#native american reader

[navisakura]

Is anyone else pleasantly surprised at the sheer amount of black, latino and other poc!reader fics that have come out of the ATSV fandom? Like it’s normally so rare to find fanfics with a poc or a dark/brown skinned reader in mind but seeing so many different people integrate their culture and background into their work is genuinely heartwarming

[recreationalfanfics]

First Heartbreak

A Rensuke Kunigami x Fem! Native! Reader drabble, not really a full on detailed fic. Based off of this post and an angst of Kuni and the reader. Might make a yandere vers. follow up or something. Non Natives can interact, just be respectful of the culture!

Your jaw is tight as you string three more of the same colored beads into the fabric, the thread tightening and securing it into your piece. It feels too quiet for you and you hate it. You hate not hearing the sound of a soccer ball being kicked, the little grunts of him giving it his all and pushing himself to be better, you hate when you pierce your finger with your needle because you miss him kissing it better, but you just mostly hate the fact you miss him at all.

You don't realize you're crying until you feel a tear fall on your thumb and you sigh. You loved this park but you have to get up now, because memories of you and him still lingered there. Moving to Japan in middle school was hard for you, the way everyone stared at your hair. The way you heard them whisper about your jewlery and earrings. The way they made fun of your dialect when you spoke, mocking your accent because they hadn't heard it from any other tourist from other countries. You were alienated for a while until you met Kunigami.

He asked you about your jewelry first. You tried your best to explain to him about the significance it had to your culture, how you used it as a creative outlet and how you felt more in touch with your people with it. Then he asked another question and then another, not trying to be annoying but out of sheer curiosity and intruige. It was the beginning of your beautiful relationship and now you were beginning to experience your first heartbreak.

"Fuck does it even matter now?" You think, your anger consuming your sadness, "Bet he's gotten over it already."

He wasn't the same now. He wasn't the kind and loving Kunigami you knew before, the person who came back from Wildcard was a completely different person. You wished so hard that you could be numb to him, care about him a little less and focus on anything else but you couldn't. Being with Kunigami had been such a dream but it was time to wake up now. You wiped your tears away and tried to keep a straight face. One that had no tears and would get past your family without any prying or teasing, one that you could take off behind the safety of your door and hide under a blanket for a while.

Kunigami laid down on his side, the pillow on his head and the necklace you made for him in his hand. It reminded him of the historical beaded jewelry he'd seen in many displays, yet it was still so different. You had beaded a soccer ball emblem on it, which you apologized since you knew it was basic but he had disagreed. He had never seen anything like it before, no one had ever even made him anything like it before. It was meant for him but it was just so...so you. He still loved the texture, his thumb caressing the beads gently as he imagined what it must've been like for you to get them all arranged into the picture you wanted it. The exposed synthetic buckskin comforted him and broke his heart at the same time. The beading details you had done one the lace that went around his neck was orange, like his hair, combined with colors patterns from your tribe and clan. He put it under his pillow as he felt his eyes get tired...or maybe it was because the tears starting at the corners of his eyes began to bother him a little.

He remembers when things went downhill.

When he became colder to you, he hadn't meant too but you were just such a distraction. After his failure in the Blue Lock and being given a second chance, he couldn't afford another distraction, but he also didn't want to let you go. He didn't want to live with that regret...maybe that's why he acted like that, so you'd push him away instead and he wouldn't feel so bad. He was wrong. It only made him feel worse.

At least he still had a piece of you. Slipping his hand under his pillow, he closes his eyes and lets his thoughts go. He remembers your hand running through his hair and the way you sang to him, your voice moving and shifting in a melodic yet soothing way as you sang vocables. Sometimes you'd sing round songs from pow-wows your people had, other times you'd just sing what you wanted too until you messed up, laughing at yourself when your voice cracked awkwardly and him laughing with you. He'll miss those moments but they'll be back soon.

He promises.

When he becomes the World's Greatest Striker, the first thing he'll do is make it up to you. Try to make you see that he had to act the way he did to accomplish his dream and how he'd be better, not just reverting back to being your old Kunigami but someone better; someone not so niave and easily shaken. He'd be stronger and he'd be better.

And you'd take him back.

Right?

[jasmines-library]

could I request a batman and Damian x daughter/sister reader who has native american heritage from their mom's side and since meeting their paternal family as an adult often gifts them things like traditional handicrafts like beaded lanyards, ribbon shirts, card holders, brooches, beaded moccasins, moose hyde gloves and even a beautiful beaded hyde jacket (that she dyed black🤭) and it gets to the point where they're rooms and even the cave is full of little items made by them. Also, it'd be cute if she teaches Damian how to do traditional crafts and even shows him how to cut up & make dry meat because they never had a younger sibling to teach it too and got excited upon meeting Damian.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Note: I hope this is okay. I also hope i did my research right, but please correct me if im wrong!

⛧ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

"What you got there?" Damian asked as he entered the dining room. You were sat at the table by the window where the lighting was good, craft supplies sprawled out in front of you as your trained hands worked.

You held up the delicate fabric up to him. A handmade ribbon shirt, with neat patchwork sewn in. You had been working on the project all day, trying to perfect it. You liked to make them gifts, and they liked to receive them twice as much. Each thing you made them was intricately crafted by and and with a great sense of love and care. Weather it was a beaded lanyard to hand their bits and bobs from, or a brooch, or something larger like the ribbon shirts you liked to sew, they treasured each and every thing. You also felt a great sense of pride giving your family the things you made; it made them feel included in your culture that you were so proud of. Damian's absolute favourite was the black hyde jacket that you had gifted him.

Your family adored your gifts and culture so much that it had gotten to the point where your trinkets were scattered all over the cave, adding a homely and personal touch to something usually so dark and dindgey.

"It's for Tim." You said, placing the shirt back on the table to examine your work.

"It's beautiful." Damian said, looking it over. "You'll have to teach me someday."

your face lit up. "Really? you want to learn?! I'd love to teach you!"

"If you're willing to teach me, yeah."

you scooted your chair over to the side making room for him to pull up another before reaching over for your craft box, filled with beads and delicate feathers and strings to weave and craft with. "Come sit! i'll show you."

Damian took a seat beside you watching closely as you demonstrated how to craft something. He watched keenly, repeating your movements, though with slightly less expertise, though you were sure that in no time, you would have another set of hands to help you craft.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

BATFAM TAGS

@hearts4robs @xxrougefangxx @hell-o-kittys @harleycao @batfamsstuff @alicedawitchbish @killxz @rosecentury @lara20aral

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[pickledpascal]

Thee Wolverine

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Maya Imik

Warnings: animal tendencies, cat behavior, some sexual themes if you squint, fluff otherwise!

A/N: just felt like there was too much feral!logan where he's a fucking machine. what if he just wants to be close to his mate, c'mon now.

Word Count: 1.8k

Hugh Jackman Masterlist

Logan did not go feral. Well, if someone asked, he would say he didn’t.

But there were days, weeks, months when he didn’t act like himself. Where scent, touch, and just about everything seemed to drive him crazy. He’d isolate himself in his room, exiting it with a few more claw marks lodged into the walls or he’d simply leave the mansion. Live in the woods for an indiscriminate amount of time until he felt normal enough to return.

With Maya, that changed.

Similar to their usual routine when they were about to sleep, Maya read a book beside Logan as he got in bed next to her. The whole day, he had felt urges. He knew he was slipping little by little. Around Maya, the fight in him crumbled. His pupils turned to slits as he felt that part of his brain take over.

He pulled her close, causing her to let out a light squeak at how roughly her pulled her. He buried his head into her neck and rubbed his cheek against the exposed skin of her neck and shoulder. His pupils rounded and dilated before he closed his eyes.

Maya looked at Logan curiously, an amused smile on her face. The book was long forgotten as he kept rubbing his face against her until he tucked his head underneath her chin. She carded a hand through his hair and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

Logan wasn’t a stranger to cuddling. Even less so as the person who wanted the affection, desperate for it at times, too. However, this was a whole new level Maya hadn’t experienced yet. Though, she didn’t mind.

A low purr escaped Logan’s chest as Maya kept her fingers in his hair. Surprise was an understatement. She was downright ecstatic at the discovery. Logan was a goddamn cat. Well, more like a tiger. Large and dangerous with deadly claws and an even deadlier bite but downright cuddly and soft when they wanted to be.

They went to sleep like that. Maya’s arms were around Logan’s shoulders while his arms were wrapped around her waist, holding her tightly to him. Their legs tangled together so he could lock their bodies like puzzle pieces. Maya had never felt so warm in her life. It was like being covered in the world's best heated and weighted blanket.

Waking up was another ordeal.

“Logan, let me go.” Maya huffed as she tried to get away from him but he kept a firm hold around her body.

“No.” He hummed, rubbing his face into her hair with a large, easy smile on his face. It would have been more endearing if she hadn’t had an important briefing with Scott in the morning.

Eventually, he did let her go but he full-on whined at the loss of contact. He even growled lowly when she got dressed properly, eyes turning to slits. Maya didn't notice. He hated that she was covering her skin. Hated that he didn't have as much access as he did earlier.

He stood up and pressed his chest to her back and wrapped his arms around her waist, letting his chin rest on her shoulder as a chuff rumbled in his body.

Maya pecked his cheek. “Don't worry, you'll be okay without me for a little while.” Logan frowned. His pupils seemed to get impossibly rounder.

Maya wondered what that was about. In fact, he hadn't said more than a word to her since yesterday, when they had lunch. She brushed it off as just him having a bad day, he'd talk to her later about it, as he always did.

She left the room and went to the briefing with Scott. It went smoothly. They were brainstorming ways to get better protections for mutants from experimentation in a lawful route with Jean and Ororo. Maya didn't think she was of much help but the others reassured her that she was.

During lunch hours, she sat where she usually did with some of the older students. Yukio, Ellie, and Kitty had become friends she liked even if they were nearly ten years younger than her. After a while, she noticed Logan was not in the dining hall like everyone else. Maya pursed her lips.

“Have any of you seen Logan today?” She asked. They all knew of their relationship, at this point, so she felt no reason to hide her worry or favor for the older mutant.

Kitty chuckled. “You didn't hear? He canceled all of his classes.”

“What?” Maya blinked. To be fair, Logan didn't seem like he wanted to converse with anyone, much less a bunch of children. “Why?”

Ellie stared at Maya flatly. As always. “He didn't tell you?” She raised an eyebrow. Then let out a soft “hm.”

Maya pushed a hand through her hair and screwed her eyes shut for a moment, slightly exasperated. There was a lot she didn't know about Logan, he was nearly two hundred fucking years old, of course, she wouldn't be able to know every goddamn thing he went through.

“What is it?” She pressed.

Yukio answered this time, in her usual cheerful tone though it was quieter now as if she was telling a secret. “Sometimes the animal part of Mr. Howlett takes over! He becomes more,” She thought about it for a moment, “Feral. Gives into his animal instincts. He always cancels classes when that happens.”

Maya could not believe what Yukio was telling her. She laughed. She knew it was true. But feral? Describing the cuddle bear that was Logan that morning as feral was silly.

She could still see him in the back of her mind, pupils so dilated they seemed to take over his entire hazel iris. His hair was so fluffy from lying around in bed that it seemed to accentuate the two tufts on either side of his head.

When Maya did come back to his room—their room—she was bombarded by Logan. He pulled her down to the bed with him and nearly shredded off her shirt to expose her skin. He nuzzled his face against her stomach which made her chuckle. He was so goddamn cuddly. She wondered what the students thought he did while he was like this. What urges did they think he had? To kill? Destroy shit? Dare she say fuck?

Logan chuffed again, his entire body rumbled with the noise as he rubbed his cheeks against her. His facial hair made it feel scratchy but Maya didn't mind it much. He was enjoying himself, why would she stop that?

“How've you been?” She asked in a murmur, trying to make some conversation.

“Missed you.” He hummed. His nose traced the soft outline of Maya's abdominal muscles.

Her heart warmed. She glanced around the room. All of the drawers designated to her were slightly ajar. She looked back down at Logan, an amused smirk on her face. He was wearing one of her shirts. A simple black T-shirt with a vintage design on the front.

“Yeah?” Maya tugged a little at the shirt. She raised an eyebrow at him.

Logan pouted softly as he raised his head to look at her. “Smells like you.”

Maya let out a breath, her eyes softening and full of affection as she tugged Logan up her body. “C'mere, sweetheart.” He happily obliged. “I don't mind you taking my clothes if it helps you, okay?” She nodded at him.

He kissed Maya's cheek in response, purring lowly. He wrapped his arms around her again and rubbed his cheek against hers. She laughed. It was his favorite sound in the world. He wanted to hear it all the time. His heart twinged with affection each time he heard even the faintest of chuckles escape her lips.

“Mate makes me happy.” Logan murmured. He rubbed his face against her hair again to feel the softness of it.

He loved her presence, the feeling of her skin against his. More importantly, for his feral mind, he loved having her scent all over him and he loved rubbing his scent all over her. No one else would know besides him and that's what made it so much sweeter.

Maya let Logan mess up her hair, a light smile on her lips. She had never thought of herself as his ‘mate,’ but she was. They were made for each other, it appeared. They fit together like a lock and a key or a pen to paper. They were so similar yet so different. And they embraced those differences without fail. Each flaw seemed to only make them love the other more. Now that they found each other, they were never going to let go. Never could let go.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, earning her another chuff. “You make me happy too, mate.” Maya wrapped an arm around Logan's shoulder. She thought she might as well appeal to his current mental state.

Logan purred happily. He grew even happier when Maya rubbed her cheek against his. His lips parted. A smile that showed his teeth formed on his face.

Maya wanted to take a picture. But she didn't feel like ruining the moment. It was a rare sight to see Logan smile with teeth. She wasn't sure if it was because he intentionally tried not to show his sharp canines in fear of being seen as scary or what but… it was so beautiful when he smiled like that.

She brushed a hand into his hair. Logan let out a contented purr. She scratched at a specific spot in his hair that she knew made him go weak—she wanted to know if something else would happen now that he was giving in to his animal urges.

Almost immediately, his whole body relaxed and went limp. He closed his eyes and purred louder. His entire body rumbled with the noise. Maya was sure that if Logan had a tail then it would be wagging.

“You’re cute.” She smiled, scratching at the hairs on the nape of his neck.

Logan let out a low gruff noise in protest. He didn’t complain otherwise. How could he? Maya had him weak in the knees.

If he was standing, he would have probably collapsed onto the floor with how she was touching him. He liked it like that. The comfort he could feel from a simple touch Maya gave him was more than what he could put into words. He breathed in her scent, letting his body mold into hers.

“Love you, so much.” He hummed against her skin. It was muffled to the point Maya wasn’t sure what he said for a few seconds.

She rubbed her cheek against the side of his head. “Love you too.”

[rakhalofthestars]

The Last of His Tribe

Synopsis: Boothill and the importance of his hair

Tags: boothill x gn. reader, fluff, angst, ambiguous relationship (can be interpreted as both platonic and romantic), bittersweet tbh, boothill's backstory, soft boothill, boothill is native american

Warning: One self-deprecating/suicidal thought (out of survivor's guilt

wc: 1 326

Hair holds memories.

That’s what Boothill had been taught ever since he first learned to understand the words of those around him. It’s what the people of Aeragan-Espharshel believed in. That the hair was an extension of one’s spirit, one’s connection to the land. 

As a young boy, Boothill wasn’t quite sure if he believed in those teachings or not. He found it bothersome to have long, white hair that cascaded down past his shoulders, especially in the sweltering heat when he’d be out lending a hand on the ranch, taming the horses and farming sheep. Boothill could easily remember the times where he’d try to cut his hair off but Nick would always catch him before he could do so.

“I was only gonna cut a few inches off! Scout’s honor, I was!” He’d protest to his adoptive father who’d simply turn a deaf ear at his words and give him a lecture instead. If Nick was in a bad mood, he’d call over Gray and then Boothill would have to stand there and receive double the lecture. 

Looking back on those days now, Boothill can’t help but find it all silly. Of course hair holds memories. Why wouldn’t it? His hair holds the memories of how his adoptive parents would stroke their hands over his head, even when he was well past the age of receiving such manners of affection. His hair holds the memories of how his adoptive sisters would always play with his hair, styling it in everything from a simple ponytail to the most outlandish hairdos that would put even the fanciest southern belle to shame. His hair will remember how his brothers would sometimes give him noogies for pulling a prank on them, it will remember how his gunslinging friends would ruffle and muss it all up for another job well done. 

Boothill’s hair remembers how his daughter used to babble and tangle her tiny fingers in the long locks, tugging at them while he’d wince and hiss softly, trying to pry her fingers away before she ended up ripping out any strands. 

When his tribe was annihilated by the indiscriminate bombs from the IPC, Boothill came close to cutting his hair off. His grief knew no bounds during those dark and wretched days. It could’ve moved the tallest mountains. If it could’ve taken a physical form, it would’ve crushed the IPC with no difficulty. 

For better or for worse, Boothill decided to keep his hair as it was. Even after he had changed his body and turned it into a killing machine, even after he had his eyes and teeth augmented, his red blood switched out for blue fuel. Even then, he kept his hair. 

He just wasn’t ready to say goodbye to that chapter of his history that those snow white locks of hair had witnessed. 

For a long while, Boothill didn’t take care of his hair. He couldn’t bring himself to, almost as if he was afraid that washing it would also wash away the memories and the touch of his loved ones. For a long time, the ash from that fateful day continued to cling onto his hair, along with all sorts of dirt from the various missions the now Galaxy Ranger would go on. 

When Boothill finally found the strength to try and take care of himself again, to try and take care of this extension of his spirit, he found that he couldn’t. This time, there were no psychological barriers that stopped him. It all came down to this body that he’d given himself. 

It was tough to wash his hair while trying to keep the water and soap from seeping into the grooves and crevices in his cybernetic body. It was hard when the long strands would get all tangled in the cracks of his hands that were no longer warm flesh but instead cold metal. 

Thank the aeons that you were there for him. 

Galaxy Rangers don’t normally travel together, least of all working together. But you and him did. 

Boothill couldn’t figure out why he was so drawn to you, why he so easily allowed you past the metal plates that his body consisted of and into the lonely heart that was beating deep inside, hidden and well guarded from the cruel world. He just did. 

Despite your closeness, it took the ranger a while before he gave you the permission to touch his hair. In the end, he was glad that he did. 

And when you suggested helping him wash and braid his hair? He didn’t even need to think twice before answering with a silent nod. 

It took you and Boothill a few trials with no shortage of errors to figure out a safe way to wash his hair without risking electrocution on your part and malfunctioning on his part. But any obstacle can be overcome when given enough time.

As Galaxy Rangers, the two of you were almost constantly on the move and never stayed in one place for too long. So you had to make do with crashing in hotels and inns.

Boothill would always sit on the bathroom floor, his head tilted at the edge of the bathtub and allowing his hair to cascade into the tub. You’d be kneeling right beside him and would wash away the dirt and grime that built up after countless missions combined with days of neglect. Your fingers gently comb through the long locks, untangling the knots and sometimes, to both yours and his amusement, picking out little twigs and the like that had gotten tangled up. 

These little sessions would often start out with Boothill chattering away about how he quote unquote “taught them muddle-fudgers a lesson” on your latest mission or some recent bounty that he had successfully completed. But it never took long before he’d fall silent. If he was feeling up for it, he might hum a little tune that Nick had taught him. But usually, it was just silence except for the sounds of water. 

Neither you nor Boothill ever minded it. It was comforting, to indulge in this little bubble of tranquility. To try and hold on to it because Lan knows how Boothill misses the days which were filled with crude songs and gentle words. 

As the suds of shampoo run down the drain, so too does Boothill's fears, worries and thoughts of how it should've been him.

Once his hair is all clean and has regained its normal shine, all that's left is to dry it with a towel before combing through it. It used to take him a long time for his hair to regain its usual luster, but thanks to you and your insistence as well as diligence on taking care of him, it is easily achievable with just an hour or so of haircare. 

Boothill likes to braid his hair. He didn't tend to do it often, usually due to the hair getting stuck in the crevices of his iron fingers. So you'd offer to do it for him instead. 

With deft fingers, you section the beautiful locks into two before sectioning those two parts into three separate strands. 

One for the body. One for the mind. One for the spirit.

You braid his hair into twin braids and in all his days since a part of him died along with his family, he has never looked happier. 

Of course, he'll eventually take out the braids and wear his hair down to let his targets know that he's a warrior ready for battle. 

But for now, Boothill will indulge in this small moment of peace with you. His eyes will flutter and close while his head rests on your lap as he's lulled to sleep by hands that he knows will always be there to take care of him. His braids will stay, preserving the memories of the planet where he's from, his culture, his heritage and his tribe.

[recreationalfanfics]

Blue Lock Boys × Fem! Native! Reader: You Bead Something For Them

Disclaimer: ANOTHER POST FOR ALL MY FELLOW NATIVES, NON-NATIVES ARE ALLOWED TO INTERACT WITH THIS POST AS LONG AS YOU ARE RESPECTFUL OF OUR CULTURE. Again, all Indegenious/Native Tribes are different so I sadly won't be able to represent all of our people but I am gonna try and keep this as general as possible!

Cultural Context: My favorite part of our culture has always been beading and there are two types of beading: looming (where you use a loom essentially) and applique embroidery, where you just bead on designs with a sewing needle and thread! I will be talking about the embroidery one in this post since its one I've seen my tribe do a lot so I hope you all enjoy!♡

Reo Mikage:

- Your beading has always been so impressive to him. Not only is it the patience you have when you do it but also, the way your hand is so steady, and how creative you have to be with the beads in order to get the picture and design you want.

- HE WILL BUY YOU SUPPLIES, TOO. What fabric do you need to put your beads on? What specific brand of beads do you want? Do you want him to have people make you your own custom glass beads??? Just, like, stuff like that.

- He loves it when you walk around, a pair of shoes flashing an old design you did a while ago. Some beads had broken off and went missing a few times so some of the design was gone but he still liked how it looked on you!

- He also loves the texture of your beadwork, looking at a work in progress design you had laying around from a year ago and asking if it was if he could touch it, admiring the craftsmanship even tho you tell him that it still looks a bit sloppy, he loves it all the same and doesn't understand how you can see any flaws in it.

- You have made designs based off of him, too. Using beads colored purple that are his exact eye and hair color. Whether you made it into an earring or necklace for yourself, he doesn't really care, he just LOVES seeing you wear it honestly.

- So one day you decide that you want to bead something for him. Maybe his shoes? Obviously not his soccer ones but shoes that he wears on his days out or something. Maybe a bracelet that he can always wear whenever you aren't allowed in Blue Lock! Or perhaps just do something on his bag?

- Either way, whatever you decide to give him, HE LOVES IT. He is careful with it however, even if you assured him that you sewed the thread and beads together as best as you could to make the design more hardy but he's still very careful with it.

- HE TRIES TO PAY FOR IT AT FIRST. LIKE, HE KNOWS HOW MUCH TIME IT TAKES FOR YOU TO DO THESE THINGS AND HE'D FEEL SO BAD, but you assure him that you don't really want his money (especially after he already got you such expensive and high grade supplies) and that you just wanted to gift this to him because he means so much to you and that you really appreciate him respecting your culture and being so supportive of you that you just want to give him something in return.

- AND HE LOVES IT BECAUSE THERE IS NOTHING ELSE LIKE IT. The design you did was personalized for HIM. The time and attention you spent on this was for HIM. MONEY WILL NEVER BUY HIM ANYTHING THIS SPECIAL. So he will cherish the ABSOLUTE HELL out of your gift.

- He's fiercely protective of it and when he misses you, he just lays and admires it and your handiwork.

Rensuke Kunigami (Pre-Shidou):

- Rensuke is so interested in it, honestly. Like, he'll ask you all the time what designs you're thinking of doing, how you arranged the beads to get them to look like that. Just a whole bunch of questions but he knows you won't get annoyed and will answer all of his questions.

- Doesn't mind sitting in silence as you bead and he's practicing kicking goals into the net. He likes the comfortable silence and sometimes, he'll just smile at you lovingly as you furrow your brows and carefully place different colored beads that join together to create a beautiful pattern.

- He does make sure to check for needles when he's over at your place because last time when he sat on a couch, he accidentally sat on a needle that you placed there so it wouldn't fall or go missing. It didn't hurt that much but, you know, it's a needle. At least you let him know where you place your needles.

- If you ever spill your beads, he will help you pick them up and idk why but its just really cute to imagine him crouching down and helping you pick them and just being REALLY attentive about it. Especially if it was his fault, like he knocked over your plate of beads with a soccer ball or something but POINT IS, HE IS THOROUGH.

- He likes seeing all the bags, shoes, if you have a blue lock id that came with a lanyard (for when you are permitted to visit) then yeah, you're totally beading that too.

- Gets defensive if someone says anything that puts you, your art, or your culture down. Like, you're doing some beadwork and one of the guys just asks why you do something so pointless and Kunigami immediately jumping to your defense.

- "Just because you don't understand it doesn't mean it's pointless. You don't know how much work and time it takes them." and then he proceeds to just casually beat them in the next match he has with them.

- If you ever give him something you beaded as a gift, he will cherish it. I personally think he'd look cool with beaded necklace with a soccerball on it. You're embarrassed because you think it's really generic but he is absolutely stoked about it!

- Obviously he can't wear it in Blue Lock but anywhere else? He'll proudly wear it with you, making sure the bright patterns are visible for everyone to see and running his fingers against it and feeling the texture and smiling to himself about all the long hours you put into making this for him.

- He also knows sometimes you stay up late to make things though or finish up a few things on your beading but he will definetly urge you to go to bed and when you resist, he just carefully takes the needle from you and wraps an arm around you and you're about to protest but you let out a yawn and sigh and begrudgingly admit that he might be right.

Ryusei Shidou:

- Homie has BEEN asking for something from you ever since he learned that you do that. To be honest, he definetly thinks there are some parts of your culture that are cool as fuck but some of them are stereotypes that you might need to correct him about and he's willing to listen.

- But back to the beading thing, he saw how some of your things had various different tribal patterns or just some designs you thought looked cool and he asked where you keep getting that stuff and is fairly impressed when you tell him you made it yourself.

- "YOU SHOULD MAKE SOMETHING FOR ME. Like, a super badass design on my jersey!"/ "Ryu, that design would probably break. I could do a leash though, that'd be more useful."/ "I could work with that~"

- However when you start working on his gift, he soon realizes that the beading process takes A LOT your time. Aka, time that you could've spent with HIM. So he'll whine and ask you to pay attention to him and you have to be there like: "Shidou, YOU ASKED FOR THIS." and he's all: "I KNOW, BUT I'M DYING OVER HERE, BABY!"

- He has knocked over your plate of beads before, let's be honest. He doesn't mean to do it, he's just so easily excited and energetic and a huge fucking menace that its sadly the price the you pay for being in love with him. He'll help you pick them up but he's so fucking annoyed with them too because THEY'RE SO STUPID SMALL, HOW DO YOU DO ANYTHING WITH THEM!?

- Also if he ever hears you go: "Fuck!" and hiss in pain, he knows for a fact you probably poked yourself and he walks over to you and PUTS THE TIP OF YOUR FINGER WHERE YOU POKED YOURSELF IN HIS MOUTH.

- You pulled your hand away the first time and said: "RYU, WHAT THE HELL-" to his excuse was "What? Just kissing it better for you.~" So he just does that and you're going to have to accept that. Might teasingly bite your finger when you remind him you still have to work on his gift.

- When you finally finish with it, HE IS SO OBNOXIOUS IN SHOWING IT OFF. Like, he's talking about how great and talented his s/o is and how they're so cool and if anyone makes fun of it, he is gonna need to be locked up again. IF ANYONE TRIES TO TOUCH IT, HE WILL BE IN PRISON FOR LIFE.

- Tbh he might break it during like a fight or he just was too rough so you do have to make some repairs to it and while you're semi-annoyed, you think its really cute how he gets so upset about it until he starts talking about how he's gonna murder the guy he was scrapping with. If he has to wait because you don't have the right color beads, he will be moody with everyone (except you♡) and he'll be patient for when its ready.

- Ryusei loves seeing you wear the jewlery that you made tho, there's something so mesmerizing about you casually representing your culture that just makes him feel some kind of way. Idk why but he'd def like the dangly beaded earrings you wear, they're just super pretty on you. He can't explain it.

[pickledpascal]

Be My James Bond?

Pairing: Patch!Logan x Native American OC!Maya Imik

Warnings: sexual tension, violence, claws are OUT, smoking.

A/N: i love you patch logan and your .5 seconds of screen time in d&w. for context, maya is a mutant who can manipulate water/liquids.

Word Count: 1.8k

Hugh Jackman Masterlist

It was another one of those missions, the kind where Maya and Logan had to go undercover in some fancy casino that seemed way too good to be true. Which it was. These kinds of missions were somewhat trivial, at least in Maya’s eyes, but they always impacted mutant lives somehow. So of course she went on them.

Seeing Logan dressed up didn’t hurt either. And she knew Logan didn’t mind seeing her in a dress.

This time, she wore a strapless dress in a deep blue color that pooled onto the floor, a slit that went all the way to her mid-thigh. Her light sepia skin was on display for everyone to see. The scars never threw anyone off, they seemed to draw them in. She found it was a conversation starter which is what she needed on a mission like this. It also helped that she was usually the only Native in any room she walked into and people could tell.

She walked around the casino, keeping an eye on Logan as he played at a poker table. He wore a white blazer with a nicely fitting waistcoat and black bowtie. Classy. In all the right ways. And his eyepatch, which he wore no matter what seemed to tie the whole look together.

She went up to the bar to order a drink and get some information. This part of the casino was exclusive, meant for the high-rollers only.

Her presence had men flocking to the bar so she plastered a smile on her red-painted lips, sipping at a martini as she chatted with the men, pulling out bits and pieces of information from them as she lightly and expertly flirted with them.

Soon, Maya could feel a familiar presence make his way to the bar. She excused herself from the man she was talking with and moved further down the bar.

“Having any luck, River?” Logan asked, a hand around a crystal glass filled with whiskey. The color was similar to her left eye. He had also lit up a cigar which he had currently hanging from his lips.

Maya smirked, their shoulders brushing up against each other. She breathed in the smoke of his cigar as it swirled around them. “The best. How ‘bout you, Patch?”

Logan huffed under his breath, plucking the cigar from his lips between two fingers. “I’m working on that.” Maya was about to say something else when a man she previously talked to went up to her.

He was a little shorter, younger, and handsome man who was certainly way in over his head. “Hey, pretty girl.” He crooned as he stood between her and Logan. He slid a hand up her arm. “You wanna get out of here? This old guy must be bothering you.”

Mistake number one when talking to Maya in front of Logan: Never assume she is yours. She’s not. And Logan will make you not so nicely understand.

A light laugh escaped her lips while Logan seethed as he looked at the man. He was resisting the urge to slam his face into the bar top. It would be a shame to stain it with his blood.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” She tried to let him down gently, as a mercy. She hoped he would be smart and turn the other way. “I’m not the kind of girl who goes back to a hotel room with someone after a few drinks. I’m sure you understand.” She smiled politely.

The man huffed and turned around. “Bitch.” He mumbled under his breath.

Mistake number two: Never insult Maya.

Logan pulled the other man by his hair and slammed his head against the bar top, hard enough for his nose to break and bleed. His other hand extended his claws slowly. “Wanna try that again, bub? That’s my wife you’re talking to.” He ground out, eyes narrowed like he wanted to kill him.

All the activity around them seemed to stop, but no one made any move to try and help the man who was unfortunately at the mercy of an angry Wolverine.

The man tried to shake his head but it was hard to since he was held against the counter. Logan roughly let him go, pushing him away. “Get the fuck outta here.” His claws retracted back into his knuckles.

Maya couldn’t contain the sly smile on her face as she watched the young man fall into a heap on the floor before he got up and scrambled away.

“Was that really needed, Patch?” She asked, tilting her head as the smile on her lips widened.

Logan went back to smoking his cigar, the tension in his shoulders dissipating. “Wasn’t it, River?” His lips quirked up into a lop-sided smirk. “Can’t have someone thinking they can have you, can I?”

Maya was glad they got the information they needed so they didn’t have to stay in the casino any longer. With the way Logan’s eyes roamed over her body and how he broke someone’s face, it was best they got out of there.

She pushed their hotel room open, toeing off her heels so she sat at her normal height. With them on, she was taller than Logan rather than being almost exactly his height. Logan pushed the door closed behind him and locked it before he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed soft kisses to her neck.

“Always so goddamn tempting when you dress like this.” He murmured against her skin. “Almost like you want to torture me.”

Maya turned in his arms and cupped his face, kissing him softly. It wasn’t her fault the revealing dresses made more men want to talk to her. And it wasn’t her fault she could be easy to talk to when she wanted to be.

Logan’s shoulders slumped as she kissed him. She relaxed him like no other person could, rendering him limp at times from just a simple touch.

She pushed Logan onto the couch and let out a soft breath as she looked down at him. And he looked up at her, pulling her close by her hand so she stood between his legs. He pressed the back of her hand to his lips, thumb rubbing against the wedding rings that sat on her fingers.

Her other hand lifted to push his eyepatch off his face, revealing the milky white eye underneath. He wasn’t completely blind in that eye but he was self-conscious about how it looked. Maya didn’t mind. She liked seeing his face in its full glory. Her thumb traced underneath his left eye, causing him to let out a breath of contentment.

The deformed eye was a result of getting shot, but it never quite healed right. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with his healing factor, it was fine with everything else. Just that one eye. However, he counted himself lucky that it didn’t look worse.

Logan huffed softly and leaned forward, burying his face in her solid but still plush stomach. He wrapped his arms around her hips as he nuzzled his face against her. He could feel her body rumble underneath him as she laughed. Her hands cradled the back of his head as he kept rubbing his face against her torso. A low purr escaped his chest.

He tugged her onto his lap, hands on her hips as he pushed his face into her neck to breathe in her scent properly. Now, it was mixed with a perfume which he had complained about many times before. It made it harder for him to pick up her smell.

Maya pressed a kiss to the side of his head, a light and easy smile on her face. One that she only had when she was with Logan and he was being affectionate like this.

“I love you.” Logan pulled away from her neck to look her in the eye when he said it. He was loyal to a fault for Maya. He’d kill for her, easily. If he could die, he would give up his life in an instant.

Maya’s eyes roamed over his face, her smile widening. “I love you too.” She pressed a kiss to his left eyebrow. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

They sat in silence for a while, drinking in each other's presence like they did most nights they were together. It was routine Logan wasn’t used to but he found that he loved it, even during missions like these.

He grabbed a cigar from his blazer and lit it. The light cast a harsh shadow over his face and illuminated him with a warm light, if only for a few seconds. Maybe less. Maya always thought he looked pretty when smoking a cigar and, sometimes, Logan would use that to his advantage.

He took a puff from the cigar and smirked as he blew the smoke in her face. She stared at him with an amused look in her eyes, largely unphased. She sat up a little straighter on his lap and raised an eyebrow with interest.

“Logan—” Maya breathed.

He cupped her chin with his free hand, thumb tracing her bottom lip. “C’mon, pretty girl,” He called her the one thing he knew would make her melt. “Open up.”

Maya’s eyes darkened, pupils blown wide that the color was only a thin ring. Her jaw clenched before she finally did comply, her lips parting.

Logan grinned as he took another drag from his cigar, sharp canines barely made an appearance between his lips. Maya noticed. He blew the smoke into her mouth like he had done it a hundred times before. He has. It never got old. She sucked in the smoke and blew it right back at him.

He pulled her chin close so he could kiss her, to taste the cigar on her lips. He would light up a cigar just to taste it on her lips a lot. He found it was more addicting than the tobacco they were made of.

“Can never get enough, can you?” A sly smile appeared on Maya’s lips as Logan pulled away, putting the cigar between his lips.

“Of you? Never.” He tilted his head, an eyebrow raised as he looked at her. His hands dropped to cradle her hips. “I married you, isn’t that proof?”

Her heart beat louder, harder in her chest when he mentioned they were married. She could never get used to it—his ring on her finger and her ring on his finger. How he stared at her with such love and adoration that she felt like her chest was an overflowing waterfall.

“If I recall, I proposed first.”

“True, but you beat me only by a week.”

“Mm, sure.”

Logan might have claws but he also had the ability to bend that waterfall to his will, subconsciously or not.

[fbfh]

For all my eddie and lovesick eddie simps with baby fever did you know that your baby does in fact look just like eddie and just like mommy?? Did you know he loses it and blushes and giggles when he looks at your daughter cause he sees you in her even though everyone says she looks just like him????? Well it's fuckin true!!!!

Here are some diverse face claims for eddie x reader's baby girl!!!!!!!

[springfaaerie]

Thunder & Lightning Chapter Three

'the clearwaters' 

pairing: Paul Lahote x Native Fem!OC

warnings: none?

word count: 2.8k

Masterlist

Tama sat in Bella's soon to be bed with her arms crossed, a scowl on her face. She had been stuck in the room for the entirety of last night and a majority of the day. The only time she had been allowed out were for supervised showers and bathroom breaks. She hated it. 

"It's just until you get your strength back," Mitena reassured her daughter. She placed the tray of food on the bed in front of the annoyed teenager, stepping back a few inches. 

Tama examined the food her mother had made, grumbling a small thank you as she remembered her manners, taking a few bites to please her. "How am I supposed to get my strength back if I'm stuck in bed?"

"Girl's got a point," Charlie piped in, appearing in the doorway of the room his daughter would soon inhabit. Tama smiled, happy to know Charlie was almost always on her side when it came to the rare disagreements with her mother.

Mitena sent Charlie an annoyed glance, to which he shrugged. "She's not broken, the girl's just got a few bruises," he reassured her, always the mediator between the two women. 

She finally relented, throwing her hands up in surrender. Both Charlie and Tama smiled, giving each other high fives much to Mitena's annoyance. "We'll start small and simple, I promise. You can hang out with me outside while I clean the boat and get some fresh air, maybe even come fishing with us."

"Us?" Tama raised an eyebrow as she looked over at her mother, knowing she wasn't the "fishing" type whatsoever. In fact, Tama had inherited her non athleticism from her very own mother. They both despised anything active besides swimming and surfing, the latter only a result of Tama being friends with Tallulah Uley, the best surfer in the state. "Since when do you want to go fishing?"

Mitena scoffed while Charlie failed to hold back a laugh, the two old friends sharing a smile at the thought of her being in a boat to fish. The woman turned to her daughter, playfully rolling her eyes at Charlie's teasing. "I'm not going, of course. The Clearwater's are coming over later, they wanted to see you."

"They wanted to come visit in the hospital but," Charlie trailed off, cutting himself short when he saw the look Mitena sent him. He cleared his throat awkwardly, adjusting his belt before tilting his head in the direction of the hallway. "Let's get a move on, they should be here soon."

Without skipping a beat and completely missing the unspoken interactionl, Tama went to throw the blankets off of her with a smile, happy to be out of the room that received no direct sunlight for a majority of the day. Her mother stopped her of course, a stern look on her face. The older woman stared down at the half eaten breakfast expectantly. "You have to eat, Tama. You can't get well on an empty stomach."

Tama didn't argue with that, finishing the sandwich in a whopping two bites. "I can walk, mom," Tama told her mother for what seemed like the fifteenth time since being discharged from the local hospital.

Mitena backed off, standing next to her daughter awkwardly as she fiddled with her hands. She and Tama had always been close, as they were always the only two in the apartment and in the shop. Their closeness had been interrupted with the arrival of Paul Lahote into their lives for a brief but entirely blissful moment, for Tama at least. Mitena even hated the boy's name and frowned in disgust whenever it was mentioned. However, she waited somewhat patiently until the inevitable came and welcomed her daughter back with open arms and home-baked sweets when it did. 

Now, the closeness seemed to be fading once more. Tama had always seemed to love when her mother cared for her whenever she had fallen ill. She would jump at the chance to stay home from school when she had the slightest fever and Mitena would jump even higher it seemed, to let her stay in bed and tend to her only child. Now, here she was, refusing her help. It was unlike her and Mitena felt a sense of deja vu; she just hoped she wasn't right this time.

Charlie wrapped his arm around Tama's shoulder once she came to stand in the doorway, offering his help in the most subtle way possible. She was like her mother, stubborn and prone to not asking for help, unless it was from her mother of course. "Let's go kid, boat isn't gonna clean itself."

Mitena followed them, stopping at the doorway and watching as the two descended the stairs, a frown etched upon her face. She contemplated for a moment before sucking her teeth, deciding against it before she too made her way down the creaking steps. 

The trio made their way out front, gathering around the mud and debris covered boat that sat on the side of the Swan residence. With some help, Tama got onto the boat, being tasked with cleaning up all the old beer cans and snack wrappers that were left behind. "I never thought I'd be happy to pick up trash."

Mitena rolled her eyes but smiled, happy to see her daughter happy. She held out a garbage bag for her to toss the trash into, shifting slightly when Charlie nudged her. He sent her an "I told you so" look, also noticing the teen's change in demeanor but was met with a quick middle finger from his old friend. They laughed while Tama paid them no mind, used to their playful banter. 

Their workflow was interrupted when the sound of a car engine filled their ears, turning to follow the noise. The sight of an old, beat up Toyota truck made Tama grin widely, the girl forgetting she was injured and jumping off the boat without help. She sucked in a breath as she remembered mid-jump, waiting for the pain upon impact, confused when it never came. Her once bruised body felt good as new, as though she had never had a brush with death days ago. 

She made eye contact with her mother, who looked just as confused as she did before the older woman quickly looked away, meeting the car as it pulled into the driveway. "You're here early."

Sue Clearwater, one of Mitena's closest and oldest friends, smiled as she exited the passenger seat. In her left hand, her right she used to support herself while getting out, was a bag filled with what Tama could only assume were herbs. Sue was known around the reservation for being a medicine woman, curing anything from a spider bite to a broken leg. When she wasn't taking up extra shifts at the local hospital, the nurse was helping out in her own community. "Blame these two, they practically shoved us into the car."

The two in question, Leah and Seth Clearwater, were out of the car before it could come to a complete stop, the siblings running towards Tama. Leah won, always the fastest of the two siblings, pulling her best friend into a tight hug, careful not to harm her. "I'm so sorry."

Tama said nothing as she allowed herself to be engulfed into a air restricting hug by the Clearwater siblings, grateful for the human contact outside of her mother and Charlie. She offered them smiles once the hug was broken, happy to see them. Seth offered her a small stuffed animal, the words "get well soon" displayed on poorly stitched embroidery written across its chest. Tama laughed, taking the gift happily while thanking the younger boy. 

"We missed you," he told her sincerely, the trio following the adults into the home. They all stood together as though they were connected by the hip, that being somewhat true. Since childhood, they had always been together, along with the Uley siblings, Samuel and Tallulah, the latter of whom Seth had a crush on. In all honesty, this was probably the longest they had been apart. 

The absence of both Samuel and Tallulah didn't go unnoticed however, and neither did the bags beneath Leah's eyes and the sadness that still loomed despite the fact that the two best friends were reunited once more. Tama raised an eyebrow, studying the two. "Where's Sam and Lu?"

The adults ceased talking, turning to look at the teenagers who stood near the doorway of the living room. They exchanged looks before they glanced over to Leah and Seth, almost daring them to say the wrong thing. Seth stayed quiet, the boy was never a good liar and he was proud of it. Instead, he glanced at the floor awkwardly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his worn out denim jeans. Leah cleared her throat, putting on a false smile they both knew was forced. "They had to work but, they both really wanted to be here."

If Tama wasn't so keen on her best friend's behavior, she would've believed her. It was a known fact that both Tallulah and Sam were both forced into adult positions at their young ages. Sam had even taken his GED test in order to graduate earlier and spend more time working, something he was almost always doing. But, Tama could spot out a liar. Especially if she had known said liar since birth. They left the watchful gaze of their elders and made their way into Tama's temporary room, Seth making himself comfortable on the bed after discarding his dirty sneakers. 

Leah fiddled with an old photo of Isabella, a curious look on her face. "It's been so long, do you think she even remembers anything about this place? About us?"

Tama shrugged, bringing her sweater closer to her body in an attempt to get warmer. Seth noticed this and frowned, offering her the small quilt that hung over the foot of the bed. She thanked him with a smile, accepting the handmade item and wrapping it around herself. "Maybe. I haven't talked to her in years though...I can't remember the last time she visited."

"I couldn't imagine not seeing my dad for more than a year, let alone six," Seth frowned, looking between his sister and his friend. 

While Tama was grateful they refrained from talking about the accident, she had a feeling that they had other reasons for keeping quiet, reasons they didn't want her to know about.  Seth noticed her mood and attempted to change the subject. ""Thank god you're finally up, Leah's been forcing me to watch sappy romance movies with her." 

Finally? According to her mother, she had only been unconscious for half a day, joining her mother at Charlie's only two days ago. 

"Oh shut up you loved 'The Notebook',"

"Yeah but it gets kind of boring after watching it fifteen times," he groaned back. "I wish Sam were still here."

"What, did Sam get tired of watching them with you?" Tama asked teasingly, her smile faltering slightly when Leah didn't immediately respond and Seth looked as though he had done the unthinkable. 

Leah cursed, punching her brother in the arm and kicking him out of the small bedroom. Seth held his now-sore arm gingerly, muttering small curses under his breath as he swiftly made his exit, not wanting to face his sister's newly acquired wrath. Leah turned to face her bestfriend, sucking in a breath of air.

"Leah," Tama began nervously, unsure if she wanted to hear the answer to her question that was burning a hole through her throat, "how long have I been unconscious?"

Her friend turned away then, unable to look her in the eyes. She sighed, finally giving up and going against her parents and Mitena, unable to lie to the girl that she thought of as her sister. "They thought it'd be better if you didn't know for some stupid reason but..."

Leah reached for Tama's hands, holding them tightly in an attempt to comfort her. "You've been out for about a week. It took almost two days to find you, Tama. Your heart wasn't beating and...we thought you were gone."

When Tama didn't immediately answer, Leah continued as she struggled to hold back tears. "Sam went missing a few days later, I-I don't know what happened. Everything was fine and then one night he just didn't come home."

Tama, who sat at the head of the bed, shocked at what she had just been told, stayed quiet. Five days. She had been unconscious for five days and alone in the woods for two, dead. How she was resurrected from her premature death she was uncertain and it seemed as though in Leah's state, she wouldn't get an answer. 

"I-I'm sorry," was all she managed to get out, "about Sam I mean. I think he'll come back. He wouldn't leave you, Leah. Especially not right after he proposed."

Leah said nothing, letting her tears fall down her face as she stared at the blanket they sat upon. Her usual bright demeanor was nowhere to be seen, her face dark and void of happiness. Tama wiped her tears and Leah let out a small laugh, drying what tears her best friend hadn't removed. Tama looked at her curiously, tilting her head to the side. 

Rolling her eyes, Leah shook her head, still in disbelief. "You should've seen him, Tama," 

The brunette knew who she was talking about before she even continued, her heart stinging and picking up in pace simultaneously. It was her turn to avoid her friend's gaze, though the older girl continued. "He practically led the whole search, I'm surprised we were able to find you at all with how much they argued."

"He's the one who found you, you know?"

She looked up then, imagining her mother and her ex-boyfriend arguing in the wake of her disappearance and possible death. She pictured him holding her, some part of her wishing she had been awake to feel his touch again. She debated on whether she wanted to tell her about the hospital or not, deciding it was best they didn't keep secrets from each other. They usually never did, no matter what they had been told. "He came to visit me in the hospital."

Leah's eyes went wide but Tama waved her off. "Of course, my mother didn't let him. She didn't tell me–I wouldn't have even known if I hadn't seen the bear and the flowers...and the note."

"Were they daisies?" Leah asked, rolling her eyes when Tama confirmed. "What note?"

"She threw it all away but," Tama stood, slowly walking over to the desk where her small bag sat, as if her mother would walk in on them at any second. Part of her felt embarrassed, full of shame as she pulled out the crumpled note from her ex. She flattened it out poorly before handing the paper to her best friend, hugging her knees to her chest as she waited for her to finish reading it. 

Leah scoffed, throwing it out of her hand. Tama resisted the urge to grab it out of the air but held back, watching it slowly float down onto the plum colored duvet. She stared down at the note while she listened to Leah ramble on. "Who the hell does he even think he is? Honestly! He breaks your heart, on your anniversary mind you, and suddenly he wants back in like nothing ever happened?"

Tama glanced up, meekly peering at her best friend, grateful to have her. Leah met her gaze and sighed, pulling her into a hug without another word, stroking her hair. "I'm sorry, for everything. I tried not to say anything but I just couldn't. I wish I would've been there."

"Then we both would've been in hospital beds," Tama mumbled, holding her friend a bit tighter then. She inhaled, the scent of jasmine and fresh rain filling her nostrils. 

"I could've taken them," Leah shot back, the two giggling like young school girls at that. They fell back into the bed, Leah still holding onto her friend as if she would leave again. "I don't know what I would have done if I would've lost you. I can't even think-"

"You don't have to," Tama cut her off, holding up her pinkie finger. The girls smiled, linking their smallest finger together. "Promise."

Leah looked at their interlocked fingers and frowned, catching sight of the ring that had been placed next to it. Tama took her hand in hers, holding it gently. "Sam's gonna be okay, Leah. We'll find him like you found me."

Like Paul did, she thought. 

Sighing, she looked away from the ring that almost begged for her attention. "I hope you're right."

spring speaks: hope you enjoyed, tysm for reading <3 and lmk if you want to be added to the taglist

[pickledpascal]

Hold Me Like Water Masterlist

Hugh Jackman x Maya Imik

Hugh Jackman Masterlist

Fic on AO3

Summary: Maya and Hugh have been friends for nearly ten years. After divorcing his now ex, Maya is there to comfort him. And maybe become something else.

General Warnings: reminder that the fmc is a trans woman !!! she has a girl dick !!! kinda slow burn moment. smut. but just a little bit. it's a friends to lovers story guys, they gotta take their time. i will be talking about hughs divorce which will be purely speculation so obviously don't take anything i say as truth. age gap!! fic starts with maya being 23 and hugh is 44.

A/N: this is gonna be a long one, so buckle in hughlovers

ONE. TWO. THREE. FOUR. FIVE. SIX. SEVEN. EIGHT. NINE. TEN. ELEVEN. TWELVE. THIRTEEN. FOURTEEN. FIFTEEN. SIXTEEN. SEVENTEEN. EIGHTEEN.

[cardboardheartss]

Future of Native American Representation in Western Media Mini Reading

Future of Native American Representation in Western Media : Conflicted, Boundaries rx, Sorrow rx, Divine Feminine, Nourish rx, Obscurity, Distance, Escaping rx, Heart Fog, Resistance, Commitment rx, Chasing rx, Curse rx, Elusive rx, Family rx, Exhaustion rx, Rejection, Running rx, Divine Masculine rx

So many cards?!?!? I see that NA’s won’t have as much luck either. They will still not get as much opportunities at all, it seems like the West will try really hard to push them away out of the limelight. It also looks like NA’s are immune to rejection and aren’t really surprised if they don’t get any offers or get turned down. They believe this type of treatment is really messed up and unnecessary but they seriously not surprised about the unfair treatment.

Public’s Thoughts on lack of representation? : Thinking, Beginnings, Second Chance, Beauty rx, Stress, Pain, Realizations, Open Heart

The public will feel remorseful about this issue. The public will notice that there really aren’t enough NA’s on screen and realize that there need to be more. There will be arguments on social media, debating whether or not NA’s deserve to be represented in media, and obviously racism/offensive terms will be thrown around; but in general, the support is there and evident.

Why is there a lack of representation? : Apology rx, Depth, Loyalty, Return rx, Distracted, Lusting rx, Intuition rx, Memories, Twin Flame

There is a lack of representation due to history? Most probably because of the dark past NA’s had because of White People? The Higher Ups believe that if they bring up more NA’s in the limelight, they’ll most likely shine the light on the colonization and massacres from the past and the Higher Ups don’t want that. Looking at the one card pulled out, it’s also because NA’s don’t have the Eurocentric beauty standards for the West, and believe they aren’t appealing enough for the media.

[rockislandadultreads]

Nonfiction Picks: Native American Heritage Month

Celebrate Native American Heritage Month by checking out these nonfiction recommendations!

Whiskey Tender by Deborah Jackson Taffa

Deborah Jackson Taffa was raised to believe that some sacrifices were necessary to achieve a better life. Her grandparents - citizens of the Quechan Nation and Laguna Pueblo tribe - were sent to Indian boarding schools run by white missionaries, while her parents were encouraged to take part in governmental job training off the reservation. But as Taffa grew up, she began to question the promise handed down by American society: that if she gave up her culture, her land, and her traditions, she would be able to achieve the “American Dream.” This memoir traces how a mixed tribe native girl interprets her own identity. 

By the Fire We Carry by Rebecca Nagle

In this volume, Rebecca Nagle recounts the generations-long fight for tribal land and sovereignty in eastern Oklahoma. This book not only stands as a landmark work of American history, but is also a powerful work of reportage that braids the story of the forced removal of Native Americans onto treaty lands in the nation’s earliest days, and a small-town murder in the 1990s that led to a Supreme Court ruling reaffirming Native rights to that land more than a century later.

Notable Native People by Adrienne Keene

Celebrate the lives, stories, and contributions of Indigenous artists, activists, scientists, athletes, and other changemakers in this illustrated collection. From luminaries of the past to contemporary figures, this volume highlights the vital impact Indigenous dreamers and leaders have made on the world. This collection also offers primers on important Indigenous issues, from the legacy of colonialism and cultural appropriation to land and water rights, and more.

A Mind Spread Out on the Ground by Alicia Elliott

The Mohawk phrase for depression can be roughly translated to "a mind spread out on the ground." In this urgent and visceral work, Alicia Elliott explores how apt a description that is for the ongoing effects of personal, intergenerational, and colonial traumas she and so many Native people have experienced. Elliott's deeply personal writing details a life spent between Indigenous and white communities, a divide reflected in her own family, and engages with such wide-ranging topics as race, parenthood, love, art, mental illness, poverty, sexual assault, gentrification, and representation.

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Summary: Kate is not immune to the dangers of the land. No matter how much she loved it, the land will never love her back.

Ao3 Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.8 Ch.9 Ch.10

Trigger Warning: Graphic depictions of violence and disturbing imagery. If you do not like depictions of war and torture please proceed with caution. I did heavy research for this chapter, but please know it is entirely FICTIONAL. The characters are not real, but the events are based on real American history. Tags: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character, Widowed, Original Character, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby Arthur Morgan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Ch 7 - The Sun Can Never Dip So Low

1890

I knew I was going to die. 

If the arrow in my side does not take me, then the man who rides the horse I lay across surely will. 

I felt no pain. Perhaps it was the fever of the fight. But it didn’t hurt. I thought of screaming and thrashing, but I thought better of it. As my father would say, ‘The one good thing about problems, is they’ll still be problems later. Don’t need to deal with them right away.’

Either way, I was still going to die. 

If only my father had taught me how to survive the frontier. I know now that you must learn to recognize those who won’t survive, and be wary of their doomed decisions. They are to be avoided at all costs. Because their fear is tragedy’s closest cousin. And tragedy is contagious in this place.

My mind was snuffed by a white blanket of fear, but somehow I prayed, and prayed, and prayed. But God had already abandoned me, perhaps he never loved me at all. My life had been an endless cycle of taking, why would it stop taking now. 

I had no idea where the man was taking me. I did not speak his language. I had heard stories about the wars between the Indians and Englishman. But I did not have a way to tell them I’m not a part of it, but I knew somehow if I could it would not matter. War will turn men into predators, and women into prey. 

Only days ago I felt like I was drowning under a waterfall, but now I see this is the real river of death.

The adrenaline had begun to leak out of my body along with the blood from the arrow. I watched in a blurred haze as the droplets disappeared into the ground as the horse took us swiftly through the dark forests. The pain began creeping in along with the darkness as I blacked out. 

When I woke I found myself laying on the dirt of a fort, the sound of Englishmen talking with the Indians brought me out of my haze. I thought I had been saved, I wanted to yell and scream for help. But the conversation did not sound pleasant, I could barely make out the figure of a man who must be a general and another who must have been the chief. To my surprise, I saw a young Indian woman standing behind the general, her wrists bound. She looked my age, but deathly beaten and ill. My throat closed in. 

The chief's voice rose in anger and I watched him point at me, then at the woman. After a moment the general waved his hands, and the girl was unbound and brought to the chief, he swiftly lifted and cradled her. I knew then it was his daughter. At the same time one of the general's men came walking in my direction and I realized I wasn’t being rescued, but traded. One woman for another, and eye for an eye. 

I thought death was better than being a prisoner, as my mind raced with panic. I almost begged the Indians to turn back and kill me. 

There must be a heaven, because that night I knew I had entered the gates of hell. Crawling on my hands and knees into the belly of the beast as he took me in his bed. Night after endless night. 

My days had turned into nights, and I no longer saw the point in living. Like my eyes had become devoid of color, and the world turned black and gray. Instead of praying to be rescued, I prayed my injury would kill me. 

There were other prisoners in the fort, mostly Lakota men. I bore no hatred for their people, but entirely my own. Their greed so suffocating they took the daughter of the chief, an innocent girl who had no part in their war. And turned her into a shell of herself. All in the name of greed. It was always greed. 

I thought my life couldn’t have any more surprises for me, that it must end here. But my life was about to change yet again. 

I noticed one of the other prisoners began watching me, then leaving behind extra food and water for me. After a few days, he approached me. 

“What is your name?” he asked, his accent thick. Like my language did not fit right in his mouth. Unlike his own.

“Kate,” I answered. Surprised to hear my own voice after days of torture, “what’s yours?” 

“Egwani,” he said, “or in your language little river. That wound in your belly is going to get infected.” River nodded at the small purple wound on my stomach . The general's men had cauterized it, but my body had been rising with a fever for the past two days. 

“It’s already infected.” And I hoped it would kill me quickly. 

River shook his head, “I can help you.” 

“Why would you help me?” Not that there was any hope for me anyways. Even if he stopped the infection, I was still stuck in this hell. 

“That woman the white man traded you for, she is my wife.” 

A chill ran down my spine. I did not want to think about what they did to her infront of him. 

“You gave your life to save hers. So I will save yours.” He said sincerely. Not that I had a choice in the matter, but still. If one woman came out of this alive, then I guess my death would have some meaning to it. 

“Even if you stop the infection, these men will kill me. There’s nothing you can do, I’m going to die here.” My voice betrays my thoughts. Desperation creeping its way into the cracks. Inside I wanted the pain to end, I wanted my suffering to cease. But I was still terrified, beneath it all I longed to return home. Pretend none of it happened. Return to my old life with my family. But that version of me no longer exists. 

River chuckled softly. 

“Is something funny?” The last thing I needed was to be shown kindness and then mocked. Like the general’s men had not degraded me enough. 

“You are stubborn like the Amicalola,” he smiled. Why was he smiling? Had he not suffered just as much as I had? He must have seen his wife beaten nearly within an inch of her life, and he could do nothing, yet he was smiling at me now. 

The pain in my body made my words come out bitter and sharp, “I don’t know what that means.”

“My people’s word for waterfall. You are strong like one too. It is a good name.” 

I scoffed, how incredibly wrong he was. 

“I’m not,” I stated with a groan. My head throbbed from the fever and my body was cold from the chills as the infection raged through my insides. 

“I can give you medicine. And when my people return in a few weeks, I will escape and take you with me.” He explained. 

“I think I’d rather you just kill me now,” I said, closing my eyes. The world around me was spinning in a dark haze, gravity pulling my body down with my thoughts. 

“You could have killed yourself days ago,” River began, “you could have taken a rope to your throat, or a knife to your heart. But you did not,” I opened my eyes again and looked at him, “that is how I know you are strong. Your will to live is burning through you right now with a fever.” 

My eyes filled with tears, and my throat suddenly felt thick. For the first time in what felt like forever, my heart began to fill with hope. River closed the gap between us and placed a gentle palm on my forehead, feeling the heat of my skin. 

“I have watched you turn towards the pain as it tears into you. I have seen the way you survive, these men think they have taken everything from you. But you have not let them devour your soul.”

“I could do nothing to stop them,” I croaked. Hot tears spilling down my cheeks like water through a dry creek bed. 

“Sometimes, there is strength in surrendering. But you have surrendered nothing to the pain. I see your tears, but you do not weep,” he brushed a thumb over my wet face, “you are a warrior.” 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

True to his word, River’s men showed up exactly two weeks later. But before that, he had given me a salve mixed from honey and sage and rubbed it over my arrow wound, as well as the numerous others I had accumulated in my time here. He also gave me an herbal tea for the infection, and by some miracle it was working. Each day I felt my strength returning to me. 

River took beatings for me, when I could not walk or do chores. Or simply when the men felt like taking their frustrations out on another human being. And I felt incredibly guilty for it. But he always assured me that I needed to save my strength for the real fight, when his people came. Yet nothing could have prepared me for what was about to unfold. 

They came under the cover of night, and used the forest and mountains to their advantage. They brought the fire, as the fort was made entirely out of wood and before long it became a fiery prison from hell. I knew our escape would not be easy, even with the help of Rivers' men. I had my strength back, but no knowledge of how to actually fight. I was lucky enough to escape with just a burn on my calf. 

It had been a bloody massacre, and the men fought savagely. The Lakota people came with arrows and tomahawks and spears, and I watched as they made the men of the fort suffer. It brought a sickening joy to my heart, to see the men who had raped me have their skulls crushed and insides ripped apart. It felt like justice. 

We lost people on our side, too many. None of the other prisoners had made it out alive. And I grieved for the other girls of the camp who did not make it like I had, it felt unfair. But we managed to escape. After hours of blazing rage, River swiftly lifted me onto the back of a horse, and together we rode far away from the fort. Only a few of his people escaped alongside us, as we left behind their final resting place. The numbing shock of war is behind me now, and hope has taken its place.

His men had informed us that his tribe had moved to the bottom of the Tennessee river, to escape the constant attacks and find refuge further west. So that is where our journey took us. As if life had still granted me the irony of continuing west, despite all the horrors I had faced to get there. 

It took us nearly three months. We traveled through the Appalachian trails and the journey was not easy. We lived rough, and we lived hard. I felt like a burden most days, as I knew I was slowing down their journey. I was still not entirely healed, and some days I felt I did not have the strength to travel at all. But River was patient, and never made me feel like it was my fault. 

He taught me how to hunt, how to fish, and how to set traps and skin animals. He even taught me some of his language, but most importantly he taught me how to survive. 

“When we kill an animal we must use all parts of it, to honor it. These creatures are innocent, and when we kill an innocent we become a little less of a man, and a little more of an animal.” He told me as he demonstrated how to properly skin a rabbit. 

Death is something we share with all creatures; rabbits, birds, horses and trees. It's everywhere, and eventually it will take everyone. Just as it had taken everyone who had loved me. Even as the stars die, we cannot run from it. 

Despite his people running from war, they could not escape death either. We arrived at River’s tribal camp, along the bank of the Tennessee river, and it had been reduced to ash. We were too late, or perhaps we were lucky, this could have been our fate too. River, and the men who came to rescue us, were the last of his people. I saw something dark enter him that day, as he held the charred bones of his wife and child. The woman whom I gave my life for, all for nought. As I stood there, living and breathing, and she did not. Their entire family history, wiped clean from the earth. 

His rage became the oil to my flame, I felt his anger mix with my own deep in my soul. All this death we had endured. Intertwined our fates like loops on a chain that bound us like shackles. But it was our grief that kept us on a tight leash. River sought revenge and justice, while I yearned to take from the world what it had taken from me. Together, we would instill fear into the heart of every man who crossed the land.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate McCanon died the day I met River. What stood before him now was the Amicalola, the waterfall. I became a woman unrecognizable. 

Like many rivers, their journeys start with quiet beginnings, but as they are nourished by the waters of experience, they gather strength, flowing swiftly and deeply towards their desired path. If you follow their course and witness where they converge — they become a creature of beauty as well as fury. I became the waterfall: untamed and unbridled, sweeping away all in my path with wild abandon.

River made me into a warrior, and with each life I took, the world felt my turmoil. Anger guided my blade, for the world had stolen my family—my husband, and my daughter. It robbed me of myself, leaving me with nothing to lose. 

“Our purpose is to ensure our enemies' fear is greater than their greed,” he told me. We hunted poachers, bandits, and thieves. But his rage was never satisfied. 

He taught me how to kill, how to torture. How to fight with weapons capable of horrific fatalities. And I welcomed it with open arms. We fought and killed together for several years before I would begin to lose myself to the bloodshed. 

We were hunting a group of poachers, when we came upon what we believed to be their camp. River was the first to drag a man from his tent, a knife already in his side. He would ask questions, and then kill him slowly. His fate sealed the moment we found their tracks. The man claimed to know nothing, but we were not convinced. And it wouldn't matter anyways, we would kill everyone in the camp. Just for the sake of it.

“What you take from the land will be taken from you. Know that I am the land, and the land is killing you.” River spoke in his native tongue as he slit the man's throat. Sickeningly slow. He would choke to death in his own blood. 

A sound came from the man's tent and a figure emerged, I drew my bow, ready to release it as they stepped out. The moment a child appeared, I wished then that I had the strength to kill myself back at the fort. I had turned into a monster. 

My heart was in my stomach as a little girl cried for her father. What have I done? I had almost killed a child. And we just killed her father, I realized we had been at the wrong camp. And I had just doomed a mother to be a widow, and a childhood to be ruined. I might as well have handed my fate over to them.

River stood before me, his face shadowed and his eyes vacant. The man who once filled my heart with hope now dwelled in darkness himself. At that moment, I knew I had to leave. I could no longer fight alongside him; our path led to a place from which I could not return. Like Persephone, Queen of the Underworld, yet born under the light of Spring, I too would journey down the river Styx.

He did not resist my departure. River assured me I would always be welcomed among his people, and if I desired, he would take me as his wife. For years, River had been my strength, and I his, but now I was leaving him—to salvage what little I had left of myself. 

After calming the child, I made a solemn vow to reunite her with her mother. This marked the beginning of my journey to break the cycle, and seek redemption for what I had done. It would also mark the end of my journey as a warrior. As we parted ways,  he whispered a message into the wind. I could not tell if it was a goodbye, or a promise, or a warning. In his tongue he told me “follow the rivers, and they will take you to the waterfall.” 

~~~

AN: I seriously appreciate all the love you guys are showing for this story. It motivates me to write more, and I'm truly having so much fun with it. Thank you! <3

[autumngracy]

Literature recommendations for the coming days (Pt 41)