

Natasha clenches her fists, her jaw tightening as she watches you approach the table.

Her every instinct screams to intervene, but she forces herself to stay put, trusting you despite the growing knot of worry in her chest.

You slip through the crowd, your movements calm and deliberate, raising your hands in a placating gesture as you approach the table.

“Now, let’s not let a friendly game turn into something regrettable,” you say, your voice carrying just enough authority to catch everyone’s attention.

The burly man turns his glare to you, his grip on Yelena’s arm tightening. His eyes raked over you suspiciously.

“Who the hell are you?” he demands, his tone dripping with hostility.

Without a word, you reach up and lower your hood, revealing your face.

“I’m Lady Y/n Dreykov.”

Kate audibly sucked in a breath. “Oh…”

“…shit,” Yelena finishes for her, her voice tinged with surprise and apprehension.

Your house title is usually effective in any scenario, though with recent events, the response is slightly different than the previous caution and fear. Around the room, murmured whispers began to ripple through the crowd.

“Hold on…Dreykov? As in the traitors?”

“Never imagined their house would fall this low…”

Natasha’s hands curled into fists, her anger bubbling to the surface at the words directed at you.

Nearby, a particularly unpleasant man pushes forward through the crowd, his smirk leering.

“Well, if the lady wants a friend to play with, I can show her how friendly we are down here,” he slurs with a disgusting grin.

As he passes Natasha, his shoulder pushing hers, she acts in a swift, calculated motion.

With a discreet move, she stomps down hard on his foot. The man yelps, doubling over in pain, and Natasha smoothly delivers a sharp punch to his stomach. He collapses to the ground with a strangled heave, clutching his midsection as he remains in his prone position.

Natasha casually resumes her stance, her expression neutral as she glances around the room. The other patrons barely notice, dismissing the man’s collapse as the effects of too much alcohol.

Meanwhile, you remain composed and unflinching despite the murmurs around you, your attention focused solely on the man still holding Yelena’s arm.

“How about another game?” you offer, your tone calm but laced with subtle authority.

The man’s eyes narrow, suspicion and pride warring on his face. “With you?”

Without answering, you reach into your cloak and pull out a hefty pouch of coins, setting it on the table with a deliberate thud. The clinking of the coins is unmistakable, drawing the attention of the entire room.

The man’s gaze flicks to the pouch, his expression shifting slightly. The allure of more money is clear in his eyes, but so is his wariness.

After a long pause, he releases Yelena, who is quickly pulled away to a safe distance by Kate, and sits back down, gesturing to the seat across from him.

“All right,” he said, his voice low and gruff. “Let’s see if you’re as lucky as that brat is.”

You smile faintly, taking your seat.

Among the crowd, Natasha watches closely, her eyes never leaving you.

Despite the situation, a light smirk tugs at the corner of her lips as she watches you pick up the deck of cards and begin shuffling. She knows better than anyone that luck has little to do with your skill.

Games, puzzles, strategy—these have always been your strong suit. Natasha learned long ago never to challenge you to anything like that without careful planning or calculated risks.

“Let’s all just have a good time,” you say, your voice smooth and pleasant, as you deal the cards.

That same enchanting smile Natasha knows so well graces your lips, the kind of smile that always manages to lower defenses and captivate attention.

The game begins, and as Natasha predicted, you quickly prove yourself.

Each move you make is calculated and deliberate, a balance of strategy and subtlety. Unlike Yelena’s bold, audacious style, your approach is graceful and humble, drawing in the crowd with your calm confidence.

The tension that previously dominated the room dissipates, replaced by a calmer atmosphere of camaraderie. The cutthroat gambling match now feels more like a friendly game among peers.

Even your opponent, whose gruff exterior seemed impenetrable, starts to show hints of amusement.

Laughter and cheers ripple through the room with every round, and the growing excitement draws an even larger crowd. The press of bodies around the table pushes Natasha forward slightly, giving her a better view of the unfolding scene.

Impressed murmurs rise from the onlookers until one in particular catches her attention.

“Can you believe this, Happy?” a voice nearby cuts through the noise. “You give her some money for a drink, and she spends it on a game instead.”

Natasha’s brows furrow at the words, her gaze discreetly scanning the crowd for the source, but with so many people packed tightly around her, it’s difficult to pinpoint.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she notices something that makes her stomach tighten with unease—a faint yellow glow emanating from beneath a cloaked figure’s arm before it’s quickly concealed.

Natasha’s instincts flare. Her eyes lock onto the figure, who she realizes is weaving steadily through the crowd toward the table—toward you.

Immediately, Natasha moves to follow, her focus trained on the cloaked individual as she slips through the crowd. She edges closer toward the center, her eyes never leaving the figure, until she reaches Yelena and Kate’s position at the edge of the gathering.

Reaching their side, Natasha places a hand on Yelena’s shoulder, startling her younger sister slightly. Yelena looks up abruptly, her mouth falling open in recognition. Before Yelena can say a word, Natasha’s expression hardens, and she gives her a stern warning glare.

The message is clear: Stay quiet and stay back.

Natasha ushers Yelena and Kate behind her, positioning herself as a barrier between them and whatever threat there might be.

Her focus snaps back to the figure just as they reach the front of the crowd, their attention fixed solely on you.

At that moment, the game reaches its climax with another of your perfectly executed moves. Cheers erupt from the crowd as you lay your cards on the table.

The burly man opposite you grumbles, his frustration masked by the impressed grin he offers. Coins clink as they are added to your growing pile of winnings, and the lively energy in the room swelled.

Then it happened.

Taking advantage of the eruption of cheers and laughter, the cloaked figure lunges forward, their gloved hand outstretched with a glowing stone aimed directly at you.

Natasha reacts immediately, her body moving faster than her thoughts as she rushes toward the attacker. Just as she is about to reach them, another blur of motion also intercepts the figure’s strike at the same time.

A stranger appears between you and the attacker.

Natasha pauses for a split second, her mind registering that this new figure was also equipped with a glove strikingly similar to the attacker’s, except without the glowing hue.

The stranger’s gloved hand shoots out, meeting the attacker’s mid-lunge, the impact emitting a sharp, resonant hum. A sudden force erupts between the gloves, repelling the attacker’s hand backward, away from you.

With the attack directed at you momentarily thwarted, Natasha seizes the opportunity.

Her hand darts out, grabbing the attacker’s wrist with a steely grip. But as her fingers brushed against the glowing stone embedded in the glove, her mind was yanked somewhere else entirely.

For a split second, she wasn’t in the tavern. Instead, she was back in that hauntingly vivid moment—that moment.

Blood spilled across her hands as you lay crumpled in her arms, your face pale and your breathing faint. The weight of helplessness and fear pressed down on her chest as she screamed your name, her voice raw and desperate.

Natasha gasps sharply, shaking herself free of the memory with a force of will. She focuses on the present, channeling her rattled emotions into action.

With a fluid, precise maneuver, she twists the attacker’s wrist and uses their momentum against them. In one seamless motion, she flips them onto the table. The wood splinters beneath the force, shattering on impact, and a bright light explodes and fills the room.

Coins scattered everywhere, clinking against the floor in a chaotic cacophony.

Immediately, the tavern erupts into chaos. Some people surge forward, scrambling for the spilled coins, while others take advantage of the confusion to pick fights. Shouts and crashes fill the air.

Natasha stands amidst the chaos, her chest heaving as her breathing turns shallow and erratic. Her gaze remains locked on the now dimming stone at the downed figure’s side, suspicion and unease growing in her chest.

The vision—the memory—lingers in her mind, vivid and suffocating. She couldn’t shake the image of your blood on her hands.

But then a warm, familiar touch cups her face gently, breaking through her spiraling thoughts.

Her wide, unfocused eyes meet yours, and though your lips are moving, she couldn’t hear the words. It felt distant, muffled by the storm raging in her mind.

Slowly, the sounds of the room begin to return—the shouting, the clamor of fists and chairs—but your voice is what brings her back.

“Natasha,” you repeat, your tone firm yet soothing. “Look at me. Are you okay?”

Her gaze locks on your searching ones, the chaotic storm in her mind settling slightly as she absently nods, grounding herself in your presence. Then her eyes dart around, taking in the havoc unfolding around you.

“We need to go,” she says abruptly, her voice regaining its strength. She grabs your hand firmly, pulling you through the crowd. With practiced efficiency, she navigates the chaos, quickly locating Kate and Yelena near the back of the room.

“Move!” Natasha commands, ushering the two younger women ahead of her as she keeps you close at her side. Together, the four of you slip out into the night, the muffled sounds of chaos fading behind you.

Outside, Natasha leads you to a quiet alley, her breathing still uneven. She leans against the wall, her hand gripping your arm as though grounding herself further.

The glowing stone haunts her thoughts, and the memory it brought up lingers in the back of her mind. But when she looks at you, alive and whole in front of her, she feels the faintest flicker of relief.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly, brushing your hand over hers.

Giving your hand a gentle squeeze, Natasha nods quick but stiffly, her lips pressing into a tight line.

“I’m fine,” she says, though the slight tremble in her voice betrayed her. “We’re fine.”

Before you could press further, Steve’s voice emerges from the shadows, his gaze scanning over the four of you with concern. “Everyone okay? What happened in there?”

“Nat started a bar fight by throwing a guy,” Yelena answers plainly, her tone far too nonchalant for the situation.

Natasha releases a deep breath, scoffing in disbelief as she straightens and turns to glare at her sister.

“You mean, saving your ass from getting killed. What were you thinking, Yelena, going into a place like that and provoking them?”

Before the argument can escalate, you step in front of Natasha, placing a calming hand on her arm. Across from you, Kate mirrors your actions, gently restraining Yelena. Together, the two of you create a barrier between the sisters, preventing the brewing storm from erupting.

A low whistle interrupts the tension, drawing everyone’s attention to the side of the group.

Natasha turns her head sharply, her eyes locking onto the same stranger who had intervened during the tavern fight. He was approaching them with another man following close behind.

“Like I said,” the stranger says with a smirk, his words Natasha realizes directed at you, “you really know how to attract trouble, huh?”

Natasha’s gaze flicks to you, finding your expression twisted into an annoyed scowl. A deep sigh escapes your lips, and your hand instinctively pushes Natasha slightly behind you, as if shielding her from view.

“You didn’t need to step in,” you say, your tone sharp and clipped.

“Clearly,” the stranger replies smoothly, his eyes flickering across the group before settling on Natasha. His gaze drops briefly to your hand on her arm, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Looks like you’ve got more people protecting you than just those little twins.”

He nudges the man beside him. “Look, Happy, she even has a knight playing dress-up.”

Natasha shoots a pointed look at Steve, her expression screaming I told you so.

Steve sighs, clearly catching her unspoken message, and shifts his attention to the stranger, his posture tightening as his eyes narrowed slightly.

“We should probably go, sir,” the man named Happy suggests quietly, eyeing the group warily.

“Yes, please do,” you snap, your irritation palpable.

Natasha’s brows furrow as she watches you. She’d never seen you this short-tempered with someone before.

The stranger’s smirk only widens at your tone.

“Fair enough,” he says, turning to leave with a wave of his hand. “Oh, and a small warning,” he adds, glancing over his shoulder, “you’d better bring her home safely. There’s a little redhead who’ll throw a tantrum if you don’t.”

Natasha catches your irritated sigh as you turn back toward her. Tilting her head slightly, she asks, “Who was that?”

You exhale deeply, running a hand over your face.

“Just ignore him,” you mutter. “He’s someone I hired to help fix the gate at my manor.”

Natasha opens her mouth to press further, but her sharp instincts catch movement out of the corner of her eye. She turns swiftly, her gaze zeroing in on the two figures attempting to slip away unnoticed.

“Don’t even think about it,” Natasha calls out, her voice sharp as a whip.

Yelena freezes mid-step, groaning loudly before turning back around to face her sister.

“What?” she asks, her tone feigning innocence as her arms crossed over her chest.

Natasha crosses her own arms, leveling an unimpressed glare at Yelena before shifting her focus to Kate, who stands awkwardly beside her. Under Natasha’s intense scrutiny, Kate caves quickly.

“Yelena made me promise not to tell you!” Kate blurts out, pointing at Yelena as if to absolve herself of guilt.

“Really, Kate Bishop?” Yelena gasps, swatting Kate’s hand down. “Where is the loyalty?”

The two begin bickering, their voices overlapping as they try to blame each other for the current situation. Natasha closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly in exhaustion.

Steve interrupts the argument with a firm clap of his hands.

“Can we continue this somewhere safer?”

You glance around the dark alley, your expression skeptical.

“Is there even such a place around here?”

Yelena raises her hand with a slight, proud smirk.

“I know one.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: Thank you for the sweet messages about this series. I'm glad to see that you all are excited whenever there's an update. Again, thanks for reading!

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it, please let me know again.

Taglist : @midastouch013, @2silverchain, @dvrkhcld, @observeowl, @x-drowned-x, @fireandblood-3, @natsxwife, @leequifey, @blacklightsposts, @srt-sah, @scar-letwidow, @likefirenrain, @autorasexy, @natsbiggestfan1, @lex13cm, @iheartjohansson, @tofu9162, @unexpected-character, @natashasilverfox, @acciowriting, @qtreesfanstuff, @mrsrushman, @inarayofmoonlight, @viosblog112, @inarayofmoonlight, @maximoff-jp, @natashasilverfox

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff

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probably-untrue-plant-facts · 18 days ago

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Am I the Asshole- newborn photography edition

I am being kind, I am being kind, I must remember that I'm being kind...

I am friends with a couple who just had a baby, but this is about them as photo clients. I did my first ever maternity shoot, couples shoot, maternity ward shoot, and they have plans for a million more shoots. I'm happy to give them super cheap rates because they're in a situation.

As friends go, they're not that great. I have a good time with them when I go over to help out, but there's always one or two things they say that I find a little off-putting. Particularly not fond of being treated like I need to be mothered. Not fond of some of the language they use. Not fond of some of the assumptions that are made in conversations. Not fond of being talked over, especially since I talk somewhat slow.

I let a lot of it go because I'm aware that some of this is the tism, some of it is trauma, some of it is a handful of other disorders, and some of it is just the way that they were brought up.

But I still help them out because I got nothing to do right now in the off season and I like helping people. So I drive to and from doc appointments, grocery shopping, general outings. Sometimes they just need to talk, so I let them talk and let some of the stuff that offends me roll off my back. Because I work with a lot of people who have extremely differing political opinions- so I am accustomed to this.

And I'm a pushover. Always have been.

We did a newborn shoot with studio lights and a backdrop and everything last week, after several attempts at rescheduling. It was my first newborn shoot EVER, and I was really proud of the results. Keep in mind that my training is in action photography- this is so very outside of my realm of expertise. There's a reason that newborn photography is its own industry. Client keeps telling me that they'll recommend me to all their other mom friends and that I'll 'make bank.' I'm not terribly jazzed about this, but if I end up being good at this, it would be a way to make extra money.

I sent them to them within the week, which is an insane turnaround for studio editing.

The night before they receive them, I'm pretty sure they're going through a mental health spiral. They call me at 10pm to tell me that they found an ear mite on one of their cats and that I should check my cat especially if he's indoor/outdoor (which he isn't) and I tell them that I will check. They tell me that the only place it could have come from was either me or the doula. I tell them that I'll check. And that they're not accusing me of anything, its just that it can be a big problem if there's an infestation. I tell them that I'll check.

"I'll check, but right now I'm trying to get to bed early because I've had a headache all day."

"You should take Imitrex for that."

Imitrex is a medicine for migraines. You should not take Imitrex for headaches. "I'm taking some Ibuprophen and going to bed early, it will be fine."

"If that doesn't work, you should take Imitrex because it will get rid of the headache fast." This person was an EMT in a previous lifestyle.

"I will not be doing that. Thank you. Good night."

Past experience with people with this cocktail of neuro-divergence tells me that this interaction was likely a result of a spiral- stress from having to take care of the baby, feeding every 2 hours, not getting much sleep, and a lot of PTSD around childbirth. It will either go away after they get some sleep or it will get worse. But it is not my responsibility to address something that's very much out of my wheelhouse.

(Turns out it wasn't an ear mite. They did apologize for calling me so late.)

Previous attempts at downloading from the gallery were not great because their phone just wasn't processing the pop up for some reason, so I've been sending them through Drive. Eats up all my space, takes forever. But it gets them to them. This time, though, they're not happy with it. They complain that its blurry, its pixelized, its not as good as the ones I've taken before. They send me a screenshot. I don't see the problem. The background is blurry, because that's an artistic choice that I made. A soft focus is very much in the style of the photos that they sent me as examples. This is one of the first times that I've had to photograph something small for them. Everything else was adults, this is a tiny baby. I assume they don't know what aperture and focal length is.

Client zoomed waaaay in on a photo of their kid and freaked out because they saw pixelation and said that they'd be uncomfortable printing it at a 4x6, let alone a larger size canvas, and that we need to reshoot ASAP because the kid is already outgrowing the clothes they bought their child. When I say 'way in,' I do mean 1/16th of the full size of the photo: a crop that no person would realistically want for a print.

But it took them three reschedulings to get the shoot we had (and every shoot we've ever done), and I can't drop everything just to do a shoot one week before my surgery.

The photo will print at 25inx14in without artifacting.

So I did some troubleshooting to make sure the problem wasn't the compression on their phone, or that they were viewing it in the preview screen. When they sent me the screenshots, I didn't see anything out of the ordinary and said that I didn't see what the problem was. It was exported at 240 dpi, which is typical for something that's going to be printed for typical household use. The only things that might have been an issue were that I didn't shoot in RAW file, and that maybe the image was overall just a little soft. Because, well, its a photo of a newborn. Stylistically, they're pretty soft.

I sent them 150 photos. WAY more than most people get for the price I was doing them at because they are my friends AND this was my first ever newborn shoot- I considered it a part of my own training to see if I can handle it.

I told them that I would do a texture/clarity pass and that I would email a download link from my gallery and that they should try looking at it on a computer instead of on the phone.

They told me that they don't want to ruin the friendship that we've made and that they feel that I'm being dismissive and that I don't care and won't listen to the problems that they see.

I insist- I would like to do a texture/clarity pass on the photos first and see if this makes a difference. Scheduling a second shoot isn't out of the question, but I can't guarantee that I will get the same results/poses from a second shoot... because its a baby and they kind of do what they want. I would like to try a simpler solution first.

I am no stranger to catastrophizing. I've done a lot of work to be able talk myself down from anxiety attacks. It doesn't always work. So I see myself in this. I run the pass, upload them to the gallery, but I pause on hitting 'send' because I know that their spouse will be home soon and they can talk it over. I send it at the time that their spouse usually gets home, I text spouse with instructions how to access them on desktop. They tell me that they worked a very long shift and that they will have to go over them tomorrow.

I tell them that it would be wise to do so- it will likely look better with fresh eyes after some sleep. I tell them to sleep well.

I am intending on getting a reasonable sized print to send to them so that they can see that it is not bad quality when it is printed.

Client texts me a 1am to tell me that they still look blurry to them. They need to do a reshoot today (Saturday) or Monday but they can't guarantee that they'll be in the best shape after their doctor's appointment so if we could do it this evening-

I told them that I am willing to reshoot the scenes specific to the ones she had issues with, but that I cannot guarantee that they will turn out the same as the first shoot, and that I need to know which specific scenes were the issue.

And I have not heard from them since.

Which is somewhat alarming, but I have been enjoying a peaceful day. I feel like I've been leaned on a little too hard and that I should have made clearer boundaries, but its somewhat hard to state your boundaries when you're constantly being interrupted.

I have a long list of thoughts in my head right now and all of them are unkind but how the fuck do you navigate a situation like this without hurting someone's feelings?

-"I'm not disregarding your feelings, I legit have no clue what you're talking about."

-"I think you're making mountains from molehills over something that essentially doesn't matter- you don't even have enough wall space in your apartment to print this in a size that it will distort."

-"Stop treating me like a child- I'm ten years older than you and I already have a mother."

-"All of the photos of me at that age were taken on a disposable camera and were destroyed in a flood. You have 150 really fucking cute photos by a professional, on a medium that has a much longer shelf life. Some goddamn perspective."

-"I do not care how bad your mental health is getting, and I don't care how fast you're spiraling, you do not treat friends like this. After all the rescheduling, all the nitpicking, and all the fucked up shit you say my fucking patience is a finite resource."

-"Why did I ever expect that someone that bulldozes over my boundaries on the regular would listen to me as a professional?"

-"I'm starting to see why your last photographer ghosted you."

-"Every professional in the world would put you on the 'do not book' list."

-"They're probably in the hospital right now because this might have triggered self harm, and that worries me but its also not my responsibility and I can't even say it would even be my FAULT."

So now I am spiraling. A little. Because its being made out that I did a poor job on my first go, when I thought I did well- I have checked and double checked to make sure that I had everything correct and I still do not see the problem. I feel like I'm being jerked around, even if unintentionally. I feel like I can't trust the quality of my work. I feel like I am, once again, the the recipient of someone's misdirected emotions just for being close enough to hit.

But every time I've enforced a boundary with someone, it gets violated and I'm just kind of like... do I attract this kind of person? Can they smell the doormat on me? And the fucked up part of this is that every person who has crossed a boundary has been the first to tell me that I need to lay down better boundaries. Like yeah- you'd know, wouldn't you bitch?

Anyways.

Am I the asshole for not wanting to do a second shoot and also for turning my phone on 'do not disturb' when I know my friend might be in the hospital?

#am i the asshole #ama #photography #newborn photography #photographers

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sikyulioness · 29 days ago

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I love this idea! It adds so much depth to Jinwoo’s character and explores the emotional weight of his trauma.

✨A lil bit of angst but fluff in the end✨

__________. .___________

Fractured Shadows

---

The apartment was eerily silent.

You stood near the window, arms crossed tightly over your chest, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. Behind you, Sung Jinwoo stood rigid, his expression unreadable—but you knew better.

You had always known better.

“What the hell is wrong with you lately?” you finally asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Jinwoo didn’t respond immediately. He merely exhaled through his nose, turning his gaze to the floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You clenched your fists. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out.”

Silence.

You took a step closer, your heart pounding. “You used to be different, Jinwoo. You used to care.”

His head snapped up, eyes flashing dangerously. “And what? You think I don’t care now?” His voice was low, sharp as a blade.

You swallowed. “You don’t act like you do. You’re colder. Ruthless. You don’t hesitate to kill anymore.”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “That’s what it takes to survive.”

Your breath hitched. “Since when did surviving mean losing yourself?”

The air between you crackled with tension. Jinwoo’s hands clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening as if he was holding back something—something vast, something terrible.

“You don’t understand,” he finally said.

“Then make me understand,” you pleaded.

And then, suddenly, it broke.

Jinwoo’s walls, his carefully controlled mask, shattered in an instant.

“You want to know what happened to me?” His voice cracked, raw with something you had never heard from him before. “You want to know why I’m like this?”

Your breath caught in your throat as his dark eyes bore into yours, filled with something far worse than anger.

Pain.

“I died,” he whispered. “I died in that dungeon.”

You froze.

Jinwoo let out a shaky breath, running a trembling hand through his hair. “I watched them all die first. The Hunters who went in with me. One by one. I saw their terror, their agony. And when it was my turn, I—I had to choose. Die or kill.” His voice wavered, his entire body shaking. “I killed, (Y/N). I had to. I didn’t even know if I’d make it out alive, but I couldn’t just—”

His breath hitched, his shoulders heaving. “I didn’t want to die.”

You stepped forward instinctively, reaching for him.

He flinched.

That broke you more than anything else.

“Jinwoo,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion.

“I keep telling myself it was the only way,” he continued, his voice hoarse, as if the words were cutting his throat on the way out. “That it was them or me. But sometimes, I still see their faces.” He let out a hollow laugh, but there were tears in his eyes now. “And the worst part? It got easier. Killing got easier.”

His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breath uneven. “So tell me, (Y/N), if I’m a monster now—” His voice broke completely. “—then when did it start? Was it when I left that dungeon? Or was it the moment I decided my life was worth more than theirs?”

You couldn’t take it anymore.

You surged forward, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him into a fierce embrace. Jinwoo stiffened, his entire body trembling against you.

“It’s okay,” you murmured against his shoulder. “You’re not a monster.”

His hands gripped your back like a lifeline. “I don’t know how to stop,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to be who I was before.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “Then let me help you.”

For a long moment, Jinwoo just stood there, tense and unmoving. Then, slowly, his arms came around you, holding you as if he was afraid you’d disappear.

And in that moment, you realized something.

Jinwoo hadn’t just lost his innocence in that dungeon. He had lost his faith in humanity.

But maybe, just maybe, you could help him find it again.

Together.

---

The End.

@2021animeandwebtoons

Thanks for the idea😊✨

#sung jin woo #solo leveling #sung jinwoo #sungjinwooxreader #angst #shadow #fluff #comfort #dungeon #past #trauma #y/n

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camaelczarka · 7 months ago

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One thing I’m super excited to see in season 3 is just how much Lestat is a creature of trauma and how that informs and recontextualizes a lot of his actions in season 1. That’s not to say it gives him a pass on his worst behaviors at least in the way they’ve been shown, but it does give this complete background of his character and why he is the way he is.

Seeing him attempt to hold together a domestic life with Louis and Claudia is all the more difficult when you know he had an extremely abusive upbringing. Growing up in the 1700s as the destitute, uneducated youngest son of seven children, four of whom died before adulthood. Trying to run away only to be dragged back home.

Finally escaping with Nicki to Paris, only to be violently captured and essentially SAed into being a vampire (probably literally in the showverse especially considering how much importance they’re putting on his turning). His isolation as he’s left with no instruction whatsoever and is left forcibly removed from society by his vampirism after Magnus kills himself. Forced to give up acting due to his fears of hurting people.

He tries to make his own vampire family (Gabrielle and Nicki) but neither of them turn out the way he expects and he’s still emotionally isolated. Armand stalking him and constantly mind controlling him and telling him to kill Gabrielle and Nicki and be with him.

Nicki’s insanity and death while he’s left in the care of Armand.

His life is literally terrible until he meets Louis. In the show there’s a century discrepancy there but it makes even more sense if he did actually sleep for 100 years.

He just has no idea how to cope with anything going on and he’s trying really hard to construct a life for himself but he doesn’t even know how to conduct himself properly. He’s from a totally different world than 20th century New Orleans. He’s coming down off of massively traumatic events. It’s just going to be so interesting

#iwtv #lestat de lioncourt #amc iwtv #interview with the vampire #the vampire lestat

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anontheghost · 24 days ago

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Fixing Stolitz (Non-Romance Version)

First of all, I will start by saying that the Stolas and Blitz relationship had a lot of unused potential to do something really interesting. A dark romance between an extremely powerful demon prince and one of hell’s lower classes? Sign me right up.

However, due to several bad writing decisions and the insistance of the creator to make the ship canon no matter what, all that potential went down the drain as it turned into something creepy and extremely unhealthy no matter what angle you look at it.

However, there is a key moment that, in my humble opinion, ruined the ship since episode 1: The Full Moon Deal.

Of course, there are additional things that made the relationship a challenge to begin with: The enormous class difference, Stola’s own prejudice towards imps, Blitz’s own walls due to trauma, Stola's inmortality, etc. But for this to work in one way or another, the extremely coercive Full Moon Deal needs to be erased or changed:

I have to versions on how this relationship may work: In one, there is no romance involved and is strictly a business relationship with the possibility of friendship and the other is a complicated romance about two people who may like each other but whose own circumstances may prevent them from truly being together.

So, without further do... Let's begin!

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

At this point, Stolas did not know if he should step in.

Sure, he wanted to teach the stupid? brave? little imp who thought it was a good idea to steal his Grimoire a lesson. But honestly, this was getting a little ridiculous; it was almost entertaining.

40 minutes have already passed, and the imp was still trying to lift the Grimoire with no signs of giving up. No matter how many times he flipped, felt in ground or how many muscles he strained, he just kept going.

Others would have already left, running away scared, fearful of the consequences that such actions may take.

But not him.

Curious, now he was trying to use one of his heavier books to push the Grimoire towards the edge. A relatively clever tactic if it wasn’t for the small detail that he would have to pick it up from the floor later on.

The imp didn't enter the palace by himself; two others followed him in secret. They appeared to be a pair, and they were a little smaller than him. Also, they knocked down two of his best maids and stole their uniforms to “blend in.”

Naturally, though, he would not have been duped by those poor disguises. From the cook who makes his meals to the gardener who assists him in caring for his plants, he is familiar with the names and faces of each and every one of his subordinates. He hasn't, as far as he can recall, employed any more maids, especially two who were blatantly unprepared for the position.

They weren’t even pretending to work at this point; they were just standing guard outside of his study, where the taller imp was still trying to steal one of the most powerful magical artifacts hell possessed and failing miserably.

"Okay, stupid book,” The imp suddenly spoke, tired that the book simply refused to move, “I don’t like you and you don’t like me, but you are going to make Daddy really rich, so please move already!”

“Sir!” one of the smaller imps said, “Please keep quiet! What about the plan of taking the book and then leaving?”

“That was until I found out that this little book weighted the same as four elephants!” The imp shouted ever higher. "This thing is not bigger than a dictionary! How is this possible?!”

Because the book senses your lack of magic

Also, he hates being disturbed.

The imp jolted from the scare and confusion and before he tried to escape, I decided that it was time for us to have a little meeting.

O)O)O)O)O0o0o)O)O)O

In handsight, Blitz always knew this idea was terrible.

Stealing a powerful magical artifact from one of hell’s great princes? That can easily be considered a suicide mission. However, sometimes you need to do crazy things in order to put food on the table.

Imps offering assassination services were common in hell. Being one of the few jobs imps could still do while maintaining financial independence, it was a popular career choice.

Unfortunately, that meant a lot more competition. It meant another crew offering to do the killing at a much cheaper price and stealing customers from them. If things continue the way they were going, their little company won’t last much longer.

During a one-night stand with a sinner a few months prior to the robbery, he had the brilliant idea that would save his business. They said that he would give the sinner all his money if he could murder his violent parents and send them to hell.

“They are the reason I ended up in this trash dump! I would have probably become a better person if they weren’t pieces of shit.” He remembers the sinner saying, "It is not fair that they are still up there living the high life while I am suffering here!”

How many sinners would pay him handsomely to kill the people who wronged them on earth? There is no other assassin crew offering those services so there would be no competition; they could charge double if they want to!

Who knows, they might even save enough for an office... but he didn’t want to set his expectations way to high.

Now… How, in the name of everything unholy, are they going to go to earth?

In order for a demon to enter the human realm, they must first obtain special authorization from one of the seven deadly sins. This process is not easy and can take months or even years. The only way for it to be expedited is if one of the sins sends the demon on a special mission, which hasn't occurred in more than a century.

In other words, it would be literally impossible for him and his all-imp crew to get their hands in one of those.

There were also the succubus, who were probably the only beings in hell who were granted permission to go to earth on the regular, thanks to the Asmodean Crystals that they were all gifted on their eighteenth birthday. Sadly for them, Blitz was not on good terms with any of his succubus exes, so asking them to lend them their crystal was out of the question.

Which is how they ended up in Prince’s Stolas Star Palace, where they were going to use all their skills to try and steal one of the most powerful magical artifacts in hell’s possession: the Lunar Grimoire, which has the power to create portals to the world of the living.

The plan was supposed to be very simple: Considering that Prince Stolas had the fame of being a total hermit who barely left his room, all IMP needed to do was avoid the master bedroom and go directly to the main study where the book resided; grab it and leave the premises before anyone notices.

A very simple plan, which was not simple at all.

Blitz now knew that, considering he was glued to a table located in the middle of the vast space, with the hermit prince seated on the other side and he was not what he expected.

The prince’s was tall, like probably one of the highest demons Blitz has ever seen, at least three meters tall. His feathers were picth-black, blending his entire body with the vastness of space—the only way he knew that a body was there was the loose but intricately decorated clothing he was wearing. His face, however, was the most unselteling part, being literally the silver mask of an owl, completely expressionless except for his very red eyes.

Which were impossible to decipher.

“So… imp.” His voice sounded like it was coming from the deepest bottoms of the earth. “May you please explain why you were doing with my palace, trying to steal my Grimoire?”

“Huh…” Come on, Blitz! Think quick! “I am... the new imp in charge of cleaning the book! It is very nice to meet your owlness; I was hired just yesterday.”

“Oh! Did Mara interview you? Or was it Keneth? I am not so sure now which one is in charge of the interviews; it has been a while after all.”

“Yes! It was that Mara chick! She was so impressed by my amazing resume that she hired me on the spot!”

“Really? Where else have you worked? In Pride’s great library I assume?”

“Yes!” Blitz now said confidently, “With all the books, tomes and other stuff that libraries have.”

“That is very interesting.”

Before Blitz could ever have the chance to speak, he suddenly felt his legs becoming limp and slowly turning into stone. In a panic, he tried to leave, but that only accelerated the pretrification process, which now covered most of his body except his face.

“Mara is on paid maternity leave and won’t be back until after her son is a year old.” Stolas said solemnly, like if he were scolding a misbehaving child. “Keneth retired after 40 years of faithful service and is now spending the rest of his days in a cozy ranch in Wrath with his family.”

Blitz was now getting desperate; what would he say to this owl to calm him down? Was he even mad or just getting some sick satisfaction from torturing him?

Moxxie and Millie! Oh shit! What is going to happen to them after he ends up as a statue? Will they end up as statues too? That can be! Those two just got married; they have a lot to live for!

“Wait!” Blitz shouted using the last of his strength.

“What now?”

“Please, I beg you, let my two employees go; they were just following me here because I am their boss! They won't set foot in your palace again after this, I promise!”

Hold on a second…His employees?

Curious.

Blitz was freed from his stone prison with a little clap from Stola’s hands and sat down at the table once more, this time prepared for a tea party: Even though Blitz wasn't a tea drinker, his cup was filled with the most exquisite tea he had ever smelled, along with sandwiches, pastries, and tiny, elegant biscuits.

This left him incredibly confused. Wasn’t the prince going to kill him a few seconds ago? Why is he now offering him tea and biscuits?

"So are you saying that the two imps that are now desperately trying to open my door work for you?”

“ Yes…” Blitz responded timidly, “We are an assassination business.”

“I have heard of imps offering their services as assassins, but they were never a company.” Stolas took a sip of his tea. “I thought imps were forbidden to even open a business without a tutor.”

How could Blitz ever forget that?

Hell's Law, Section 4b, Subparagraph 6: Every imp in charge of running a business needs a tutor to supervise all movements. If not, the company is deemed void and needs to be shut down right away.

With how many doors were closed in his face, he has that fucking decree burned in his mind. Honestly, he was just planning to go underground and move rings constantly if that was deemed necessary.

“And what type of assassinations do you do?” Stolas said, noticing Blitz's uncomfortable expression. “It must have something to do with the human world if you needed my book for that.”

“There is no shortage of imps working as assassins in hell; the competition is big and more than once, we have lost customers because some newbies offered to do the killing for cheaper.” Blitz grunted, “I just thought that if my company offered something no other did, then we would finally be able to pay the bills at the end of the month.”

Stolas stood there in silence. This was a curious little imp indeed; he had never in his incredibly long life seen an imp so much determination; I mean, he even tried to steal from him to make his dream come true, and it was not a bad idea after all. It was terribly planned, sure, but in handsight…

He could make use of this.

“So… I understand correctly, you are planning to do assassinations in the human real, correct? In the name of whom?”

“In the name of the sinners, a lot of them are pissed off since they truly believe they got here due to the actions of someone else, like shitty parents, ungrateful kids, a bad friend, and a big list of etcetera.”

“That is to be expected; humans are so predictable.” Stolas signed, his voice becoming calmer. “So I see that you would accelerate them coming here? Right?”

“Exactly!”

“And what would happen if the person goes up there instead of down?”

“That would not be my fucking problem! No refunds ever!” Blitz exclaimed prodly, now filling comfortable enough to take a sandwich and eat it in one bite. “For Satan! This is the best grub I have eaten in a while!”

“I am glad to hear it.”

Stolas took his Grimoire, a pen that appeared to be on his feathers, and a special paper that was big enough for Blitz as he was eating another sandwich. Stolas was already typing the strangest symbols and letters Blitz had ever seen before the imp could inquire as to what was happening. What is the owl doing?

But when a portal popped out from the paper and a huge forest in the human actual appeared, his sandwich slid out of his hand.

“You see, I too have my beefs in the world of men.” Stolas explained. “Every now and then a human may think that they are smart enough to outsmart me and refuse to honor their side of the deals they make with me”

Blitz couldn’t even talk as he felt the fresh night breeze gently touch his leathery skin. It felt surprisingly good, especially since five minutes ago he was turning into stone.

The portal then shut, and the paper was placed right in front of Blitz after being meticulously wrapped into a scroll and secured with a Goetia seal.

Was this real? All he needed to do all this time was just... talk to the prince? All those nights he spent with Millie planning the perfect heist were for nothing? Seriously?

But, hey, you don’t look at the teeth of a gifted horse.

Blitz was just about to take the scroll when a knife was put in front of him. It was literally the most beautiful piece of metal he had ever seen. It was an object of quiet elegance, a perfect balance between artistry and utility. The steel glistened, its surface polished to a mirror finish, reflecting the world around it in a softened, almost dreamlike way. A whisper of an edge ran along its length, honed to such precision that it seemed to promise both grace and danger in a single, fluid motion.

Blitz took it into his large hands, his four fingers fitting perfectly in the handle.

“What is your name, imp?”

"Blitz... Blitz Buckzo”

“So, Mr. Buckzo, tell me, are you willing to make a deal with me?”

Blitz, put the knife down… a deal with one of the princes of hell will bound him forever. He has seen this type of deal happening in movies and the powerful individual is never merciful or asks for anything simple.

What if he asks for his firstborn? For Loona?

Or what if he asks for Moxxie and Millie’s firstborn?!

Or what if he asks for a freaky sex deal where he is going to be subjected to the most humiliating acts?! Those things only sound “sexy and romantic” in amateur fanfiction written by thirteen-year-olds with divorced parents who still have no idea what a real relationship even looks like!

“Are you okay, Mr. Buckzo?” Stolas asks, “I was just about to explain the nature of the deal we were about to make; I would appreciate your attention”

“Yes?”

“Good, because I was just mentioning that the knife that you are using is not an ordinary one as it has the special ability to trap a human soul inside. Once a month, when the moon is full, I will give you an extra target to kill—a moron human who thought they could outsmart me and need to be taught a lesson.”

“So I just kill them and then stab them with the knife, got it,” Blitz said confidently. This may be easier than he thought.

“It's not that simple; you will need to make sure to deliver the final blow with that knife so the soul can be properly trapped.”

“Okay, use the knife; got it!” Blitz smiled, “Is that all?”

“In exchange, I will not only activate the seal each month, giving you access to the human realm anytime you want, but I will also become the tutor for your business.”

What?

WHAT?

“Honesltly, I thought that you would be more pleased.” Stolas signed. “I am saving you years of legal battling and paperwork.”

“I am not giving you my business!” Blitz shouted, angry, “I can’t even give you a share of the company! We are barely making it as it is!”

“I am not asking for a share; I am not interested in money,” Stolas replied solemnly. “But if you will be delivering sould to me, you are technically acting as one of my leggioneres, which I assume you have no intention of being.”

“Well…”

“Additionally, remember that sinners tend to have a pretty loose tongue, and while that may be good for your company in the long run, what would you do if one of Lucifer’s soldiers knocked at your door, demanding to see the necessary paperwork?”

"I could leave and….”

“There are only seven rings in hell and the royal guards are stationed in every single one of them, catching sinners trying to escape pride; eventually you will run out of rings to hide.”

Blitz looked at the floor defeated; he had promised himself, Millie and Moxxie that he would do everything in his power to maintain their business as imp-owned and to never make their little group of misfits subject to the wims of an uncaring overlord, royal or even other hellborn.

If he accepts this deal, then Millie would never forgive him, not after everything they went through in the past.

But realistically speaking, will he even be able to keep that promise? Stolas is right in one thing: Imps are legally not allowed to own businesses without a tutor to supervise them; those few who have tried in the past were taught a lesson pretty quickly.

What to do?

“I promise that I will not ask you for money, not a share of your company and your way of paying me “rent” will be delivering me those sinner souls, nothing more, nothing less.” Stolas put on a contract in front of Blitz; how on earth did he write it so fast was beyond him, but maybe that was one of the powers the prince possessed. “Additionally, with my protection, you will be able to promote your business freely without fear of the king’s army knocking at your door, because if you think that being turned into stone is a terrible punishment, you don’t want to know what our king may have in store.”

What do you say, Mr. Buckzo?

Are you willing to fight for your dreams?

Blitz’s signed the contract.

#helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #anti helluva boss #helluva rewrite #anti stolitz #anti vivziepop #anti spindlehorse #spindelhorse critical

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