#so many coal mine feels | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mcrdvcks · 15 days ago

Text

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1900 - with you i'm free

chapter summary: Logan meets you again in a small town in Pennsylvania. Only this time, you are married to another man, but your marriage is far from perfect.

word count: 11.4k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: this is a bit darker than the other chapters, past and future, so this'll probably be a 'one off'. please read the tags! the domestic violence isn't described too heavily, but there are still some descriptions and scenes involving it. you've been warned!

warnings/tags: angst, mentions of brushing hair, outdated mindsets on women, domestic violence, bruises, cheating, blood, character death

series masterlist - chapter 2 → chapter 4

Logan found himself in a small town in Pennsylvania 20 years later. Victor was doing who knows what, he wasn’t sure if he even cared, so he was alone, once again.

Coal mining was the primary job in this town, so he found himself doing just that. After work, the guys would go to a nearby bar and get drunk, go back home, and repeat it all over again.

This was his second week here, and the guys finally learned that he only came along to do one thing- drink.

You walked into the dimly lit bar, the smell of tobacco and cheap liquor hanging heavy in the air. The men, mostly miners from the town, were crowded around tables, drinking and laughing loudly after a long day of work. The sound of clinking glasses and rough voices filled the room, but your eyes were drawn to the man sitting at the bar, quiet and distant.

He didn’t look like the others—he wasn’t laughing, wasn’t part of the group. He just sat there, nursing a glass of whiskey, his dark eyes focused on the amber liquid as if it held answers to questions he wasn’t ready to ask. Something about him felt familiar, though you couldn’t place why.

You hadn’t intended to come inside. George was already drunk somewhere in the back, and you knew what that would mean when he got home. But something pulled you toward the bar, toward him. You made your way over, hesitating for just a moment before slipping onto the stool beside him.

“You new in town?” you asked, your voice soft but cutting through the noise around you.

The man didn’t look at you right away, but his hand tightened slightly around the glass. His jaw clenched, as if the sound of your voice had struck something deep inside him. Slowly, he turned his head, and when his eyes met yours, the world seemed to tilt for a moment.

It was like a punch to the gut, a shock that ran through both of you, though you couldn’t understand why. You had never met him before, but his eyes... those eyes. Dark, haunted, and yet filled with something familiar, something you couldn’t explain.

Logan stared at you, his mind racing. It couldn’t be. But it was. You were here, sitting right next to him, alive. Different, yet the same. His chest tightened, the memories flooding back—your face, your smile, your laugh. The way you had slipped away from him, twice now.

He hadn’t expected to see you again. Not after the last time. But here you were, as real as the glass in his hand.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice rougher than he intended. “Just passing through.”

You tilted your head slightly, curious about the stranger beside you. “Passing through? Not many people come here unless they’re looking to stay a while.”

Logan’s eyes flicked to you again, lingering this time. It was you, all right. Same voice, same damn spark. He could feel his heart pounding, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he should just get up and walk away. He didn’t know if he could handle this—losing you again.

“I’m not lookin’ to stay,” he said, taking a long sip of his drink, hoping it would calm the storm inside him.

You smiled faintly, noticing how closed-off he seemed. “Seems like you’re fitting in already, though,” you joked, nodding toward the men in the back. “That’s my husband back there, George. One of the miners.”

Logan’s jaw tightened at the word ‘husband,’ though he didn’t know why it hit him so hard. Of course, you’d have a life. It was always like this. But that didn’t make it any easier.

“Is that right?” he replied, not really asking. He glanced toward the group of men, catching sight of George, loud and drunk, waving his glass around like he owned the place. A man like that didn’t deserve you. But Logan stayed silent.

“Yeah,” you said softly, looking down at your hands. “He’s… something.”

There was a heaviness in your voice, something that told Logan more than your words ever could. He recognized that tone—the one you used when you were trying to hide the truth, trying to make things seem better than they were.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Logan just stared at his drink, trying to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do now. You were married. You had a life. He didn’t belong here. But he couldn’t just walk away. Not again.

“Y/N.” The sound of your name from his lips was barely a whisper, but it felt like it echoed through the bar. Your head snapped up, eyes wide.

“How… how do you know my name?” you asked, frowning in confusion. He hadn’t asked, and you hadn’t introduced yourself.

Logan cursed inwardly, realizing his slip. He hadn’t meant to say it, but your name had come so naturally, like it always did. “I, uh… heard someone call you that when I came in,” he lied, quickly looking away. “Didn’t mean to surprise you.”

You blinked, but before you could question him further, George’s booming voice interrupted.

“Y/N!” he shouted, stumbling toward you. “What’re you doin’ at the bar? Get over here!”

You flinched slightly, your body tensing at the sound of his voice. Logan noticed immediately, his eyes darkening as he glanced between you and the drunk man. He didn’t like the way George looked at you, the way he called for you like he owned you.

“I should go,” you muttered, standing up quickly, the warmth between you and Logan fading as you stepped away. “It was nice meeting you…?”

“Logan,” he said, his voice low. “Name’s Logan.”

You smiled faintly again, nodding. “Logan. Well, take care.”

He watched you walk away, his chest tight with a mix of emotions he couldn’t put into words. This wasn’t fair. Not to him, not to you. But life had never been fair, had it?

As George draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into the group with a roughness that made Logan’s blood boil, he clenched his fists under the bar. He wanted to stand up, walk over there, and tear that man’s arm off. But he stayed where he was, the ring in his pocket feeling heavier than ever. The ring he never got to give you.

You were gone again, and Logan was left with the bitter taste of whiskey and the familiar ache of loss.

---

George never really allowed you to do much, he wanted you to be the ‘perfect wife’ and the ‘perfect mother’, but he always said that last part to you with such hatred.

Some nights, while you silently cried yourself to sleep, you wondered if you were broken, and that maybe you deserved it. Not ever getting pregnant, having an abusive husband- not that it was rare, most of the guys’ wives went through the same things too.

One day, you were out doing errands, getting some things to make George his favorite dinner in hopes you wouldn’t end up with another bruise on your wrist like yesterday, when you saw him. Logan, from a few nights ago.

He was smoking a cigar against a brick building; he should be at work with the rest of the men.

You paused, your breath catching for a moment as you saw him. Logan. He looked out of place, leaning against the wall like he didn’t belong in this time or this town. His eyes, sharp even from a distance, locked onto yours the second you stepped out of the store. It was like he knew you’d be there, as if he had been waiting.

You hesitated, then made your way toward him, the worn handle of the basket digging into your palm as you gripped it tightly.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” you asked softly, your voice carrying just enough over the sound of the bustling street.

Logan took a long drag from the cigar, his eyes narrowing slightly, and shrugged. “Took a break. Figured I needed some air.”

You shifted awkwardly, glancing around before lowering your voice. “If George finds out you’re not working…”

He scoffed, the sound rough, almost amused. “George ain’t my boss.”

His words hung in the air, and you knew he was right. George might run things at home, but out here, Logan didn’t answer to anyone. You, on the other hand… your life was different.

Logan’s eyes flicked down to your wrist, where the bruise from yesterday’s outburst was still visible, even though you’d tried to hide it with long sleeves. His expression darkened instantly, the casual air gone in an instant.

“He do that?” His voice was low, almost a growl.

You swallowed, tugging the sleeve down further. “It’s nothing,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. “I just—George gets frustrated sometimes.”

Logan pushed off the wall, stepping closer, the smell of smoke and leather surrounding you. He was close now, too close, and you felt your heart quicken��not in fear, but in something else entirely.

“Frustrated?” Logan repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. “That what you call it?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t, really. What were you supposed to say? That it was normal? That the other wives had it worse? The words died in your throat, and instead, you turned your head, focusing on the basket in your hand. “I should get going.”

But Logan didn’t move, didn’t let you slip away that easily. “You don’t have to put up with that, Y/N,” he muttered, his voice softer now. His hand brushed your arm, barely a touch, but you felt it. Felt it everywhere.

Your breath hitched, and you looked up at him, finding those dark, intense eyes watching you closely. “I… I should get home,” you said again, but the words lacked conviction this time.

Logan didn’t argue, but the look on his face told you that he wasn’t letting this go. “I’ll walk with you,” he said, his tone leaving no room for debate.

You didn’t protest as he fell into step beside you. The two of you walked in silence for a while, your steps in sync, even though neither of you said a word. It was like that night in the bar—the unspoken connection, the weight of something you couldn’t quite name hanging between you. But this time, there was no crowd, no drunken laughter. Just you and him, and the quiet tension that seemed to grow with every step.

When you reached the edge of your street, you stopped. “You don’t have to walk me the whole way,” you murmured, glancing toward your house, where George’s silhouette was already moving around inside.

Logan didn’t respond right away. Instead, he looked at you, his gaze lingering on the bruise again before his eyes met yours. “You ever need someone to talk to,” he said quietly, “you know where to find me.”

Your heart clenched at the offer, at the way he said it like he meant it. You nodded, unsure of what else to do, and turned to leave.

But as you stepped away, his hand brushed yours again, just for a second. It was fleeting, but it sent a shiver down your spine, a reminder that there was something here—something neither of you fully understood but couldn’t deny.

You walked inside, feeling his presence behind you even after the door closed, knowing that things had just shifted, that something had begun. And it scared you. Not because of George, not because of what it might mean if you were caught—but because of how much you wanted it. How much you wanted him.

---

Over the next few days, Logan stayed close. You saw him more often—sometimes at the store, sometimes on the street—but always watching, always aware. He didn’t push, didn’t say much. But his presence was a constant, a quiet offer of protection that you hadn’t asked for but found yourself relying on.

It was late one evening when it finally happened. George had been out drinking again, and when he came home, it was worse than usual. You flinched as his hand caught your wrist, yanking you toward him as he slurred something about dinner not being ready on time.

You would’ve left the house if you could, but you couldn’t. Not when George was glaring at you like that, his drunken eyes wild with the sort of rage that had become all too familiar. You knew exactly what was going to happen tonight. It wasn’t new—this quiet dread that wrapped itself around your throat, choking off your breath. Running had never worked before, and by now, you had learned there was no use in trying.

George's grip on your wrist tightened painfully as he muttered something under his breath. The way he yanked you close made your heart race, not out of fear, but from the exhaustion of enduring it. He wasn’t done with his tirade—his words slurred together, complaining about dinner, the house, everything. It didn’t matter. Nothing you did ever seemed to be enough.

As his fist balled around the fabric of your dress, you stared blankly at the floor, your mind drifting elsewhere, anywhere but here. To the street outside, to the market, to Logan. The quiet man who’d appeared in your life without explanation. You didn’t know why, but when you thought of him, you felt something different—something dangerous but soothing all the same. A flicker of rebellion, of hope, that you hadn’t felt in so long.

George shoved you toward the kitchen table, grumbling about the cold food, about you being lazy, about anything he could think of. You stumbled, catching yourself on the edge of the table, but didn’t say a word. You never did, not when it got like this.

But Logan… he had noticed. He had noticed the bruises, the way you flinched when someone raised their voice, the way you avoided eye contact. He wasn’t like the other men in town. He wasn’t one to turn a blind eye. You remembered his intense gaze lingering on your wrist, the bruise that you couldn’t quite hide. You remembered the way he had spoken to you softly, almost like he cared.

That thought gave you strength now, as George barked another order, telling you to clean up the dishes. Your body moved mechanically, but your mind stayed somewhere else. You could almost feel Logan’s hand brushing against yours again, the briefest touch when he’d walked you home the other night. It had been so subtle, but it had sent a jolt through you—a reminder that there were still things you could feel, still things you could want.

The night dragged on, just as it always did, but when George finally passed out in his chair, snoring heavily, you slipped outside. The cool night air hit your skin, and for a moment, you just stood there, breathing it in. You weren’t going far. Just a few minutes of peace. Just enough to remind yourself that you were still alive.

You walked slowly down the empty street, your eyes scanning the shadows. You didn’t mean to, but your feet led you toward the alley where Logan had been smoking that day. It was a habit now, searching for him, even when you knew you shouldn’t.

And then, there he was. Leaning against the same wall, his broad figure half-hidden by the dim light of the streetlamp. His cigar glowed faintly in the dark, and as soon as he saw you, he straightened, eyes narrowing with concern.

“Y/N,” Logan said softly, stepping toward you. His voice was rough but gentle in the stillness of the night. “What’re you doin’ out here?”

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak just yet. Your throat felt tight, and your chest ached with all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t. Instead, you just walked closer, until you were standing right in front of him, your head tipped back slightly to meet his gaze.

Logan’s eyes flickered over your face, taking in every detail—the bruise that had started to fade but was still visible on your wrist, the exhaustion that weighed down your every movement. He didn’t ask any questions. He didn’t need to. He knew.

Without a word, Logan reached out, his hand cupping the back of your neck in a way that was more comforting than anything you’d felt in years. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into him. Just for a moment.

“Y/N, you don’t have to stay there,” he murmured, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Not with him.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, the truth of his words cutting deeper than anything else. You didn’t want to stay, you didn’t. But leaving wasn’t as easy as it sounded. George was… dangerous. You didn’t know what he would do if you tried to leave him. And besides, where would you even go? You had nothing. No money, no family. Just an empty house that felt more like a prison with every passing day.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of your own admission.

Logan’s grip tightened slightly, and you could see the conflict in his eyes. He wanted to help, wanted to tear you away from that life, but he was fighting something inside himself too.

“You always got me,” Logan said quietly, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite name. “Always.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and full of meaning. You didn’t know what to say. The part of you that was practical screamed that you couldn’t rely on him, that you shouldn’t get attached. But the other part, the part that had been buried deep beneath years of heartache, wanted to believe him. Wanted to fall into him, to take whatever comfort he could offer.

Before you could stop yourself, you reached up, your hand trembling slightly as you rested it on his chest. You felt his heart beating under your palm, steady and strong. Logan’s breath hitched at the contact, but he didn’t pull away. He never did.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the quiet street. “I don’t know what to do.”

He let out a slow breath, his forehead resting against yours now, his warm breath mingling with yours. His free hand came up, his thumb brushing your cheek softly, tracing the path of an unshed tear.

“You don’t have to decide tonight,” he said gently, his lips so close to yours that it took everything in you not to close the distance. “But whatever you decide… I’m not lettin’ you go through this alone. Not again.”

Your heart ached at his words—his promise. The unspoken connection between you felt stronger than ever, and before you knew it, you were closing that distance, your lips brushing against his in a hesitant, tender kiss.

Logan froze for half a second, but then his arms were around you, pulling you closer as if he’d been waiting for this moment for longer than he could remember. His lips were rough, but his kiss was gentle, full of restraint. You could feel the years of longing behind it, the pain of lifetimes lived and lost, but also the desire—the need that neither of you could ignore any longer.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and trembling, Logan’s eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them. He looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“Y/N…” he whispered, his voice ragged, his forehead still resting against yours. “This ain’t right. You’re… you’re married.”

“I know,” you said, your voice barely more than a breath. “But I… I don’t care anymore.”

Logan’s grip on you tightened for a moment, like he was trying to fight it, but then he cursed softly under his breath and kissed you again, this time with more desperation, more need. His hands tangled in your hair, his lips claiming yours in a way that made it clear this wasn’t something either of you could stop now.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t want to.

---

The next few days blurred together, a dangerous mix of stolen moments and whispered promises. Logan was always there, watching over you, his touch lingering on your skin long after you parted. You knew it was wrong, knew that it would only lead to more heartache, but you couldn’t stop. He had become your anchor, your escape from a life you couldn’t bear anymore.

It wasn’t long before you were meeting him after dark, slipping out of the house when George was too drunk to notice. The kisses became longer, the touches more urgent.

Soon, it wasn’t just nights you were seeing him. It was after George left for work, during Logan’s lunch breaks, or anytime he could sneak away from the mine. You’d meet in the same alley, or sometimes he’d find you waiting in a small park just outside town. The secrecy of it all—the sneaking around, the stolen moments—it was reckless, but neither of you could stop.

Logan wasn’t the kind of man who talked much, but the way he looked at you, the way he held you—like you were the only thing keeping him grounded—it said enough. His hands were always gentle, so different from George’s, even though you could feel the strength behind them. That raw, unyielding strength that was so uniquely his.

One afternoon, Logan met you in the small clearing just past the main street. It was a rare moment when George was working late, giving you a little more time than usual. You leaned against the large oak tree, your back pressed into the rough bark, and waited. It wasn’t long before Logan’s figure appeared in the distance, his broad shoulders tense, eyes scanning the area out of habit.

As soon as he spotted you, his shoulders seemed to relax, and he made his way over, his footsteps heavy but quiet in the dirt. When he got close enough, you smiled softly, your fingers fiddling with the fabric of your dress, a nervous habit you’d picked up over the last few weeks.

“Thought I’d lost you for a minute there,” you teased, keeping your voice light, though there was a real fear under the surface. Every time you saw him, there was a tiny part of you that worried it might be the last.

Logan gave a half-smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Not that easy to lose me, Y/N.”

You looked up at him, trying to read what was going on in his head. He seemed… tense, more so than usual. You could see it in the tightness of his jaw, the way his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.

“You alright?” you asked, your voice softening as you stepped closer, close enough to touch him, but not quite daring to yet.

Logan’s gaze flickered down to you, and for a moment, you saw something in his eyes—something old, something heavy. But he shook his head, as if brushing it off, and reached out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, though you could tell he wasn’t. He was never fine.

You reached out, resting your hand on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart under your palm. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Logan.”

He stared at you for a long moment, the silence stretching between you, before he finally spoke. “It’s just… this,” he said, his voice low, almost pained. “I don’t want you gettin’ hurt.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “I’m already hurt,” you whispered, and for the first time, you felt the full weight of those words. The bruises, the fear, the nights spent lying awake, wondering if George would snap—it had become your normal, and you hated it.

Logan’s expression didn’t change much, but his jaw clenched, a flicker of something dark flashing behind his eyes. He stood still, his hands loose at his sides, and for a second you thought maybe you’d gone too far—that maybe admitting this would scare him away, make him walk off into the night and leave you standing there alone.

But he didn’t. He never did.

Logan exhaled slowly through his nose, the sound quiet but loaded with restrained anger, like a simmering fire just barely held in check. His hand—rough and warm—reached out to settle on your arm, fingers curling gently around your elbow. It was a simple touch, but it grounded you in a way that nothing else did.

“I’ll handle it,” Logan said, voice low, rough. His words were more than a statement—they were a promise, weighted with meaning you couldn’t quite untangle.

Your heart skipped at the way he said it, quiet but firm, like the solution was already decided, and there was no point in questioning it.

“You can’t,” you whispered, not because you didn’t believe him, but because you knew how dangerous George could be. And if Logan went to him—if George found out about the two of you…

Logan’s thumb brushed once along your forearm, slow and deliberate. “I’ve handled worse,” he muttered, gaze never leaving yours. There was a sharpness in his eyes now, something fierce. You didn’t know what he’d been through in his life—just that it was far more than you could imagine.

A part of you wanted to tell him not to get involved, but the other part—the part of you that had been breaking under George’s hand for years—wanted to let Logan do exactly what he was offering.

You bit your lip. “If he finds out…” You trailed off, but Logan understood. Of course he did.

He stepped in closer, so close that the rough wool of his shirt brushed against your dress. His hand shifted from your arm to the back of your neck, his fingers resting there firmly, possessively, but with the same strange tenderness he always showed you. “I won’t let him hurt you again,” Logan murmured, voice steady.

You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to believe him so badly. And when you looked into his eyes—dark and steady and filled with something raw and unyielding—you thought maybe you could.

Your hand rested flat against his chest, fingers curling slightly into the worn fabric of his shirt. His heartbeat strong beneath your palm, steady and unrelenting.

“He won’t stop, Logan.” Your voice cracked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “He’ll just—he’ll come after me, after us.”

Logan’s lips pressed into a thin line, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Let him try,” he said, the words edged with a quiet menace that sent a chill down your spine.

It should have scared you, the way he said it—like violence was something inevitable, something he didn’t shy away from. But instead, it made you feel… safe. Safer than you’d felt in years.

The night air around you was cool, but standing this close to Logan, you felt none of it. His hand slipped from your neck down to the small of your back, his touch warm and steady through the fabric of your dress.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, but even as you said it, you didn’t move away.

Logan’s gaze softened, just a fraction. “I ain’t gonna pretend this is right,” he said, voice rough but quiet. “But I ain’t gonna pretend I don’t want you, either.”

His words hit you hard, sinking deep into your chest. You hadn’t realized how starved you were—how badly you needed someone to see you, to want you. And Logan… he saw everything. The bruises, the fear, the exhaustion. And still, he looked at you like you were worth something.

You swallowed thickly. “What happens if he finds out?”

Logan’s expression darkened. “He won’t.”

The finality in his tone left no room for doubt, and for a moment, all the fear that had been building inside you loosened, just enough to let you breathe.

Without thinking, you reached up, fingertips brushing along the edge of his jaw, feeling the rough scrape of stubble beneath your touch. Logan’s eyes closed briefly, like the small touch was something he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time. When his eyes opened again, they were darker, filled with a need that mirrored your own.

He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

His lips found yours in a kiss that was both tender and desperate, like a man starved for something he couldn’t name. His hand cupped the back of your head, holding you to him as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

You melted into him, the fear and exhaustion slipping away, at least for now. His kiss was everything—an escape, a promise, a lifeline.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and trembling, Logan rested his forehead against yours. His hand lingered on your waist, as if letting go wasn’t an option.

“Just say the word, Y/N,” Logan whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “Say the word, and we’ll leave. Tonight.”

Your heart ached at the offer—at the thought of running away with him, leaving everything behind. But it wasn’t that simple, and you both knew it.

“I can’t,” you whispered, hating yourself for the truth of it.

Logan’s grip on you tightened briefly, as if trying to hold onto something he couldn’t keep. But when he spoke again, his voice was steady.

“Then I’ll stay,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. “Until you can.”

You closed your eyes, letting the weight of his words settle over you. For the first time in years, you felt like you weren’t alone.

And that—just that—was enough to keep you going. For now.

---

One of the local churches was having a retreat set up for the women in town. Clara had been talking your ear off about it at Sunday church, spouting how excited she was to get out of the house.

You listened half-heartedly, but really you were thinking about what a perfect excuse it was to flip this into a lie for George.

You told Logan you couldn’t run away with him, but that didn’t include spending these few days with him, maybe off somewhere in a nearby town.

Most of the women in town were very religious, and at times you felt like an outsider. You didn’t believe like they did, but you kept up a perfect front to make them believe you felt the same way.

“Maybe we’ll have another sewing circle this time. Whaddya think?” Clara asked, a wide grin splitting her face as she held her hat against the October breeze.

You gave a noncommittal hum, tugging the sleeves of your dress down to cover the faint bruises on your wrists. “Maybe,” you murmured, though your thoughts were far from sewing circles and prayer sessions.

The retreat was perfect. It would get you out of George’s reach—at least for a couple of days—and give you the time you so desperately craved. More than anything, it meant time with Logan.

Clara didn’t seem to notice your distraction. “It’s always good to get away, you know? Some of these girls say the Holy Spirit really speaks to ‘em up there.” She gave you a knowing look. “Sometimes, you just gotta leave it all behind for a bit.”

You forced a smile. "Maybe that's what I need."

Clara squeezed your arm, oblivious to how you tensed. “See? That’s the spirit! Now you just gotta convince your husband.”

You swallowed thickly. George wouldn’t care about a church retreat if it kept up appearances. He didn’t pay much mind to you unless you were standing in his way—or if dinner wasn’t on time. A couple of days without you underfoot? He’d probably welcome the peace.

Later that night, after George had his fill of supper and slumped into his chair with a bottle, you tested the waters.

“You remember Clara?” you asked, keeping your tone light. “She mentioned a church retreat this weekend. Thought I’d go.”

George barely glanced up. “What for?”

“Some of the other women are going too.” You folded your hands together tightly, hiding your nervous fidgeting. “It’s just a few days. They’ll be praying and sewing... nothing much.”

George grunted, shifting in his chair. “You ain’t skippin' out on Sunday dinner.”

You bit your lip, nodding quickly. “No. I’ll be back before then.”

He waved you off with a lazy flick of his hand. “Fine. Just be sure you ain’t runnin' off to waste money.”

Relief washed over you so fast your knees felt weak. You ducked your head, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you,” before slipping into the next room. It had been easier than you expected—maybe too easy. But you weren’t about to second-guess it.

---

The next day, you told Logan.

You found him where you always did—leaning against the brick wall near the alley, a cigar pinched between his teeth. He straightened the second he saw you, his sharp gaze sweeping over you like it always did, searching for signs of hurt.

“I told George I’m going to the church retreat,” you said quietly, stepping close enough that the warmth of him reached you. “It’s this weekend. I’ll have a couple of days...” You let the words hang between you, heart pounding as you waited for him to understand what you were really saying.

Logan’s jaw ticked, his expression hard to read. “You sure?” His voice was low, the sound of it like gravel underfoot.

You gave a small nod. “It’s the only way I can get away.”

He exhaled through his nose, looking past you for a second before his eyes settled back on yours. “Where’s the retreat supposed to be?”

“About an hour north,” you said. “But... I’m not going there.”

Logan’s lips twitched, something almost like a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That right?”

“Yeah.” Your voice wavered slightly, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “I wanna be with you, Logan. Just for a couple of days. Somewhere... away from here.”

The smirk faded, replaced by something heavier, something that settled deep in his eyes. “You know what you're askin’, darlin’?”

You nodded. “I know.”

He didn’t move for a long moment, just stood there watching you with those steady, knowing eyes. Then, with a slow exhale, he reached for you—his hand slipping under your chin, tilting your face up toward his. His thumb brushed along your jaw, and the touch made your breath catch.

“Where do you wanna go?” Logan asked, his voice rough but gentle.

“Anywhere.” The word slipped out before you could stop it, and you hated how desperate it sounded. “Just... not here.”

Logan gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Alright,” he muttered, the barest flicker of emotion crossing his face. “Meet me at the train station Friday night. I’ll take care of the rest.”

---

Friday came quicker than you expected.

The afternoon dragged, tension curling in your stomach as you packed a small bag. You kept everything simple—a couple of plain dresses, your brush, and the few coins you’d stashed away in a tin under the floorboards. You told yourself it wasn’t permanent. You’d be back in a few days, and everything would go back to how it was.

At least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

When the sun began to set, you told George you were leaving. He didn’t even look up from his whiskey. “Just don’t come back actin' all high and holy,” he muttered.

You gave a quick nod, your heart pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else.

---

The train station was quiet when you arrived, your breath fogging in the cold night air. You spotted Logan almost immediately, standing near the platform with his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. He wore the same tired expression he always did, but when his eyes found yours, something softened in his gaze.

“You made it,” he murmured, stepping closer. His hand found yours, rough fingers wrapping around yours like they belonged there.

“Yeah,” you whispered, squeezing his hand.

Logan gave a small nod toward the waiting train. “C’mon. Let’s get outta here.”

You boarded without hesitation, the door clicking shut behind you as the train rumbled to life beneath your feet. Logan led you to a quiet corner of the car, his hand never leaving yours.

As the train pulled away from the station, you glanced out the window. The town grew smaller, the lights fading into the distance until there was nothing but the dark, open night stretching out ahead of you.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself breathe.

Logan’s arm slipped around your shoulders, pulling you close against his side. His warmth bled into you, steady and unyielding, and for the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

“You alright?” Logan asked quietly, his lips brushing against the top of your head.

You nodded, leaning into him. “Yeah. I am.”

Logan didn’t say anything for a moment, but you could feel the tension in his body slowly ease as you settled against him. His arm was solid and steady around you, a quiet strength that made you feel secure. The train rocked beneath you, the rhythmic clattering on the tracks filling the silence. You closed your eyes, letting the sound and the warmth of Logan's presence wash over you.

For the first time in what felt like years, you could relax—if only for a little while.

"You got enough for a few days?" Logan asked, his voice gruff but soft, as if he was trying not to push too much too soon.

You nodded, pulling your small bag closer to you. "Yeah. Just the basics."

Logan gave a small grunt of approval. "We'll stop by a place I know, out of the way. You’ll be safe there."

"Safe..." The word hung in the air between you, heavier than you meant it to be. It felt like a luxury you hadn't been allowed for a long time, and the thought of it made your chest tighten.

Logan’s thumb stroked absently along your arm, a small gesture that grounded you. He didn’t press you for more, didn’t ask questions you weren’t ready to answer. That was the thing about Logan—he didn’t pry, didn’t demand anything from you. He just was. It was one of the reasons you felt drawn to him, why you kept finding yourself in his orbit.

But there was still so much you didn’t know about him. He’d never mentioned a family, never talked about where he’d come from or how he ended up here. There was a deep well of mystery around Logan, and sometimes you could feel it, the weight of something unspoken between the two of you. But you didn’t push him for answers either.

You shifted slightly, resting your head against his shoulder, the scent of cigar smoke and pine surrounding you. “Where are we going?”

"There's a place, up in the hills," Logan said quietly. "A cabin. No one's been there in a while. We'll be alone."

Alone. Just the two of you. The thought sent a ripple of excitement and fear through you, your heart skipping a beat. The idea of leaving everything behind—even if just for a few days—felt like a risk. But wasn’t that what you wanted? A break from George, from the town, from the suffocating weight of a life you never really chose.

“You sure about this?” Logan asked, his voice low, almost hesitant. “About… us?”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of your decision settle in your chest. It wasn’t just about getting away anymore. It was about choosing him, even if it was only for a little while. A choice that could never be undone.

“I’m sure,” you whispered, lifting your head to look at him. His eyes met yours, dark and searching, like he was looking for any hint of doubt.

Logan’s expression softened, just a fraction, and he gave a slow nod. “Alright.”

The train continued its steady rhythm, carrying you further away from the life you knew and into something unknown. You couldn’t think about what would come after—about George, about the retreat, about the women who would notice your absence. All you could think about was Logan, and the way his hand held yours, like he didn’t want to let go.

---

The cabin was quiet, nestled deep in the woods where no one could find you. Logan hadn’t been lying when he said it was out of the way. You hadn’t passed another soul on the journey here, and the solitude felt like a blanket wrapping around you, warm and comforting.

Logan pushed the door open, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. The inside was simple—rough wooden furniture, a stone fireplace, and a bed in the corner, covered in a faded quilt. It wasn’t much, but it felt safe, isolated from the rest of the world.

“You can get some rest,” Logan said, setting your bag down near the bed. “Fireplace works, and there’s wood out back if it gets cold.”

You nodded, glancing around the room before your eyes settled on him. “Thank you.”

Logan’s gaze flickered, something unreadable passing across his face before he nodded. “Don’t gotta thank me.”

There was a silence between you, not uncomfortable but full of things unsaid. You wanted to ask him more—about why he was helping you, about what he really wanted from all this—but the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you stepped closer, your hand brushing against his arm.

“Logan…” you started, unsure of where you were going with it.

He turned to face you fully, his eyes locked on yours. “Yeah?”

You hesitated, then closed the distance between you, your hands reaching up to rest on his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart under your palms, the warmth of his skin through his shirt.

“I just… I needed to be with you,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “You got me,” he murmured, his voice rough but sincere. “For as long as you need.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned up and pressed your lips to his. It wasn’t soft or tentative like you thought it might be—it was hungry, desperate, like you’d been holding back for too long.

Logan’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and the world outside the cabin seemed to disappear. There was no George, no town, no expectations. Just you and Logan, and the fire that burned between you.

---

Later, as the fire crackled in the hearth and the two of you lay tangled in each other’s arms, you stared up at the ceiling, your mind racing with everything that had happened.

Logan’s hand trailed idly along your arm, his fingers brushing over the faint bruises you’d tried so hard to hide. His touch was gentle, but you could feel the tension in him, the quiet anger simmering beneath the surface.

“I’ll kill him,” Logan muttered, his voice low and dangerous. “If he ever touches you again.”

You tensed, your breath catching in your throat. “Logan—”

“I mean it,” he growled, his grip on you tightening slightly. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

You turned to face him, your hand resting on his chest. “It’s not that simple…”

Logan’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was something raw and painful in his gaze, something you couldn’t quite understand. But then he shook his head, exhaling slowly. “I just don’t wanna lose you. Not again.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, but before you could ask what he meant, Logan leaned down and kissed you again, silencing your questions.

The kiss was rough, full of unspoken things—promises, regrets, desires that neither of you could fully articulate. His lips moved against yours like they were trying to drown out the past, to focus only on the here and now. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your fingers digging into his skin, wanting to hold on to this moment for as long as possible.

For now, you didn’t want to think about George. You didn’t want to think about the bruises you were hiding, the lies you had to keep telling to survive. You wanted to focus on Logan—the way his body pressed against yours, the warmth of his breath, the way he made you feel alive.

When you finally broke apart, your breathing heavy, Logan stayed close, his forehead resting against yours. His hand brushed your cheek, and for a moment, the roughness of him softened, like he was letting his guard down.

"You should rest," he murmured, his voice low, but there was a strain in it, like he was trying to hold something back.

You shook your head slightly. "I don’t want to rest. I want to stay here with you."

Logan’s eyes searched yours, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. He lifted his hand, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his thumb lingering on your skin for just a second longer than necessary.

“You know this can’t last,” he said quietly, the weight of the truth settling between you both.

You nodded, the ache in your chest growing. “I know.”

You had always known it couldn’t last. This was just a moment stolen from the real world—a fantasy that couldn’t survive the harshness of the life waiting for you back home. But that didn’t stop you from wanting it. It didn’t stop you from wanting him.

Logan’s hand found yours again, his fingers lacing through yours in a way that felt almost protective. He hadn’t let go since you’d arrived at the cabin, as if he feared you might slip away if he did.

“I wish it could be different,” you whispered, staring down at your intertwined hands.

Logan was silent for a long time before he spoke. “Me too.”

The fire crackled in the hearth, filling the room with warmth, but there was still a chill in the air, an unspoken tension lingering between the two of you. You could feel it in the way Logan’s thumb stroked absentmindedly across your knuckles, like he was trying to ground himself—trying to ground you.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, your voice softer now. “Helping me, I mean.”

Logan’s gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, his jaw clenching slightly. When he looked back at you, his eyes were hard to read. “Because you deserve better than him.”

It wasn’t a full answer, but it was the closest he’d come to telling you why. You weren’t sure if he was holding something back or if he just didn’t know how to say it. Logan wasn’t the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, and you’d never pushed him for more than he was willing to give.

You nodded, accepting his answer for now. “Thank you.”

Logan’s eyes softened at your words, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You don’t gotta thank me, Y/N.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself lean into him. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to just be. No pretending, no worrying about what came next. Just this—just him.

---

The morning light filtered through the small windows of the cabin, casting a soft glow on the wooden floor. You woke to the sound of birds chirping outside and the comforting warmth of Logan’s body beside you. For a moment, you allowed yourself to stay like this, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this peaceful.

Logan stirred beneath you, his arm tightening around your waist as he woke. His eyes flickered open, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable.

“Mornin’,” he murmured, his voice still gravelly with sleep.

You smiled, the corners of your lips tugging up. “Morning.”

Logan gave a quiet grunt in response, shifting slightly beneath you. His hand was still draped over your waist, his fingers rough but warm against your skin. He looked at you through half-lidded eyes, his expression unreadable in the soft morning light, like he was trying to figure out if this moment was real.

“You sleep alright?” he asked, his voice still gravelly with sleep.

You nodded, brushing your fingers absently along his collarbone. “Better than I have in a long time.”

Logan gave a small hum, his thumb tracing circles on your hip. For a moment, the two of you just stayed like that—your body curled into his, the outside world forgotten.

It felt fragile, like if you moved too quickly or said the wrong thing, it might all shatter.

“Gotta admit,” you murmured, “it feels strange waking up like this.”

“Yeah?” Logan's lips twitched, just barely. “Strange good, or strange bad?”

A soft laugh slipped out of you. “Good,” you whispered. “Strange in a good way.”

He held your gaze, something flickering in his eyes—something like relief. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by the same quiet intensity you’d come to expect from him. Logan wasn’t a man who wasted words, and that suited you just fine.

The clock on the mantle ticked steadily, marking the minutes passing in this stolen moment. You let out a soft breath and rested your chin on his chest, tracing invisible patterns on his skin with your fingertip.

“What time do you think it is?” you asked, though you didn’t really care about the answer.

Logan turned his head slightly toward the window, where the early morning sun was just beginning to peek through the trees. “Still early.”

“Good.” You nestled closer, unwilling to let the morning slip away just yet.

He didn’t say anything for a while, just ran his hand up and down your back in slow, lazy strokes. The motion was soothing—so different from anything you’d known in your marriage. With George, everything felt like an obligation, a duty. With Logan... it felt like choice.

Logan’s breath stirred your hair as he spoke again, his voice low. “You thinkin' about goin' back?”

The question hit you like a stone dropped into still water, the ripples spreading out in every direction.

You hesitated, your fingers stilling against his chest. “I don’t know.”

Logan’s jaw flexed, and you could feel the tension creep back into him. “If you don’t want to... you don’t gotta.”

“It’s not that simple.”

Logan gave a quiet grunt, his hand still resting against your back, though his grip tightened slightly. “It could be.”

You shook your head. “He’s my husband, Logan.”

Logan exhaled hard through his nose, and you felt the anger simmering just beneath the surface. “That don’t mean you owe him anything.”

The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable, and it tugged at something deep inside you—something that made you want to stay, to never go back to the life you’d left behind.

But it wasn’t that easy. It never was.

“I have to,” you whispered. “At least for now.”

Logan was silent for a long time, his hand resting heavily on your back. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough, almost reluctant. “You know where to find me if things get bad.”

It wasn’t a promise, not exactly—but it felt like one.

“I know,” you murmured, brushing a soft kiss against his shoulder.

Logan’s hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your skin. “You got somethin’ to say, darlin’, just say it.”

You closed your eyes, trying to find the words. “I just... I don’t want this to end.”

The admission hung in the air between you, heavy and raw. Logan’s grip on you tightened, his expression darkening.

“It won’t,” he said quietly, and there was a fierceness in his voice that made your heart skip a beat. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and for the first time, you let yourself believe—just for a moment—that maybe, just maybe, things could be different this time.

You pressed your forehead against his, your fingers tangling in his hair. “Promise?”

Logan’s breath was warm against your skin. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere, Y/N. Not this time.”

Something about the way he said it—like there was more weight behind those words than you could fully understand—made your chest ache. But you didn’t push for more.

Instead, you kissed him.

It was slow this time, tender in a way that made your heart twist painfully in your chest. Logan kissed you back just as softly, his hands cradling you like you were something precious.

And for a little while longer, you let yourself believe in the possibility of happiness.

---

The days you spent at the cabin away from everything with Logan were the closest you think you’d ever get to heaven.

But of course, it had to come to an end. Logan walked you back to your house, keeping to the shadows where the trees thickened along the road. Luckily, George wasn’t home yet, but you knew he’d be back soon. On Sundays, the men from the mines always went to the bar after church, spending what little money they had on whiskey before heading home for dinner.

Logan stopped a few steps short of the porch, his expression unreadable. His heavy boots crunched against the dirt, and he tilted his head, listening for signs of anyone nearby. It was quiet—just the soft rustling of the wind through the trees and the distant caw of a crow.

“Looks clear,” he muttered, glancing toward the road. Then his eyes were back on you—sharp, like he was committing every detail of this moment to memory.

You stood there, one hand gripping the hem of your plain cotton dress, the other clutching the shawl draped over your shoulders. It was getting colder, October creeping in around the edges.

Logan’s jaw tightened, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. He shifted his weight, arms folding across his chest. “You sure you’re good?” His voice was low, rough as gravel.

“I’ll be fine,” you whispered, but the words felt thin, like paper stretched too tight.

His eyes flicked over your face, lingering on the bruise near your jaw that hadn’t quite faded. You saw it—the way his knuckles twitched like he wanted to tear something apart, or maybe someone. But Logan knew better than to push this conversation again. You’d had it more times than either of you cared to count.

“I mean it, Y/N,” he said, quieter this time, but no less serious. “If things get—”

“I know.” You cut him off gently, giving a small nod. “I know where to find you.”

Logan’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t argue. The porch steps creaked under your weight as you climbed them slowly, heart heavy in your chest. You reached for the door, but before your fingers touched the worn wood, you felt his hand wrap gently around your wrist.

You turned, meeting his gaze.

“You ain’t alone in this,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against the inside of your wrist. It was the kind of touch that made your knees weak—steady, solid, full of unspoken promises.

“I know,” you whispered, holding his gaze a second longer than you should have. Then you pulled your hand free, feeling the cold settle in the space where his warmth had been.

The door clicked quietly behind you, sealing you inside.

---

It was well into the afternoon by the time George came home. You’d set the table with what little you had—a pot of boiled potatoes, bread that was more crust than loaf, and a pan of cold pork you’d managed to stretch out since Friday.

George slammed the door behind him, the stench of sweat and beer clinging to his clothes. He tossed his flat cap onto the chair and grunted as he sat down heavily at the table.

“Where’s the roast?” he asked, eyeing the measly spread with disapproval.

“There wasn’t any.” You kept your voice even, steady, though your hands trembled slightly as you placed the food in front of him.

George gave you a hard look, his lip curling in disgust. “Useless,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for you to hear.

You clenched your jaw, swallowing the sharp retort that burned on your tongue. Fighting him would only make it worse.

He ate in silence, the scrape of his knife against the plate the only sound in the small kitchen. When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pushed his chair back with a loud scrape.

“Goin’ to bed,” he grumbled, already halfway out of the room before you could respond.

The knot in your stomach tightened, but you stayed still, standing in the middle of the kitchen long after the sound of his boots thudding down the hallway faded.

It was always like this. A dull, suffocating ache—day after day, night after night. And the worst part? You weren’t sure if you had the strength to keep pretending.

---

It was well past midnight when you slipped out the back door. The cold bit at your skin, and you pulled your shawl tighter around your shoulders as you made your way down the dirt path leading into the woods. The moon hung low in the sky, casting silver light across the clearing where Logan was waiting, his broad frame leaning against a tree trunk.

He looked up as you approached, his keen eyes catching the moonlight.

“Figured you’d come.” There was no smugness in his tone—just quiet understanding, like he’d known all along that you wouldn’t be able to stay away.

You stopped a few feet from him, your breath clouding in the crisp night air. “I couldn’t do it,” you admitted, your voice small.

Logan pushed off the tree and closed the distance between you in two strides. His hands came to rest on your shoulders, firm and grounding. “You ain’t gotta explain.”

You looked up at him, heart aching with everything you wanted to say but couldn’t. Instead, you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his chest.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. You felt the steady rise and fall of his breath, the quiet strength in the way he held you—like he’d fight the whole world just to keep you safe.

“I missed you,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Logan’s grip tightened. “I know,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The night stretched on around you, silent and still, as Logan’s hands roamed up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes.

“You stayin’ tonight?” he asked quietly, his breath warm against your hair.

You nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “Just tonight.”

Logan didn’t argue. He never did.

He took your hand, lacing his rough fingers through yours, and led you deeper into the woods—away from the house, away from the life you were supposed to live.

And for one stolen night, you let yourself believe it was enough.

---

When you got home later that night, around 3 in the morning, everything looked normal. The lights in the house were all off, and it was quiet.

You hung your shawl on the hook by the door when you heard the clink of a bottle. Your heart sank. George was awake.

The small kitchen was dim, the only light coming from the dying embers of the fire. George sat slouched at the table, a nearly empty whiskey bottle in his hand. His eyes were dark, glazed over with drunken fury. You could tell by the set of his jaw, by the way his knuckles gripped the bottle too tight, that this wasn’t going to end well.

“Where’ve you been?” His voice was low, but there was an edge to it. His chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood, his steps heavy as he moved toward you.

“I went to clear my head,” you said softly, keeping your voice calm, steady, though your heart pounded in your chest. “The air helps me sleep.”

George narrowed his eyes. “That so? 'Cause Johnny’s wife told me somethin' different. Said she didn’t see you at the church retreat.”

You froze. You had been at the retreat—briefly—but it was a cover for your meeting with Logan, and Johnny’s wife must’ve been one of the few people you didn’t see. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words stuck in your throat.

“I was there,” you managed, though you knew it wouldn’t matter.

George took another step toward you, his voice rising. “Don’t lie to me!” His breath stank of alcohol as he spat the words at you, the anger radiating off him like heat. “What were you really doin’, Y/N? Who were you with?”

Your stomach twisted in fear as his hand shot out, grabbing your arm hard enough to make you wince. “George, please—” you started, but he cut you off.

“I know you weren’t there. Where the hell were you?” He shook you, his grip tightening painfully around your arm.

You winced, biting back a cry. “I told you, I was there.”

But George wasn’t listening anymore. His eyes flicked to the door, then back to you, and a dangerous look settled across his face. “You been sneakin’ around on me, haven’t you?” His voice was low, deadly now. He released your arm with a shove, sending you stumbling back a step. “You think I’m stupid?”

“George, I’m not sneaking around,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm even though your pulse was racing. “I just needed some air. I—”

His hand moved faster than you expected, backhanding you hard across the face. Pain exploded through your cheek, and you stumbled, clutching the side of your face as tears sprang to your eyes.

“You think I don’t know?” George hissed, his face twisted with fury. “You’ve been leavin’ me here, goin’ off, God knows where. You ain’t foolin’ me, Y/N.”

You took a shaky breath, tasting blood where your teeth had cut your lip. “George, please—”

But he was already moving, crossing the small kitchen in two heavy steps. You saw the glint of metal before he pulled the shotgun from the corner near the door. Panic seized you.

“George, no—” Your voice broke as you held up your hands, trying to back away, but there was nowhere to go. The small kitchen felt like a cage, the walls closing in around you.

George leveled the shotgun at you, his hands shaking slightly but his eyes wild with rage. “You think you can just leave? You think you can just run off whenever you please?”

You felt like you were drowning, your heart pounding so hard in your chest it hurt. “I wasn’t leaving,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady. “I wasn’t—George, please, put the gun down.”

“Shut up!” he snarled, taking a step toward you. “You’re lyin’! You’ve always been lyin’, and I’m done with it.”

You were shaking, trying to think of something, anything that would get through to him. “I’m your wife,” you said quietly, desperately. “I’ve never wanted to hurt you. I—”

But the words didn’t matter. Nothing you said would stop this. You could see it in his eyes—the cold, determined look of a man who had already made up his mind.

For a moment, everything felt frozen. The ticking of the old clock on the wall, the crackling of the dying fire—it all seemed too loud, too slow. George’s finger twitched on the trigger.

And then, in an instant, the world shattered.

The shotgun blast was deafening, the sound tearing through the small kitchen like thunder. You didn’t even feel the impact at first—just a sharp, searing pain that spread through your chest, knocking the air from your lungs.

You stumbled, your legs giving out beneath you as you hit the floor hard, the cold tiles pressing against your cheek. Your breath came in short, shallow gasps, blood pooling around you.

The room swam, your vision dimming as you tried to focus, but all you could see was the dark shape of George standing over you, the shotgun still smoking in his hands.

---

Logan heard the shot before he smelled the blood.

His body reacted instinctively, his enhanced senses kicking into overdrive. He’d been lying awake, his thoughts consumed by you, when the sound echoed through the still night. There was no mistaking it.

His heart lurched in his chest, and without thinking, Logan bolted to his feet, running toward your house, his mind racing with fear. He knew. He knew it was you.

The smell of gunpowder hung thick in the air as he neared the house. Logan’s breath caught in his throat when he saw the door slightly ajar, the soft light spilling out into the dark.

He pushed the door open, his claws already unsheathed.

The sight that greeted him froze him in place.

You were lying on the floor, a pool of blood spreading out around you, your breaths coming in shallow, painful gasps. And standing over you, his face twisted with something like confusion, was George.

Logan’s vision blurred with red.

He didn’t think—he just moved. In a blur, he was on George, his claws slashing through the air. There was a sickening crunch as the bone tore through flesh and bone, and then George was on the ground, lifeless.

Logan didn’t care. His only focus was you.

He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands hovering over your body, desperate to stop the bleeding, but there was too much. The wound was too deep. “Y/N,” he whispered, his voice rough, desperate. “Stay with me.”

Your eyes fluttered open, but it was hard to focus. Everything felt distant, like you were floating just out of reach of the world. You tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Blood bubbled at your lips.

Logan’s face hovered above yours, his expression shattered. “Please, darlin’, hold on. Just hold on.”

You coughed, the pain in your chest unbearable, and for a brief moment, your eyes met his. The world was fading fast now, slipping away like sand through your fingers.

“Logan...” you managed, your voice barely a whisper.

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears you didn’t even realize had fallen. “I’m here,” he choked out. “I’m here.”

You smiled weakly, even as the darkness closed in around you. “I… I love you.”

Logan’s breath hitched, his grip on you tightening like he could somehow hold you to this world. But you knew, just as he did, that this was the end.

“I love you too,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

Your chest ached, not just from the pain but from the weight of those words—the weight of knowing this was goodbye.

And then, everything went still.

You felt Logan’s hand in yours, the warmth of his touch lingering even as the world around you faded into darkness.

You weren’t afraid. Not anymore.

You were free.

Logan knelt there, holding you long after the last breath left your body, his heart breaking all over again.

in this chapter logan is 68 years old and reader is around 21-24 years old.

just a reminder that going forward there is going to be an age gap between the two since logan obviously keeps getting older.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic #i love you in every time

416 notes · View notes

starb3rrys · 1 year ago

Note

Can I request pt 2 of the stuck in a tight space with Ranpo, Dazai, and chuuya?

Hello! Thank you for the request! I’m pleased to see that so many people liked my “A Tight Fit~” head-canons! I got a lot of requests for a part 2 with different characters so I will respond to this one and just tag the rest (Sorry-). Anyways, I hope you enjoy these head-canons! <3

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

A Tight Fit~ ❀Part 2❀

Ft. Ranpo, Dazai, Chuuya, Fukuzawa

✾Part 1✾

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

Ranpo

Scenario: Ranpo had deduced that a criminal hideout was located in an old abandoned coal mine. You had accompanied Ranpo on his investigation as his “Bodyguard” of sorts, in case anything went down hill…and sure enough, something did.

**THUD**, the loud sound of your two bodies falling and crashing together filled the dark mine, the ground underneath you had crumbled, causing the two of you to fall into a small, cramped hole.

“Ugh…my head…”, Ranpo said with a pained and annoyed tone.

You opened your eyes but were faced with pitch darkness, “I can’t see anything…”

Ranpo scoffed, “Well of course captain obvious, the force of the fall caused the flashlight to go out, it also caused you to fall on top of me.”, he was clearly annoyed with the current situation.

You tried to move, but stoped as you heard a quiet groan leave Ranpo’s lips.

You were confused, was he hurt?

“Hey Ranpo, Are you alrig-“ “Don’t move.”, he cut you off with a stern tone.

You were stunned, you didn’t understand why his tone suddenly changed, “What? Wh-“, you froze as you felt something under you, something hard was poking you.

You knew exactly what it was.

The realization made you blush profusely, you jumped up in surprise.

Another groan left Ranpo as you landed back on his lap, his hands gripped your hips to keep you still.

“I said don’t move.”, his voice sounded annoyed but you could hear a hint of embarrassment.

You sat still on him, flushed and embarrassed at your current position, how were you going to get out of here? You can’t move, there’s no light, you can’t just stay like this forever…

The flashlight beside you flickered, and the light revealed your current position.

As you looked down, you were faced with Ranpo’s expression; his cheeks were flushed, eyes were open, as his hair was sprawled on the floor messily, an annoyed yet embarrassed frown was plastered on his face.

“Grab on to that rock above you and try to climb out.”, Ranpo spoke with a stern voice, letting go of your hips.

You snapped out of your trance and quickly nodded, you did as he asked and eventually made it out of the hole.

“Now pull me out.”, Ranpo instructed with a quiet tone as he stretched his hand up so you could take a hold of it.

You took his hand and pulled him out, he was surprisingly lightweight…

Once you two stood up and brushed off your clothes, you looked at each other, blush still decorated your cheeks…

“Ranpo I-“, “Let’s postpone this investigation…”, he said quietly as he turned away and started walking, you quickly followed behind as you both made your way out of the cave.

You swear you could see a soft pout on his face as you both walked silently.

You two never spoke of that incident again, often avoiding each others gaze. Although he’ll never admit it, he loved the feeling of you on top of him and would give anything to feel you like that again…

Dazai

Scenario: You and Dazai were a troublemaking duo who often would prank others and cause mischief just for the hell of it. So it was a surprise to no one as you two ran across the agency building, trying to escape a furious Kunikida who didn't seem too pleased with you messing around with his notebook. In a split second decision, Dazai pulled you into a small, dark, and cramped storage room, shutting the door and covering your mouth.

“Mmm?!”, you let out a muffled noise of confusion, as a strong hand covered your mouth.

“Shh...”, Dazai spoke, and you looked up; your eyes meeting Dazais, the silence broke as you two let out a quiet snicker.

As the quiet laughter ceased, you moved Dazai's hand away from your mouth, “Do you think he saw us hiding in here?”, you whispered.

“I doubt it, we are way faster than he is.”, he whispered back.

“He looked so mad!”, you said with a faint giggle.

“I know! I'm pretty sure I saw him foaming at the mouth!”, Dazai muttered with an amused tone.

Quiet footsteps could be heard down the hall...

Dazais hand swiftly returned to your mouth, keeping you quiet.

You scooted closer to Dazai, your chest pressing against his, trying to avoid being close to the door-

“Mnh...’, a low moan left Dazais lips, your eyes widened at the noise.

You slowly looked up at Dazai with confused eyes, his face flushed in embarrassment as your eyes met.

At first, you didn't understand what he was groaning about- that's when you felt it...a soft poke against your crotch.

Your face burned red at the realization, you were quickly snapped out of your thoughts as the footsteps grew closer.

Your breath hitched as the footsteps stopped right in front of the door, a shadow could be seen under the door.

Dazais arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer, making you both groan.

You both slapped each other's hands on one anothers mouth to shut each other up, you both stared at each other, wide eyed and not knowing what to do or say...you were both close...so close...

The door swung open, startling the two of you, quickly letting go of each other, “THERE YOU TWO ARE! I OUGHTA BREAK YOUR NECKS!!”, Kunikida yelled.

No snarky comment left Dazais lips, nor yours as you both quietly walked out of the storage room.

“Uh?”, Kunikida was muddled as he saw the two of you just- walk out; uncharacteristically quiet, avoiding eye contact with each other, as flush decorated your faces.

“Jeez, What happened in there?”, Kunikida asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Nothing.”, you both said with an embarrassed tone as you turned around and went your separate ways.

You both made an unspoken agreement to never mention what happened in that storage room, but you both sure as hell won't forget about it any time soon...

Chuuya

Scenario: It was a busy Monday morning, all of the port mafia employees ran around going on missions, conversing important information and such. Ironically, for a big, rich company- the port mafia’s elevators were pretty standard size, which did not work well with how many employees worked in the building. As you entered the elevator, a flood of employees entered as well, making the elevator pretty cramped…pressing you against a certain mafia executive…

“Oof”, you let out a soft grunt as your body collided with someone else’s.

You quickly turned around, “Agh, sorry…”, you mutter out an apology, your eyes widened as you finally saw who you bumped into.

The man brushed his vest off, “It’s fine, no worries the elevator is pretty cramped.”, Chuuya reassured you.

You quickly fixed your hair and looked down, avoiding eye contact, feeling a bit nervous standing in front of a higher up, especially one of the five port mafia executives…he could easily get you fired if he wanted t-.

Your thoughts were interrupted as another swarm of employees entered the elevator.

Everyone in front of you moved back to make more room, causing you to get pushed back against Chuuya.

Chests pressed tightly against each others as his hands instinctively found their way around your waist.

Chuuya held back a quiet moan, covering his mouth with his hand as his face turned as red as his hair…

You didn’t dare look at him as you felt his hands on you, you know it wasn’t on purpose…the elevator was just too cramped, yeah that’s all-

A soft poke by your crotch made your mind go blank, your eyes trailed down and you could see a small tent in his pants, clear as day.

Your mind ran 1000mph at this point, your heart skipping beats as you internally panicked.

**DING**, the elevator doors opened.

Chuuyas hands left your waist, snapping you out of your trance.

You turned and looked at Chuuya as he quickly walked out of the elevator, his hand tilted his hat down to cover his eyes but failed to cover the deep shade of red on his cheeks.

You were left alone in the elevator as his figure quickly disappeared amongst the crowd…

Though that interaction was short lived, it greatly affected the way you both viewed each other now…who knew you would have such a memorable experience with a port mafia executive?

Fukuzawa

Scenario: You and Fukuzawa were enjoying a nice stroll around Yokohama, the beautiful scenery only added to the peace and comfort you felt as you walked together. A soft meow caught the attention of you two, looking up, you saw a small cat stuck on a tree. You were both instantly struck with the need to help the poor kitten, which explains why you were now seated on Fukuzawas shoulders…

“A little more to the right!”, you instructed Fukuzawa as you tried your best to get closer to the kitten.

“Mm.” Fukuzawa nodded and did as you asked, slightly moving to the right.

“Okay stop! Keep steady…”, you spoke softly as your hands started moving forward towards the cat.

“Here kitty kitty, I won’t hurt you…let’s get you down.”, you said with a reassuring tone as you slowly reached for the cat.

“Be careful, don’t agitate it or make yourself seem like a threat.”, Fukuzawa said with his usual calm tone as he looked up at you; his hands firmly held your thighs, keeping you steady.

“Yeah yeah I know! I’m not going to agitate it, right little kitty-YAOWW!!”, a yelp left your lips as the cat swiped its claws, scratching you with a hiss.

In the midst of the attack, you lost your balance as your body squirmed atop of Fukuzawas shoulders, causing him to lose his footing as you both fell down.

You opened your eyes with a soft groan, “Ow…my head…Fukuzawa, are you okay?-“, you froze.

It seems when you both fell, you landed on his lap…straddling him as he laid on the ground.

His silver hair was sprawled on the grass as his soft blue eyes gazed up at you.

You were oddly mesmerized and couldn’t seem to look away, that’s until you felt something under you…faintly growing.

Within a split second, you got off his lap and stood up straight, your face was flushed as you bowed and apologized.

“I am so so so sorry! I didn’t do it on purpose I swear, I lost my balance and- it was the cats fault!!”, you rambled on apologies and excuses in a state of embarrassment.

Fukuzawa let out a soft chuckle then cleared his throat, “It is quite alright, no need to apologize.”, he said as he stood up, looking up at the cat.

“I do suppose it wants to stay up there, why not let it be?”, Fukuzawa softly smiled and walked the opposite way.

You felt a bit confused and still flushed, but relieved he didn’t seem to make a big deal of that…incident- you quickly caught up to him.

“I heard a new bakery opened up on this side of Yokohama…”, your conversation faded out as you both continued your lovely stroll.

Even though that incident was a bit lewd, you both decided to just forget about it and not let it come between your friendship…although- part of you still wonders if he liked it, considering how excited he got with just a small touch…

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

I had huge writers block in coming up with scenarios since I didn’t want to just reuse the same old ones.

I wanted each scenario to represent the character well and such.

Thanks to some help from my friend, I was able to come up with these!

Anyways! As always, I hope you all enjoyed these head-cannons, love y’all!<3

Tag list: @wintersoldier-barnes @fyodorisbbg

#bsd ranpo #ranpo x reader #bsd dazai #dazai x reader #bsd chuuya #chuuya x reader #bsd fukuzawa #fukuzawa x reader #bsd x reader #bsd headcanons #bsd scenarios #bsd fanfic #bsd #anime

2K notes · View notes

pinchofhoney · 1 year ago

Text

be careful what you wish for

coriolanus snow x fem!reader

word count: 1.7k

warning: platonic relationship, quite angst-ish, text in italics is a flashback

summary: Turning in a district boy to the authorities felt like the right thing to do for Coriolanus. But what if, in doing so, he betrayed you as well?

a/n: absolutely no one asked for it, but i'll deliver it to you anyway<33 i'd say have fun but i'm not sure i'd be appropriate here

pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for

taglist: @watercolorskyy

gif is not mine, credit to the owner

The moment Sejanus shared Billy Taup's escape plan with you, there wasn't much hesitation on your part. It's not that you acted without thinking; it's just that you didn't need much time to decide.

The summer was scorching, feeling like an unending oven. The sun never let up, and even when you hoped for cooler nights, the heat lingered. You've gotten used to the coal dust that's practically become your second skin in District 12, but what truly got to you wasn't the clinging dirt. It was the musty scent of men's sweat, a scent that clung to the air, heavy with the hard work that defined your daily life.

Being one of the few female Peacekeepers among a crowd of men wasn't your ideal situation. Many other girls had come and gone, unable to stand the sacrifices the job demanded, but you stood your ground, determined to prove yourself in this role, even if serving in this particular district wasn't your dream come true.

At least until a certain point.

When you first arrived in District 12, your main goal was to pass your officer's exam as quickly as possible and secure a transfer elsewhere. But when young Plinth kindled the idea of a life beyond authority and rules, the seed of belief in freedom took root within you. The very thought of it resonated in your mind, sounding truly incredible, and you couldn't wait to leave the filthy district behind, escaping through a gap in the wire mesh fence.

But, of course, life wouldn't be too easy if everything just went as planned, right?

One moment, you were getting ready with Sejanus and the other rebels, gathering the basics for your escape north to the supposedly destroyed District 13. The next, you found yourself standing behind one of the empty houses on the Seam with Coriolanus. He held onto your shoulders, telling you urgently that you had to leave the District as soon as possible.

“What?” was the first word that slipped from your lips, your brows furrowed in confusion as you looked at your friend. “Isn't that exactly what we're working on?” you added, slightly amused, pushing Coriolanus' hands off your shoulders.

Shaking your head, you were about to update him on your progress when he caught your forearm again. “I think you misunderstood me, Y/N,” he said, his face dead serious. “You need to get out of here now,” he continued, and seeing your raised eyebrow, he almost gritted the last word through his teeth.

“What do you mean, Coryo?” you asked, breaking the silence after staring at him for a while, tired of him speaking in riddles.

Now Coriolanus was the one staying silent, his cool eyes fixed on you. You couldn't decipher his expressions; it felt like he was betraying a hundred feelings at once and, at the same time, nothing at all.

“I… um, there's…” the blond man started, stumbling over his words, unsure how to share the information he needed to tell you. “There's a chance that the talk Sejanus and I had, which you joined not long ago, about your escape plan, might have been fully recorded by one of the jabberjays.”

You seemed not to grasp the gravity of Coriolanus' words, so you stared at him, searching for any hint in his eyes that he might be joking.

“Okay, so what?” you eventually asked, once again furrowing your brows, this time with a bit less intensity.When a twig snapped around the building's corner, you quickly turned, thinking it might be someone eavesdropping, but finding only a small hedgehog, you shifted your attention back to the boy in the bluish uniform.

“So what?” Coriolanus repeated your question, unable to believe your difficulty in connecting the dots. “Y/N, these birds are headed to the Capitol. To the lab of the woman who’s the Head Gamemaker of the Hunger Games. And do you know what the Capitol authorities do to rebels?” he asked the question, not waiting for your response. “They hang them on the hanging tree, Y/N.”

You stared at Coriolanus, steadying yourself with a hand against the wooden building. With every word he spoke, you felt the color drain from your face.

“How… How did this happen?” you asked, trying to keep your emotions in check.

Coriolanus happily took care of the mockingjays, moving their cages, tagging them, and passing them along. As Bug left with the fiftieth cage, Sejanus burst into the room, full of excitement. He shared the good news about the upcoming package from his mother with his friends, watching Bug leave with a smile before turning to Coriolanus, who had just finished dealing with the bird marked as number 1.

The bird chirped in its cage, mimicking the last mockingbird, but once Bug was gone, Sejanus' cheerful expression faded, replaced by a troubled look. He glanced around the hangar to ensure they were alone before speaking in a quiet voice.

“Listen, we've only got a few minutes. I know you might not like what I'm about to do, but I need you to at least understand it. After what you said the other day, about us being like brothers, well, I feel I owe you an explanation. Please, just hear me out.”

This was the moment, the confession.

Now was the time for the pieces to be explained, especially about the alliance with rebels and money that he found in Sejanus' belongings. Once Coriolanus heard it, he'd be as good as one of them, a traitor to the Capitol.

Panic, running, or trying to silence Sejanus could be expected, but Coriolanus did none of these things. Instead, his hands moved instinctively. His left hand adjusted the cover of the jabberjay cage, while his right, hidden from Sejanus's view by his body, reached for a remote on the counter. Coriolanus pressed RECORD, and the jabberjay fell silent.

Turning his back to the cage, Coriolanus leaned on the table with his hands, waiting.

In the middle of Sejanus' explanation, you dashed into the hangar like a hurricane itself.

“There you are!” you exclaimed, both happy and a bit annoyed to find young Plinth. “Why didn't you wait for me? I said I wanted to go to Coryo with you,” you added, crossing your arms on your chest as you closed the gap between the boys and yourself.

It seemed that Coriolanus, noticing you in the hangar, tensed up a bit. He glanced briefly at the cage with the bird recording the conversation on the table, but neither of you or Sejanus noticed, and together, you continued explaining your plan to him.

During your report, where you and Sejanus competed over who could give Coriolanus more details, he lowered his head and rubbed his brow with his fingertips. It looked like he was trying to gather his thoughts, unsure how long he could stay silent without seeming suspicious.

But Sejanus rushed on, “I couldn't leave without telling you. You've been like a brother to me. I'll never forget what you did for me in the arena. I'll find a way to let Ma know what happened to me. And my father, too. I'll let him know the Plinth name lives on, even if it's in obscurity.”

The mention of the Plinth name was enough.

Coriolanus's left hand found the remote, and he pressed the NEUTRAL button with his thumb. The jabberjay resumed its earlier song.

Something caught Coriolanus's attention. “Here comes Bug.”

“Here comes Bug,” the bird echoed in his voice.

“Hush, you silly thing,” he scolded the bird, secretly pleased it had returned to its normal pattern. Nothing to alert both of you. He quickly covered the cage with a cloth and marked it with J1.

“I swear, I have no idea,” Coriolanus lied, wearing a worried expression. “While rearranging the cages, one of them must have snagged the remote control.”

You lightly bit your lower lip, eyeing your friend. Without any reason to doubt him, you finally let out a shaky breath.

Gazing up at the sky, you counted to three in your mind to steady your nerves. Then, you looked back at Coriolanus.

“Does Sejanus know?”

“Of course, I told him first,” he lied again, his gaze fixed beyond your shoulders without losing the concerned look on his face.

“God, what are we going to do now?” nerves took over every cell in your body as you asked another question. You leaned against the wooden building, slowly lowering yourself until you were sitting on the ground.

You lifted your head to meet Coriolanus's eyes, and he crouched in front of you, placing his hand on one of your knees.

“Hey, don't stress. You're heading back to the base now. Pack what you need, and tonight, you'll slip out of the district just like you planned with the rebels. You'll meet Sejanus at the lake, alright?” he spoke with a calmness, almost like talking to a kid, trying to reassure you.

Even though Coriolanus despised rebels — those who went against the Capitol's rules — he didn't want you to suffer the consequences that would surely befall Sejanus. He had nothing against you; in fact, he genuinely liked you. Your innocence about a better life beyond the Capitol's control wasn't his concern because you hadn't caused him any trouble, unlike young Plinth who had stirred up problems more than once.

“But won't it be suspicious if I suddenly vanish? They'll be searching for me, Coryo. They'll find me and punish me,” you said, placing your hand on his.

“I told you not to worry, remember?” Coriolanus replied, a bit sharper but still maintaining his reassuring tone. “I'll figure something out. No one's going to harm you.”

“But Coryo, you-” you began, but he quickly cut you off.

“Enough, Y/N,” Coriolanus said firmly, standing up from his crouch. “Get up. We're heading back to base,” he reached out a hand to you, which you took after a moment's hesitation. He helped you stand, silently conveying to act naturally before stepping out from behind the building.

You had no choice but to go along with Coriolanus' questionable plan, clinging to the hope that he knew what he was doing.

Little did you grasp the reality—that he was the cunning architect behind the recorded conversation. Sejanus wouldn't show up at the lake beyond District 12's boundaries. Instead, his fate would take a dark turn as he dangled lifeless from a tree in a matter of days.

705 notes · View notes

read-marx-and-lenin · 4 months ago

Text

During 1935 and 1936 a new form of shock-work has developed in the form of “Stakhanovism.” In essence it is a very simple story. A certain coal-miner, by the name of Stakhanov, working in a pit in the Donets Basin in the Ukraine, reorganized the work of the group of which he was leader, so that output was greatly increased. His pit newspaper gave the matter publicity, it was taken up as a “scoop” by other newspapers — for the U.S.S.R. needs coal — and the rationalization proposals of Stakhanov became known throughout the world. Many managers and engineers did not approve of Stakhanovism, for two main reasons. First, they felt that the wholesale reorganization of methods of work was their job, not that of the rank-and-file miners. The Soviet Government Press, however, immediately attacked such a view, pointing out that the welfare of the U.S.S.R. depends on the maximum expression of personal initiative by all workers. Secondly, in certain cases the managers and technicians objected to workers reorganizing their methods of work, because their wages then rose considerably above those of the technical and managerial staff! This attitude was also attacked in the Press, and the Stakhanov movement has spread throughout the country. The Stakhanov movement, and the publicity and encouragement given to Stakhanov and his followers, stimulates every worker, however unskilled, to become a rationalizer, an organizer of his or her own labor. In this way every worker feels encouraged to utilize brain as well as hand. Large numbers of workers become more skilled and earn higher wages. There is a general rise in both material and cultural standards as a result. Further, the leading Stakhanov workers themselves are asked to become teachers of their methods. Stakhanov has been invited back to his native village, to use his organizing power to raise production in the collective farm. He also spends much time visiting different coal-mines, teaching the workers there how to reorganize their work for greater efficiency. A rank-and-file miner has become a technical expert and an engineer. And this is happening all the time in the Soviet Union today, affecting hundreds of thousands of workers.

Pat Sloan, Soviet Democracy, 1937

#communism #socialism #leftism #marxism #soviet union #ussr #history #soviet history

211 notes · View notes

determinate-negation · 1 year ago

Note

I see your answer, and it frankly infuriates me, your denial of documented hateful comments on campus and ACTUAL Jewish people saying they feel threatened. The refusal to acknowledge even the slightest defect in your "side" leads me to the conclusion that you yourself are not immune to propaganda and you certainly do not value jewish voices (unless, of course they agree with you). You are more than welcome to check the jewhatedb to have a taste of the spirits in some campuses.

As for this: "more cops on campus and administrations destroying academic freedom cynically framed as “preventing antisemitism” is actually a bigger threat for us in the long run" oh how nice of you to ignore those pesky jews in name of the greater cause of academic freedom, consider this, a space that ignores Jewish voices and excuses antisemitism wasn't free to begin with. You are willing to accept their absence for some sort of "long run" greater cause and that's, for the lack of better words, fucked up.

i didnt deny shit, i stated multiple times that antisemitism exists on college campuses, but i did point out that your examples are not coming from pro palestine students. theyre coming from people who are trying to vilify pro palestine students. why doesnt it infuriate you that people are threatening to murder jews just to make muslim students look bad? why is it not infuriating to you that bad media coverage on this makes jewish students unneccesarily scared when the threats are coming from our zionist so called allies? when did jews start cheering for police repression? do you think that attacks on left wing political organizing on college campuses are actually good for jews in the long run? i see someone didnt do their nazi history homework.

also im a marxist not a liberal that subscribes to bankrupt identity politics so the identity of voices is less relevant to me than the content of what theyre saying, but if you want to go on that path why the fuck are you ignoring my jewish voice and the voices of other anti zionist jews who agree with me?

as ive said many times before, there is a difference between feeling threatened and being threatened and jewish students feeling threatened by the existence of pro palestine organizations that are generally progressive and full of jews is in my mind separate from being threatened by real antisemitic incidents. which should be taken seriously but arent coming from pro palestine students as much as they are from reactionaries and opportunists.

besides the fact that “jewish voices” are not a monolith, academia does not ~ignore jewish voices~ except for anti zionist ones. anti zionist jews get doxxed by organizations like canary mission, get kicked out of jewish centers, get slandered by college admins and pro zionist organizations. college administrations bend over backwards to support israel and denigrate sjp and jvp on their campuses. as for academic freedom, its historically never been free for critics of israel, not zionists. jewish professors have been blacklisted from academia for criticizing israel in fact. you said youre glad youre not in american academia and its very obvious you understand nothing of american academia

https://www.tabletmag.com/sections/news/articles/the-blacklist-in-the-coal-mine-canary-missions-fear-mongering-agenda-college-campuses

#anti zionism #antisemitism

379 notes · View notes

sosadraws · 2 months ago

Text

A very extensive list of replika headcanons because I'm sick and tired of laying in bed doing nothing

Warning: VERY LONG

Elster

-It's not that they love being solitary as much as being very awkward interacting with others, and their serious faces doesn't make them any more approachable...

-They deal with loneliness with always keeping themselves busy and making routines packed to the top with things to do.

-In that sense, Elster genuinely enjoys tasks that require some level of problem solving.

-They have a deep, hoarse voice. That being said, they don't really talk much.

-In her relationship with Ariane, she was the "acts of service" person. Even as Ariane sickness progressed, she tried to bring her comfort as much as she could.

Eule -They're very flexible

-They hum a lot while doing chores, and can come up with song lyrics on the get go.

-One of the reasons why replikas have short hair is because otherwise Eules would get distracted easily braiding and styling it

-At times they can be kinda harsh with themselves. They strive for perfection (their gestalt was an overachiever)

-The walk like models/swing their hips a lot

Kolibri -They function on 70% caffeine

-They're REALLY GOOD at reading other's body language, so sometimes they don't need to rely on their bioresonance to tell what others are thinking.

-They have inside jokes and memes that they share to each other via their hivemind.

-They walk very fast to catch up with other replikas

-In the same way that they easily influence other replikas, they can also get affected by strong emotions of those around them. So sometimes they hang out with Mynahs to emotionally recharge with their chill vibes.

Mynah

-Beo is the oldest/most experienced of the Mynah units, and the leader of the cadre at S-23.

-Their gestalt was a mother that worked as a coal miner in Rotfront.

-The circle in the middle of their visor is dark glass, and the red dots are lights

-They're very aware of their size and strength, which is what makes them to be extra careful and gentle with smaller units and gestalts

-They walk with short steps

-Due to their heavy frame, they're anatomically different to other replika. They don't get damaged easily, but they're trickier to repair. That's why once Elster found Beo in the mines, she couldn't repair her with the patches .

-Sometimes they name their plushies after their favorite replikas/gestalts

-the plushies are for filling the void left by their gestalts love for cats.

-it's not necessarily that they don't get affected by the circumstances surrounding them, it's just that they don't like to think on the bigger implications or they just don't internalize it (Aka "don't think too hard about it").

Ara

-They can see in the dark (in a similar way to cats).

-The tunnels they make are extremely narrow. Many replikas and gestalts have gotten stuck before, which is why it isn't recommended to retrieve them.

-Sometimes the do listen to other's conversations, but not necessarily out of bad intent as much as boredom/background noise as they do other activities (the equivalent of watching a YouTube essay as you eat).

-They're in the realistic/cynical side of things, tho they usually mean well. They're big shy introverts, but eventually they get adopted by the Eules into their social circles.

-They love Legos/scale models, and sometimes they like to design their own buildings.

Star

-Modded guns are the ultimate sign of a high ranking unit. They can get favors out of lower ranking unit by offering to lend them.

-They get kinda overprotective with those they care about

-They walk as is they were marching, but more casual

-They a high ranking unit gets decommissioned, their belongings get passed on according to their order on the hierarchy

Storch

-They're the first ones to wake up so they have all the baths for them. They love the feeling of running water.

-They use lots of mythology analogies when talking. Almost nobody else gets it.

-In a modern setting, they would be the ones to consume media inspired by mythology, only to nitpick on every single detail that isn't accurate.

-They always walk like they're in a hurry/angrily on their way to beat someone (very fast, really big steps)

-They have a naturally loud voice and a resting bitch face, which makes them more intimidating even when they're just chilling.

Adler

-He always looks serious, and takes himself very seriously.

-He knows that big part of the facility dislikes him, but as long as they comply to orders he doesn't really mind.

-His favorite types of fetish objects are puzzles/things that carry a mystery to them, or stationary.

-He writes a lot, for everything and nothing.

-The only reason you should have two Adlers working together is if a facility is really big, and keep them as separate as possible. Otherwise you have these two replikas passively getting at each other's throats.

-The attachment Adlers have with Falkes doesn't necessarily have to be romantic. They could also the sibling, friend or mentor figures (the emotional dependency is still there tho, and relies a lot on her attention and approval).

-In that same sense, they get attached to one particular Falke, so if a Falke needs to get decommissioned, so does her Adler because if not, the man grieves and shit starts going down.

Falke

- At first sight she seems like a regular polite unit, but she carries a menacing/lowkey eldritch aura. Whatever Makima and Tomie have going on, but not necessarily evil.

-She is great with words, and has good leadership skills.

-Her halo and arrows are made out of pure light.

-She knows everything that goes down on the facility, but turns a blind eye unless things starts to cause trouble or get on the way of productivity.

-She uses her bioresonance for mundane activities, both for pure convenience and as a flex/display of dominance.

-Since they're bioresonant prototypes, they get persona degradation very easily, but since their triggers aren't really known, they're really good at hiding it/whipping the memories of those that realize it.

-I like to think that her gestalt (the daughter of the Great Revolutionary) didn't really have a say regarding her situation, as much as being the main propaganda piece for the Eusan Nation. As such, while being a good leader, she gets anxious because it's not only those directly under her command who get affected if the makes a mistake, but the image of the Nation as a whole. However she's good at not showing weakness, at that trait gets inherited to Falke units as well.

84 notes · View notes

jevilowo · 3 months ago

Text

Not sure if ive already done this. But.

Predictions for COMIC 7

CHARLES DARLING WILL BE THE FINAL ENEMY besides Helen. Trust me on this one I swear they wouldn't have brought him in if they didn't have plans. ALSO the mother of the Mann triplets (Bette Mann neé Darling) was RELATED TO HIM HE'S RELEVANT. I'm so convinced he's the one Helen made a deal with and he's going to make a grab for Mann Co.

We'll get to see Bilious Hale in a flashback and find out what happened to him. Bilious Hale, oh guy who punched coal out of mines and sat on John Wilkes Booth while other people shot at him, my beloved. I hope they don't reveal he was a bad father or anything.

A woman is nice to Ms Pauling for once and she gets a smooch. She deserves it. Hopefully it won't be a smooch from Helen (DAMN YOU 4CHAN LEAKS), the old lady's had her hired since Pauling was in her mid teens.

WE GET HORSEMANN LORE! this is just wishful thinking on my part the Horsemann makes me insane. Shout out to Silas Mann fr. If he doesn't show up, I hope they at least acknowledge or reference him. I swear they had plans for him back in 2010. Which they then immediately abandoned in favour of developing Mann vs Machine.

Spydad reveal. Pretty much a given. No need to elaborate. I hope Scout’s mother shows up I love her.

Demo gets something important to do! He's only been there for comedic bits so far really, so I think he deserves some Serious Plot Stuff.

Build up to and cop out on Pyro face reveal. The whole thing of Pyro's character is the mystery, so I think the funniest way to go about a face reveal would be for us to only see the team's reactions and have them all react very differently e.g. Scout vomits, Demo gives them the thumbs up, Spy starts taking horrified notes, Engie looks vaguely lovestruck, Saxton Hale expresses annoyance that they aren't actually *insert obsucure species of something here* like he thought.

CONAGHER LORE!! By which I mean Engie shows up and has a chat with Fred about Radigan and immortality and whatnot. Fred has to have been spared from the bloodshed for a reason, right?

Classic Medic shows up! Or they confirm he is dead. Or they confirm he is Pyro which is a funny theory I read once but sincerely doubt. Maybe they'll pull a Bea and have him have been a girl the whole time.

I have a crackpot theory that Helen/Elizabeth is actually Bette Mann (again, mother of the Mann triplets), and while it's unlikely to be true, it would genuinely be so funny if I'm right so WATCH THIS SPACE. My main reasoning is Helen started her Australium search the year the triplets were born, aka the year Bette DIED, and also Bette is a nickname for Elizabeth. Also also it adds to my theory that she will team up with Charles Darling, who is, as I've already said, related to Bette.

Olivia gets to do something important also. Saying this bc she's mostly been a prop so far. I'm manifesting a sideplot where she summons the Horsemann to beat up Charles Darling for her.

Merasmus returns! Last we saw he was arrested, but Jay Pinkerton really likes his Soldier/Merasmus interactions so chances of him coming back are high.

There will be a joke like "geez it feels like it's been seven years since we beat grey mann" and a panel where everyone just lets that process before going back to plot stuff

Chances are, a new comic after so many years means there will be new writers, and the fandom has changed quite a bit since the last one. There will be SUBLIMINAL SPEEDING BULLET SHIPPING. There will be MORE FOCUS THAN IS REALLY NECESSARY on Scout. SOMEONE WILL THEY/THEM PYRO which sounds great actually you know what I forgot where I was going with this godspeed.

ZHANNASOLDIER WEDDING FINALE!!!

100 notes · View notes

enjithequeer · 3 months ago

Text

Teams I'd like to see in the life series

Jimmy & Skizz

These two need to team up in one of the life series, they haven't been necessarily on good terms the last 2 seasons, and these two are great, just both of them give off amazing vibes.

—

ITS (Impy, Top, and Skizzly)

C'mon it's ITS, do I need to explain?

—

Jimmy and Scar

I don't know why people don't want these two lovable idiots to team up, sure they might go out like very quick, but OG Valley girls. These two are both just funny and wholesome yk?

—

Dubs, Etho

One word Ethdubs (QPR, in my opinion)

—

Tango and Cleo or Pearl

either all 3 of them of Tango and Pearl, cause their relationship in HC is honestly adorable. Top and Clebert because I feel like they would be a great team/duo.

—

BigB, Pearl, Grian, Marty, Tim

Iykyk.

—

Scott and Joel

Just because their relationship in the life series is a love-hate one, and it would be Scott's first non-relationship type duo/team. (Last life was 100% /P)

—

Jim, Joel, and Liz

Because Seablings and Disktrack duo art OTP, I need more Pillager trio content. Kk.

—

Jim, Mumbo and Tango

Because It's the Canary, the coal miner and the coal mine, and I love my canary lore

—

Mumbo, Grian and Scar

It's them! Who wouldn't want them???

—

Dubs, Timmy, Effo

Because they need to interact with each other more

—

Impy & Skizz

Because it's Imp & Skizz, and their duo is like one of the best ones (after Ranchers ofc)

—

Martyn & Grian

Because of Lore, that Watcher lore is needed, so if lore man is with the Watcher man who wouldn't want them together

There are many more, but I'm too lazy to add.

What is a pair/team you'd like to see together next season?

91 notes · View notes

darklydeliciousdesires · 6 months ago

Note

Claire!! I ran to your inbox the second I saw your post about drabbles being open!! :D

Would be willing to write something for Tommy Shelby using this prompt: “Don’t play games with me, sweetheart. You won’t like it when I play them back.” ?? Take the story in whatever direction you desire….I just know it’ll be amazing!

Thanks so much if you choose to! A

A little short for my darling K? Of course <3 I hope you like the direction I went in with this!

Words - 1,139

Warnings - None

“You don’t need to lie to me. You hate him, don’t you? I see it, kitty cat. That face of yours when you’re on his arm? It ain’t the face of a broad who's happy to be there.”

He was right, too. Although you had to wonder how many times others had witnessed your carefully placed facade slip. Then again, you hadn’t been stepping out all too long with Tommy Shelby. You didn’t intend on doing so either.

Tommy didn’t remember you from school. He had no recollection over how he’d made you feel about yourself as a little girl, the name calling, the teasing, the shoving you around. “Boys will be boys, my sweet”, your father had always said. Your mother had taken a much less blasé approach.

“Darling girl of mine, boys will not be boys. Boys will be however we let them behave. If that little shit continues to act like this, wallop him one.”

While you appreciated her stance, you never did give him the aforementioned walloping. Until now, in your decision to make him pay for being your playground tormentor, your bully. Some might call it immature of you not to be able to move on from it, but truly, Tommy Shelby has done more to hurt you than any other.

It didn’t stop in the playground.

The growth of The Shelby Company Ltd, with its wings spreading like an albatross across the coal-black suburbs of Birmingham led to your father being put out of work, your brother being recruited and then executed as a Peaky Blinder and your family losing everything. Tommy was so lost within the vast vortex of his own ego that he didn’t even recognise you, by neither sight nor name when you approached him one evening in The Garrison, your charm amped up, your plan set into action.

You would make him fall in love with you, you would toy with his heartstrings and then, finally, you would rip them to pieces. Just like he did to your life. Just like he always had.

Your plan? It worked. Effortlessly.

Every time he called to court you, you would exit the door of your lodgings looking pristine, ready to be wined and dined, your place upon the arm of the city’s most prolific gangster a spot coveted by many. It never did fail to make bitter fire lick your insides, though, while other women burned with envious ire. Your revulsion ran deep, but you had to confess; at least he was pretty to look at. At least he was a talented and sensual lover.

You never allowed him in too much, though, and it was the cleverness, the assertive aloofness of your nature that had the poor fool coming back for more every time.

“Why don’t you ever stay with me, sweetheart?” he asks you on one such night, as you pull yourself back into your clothes.

Looking away from the garter clasp you’re about to affix to your stocking, you see it there in his eyes. Pleading. Longing. The desire to spend the entire night curled around you in a warm, loving embrace.

“I like my own bed.”

He tuts, reaching for his cigarette. “You always say that. Don't even let me stop over there with you either.”

“I like my own bed alone.”

“And what when we’re married, eh?” he questions, exhaling a thick plume of smoke into the dark of the room. “Will you let me share a bed with you then, or are we to be like an old-fashioned Victorian couple, same bedroom, single beds?” His eyes glint at you, shifting to sit up a little. “That’s a bit puritan for a girl who likes being fucked as dirty as you, love.”

The urge to punch that smug, pretty face of his. Buttoning your blouse, you reach for your coat and pull it on, picking up your bag and then leaning to press a kiss upon his lips. “I’ll say goodnight now, Tommy. Let you go to sleep and dream of me.”

He isn’t used to not getting his own way, and lord, how it shows. He reaches for your wrist, grasping you in a hard clutch, your mind flashing back to the playground. He’d do this while kicking your shins and mocking you. “Don’t play games with me, sweetheart. You won’t like it when I play them back.”

You smirk, and the devil’s fire flashes through his eyes. “Is that a threat, darling?”

“It’s a bloody promise, love, and you know it is. Might have to tie you to this bed next time, stop you from escaping on me.” He smiles then, something boyish in him as he tilts his head, pulling you down into a soft kiss. “I love you, even if you are a bloody temptress.”

“Love you, too. Goodnight.”

Leaving the bedroom, you saunter down the stairs and into the lounge, going into his jacket pocket and removing the keys to the building he runs his legitimate business from, Out of your purse, you remove the soft ball of clay you��ve stashed away wrapped in paper, flattening it with your palm before pressing each key into it.

With those imprints taken, you visit the local foundry the following day, asking for a set of keys to be made to those exact impressions.

“Ahh, nice, easy little job this, bab,” the foreman informs you, removing his cap to scratch his balding head as he takes the lump of now dried clay. “Have ‘em ready for ya by close.”

After returning later that evening, you have within your grasp the tools you require to facilitate the final piece of your plan, the last little detail being delivered to you by a third party, one who after arriving from New York saw quite clearly how much use you could be to him, getting close enough to ruin Tommy Shelby and all he held dear.

Walking through the bar of The Grand Hotel, you slide into a seat beside the handsome Italian waiting for you, placing the keys into his hand.

“You did good, doll,” he drawls, eyeing you appreciatively. “Here.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a roll of bills, handing them to you with a wink before taking your hand and kissing it. “If you’re ever in New York in the future, please, don’t think twice about looking me up.”

Of course, Luca Changretta could have simply broken into the building he required access to, but Tommy is a shrewd operator. He would notice even the most carefully picked lock, and the plan was always for him not to see it coming. When The Shelby Company Ltd explodes into a ball of fire, both Tommy and Arthur within it, you know he never saw it coming.

After all, he never truly saw you.

#tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinders fanfiction #luca changretta fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders

92 notes · View notes

iloveaustinelvisandmannymore · 11 months ago

Text

Forbidden affair.

Pairing: Toji fushiguro x chubby reader.

Warning: Cheating, Toxic love affair, Jealousy, Gaslighting, Pregnancy, Arguments, Possessive Toji, Passionate sex, fingering, Oral (Fem), Pregnancy sex, Breastfeeding, wall sex, Ausgt.

Summary: it was supposed to be the same, help a happy couple, help create their future but one look in his eyes and you were doomed.

A/n: Fanart, not mine.

Verdant, like glistening emeralds, was a dangerous temptation, such desire, was the telltale of your doom. Sounds of impatient foot-tapping still rings in your ear each time you think of him.

The words of the doctor and his wife faded once you glazed upon him, what a bewitching beauty. Onyx hair, like that of coal, hangs in front of those green memorizing jewels that he was fortunate to call his a build that heavyweights envy and strive for and a scar down the right side of his lip. He was beautiful.

You moved in a couple of weeks after of course once the doctor had confirmed you were with child. The house was pretty and traditional, even cozy. Many mornings were spent cocking your breakfast and bitterly listening to Kimkio's sobs of pleasure as Toji no doubt showed no mercy on his small wife and you could not help but be envious of her luck, happiness, looks, and otherwise perfect life.

Each time they came out of their room to eat she'd always smile so sweetly and greet you while she barely stood straight you had to push those petty feelings down and smile. So stuck in pretending to be nice you failed to notice the animalistic, want glint Toji's glaze as he skillfully watches you move around, without seeming he wasn't paying attention to you at all, a perk from his job if you will. You were delectable, simply pretty there was something gorgeous about your portly form, the small jiggle of your breasts, stomach, and thighs that drove him crazy with want and Toji fushiguro always got what he wanted, rather if people liked it or not.

You groaned and walked to the kitchen with items that would surely be on your craving wants.

"you're home." Toji hiccuped, taking a swig of Asahi Super Dry and leaning against the wall. "Tojj are you drunk?" you frowned, and stopped putting away the groceries. " 'm not." he slurred which answered that question. "Come on, let's get you to bed." you shook your head and strolled to him. Surprisingly he didn't put up a fight as you took his hand and led the way to his bed. "there you go." you smiled gently, moving a lock of hair away from his closed lids. You couldn't help but wonder if he did this every time Kimiko left on a business trip.

You gasped when a firm griped your wrist once you stood up and pulled you onto Toji, who quickly pinned you to the bed he bed "Where ya goin'?" toji slurred, pushing both your wrists to the mattress and weaved in between your legs. Your heart skips a beat, Toji was as handsome as he always was. His bedroom prasine orbs held lust you haven't seen before and his ebony hair acted like a curtain more that he leaned closer to your lips "Well?". "I-I thought you were asleep." you stuttered, heart racing inside your ears.

No words were exchanged but the pressing of lips, and the swirling of tongues wasn't far behind, his kisses were mind-numbing, and a lingering pleasure. Blurrs of clothes being taken off and thrown impatiently barely registered within the carnal lust. His hips rocked against your ass, thrusting his cock into your tight, slick, and saliva-covered cunt "Damn fuckin' perfect thighs." Toji groaned, his grip on your jiggling thighs tightening "And this stomach." Toji growled as he dragged his tongue up your bouncing pudgy belly to your breasts. "just my type." he slurred with hooded eyes, sucking and licking your nipple, his hand rolling the other between his thick digits. You gasped, his strong arms grabbed hold of your middle and pulled you onto his lap as he sat back "Gonna ride me yeah?" Toji's words spread a fire through your core "You can do it pretty girl." He cooed, his hands now holding your rear. Kissing him passionately, you lifted your hips before completely slamming down his member "Goddamn pretty girl." Toji choked out and used your ass as leverage to pump into you from below, every push in and out you felt each vein, his bulbous tip hit your cervix and gspot in one that made your toes curl as he fucked you like it was the end of the world. The squelching of the pairing of your soaked cunt and his glistening cock was inching your climax closer, causing your poor pussy to pulse "Cum, fuckin' come on this fat cock!" Toji growled, attacking your neck with kisses. "Fuck!" you screamed, your hips stuttering from your overwhelming orgasm.

Toji groaned, pouring his seed within your clamped pussy, milking his balls dry. Gently Toji laid you back on the bed and pulled out, chuckling at your tired whine as he did and pulled you into his warm embrace, his chest supporting your head, his arm snuggling you into his side "Sleep," he mumbled into your hair "I'll be here." your soft sores followed and a sinister smirk graced his lips, damn he should make a career in acting.

"She's my wife! Just because 'm fuckin' you, doesn't mean you're special!" Toji got into your face "Get that through that thick skull" he said harshly as he tapped your head with two of his fingers. You glared at him and slapped his digits away "Fuck off prick." you hissed and walked into the bathroom. "Don't walk away f'me." Toji spat and grabbed your arm, his hold was hard, so rough you knew a bruise would arise. "I do whatever I want to do. Why don't you find a whore to fuck!" you yelled, yanking and failing to free your trapped arm. "Maybe I fuckin' will." Toji growled, letting go of your forearm and walked away.

The slamming of the front door, informed you he truly left.

You sank onto the toilet as silent tears began to fall that soon turned into sobs. Maybe you deserved this, nothing good comes from falling for a married man, especially a man like Toji but you delused that he was different..he was so sweet to you after that night, and the continuous nights that followed now you see you were just a fool.

Days passed and he hadn't returned. Sleeping became more hard to come by, so used to his body next to you as you slept and craving came like a hurricane.

The baby however continues to grow, and the baby bump finally more noticeable past your rotund stomach. TV played some trashy show in which you barely paid any attention as you scooped more of the chocolate ice cream and swallowed it from the spoon. 'I hate him. I hate him. I hat-' your bitter thoughts stopped abruptly, quickly you paused the show and pushed yourself off the loveseat as the sound of a door being unlocked.

"Toj-Oh Mrs. Fushiguro, Welcome home!" you greet her feigning cheerfulness. "I'm glad to be back," Kimiko smiled and put her shoes, coat, and bag in their respective places "How are you, and the baby?" she asked, laying her hands on your baby bump. "We're good." you forced a smile, feeling all but comfortable by her touch. "Where's Toji by the way? I didn't see his car in the driveway" she questioned and took her hands off your stomach. "Oh, he left to hang out with a friend for a while. Don't know when he'll be back," you replied. "Okay..."Kimiko trailed off, a look akin to anger on her pretty pale face.

Toji still hasn't returned, and it's been a week. You could barely stand being in the same room as Kimiko, the remainder that you had fucked her husband more than once hit hard so you tried to get out as much as you could that's when you met Aoto, a sweet and considerate man that you quickly became friends. Today you both decided to go to a popular cafe, the weather was warm and sunny, the perfect day to sit outside. You laughed at a joke that Aoto said, and in the corner of your eyes you noticed a man coming your way, he seemed angry.

"Who's this?" Toji spat, glaring at the small man, a glint brimmed with murderous intent. "Oh, umm this is Aoto Tanaka, my friend," you piped nervously, Toji didn't even look at you. "Who do you think you are?" Toki questioned, placing his hands on the table and leaning closer to Aoto's face "Ya want to fuck her huh?" Toji accused. "W-what? No! It's not like that!" Aoto tried to plead his case as he looked anywhere besides You and Toji. "Bullshit," Toji growled and picked up your friend by his shirt and throw him to the hard concrete. Your eyes widened in horror, you were unable to move as you watched Toji drop to his knees on top of Aoto and punch him in the face, the blow causing blood to flow out of his nose, Toji continued to bash Aoto.

The screams around you broke you from your state and you hurried to try to help, "Toji, Stop!" you cried as you tugged at his arm, "Please, you're scaring me!". Toji breathed heavily and stood up, "She's mine, bitch." Toji spat on Aoto's face for good measure and grabbed your arm, and your purse pulled you along. "Why the fuck did ya let some bitch close to you!" Toji pushed you into an ally way and trapped you against the brick wall, making you drop said purse. "You're mine.". "I'm nobody's to own! I'm my own person!" you hissed and attempted to wiggle free. "Like hell!" you flinched as he yelled, a sharp pain in your stomach caused you to hold your baby bump and almost fall, luckily Toji quickly caught you. "Baby?!" Toji shook you as you gained and lost consciousness.

Groaning you opened your eyes, the sound of peeping and a sterile smell surrounded you. "Oh, honey you're awake." a woman, who you assumed was your assigned was designated nurse. "How long was I out?" you asked, your voice raspy, a groan followed after as a strong headache rang through.

"A week," she replied as she checked your vitals, "Your baby boy is just fine, congratulations by the way." She turned around and smiled, her hand resting on yours, "If you wish in a few hours you can go home, do you have a ride?" you shook your head. "Oh," She frowned "Well then don't worry, we can call a taxi to take you home," she reassured, patting your hand, and left the room to continue her job. You were released three hours later, the ride home was silent, a true blessing. Once he pulled up the driveway, you thanked the driver and got out, your purse on your shoulder, and keys in hand. You have never been so grateful to be home, by yourself than you are now,.

Walking inside you placed your keys on the rack, take off your shoes, and throw your purse onto the couch as you walk past the furniture and to your bedroom, plopping down on the soft bed, "Fuck me." you groaned, you were being so foolish, nothing good came from fucking married men yet something about Toji was addicting, enchanting.

You need a few days by yourself.

That didn't even last two days, you already texted Kimiko about wanting some time alone, and she immediately texted, a little hesitant and worried, although she still understood your point and said that if you needed anything to let hurt know. However, Toji didn't, on the second day heavy, rapid knocks sang within your house, yelling and shouting following suit, it went on for hours before he gave up and went home, the third day he continued to disturb the neighborly peace, and you continued to ignore him. In time he stopped bothering you and you took that as a chance to get out for fresh air and a snack.

You smiled as you waved at a friendly neighbor and unlocked the door, the house was dark except for a dimly lit light that shined from the living room, which was on when you left. Your breath hitched as you moved as silently as you could to your kitchen and grabbed a knife from the wood block, slowly you approached the living room, hiding behind the hall wall, and peaked over the wall.

"Good, you're home," Toji said nonchalantly, his head resting against his knock as his ankle lay on his thigh as he sat on your loveseat. "What are you doing here?" your eyebrows frowned as watched as he got up from the loveseat and woke backward when he began to stroll towards you. "You've been ignoring me, what other way to get ya attention?" Toji griped your jaw in his hand once he backed you against the wall, his other running up and down your tubby sides. "You.." you trailed off as his hand slid down your stomach into your pants and underwear, his fingers parting your folds and rubbing your slit. "you what? Why don't you let me take care of ya huh? Let me make it up to you." Toji whispers before licking your neck, nipping, and suckin', as his digits now rolls your nub between them. "Please," you begged even though everything told you not to let him. You mewled, Toji's kiss muffed every whimper and moan, he slipped his finger in your slimy, stick opening, his palm jerking up your clit. Your juices overflowed his hand, no part of his hand wasn't coated in your slick.

Toji away from your heat kiss, a sting of saliva snapped as he pulled away, "You're mine, you fuckin' got me" Toji snarled and lifted you into his capable arms when you simply nodded, eyes glossed over with lust and followed your directions to your bedroom. You let a loud whoa as he pushed you upon the wall, and sat you down to tear your pants and everything with it, "You got me fucked up, thinkin' you ain't mine." his eyes a darker green than before, working off his clothes he slaps your one of thick thighs, you knew what that meant and you spread them.

"You'll always be and don't forget it." he said as he picked you up, his cock lay heavy upon your sticky folds "Do you understand?" he glared at you. "Yes! Yes, please!" you cried "Want you bad! Fuck me!" you whined, bucking your hips, his dick sliding up your lips as you did so. "alright I tortured you enough." Toji smirked smugly, without any shame. His fat cockhead jabbed into your pussy, not hard to hurt but it certainly made your eyes roll," Feel good baby?" Toji cooed mockingly. You open your mouth to reply, and the only thing that leaves your lips is a yelp as he tore through your last remaining clothing, he begins to suckie on your nipple drawing your warm breast milk, gulping down heaps of it as his cock rolled and pounded your cunt, "Damn the kid is lucky." Toji slurred as his rhythm sped up. Your eyes closed from the pleasure as your form buzzed, every part felt hot. Your eyes snapped open as a gasp was heard that wasn't from you, right there in the door frames was Kimiko, a hand over her mouth as she looked on the way Toji became one with you, tears that sat borderline of her orbs.

Toji slowed to a stop, his dick still lodged within your walls as he looked over his shoulder, his expression falling when he saw his wife. Without thinking he let you go, your body hit the floor, and a sharp pain shocked your body however before you could ask for help, Toji ran after Kimiko. You gritted your teeth as you crawled to your unlocked door and knocked over your purse rack, searching for your phone hectically and called 119, you waited as you felt like you were growing underwater "Hello, how may I help you?" a kind-sounding woman asked. "I'm pregnant a-and I fall. Please help me!" you said shakily. "Okay, ma'am im tracking your phone and the paramedics will be there soon. Just stay with me," she spoke as you heard fast typing on a keyboard, her calm voice helped lessen your fear. However, it was too hard to stay awoke and you gave into unconsciousness.

You jolted up from the piercing cry of a baby. Your baby was okay, you smiled as the doctors lifted him in the air, he looked exactly like his father, and you thought they would immediately lay him on your chest instead they handed your baby boy, Kimkio and Toji walked into the delivery room. Happy smiles on their faces as they strolled towards the door. "N-no, wait!" you choked out, tears falling freely down your cheeks as the nurse attended to you.

You were doomed from the start.

@yeonieess ,@archiviste0o0 , @xxmaddhatter39xx ,@hachrinnen, @tojishugetiddies ,@wrldtups ,@bblkesh, @ilovekeiarah, @tepes-wife ,@444ctrl ,@tqd4455 @myst

A/n: sorry my beautiful doves, midway I had lost motivation and I wanted to work on another things but I didn't want to not post it. So here it is, I hope you enjoyed it.

#toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro angst #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x y/n #toji smut #toji x reader #toji fushiguro #toji x chubby reader #toji x you #jjk toji #toji fushiguro x female reader #toji fushiguro x you

170 notes · View notes

this-acc-is-mostly-inactive · 2 years ago

Note

Hi!! Can I request a Harry Warden x gn reader (if possible) where reader is being forced into the mines and they're alone, their friends are making fun of them/mocking them and Harry helps and let's them out of the mine. I'm sorry if this is too specific, tysm!! I hope ur doing good rn! <3

OMG YES OFC (Dw abt being to specific, I prefer specific because it helps me write easier most the time, Also I'm doing wonderfully, almost out of school so I feel much better, thanks!)☆

Mᴜᴄʜ ɴᴇᴇᴅᴇᴅ ᴀssɪsᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ..

(Harry Warden x !Gender neutral reader!)

Fluff/Comfort, Harry being Uncharacteristically nice to you, your friends are horrible people,

☆◦ 。＼｜／。◦☆

....

It takes courage they say, something you didn't seem to have according to your friends, but who are you to blame, they're the ones who are making you go into this damned mine.. it's not even like your doing this for money.. you wouldn't say your a scaredy cat.. but who in their right mind enters the mines alone..? Let alone the one rumored to be haunted by Harry Warden..? well look where we ended now..

"Are you fucking serious..?" You say to your friend group.. as they laugh their asses off in the truck Infront of you..

"Oh c'mon' (Name).. have some fun for once will ya'..?" They spout mockingly.. still giggling like a bunch of maniacs as they continue to mock your fear..

"Assholes.." You mutter softly.. your voice straining gently.. as you look at them frustrated and annoyed.. it's at least almost midnight and their still out here giving you bullshit..

"What..? Are you seriously scared of the mines..? Harry Warden is just a myth (Name), stop being such a Killjoy..!" They say in a mock disappointed tone... still laughing hysterically as they stare at your form standing in front of the entrance..

"You owe me after this I swear to god.." You spout.. obviously annoyed.. a hint of fear behind your voice.. as one of them pulls you into the mines.. the others looking at you two and giggling..

He takes you inside and gives his mocking goodbye as he runs off back to their truck.. trying his hardest to suppress his own laughter as your left inside the dark mines.. The soft sound of the truck starting up and driving off in the distance further fueling your annoyance and anxiety.. those Bastards just left you without back up.. with only a Flashlight and whatever lit up the area to guide you blindly.. your fear getting the better of you as you walk through the mines cautiously and slowly.. quivering slightly as your heart pounds aggressively in your chest.. you continue to walk straight forward.. trying to avoid taking many turns as to not lose your way..

"Can't believe I-I'm actually fucking doing this.. I'm not even getting anything out of this besides their entertainment and approval.." you grumble softly.. as you point the flashlight at different area's of the mines.. observing the many things that seem to be there.. paying close attention to every nook in corner.. afraid something might pop out and get you if your not fully alert..

As you travel farther and farther your overwhelming fear gets the better of you.. you sit down and try and calm yourself to no avail by now.. breathing heavy as you try to catch your breath as I slowly turns to hyperventilating desperately for air.. your arms go to wrap around your legs gently letting yourself curl up and give in on the dirt covered grounds of the mines.. tears welling up as soft chokes and gag's come out.. you feel all these emotions consuming you..

You sat there for what seemed like hours.. still trying to get ahold of yourself to no avail.. but letting yourself look up and observe your surroundings.. as you go quiet.. your sobs dying down but tears still flowing.. you freeze up.. hearing the soft breathing of.. something.. echo closely as it seemed.. this compelled you to attempt hiding.. you hide behind a coal barrow.. shivering and shaking as you zip up your jacket.. trying to hold your breath to not alert it's presence..

"Shit..." You mutter under your breath.. turning off your flashlight as you see a soft glow coming towards your area.. getting brighter and brighter.. after a couple minutes of loud footsteps and dragging you see a tall figure.. dressed in miners clothing.. and a gas mask.. the gear having soft dark red accents to it.. holy shit is that Harry Warden..

His heavy.. ragged breathing echos throughout the mines.. as he softly walks close to your hiding spot.. not because he realized you were there but because he was going to set his pick down..

you slap a hand to your mouth softly as to quiet your breathing.. trying to avoid him noticing you as you stay completely still as you can manage.. you flinch softly as his pick clatters on top of the barrow.. you accidently shuffle a rock next to you by moving softly.. causing you to flinch and for his gaze to shoot towards your hiding spot.. he seems to be there the moment you blink.. looking down at you as he breathes heavily.. staring down at you through the eye holes of his mask as you stare up at him in shock and terror

"P-Please.. don't hurt.. me I didn't come in on my own will.." you manage to spit out.. trying not to make a fool out of yourself and get yourself in more deep shit..

He seems to just keep staring at you.. not doing anything for a good couple minutes.. before he slowly offers you his hands.. still staring down at you and breathing heavily under his mask..

You stare at him.. confused.. yet hesitant.. before he just scoops you up.. picking you up as easy as it would be to pick up something like a cat or small animal.. damn he must be strong.. and extremely tall.. as he lifts you off the grounds and up into his arms.. your a couple feet off the ground but he's quite obviously taller than you by a milestone..

"Huh..?" You mutter softly.. looking at him baffled and confused.. he just continues to stare at you his head tilted as he brings a hand up to wipe your remaining tears off your cheeks.. he seems sympathetic.. or is this some kind of trap luring you into you in so you can die later.. oh well.. at least he's being nice at the moment..

He starts to carry you off somewhere.. fixing your clothes for you and tidying you up.. as he carries you throughout the mines.. silent as a mouse the entire time.. he seems to gently hold you closer.. perhaps as an attempt at comfort..? He pulls your hood up for you.. gently drying your cheeks for you as he holds you.. comforting you silently as he walks softly through the mines.. the gentle footsteps of his boots and the crumble of gravel and dirt underneath comforting you as you lax into his hold.. still on high alert though, he's a killer, you don't know what his motives may be..

"Why are you doing this..?" you ask softly.. your eyes staring up at his as he bundles up your jacket.. making sure you aren't cold due to your soft spasms of shivering that come every now and then.. he seems to only show concern and sympathy to your emotionally vulnerable self.. he doesn't answer you though.. his only sign of him hearing what you said being the soft nod he gave you as he continued his voyage in the mines.. where is he even taking you..?

After you travel for awhile your eyes light up.. seeing the soft glow of midnight as he sets you down at the entrance.. opening the gates of the mines as he gently sets you down.. dusting you off and doing one last check through for any injury.. patting your shoulder and tilting his head as if he was smiling at you.. except it just looked kind of scary.. but he's trying..

"Uhm.. Thanks Harry..?" you say hesitantly.. he nods softly as he turns.. quickly walking off into the void of the mines.. leaving you dazed and confused as to what happened.. huh.. at least you came out unharmed..

☆◦ 。＼｜／。◦☆

SORRY THIS WAS SO SHORT!! I haven't written in like forever so I'm warming up to it again, I HOPE YOU LIKE IT ANON!! ☆

#harry warden #my bloody valentine #Harry warden x reader #slasher x reader #slasher x you #Harry warden x gn reader #horror movies #Slasher #slasher community

562 notes · View notes

llyfrenfys · 7 months ago

Text

Xenophobia in Celtic nations' independence movements: A guide to the red flags

This is something I've wanted to write about for a long time - I want to go over this in more detail when I can. But for now a short guide to the most egregious red flags is warranted imo.

'Celtic nations' refers to the modern regions where Celtic languages are still spoken, namely Ireland, Wales, Scotland, Isle of Man, Cornwall and Brittany. Its important to know that these places are called Celtic not because of who lives there, but because of the languages which have survived there. Its a common error to think 'Celtic nations'= Celtic people. In my field (Celtic Studies) Celtic is generally only applied as a descriptor in the sense of language family.

Because of the popular misinformation 'Celtic nation' = 'Celtic' population, xenophobia rears its ugly head in multiple corners of the various Celtic nations' independence movements. Left unchecked, this xenophobia develops into outright racism. Which is why it's important to recognise these red flags when you see them.

'Acceptable Targets':

The reason why some of the xenophobia goes unchecked (and develops into worse kinds) is because a lot of xenophobia in the Celtic nations is aimed at 'acceptable' targets - which no-one bats an eye about when this rhetoric is deployed. But were it deployed against any other nationalities, it would immediately obvious that it isn't acceptable. Now, I will preface this with that there's nuance with these nationalities and there's something to be said about whether some of it is 'punching up'. However, because of how accepted it is to be casually xenophobic against these privileged groups, it is signalled through that that it's okay to be xenophobic in general to less privileged groups. I feel its important to address the first rung on the ladder before tackling any higher up.

Without beating around the bush, I'm talking about the English (and French. But I know more about the English so that's where my focus will be).

Yes, pro-independence anti-English memes and jokes can be funny. Most of them do stay on the side of punching up and many raise important points on the effects of English imperialism on the Celtic languages. However, there's a fine line between punching up and voluntarily using and wielding xenophobic arguments and rhetoric to get one up on the English. This, in my view, only paves the way for worse kinds of xenophobia and to me is a canary in the coal mine situation. But I also cannot talk about this without also making it clear that it is possible to recognise that sometimes a line is crossed without validating English persecution complexes à la 'you can't even say you're English these days' or similar nonsense. Both things can be true at once: Casual xenophobia against the English does exist, however, its existence should not be used to validate English persecution complexes. On the contrary, we should fight that also.

The reason why this canary in the coal mine has gone unnoticed is because of the reluctance to actually point out xenophobia against the English in pro-independence movements due to fear of accidentally validating the claims Englishness as a concept is under threat or due of fear of ostracism from Celtic nationalist movements. There is little danger of actually validating the former sentiment, however, because of a crucial fact. The people in the Celtic nations being casually xenophobic and the English with persecution complexes have one massive trait in common: they're both xenophobic in incredibly similar ways. If it's hard to tell apart an English nationalist from one in a Celtic nation if you were to swap the target of their ire, congratulations, your movement has a xenophobia problem /s.

English nationalist: We should tighten controls on our borders to keep all those foreigners and immigrants out. Make England English again.

(Xenophobic) Celtic nationalist: We should fight for our independence so we can tighten controls on our borders to keep all those foreigners and immigrants out. Make [insert Celtic nation] [nationish] again.

Many Celtic nationalists will also present ahistorical facts or manipulated versions of history in order to seem more valid or legitimate. It's a massive red flag when someone's grasp of history seems more emotional than grounded in historical fact. Using Welsh history as an example, I've seen this type of Celtic nationalist blatantly lie about historical figures, literally deface ancient castles in Wales based on a poor grasp (and respect for) history and conflate modern English and Welsh identity with ancient entities which do not map neatly 1:1. The ahistory presented by individuals or groups fancying themselves as leaders in their respective movements are unquestioningly accepted by others in the Celtic nationalist movements. This creates a manufactured mythology, belief in which confers in-group status and out-group status. A mythology which reinforces beliefs already present in the movement - such as the right to be casually xenophobic as long as it's against the 'right people' and as long as it is done in the name of protecting or advocating for their nation.

It was never going to stop at English people:

Once casual xenophobia is established as being tolerated, expected or even encouraged in the various independence movements, it enables xenophobes to be bolder in their rhetoric. Because casual xenophobia against 'deserving' nations like England is dismissed as 'just banter' and not taken seriously, it sends a signal to everyone in that movement that xenophobia is okay if its used against the 'right groups. While it may roll like water off a duck's back to the average English person, other, more vulnerable people do not fare so well.

To use an actual example I've seen out in the wild, some people will claim that you can't be considered Welsh unless you were born in Wales. Many people won't question this or interrogate the implications. Firstly, this comes back to how Celtic nationalists can often sound exactly the same as English nationalists (blood and soil nationalism is common to English and Celtic nationalisms). Secondly, this rhetoric also simulataneously invalidates several ostensibly Welsh people, such as Saunders Lewis (born in Liverpool) and Jan Morris (born in Somerset). In most cases, anyone who lives in X country / is a citizen of X country can or should be able to describe themselves as Xish.

The perennial anxiety of Celtic nationalists is that because most of the Celtic nations (excepting the Republic of Ireland) are constituent parts of a state (either the UK or France) and not independent entities in their own right, there is no control over borders and there is no system by which someone can be made a Welsh, or Breton or Cornish etc. citizen - and thus no way to control [nation]ness via those means. When Celtic nationalists agitate for independence, it's important to interrogate their motivations. If they are motivated primarily by a desire to control who is considered Xish and who isn't, that's a red flag.

English nationalists have this citizenship problem too, since England is not an independent nation, but a country within the UK. However, most English nationalists overlap heavily with British nationalists in general, so most agitation for 'sovereignty' gets channelled into British nationalism. This is one of the key differences between English and Celtic nationalists - the former is usually very fond of the United Kingdom, the latter detests it and wants to secede. This leaves Celtic nationalism in a tight spot - there is a desire for self determination which is currently impossible to achieve or enforce. And that makes a lot of Celtic nationalists anxious. And that anxiety leads to feeling like they need to prove their commitment to the cause by performing xenophobia, which validates their in-group status while simultaneously establishes the out-group.

A person born in England but who lives in Wales, perhaps speaks Welsh or considers themself Welsh will, in general, be mostly unharmed by 'you have to be born in Wales to be Welsh' rhetoric. But you know who might be? So many immigrants who consider themselves Welsh who make Wales a great place to be. Immigrants in Wales (especially nonwhite immigrants) may feel excluded by such rhetoric. It's almost on par with "where are you really from" sentiments. And this is an entirely self-defeating kind of rhetoric for Celtic nationalists to take up. Here we have thousands upon thousands of people who willingly want to live and work in Celtic nations - many of whom will also learn the language - undoing centuries of English and French propaganda that diminished the worth of Celtic nations and their languages* - and Celtic nationalists want to exclude these people from claiming the nationality of their adopted nations because... they didn't happen to be born here. Got it.

Xenophobia, once established, cannot be contained:

Xenophobia ripples outwards. Once it is established it is okay to be xenophobic to certain groups, other groups begin to be included in the xenophobia. This then has the potential to expand into outright racism. In Ireland, for example, there's significant amounts of antiblack racism present in the nationalist movement. Very recently, due to the actions of the UK government over the Rwanda Plan, the Republic of Ireland has gotten frustrated at the amount of immigrants attempting to reach their shores after abandoning attempts to claim asylum in the UK (out of fear of being sent to Rwanda). There's a "we don't do that here" attitude in many Celtic nationalist movements with regards to English imperialism, xenophobia, racism and anti-immigration. But not only do we do that here - it's worryingly integral to some people's visions for their nation's independence! You end up with complacency because many will take a literal no true Scotsman approach to Celtic nationalism and pretend that such people aren't really part of the movement. The problem is, is that they are here and regularly hijack otherwise unproblematic movements.

There are many routes through which Celtic nationalists can get radicalised into becoming massively xenophobic in order to fight for their respective nation's independence. All of them stem from real, legitimate problems in each nation whose cause has been misidentified.

One way is through opposition to second homes. On all counts, a noble goal and a very legitimate problem which I myself am invested in fighting. But the ways in which this problem is addressed often veer into questionable territory. If the focus is on "how dare those people from over there come over here" instead of "how dare a very small group of people monopolise housing for holiday lets at the expense of locals" there's a problem. The problem isn't people not from [place] holidaying there, it's the people who monopolise housing for their own profit which reduces housing available for locals and destroys community. In Aberystwyth I've heard some appalling sentiments against people from the Midlands - borderline if not outright classism around their appearances, mannerisms and accents. Sneering at random families visiting the beach isn't going to help anything and only exposes thinly veiled bigotry in whoever is making such remarks.

As already mentioned, another way radicalisation into xenophobic Celtic nationalism can occur is through mythologised 'history' which has been manipulated to suit the needs of the person or people making the claim. Lately, I've been seeing a rise in Welsh 'history' groups rife with disinformation and outright misrepresentation of historical events which are so designed to keep people angry about historical injustices against Wales. There are plenty of real historical injustices which can be talked about - but the 'history' presented in these groups is often fabricated or twisted to make things worse than they were or are stripped of nuance which perhaps paints certain historical figures less favourably than the authors would have liked. Not to mention superimposing modern nationalism onto ancient peoples is also just accepted as fine to do. Here is a screenshot of a Welsh 'history' group shared in a Welsh learning group I'm in. I can and will do a deeper dive into this topic in particular when I can. For now I'll mention the most important things to notice:

As mentioned in one of my other posts on this topic - the term 'native' is frequently misused in a Celtic context. Here, it sets up the basic in-group/out-group dynamic from the start and creates a setting in which members of the group are privy to the 'real' history while others are not. A brief glance at posts in this group makes that quite clear. The flag in the image is a representation of Y Groes Naid - supposedly a piece of the True Cross kept at Aberconwy. Now, there are ways to depict this cross which aren't so dogwhistley - so I'm immediately suspicious this image was chosen on purpose. Right down to the fact there's plausible deniability if anyone tries to point out how much the flag looks like the white supremacist Celtic Cross symbol, since it's Y Groes Naid, right?

I will wrap this up with that as a Celticist, I see far too many people uncritically supporting certain Celtic nationalist movements simply because they are pro-independence. Turning a blind eye to 'acceptable' xenophobia and choosing to believe ahistorical versions of history because it better suits their politics. This must be resisted - we can advocate for the independence of Celtic nations which desire it without relying upon these means. It can be done, I promise. But the path to that means dismantling systems of oppression which exist within Celtic nationalist movements. Awareness of the problem in the first place is a good place to start.

Reblogs and comments are welcome on this post to raise awareness of the issue and actually talk about these things.

Diolch am darllen!

147 notes · View notes