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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 6 months ago

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Yandere Hitman // Accident

Imagine you wake up tied to a chair ducktape over your mouth and the weight of gravity weighing on your chest. Finally gaining your bearings you realize you are haphazardly hanging from a rickety-looking bridge above a raging river by a man in a black compression shirt a bored look on his face and a phone to his ear. You don’t try to struggle only watching wide-eyed as you hope this Hitman doesn’t drop you

“Really…the wrong one? Fine, I’ll figure it out.”

Breathing is so much easier when he pulls you from the edge with one hand by the way. He doesn’t untie you sighing exasperatedly while running a hand through his hair. Finally, he takes the ducktape off your mouth waving off your barrage of questions.

“Look things happened and I was supposed to kill someone who looks a lot like you but not.”

“So you're a hitman and you made a mistake?”

“Yup.”

“Are you going to kill me for knowing you then?”

“I don’t have to.”

“Then can I go home?”

“Er no.”

“Because I’m going to talk?”

“No more like you wouldn’t be able to get into the country anyway.”

Turns out the hitman who happened to target you was incredibly too thorough and ended up burning your ID, crafting up a reasonable missing persons case for you, and making it hard for you to do anything in the country that you can’t properly even find on a map. So to combat the absolute mess of having to go through all the legalese and interrogation you’d go through to get back to your life he comes up with his solution.

“How about you just stay with me? I’ve got more than enough room.”

And he does. It's a place that’s like a small castle, he reasons it’s best that you just help clean the place and maybe make a meal or two. You accept not that you had any other choice at this point so he’ll untie you and take you there. Wherever this backwater country is he’s got a home filled with villagers who are happy to care for it. And in a language you don’t recognize they celebrate it when he brings you home, cheering and excitedly holding your hands. He can’t help but laugh at you while you try to figure things out.

“Hey! What was she saying before?”

“You really shouldn’t just blindly nod to what people are saying. That’s what gets you in trouble.”

“What else am I supposed to do?! She was smiling so wide it must’ve been something nice, right?”

“Hahaha, you're hopelessly adorable.”

When this Hitman is not sitting around laughing at you or mistranslating your requests, he’s not so bad. As the only one who understands what you’re saying and can actually respond to you in a rewarding way. Dismissing that he ruined your everyday life, he’s decent company usually smirking to himself while he makes fun of whatever you're doing.

“That hat is way too big for you and so are your clothes. It’s kinda cute.”

“It’s not cute! For whatever reason nobody will give me anything other than your clothes it’s really inconvenient.”

“How do you know they're mine?”

“Because they smell like–”

“Awwww are you smelling me in your free time (Y/n)?”

“NO! Wait it’s just an observation—”

“Ewww so perverted (Y/n)~”

When he’s not around to mess with you, he’s off to work. Wearing those same tight-fitted pants he did when you first woke up. It’s…a little sad sometimes. He is the only one you can easily communicate with but you manage to enjoy the thousands of books he has in his home, hang out with the kittens of the farm, and slowly but surely get a grasp on the language all the villagers speak. Maybe one day you can surprise him by being able to call him out the next time he tries to humiliate you to the villagers. It certainly keeps you occupied from thinking about going home anytime soon.

“That’s another body in the ground. Where’s my money?”

The hitman once again casually dismembers another target for his client, taking a quick picture before hurrying to the store. You did say you were a fan of a certain gaming system, he’s got more than enough to spend now that he’s completed another job. Not that he really needed to that amount he had could very well pay for the entire lives of generations to come. That is if he hasn’t budgeted for a luxurious life with you.

“Mmm, which one should I get? Hmm?”

“Oh, are you interested in some of our AAA titles?”

“Not for me but for my partner….I’m just worried they’ll leave me and our kids out while playing.”

“Well if you like we have some lighthearted multiplayer games.”

“That’s perfect!”

He does plan as though you already have kids. He doesn’t need to know if you two will conceive with him or adopt but it doesn’t matter it’s happening. Because to him, you two are already bound to be happily married—all according to his plan. He’s just glad it’s going off so far without a hitch.

“Hi I’m back!”

“Welcome welcome hope everything went well for you chief!”

“How are their studies coming?”

“Decent but they’ll never fully be able to grasp the codes, just as you planned.”

“Perfect. (Y/n) they’re saying you should be the one to massage me this time.”

“What?! There is no way they said that.”

Your hitman’s greatest power is his nonchalant attitude. It’s what allows you to accept that it was his carelessness that led to you being targeted in the first place. It’s what have you not looking twice when ‘the villager’ demands you both feed each other. It might take a while before you fully become the you–he envisioned in his plans but he can wait.

After all your hitman’s waited this long. He doesn’t mind waiting a little more.

“Don’t think too much and let’s just let fate that I’ve chosen decide.”

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bahablastplz · 2 months ago

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All in | Finale

pairing: Lee Felix x f!reader (mafia au)

summary: You didn't know what you were getting yourself into when you started dating Yang Jungwon, notorious mafia boss. Your life gets flipped upside down when you're found beaten and bloody by SKZ, the rival mafia group, and you're quickly integrated into their lives. What will happen when you try to leave your old life behind and start anew?

warnings: please see series masterlist for all warnings

series masterlist ~~ main masterlist

<< previous ♡

You barely take a breath before you’re running across the room, finally able to take in Felix’s condition.

You don’t even realize that you’re screaming, cradling a hurt Felix into your chest. You say his name, over and over but he’s unresponsive.

“Help,” you cry out. “Please, someone help.” He doesn’t seem to be doing too well, blood oozing from his shirt, and you can’t help but think, ‘he’s dead, Felix is dead,’ but you see him take a shallow breath, and you can’t help the tears that escape you when you think maybe it wasn’t all for naught.

“Please,” you cry again, and to your pleas of help, someone finally comes rushing in. The door swings open and it’s Hyunjin and Changbin that find you holding onto Felix as if he were your lifeline.

“Help him,” you sob. Your hands are covered in his blood in an attempt to stop the bleeding, and you think you would do anything if it meant that you could see Felix again. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go—it was supposed to be you, being the sacrificial piece to potentially give your life to save them all, to save him, if that’s what needed to be done. Instead, your actions have caused Felix to act out to protect you, causing his own harm. How could this have been prevented?

You watch as Changbin lifts an unconscious Felix out of your arms and off the ground. Changbin grimaces at the sight of Felix, at his state.

Hyunjin walks over to the other body slumped in the corner of the room.

“Chan—“ he says, addressing you as if to ask what happened.

“He’s dead, he’s already gone,” you tell him. “Felix, please focus on Felix. He might still have a chance, please.”

Hyunjin lifts up his arms, conceding. Your heart wrenches as they bring him out of the room, and you hope this isn’t the last time you’ll see him. You don’t want him to leave your sight, really, but as you go to follow them someone places a protective hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Jeongin tells you. In your frazzled state you didn’t even see him come in. “It’s alright. You can stop crying now.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. “No,” you protest, while wiping some tears from your eyes. “Not until I know he’ll be okay.”

Jeongin wraps you into a hug, one that you gratefully accept. You bury your head into his shoulder, not caring about the snot and tears that will inevitably stain his shirt.

“I’m so scared,” you admit. “If I lose him, it’ll be my fault.”

“Don’t think like that,” he scolds. “Not yet. For now, the only thing you can do for him and for yourself is have hope.”

You think that Jeongin is wise beyond his years, and his company soothes you in a way that couldn’t be properly communicated through words.

“Are you hurt?” Jeongin asks when he pulls away, looking you up and down.

“I’m fine,” you answer. “Felix—“

“Listen, there’s nothing we can do about Felix right now except sit and wait. Let the doctors do their jobs. You,” he emphasizes, turning your hands over to examine your bloody knuckles, “are what we should worry about in the meantime.”

“I’m fine,” you emphasize.

“It’s okay if you’re not.” He shoots a look behind you at what you know to be Chan’s body and he’s ushering you out of the room. He’s sparing you from having to look at it any longer, from having to relive it. You can tell he wants to pry and ask what happened but he doesn’t. You’re grateful. “Go, take a shower and get the blood off of you. Someone will make you something to eat, and if you’re hurt, Jisung can help to patch you up.

“But—“

“Let us help you,” he insists. You don’t have the resolve to argue any longer.

You wash off Felix’s blood in the shower. You almost don’t want to, thinking that this is just a small piece of him that you still have with you, but your better judgment tells you that it’s a ridiculous thought. You remember what Jeongin had just told you–the only thing you can do is have hope–and so you don’t cling onto the thought that it’s all you have left of him. Felix will be okay, you repeat like it’s a mantra. The crimson runs down the drain.

You can’t deny that you feel much better after your shower. Your hair needed some tender-loving care, of course, with how much you messed it up before your escapades with Heeseung. Your hands are tender around your palms and finally starting to scab up, but your knuckles are still lightly bleeding from where you punched a mirror. You don’t know how you didn’t notice—your adrenaline must have been protecting you from your aches and pains. When you ditch your dirty, torn clothes and replace them with a fresh and clean set, you feel more human.

You push back the guilt that you feel for being able to do something so mundane, like taking a shower and brushing your hair, when you don’t even know if Felix is alive or dead. You leave your room, not wanting to spend a minute longer in there than you had to. It was a day ago that you had been trapped in here, after all.

Jisung finds you first, wide eyes and confused expression. You take him up on his offer to wrap your hands up and help treat your wounds. It’s here that he finally asks you about the events that had occurred this morning–well, he more makes a statement, and you take this as an opportunity to open up.

“I can’t believe Chan is really gone,” he sighs, applying a balm of sorts onto your hands that makes you wince. “Nobody expected Felix to be the one to do it. They must have really gotten into it.”

“It wasn’t Felix,” you admit. Jisung blinks at you owlishly, not quite understanding what you’re referring to. “That killed Chan. It wasn’t Felix. It was me.”

His mouth opens into a slight ‘o’ shape, taken aback though he doesn’t exclaim or make any remarks. He simply takes your words in stride, nodding at the news.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “The first time is never easy.”

“It’s not my first time, technically,” you say with a small chuckle. “Earlier today, I killed Lee Heeseung and Woojin as well.”

“Woah,” he exclaims. “You’re joking?”

“Unfortunately not. It was supposed to end today. In my head, Felix and I could have been free, together, without the burden of everyone out to get us. Without the restraints that Chan had put on all of you. It was supposed to be done–but now Felix, he might not even—”

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” Jisung says, finally finished treating your injuries. “Well, we don’t know for sure, but it’s gotta be. Felix is strong.”

“I love him,” you say, tears finally beginning to stream down your face. You’re surprised with the delay, that it took you this long to break, but you truly can’t help yourself.

“I know,” he replies. “We all know.” You perk your head up to look at him, surprised. “Felix… we’ve never seen him be happier.”

You don’t know how long you cry for, but you’re in the presence of Jisung the whole time. It’s comforting. When you finally are done and your sobs turn into little hiccups, he walks you to the kitchen, where Minho is cooking a meal for you. Eggs, toast, and bacon. You’re especially appreciative of this, since you’re not sure the last time you ate. You eat in silence, giving Minho a smile of gratitude.

You sit on the couch and watch TV while you wait to hear the news about Felix. At one point, Seungmin comes and joins you. He’s on crutches, his leg completely wrapped from where he was injured not too long ago himself. You watch some crappy TV medical drama together until it’s time for the game, and then he turns on baseball. You are finally able to doze off here, on the couch, which you are both surprised and happy about, because 1.) you weren’t sure you would be able to fall asleep so easily, and 2.) it helped the time pass by quicker until Hyunjin comes to find you.

“I just heard back from the doctor,” he tells you as you blink awake. Your heart starts to beat rapidly in your chest, but you remind yourself not to get your hopes up too high, despite what Jeongin told you, just in case you are completely let down. “Felix… they think he’s going to be okay.”

“Really?” you ask, wiping a tear away as you look up at him. You can’t quite believe his words.

“Yeah. The bullet, it missed his heart, but just barely. He just came out of surgery, and they said it was a success. We’ll just need to closely monitor his recovery in case of infection or any bleeding, but they said his chances are pretty good.”

You envelop Hyunjin into a hug. You’re so overcome by strong emotions that you cry, again.

“We’re surprised,” he says. “As much as I hate to say it, Chan has never missed a shot, so we really couldn’t be sure.”

“That’s because Chan held my hands and made me point the gun at him,” you realize. “I moved, at the last second. Maybe that’s why…”

Hyunjin nods. “You may have just saved Felix’s life.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Felix is unconscious for about 3 days. You see him as soon as you’re allowed to, and you spend just about every possible waking and unwaking second with him. You lie in his bed, talking to him even though you know he probably can’t hear you. You sleep right next to him in his bed too, only leaving when the doctor’s ask you to.

You can’t deny that he looks rough, pale with all sorts of tubes sticking out of him, but he’s alive. That’s all that matters, and you’re thankful for it every day.

You’re right there with him when he finally wakes up. The doctor advised you to not tell him too much at first, worried that the news about Chan might put him into unnecessary shock.

You watch as his eyes flutter open, wincing from the bright hospital lights. He searches the room for a moment until he finds you, and you lock eyes. He smiles weakly.

“You’re okay,” he rasps. You squeeze his hand tight.

“I’m okay? Felix, you’re okay!” you laugh. You reach over to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear and he leans into your touch.

“I love you,” he says, his voice still hoarse but full of emotion.

“I love you too,” you tell him. It’s not the first time you’ve said this to one another, but it somehow holds more weight than the first time.

You stay with Felix for practically his whole recovery. You are grateful for every second that you have together, now unburdened with the fear of someone who will try to take him away from you.

“Chris is dead, isn’t he?” Felix asks one day. The two of you had just been lying in bed, eating breakfast when he asked you out of nowhere. Now that there was no longer a risk of you messing up his recovery or putting him into shock, you could answer him. You nodded your head slowly.

“How did you know?” you murmur.

“Because I’m here with you,” he replies. “I figured… for us to be here, together…”

“Right,” you answer. “That makes sense. Um… yeah, he is dead.”

Felix doesn’t say anything. He rubs circles into your knuckles instead. You rest your head on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he says at last. “And also… I’m sorry. And don’t ever do that again.”

“Hmm?”

“Leave, without me. Do something like that, without trusting me. Take on that burden alone. Potentially… sacrifice yourself, for my sake. Please, promise to never do that again.” You look over at him and realize that his face is wet, tear-tracks staining his ever so beautiful features. “Do you know what it would have done to me, if I had lost you? I would have been broken, Y/N. I woke up alone in that safe-house, alone, I immediately thought the worst. You… you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. I am so grateful for everything you did, but you didn’t have to do it alone.” You reach over and wipe a tear from his eye with your thumb.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I just wanted… I hoped that I could put an end to everything.”

“I know. And I could never be mad at you for that… I was just so, so scared.”

He tilts your chin up suddenly, bringing you into a searing kiss.

“I want you,” he says when he pulls away, a string of saliva connecting your lips. “Can I have you? Please?” He pulls you even closer, so that you’re all but straddling him in his hospital bed.

“Felix, what about your injuries? We have to be careful,” you gasp.

“I’m better, angel, I promise. It doesn’t matter, I just need you so bad right now.” He grinds his hips up into you, pulling your clothed core against his length. He sees you hesitate, clearly fighting an internal battle at whether or not it’s a good idea. “Don’t think. Just feel, tell me you want this too. I’ve been waiting for so long.”

You hesitate again, your gaze flitting between his dark eyes and spit-wet lips. He asked you what you wanted, so you suppose all you can do is answer him truthfully. “I want you, too.”

He lets out a sigh of relief at your words, flipping you over suddenly so that you’re beneath him. He wastes no time in getting you unclothed, and he himself can’t seem to get his own pants off fast enough.

He worships you there in that room, his lips meeting any inch of skin he can find. His fingertips graze all over your body, from your neck to your breasts to your thighs. Your back is arching, keening into his touch before he has even started to touch you properly, but everywhere your skin meets feels electric, as if it were the first time.

“Felix, please,” you beg as the ghost of his fingertips finds your wetness, barely dipping in to gather your arousal. “I need you now. No teasing.”

He lets out a shallow breath. You watch as he grabs his cock, pushing it through your folds. He taps his head against your clit, smiling at the breathy reaction you give him in turn. His grin quickly drops when you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

He pushes into you then, dropping the act of the teasing and giving in. You can’t help the moan that escapes you, and you can tell Felix himself is trying hard not to let out his own sounds.

You kiss him, long and slow as he rams his hips into yours relentlessly. You kiss him until your lips are bruised and swollen from breathing in nothing except for the air he lets out, from where he would nip at your bottom lip and tug it between his teeth just to see your eyes roll back into your head.

He holds you tight while he fucks you, completely safe and embraced in his arms. You can’t tell where Felix ends and you begin, as every inch of skin that the two of you have is touching each other. He grinds and grinds into you though, holding you close with his face pressed into your neck as your release finds you quickly.

You come undone in his arms. He kisses you through it, dropping words of praise and watching every micro-expression. You’re his now. You always have been, if you’re being honest, but it never felt truly cemented until this moment.

He doesn’t stop when you’re overstimulated from your release. Later he would tell you that he loves the way your moans turn into squeaks and the tears start to pool in your eyes from the pleasure, but for now you let him use you until he finds release of his own. You want nothing more than to please him, for him to know that in every way he is yours, you are his.

His hips slam into you a few more times, harder and faster, losing his pace as he approaches his own orgasm. You know he’s close by the way his hips stutter and the way he fights to keep his eyes open, torn between scrunching them up in pleasure and staring at you and your beauty underneath him.

You pull him into a final kiss, your hands coming up to rest behind his head as you say those three words again, the ones you feel that you can say so freely now.

That’s what pushes him over the edge, his hips coming to a halt as he stills inside of you, spilling his hot release into the deepest parts of you.

He rests his head on your chest, fingertips gliding over your skin again as he watches your skin pebble up from the sensation. You stroke your fingers through his hair.

Felix is alive and so are you. You have gone to the ends of the earth for him, and you would do it again if it means you can continue to have moments like these.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

It’s not until a week later that you finally have the discussion about what to do. In the meantime, Felix focused on his recovery and you cherished every moment together. But of course, those times had to come to an end… you must talk about what’s next. What will become of SKZ now that Chan is dead? You know this isn’t an easy decision to make, and while you don’t entirely have a stake in what becomes of the group, you know you will have a say in what becomes of you. Because now that Chan is gone… you can finally leave, if that’s what you desire.

A group meeting is called.

There’s only seven members present at the table, and you. The empty chair where Chan once sat does not feel as bothersome as you thought it might. It’s a reminder, if anything, of what came before. Of what the future might hold.

You start by telling the story of what happened to Chan. From your escape to your successful infiltration of ENHA, all the way to the fight with Chan and Felix. Gasps are heard around the table when he reveals what Chan told him, the truth about him being the one to kill Felix’s parents. Then you revealed how you were the one to kill Chan. Some eyebrows were raised, but nobody really said anything.

“So what now?” Felix asks.

“You were his right-hand man,” Hyunjin says. “If you want to fill his shoes, they’re yours. If you think we should disband, that choice is entirely up to you.” Nods are seen around the table. Felix lets out a loud sigh, running his fingers through his hair.

“It’s hard,” he answers, his accent coming out heavy. “I think SKZ has become a home to some of us over the years, and it feels wrong to take that away from anyone.”

“I have a proposition,” you interrupt. All eyes are on you but it doesn’t feel as scary as it would have when you first arrived. You feel free to speak to everyone now, and you do. “SKZ can become optional to anybody that wants to stay. No ultimatums, like Chan used to have. Felix, you can continue Chan’s businesses, but only the ones that you want to. In the meantime, anybody can do whatever they want.”

Felix smiles at you, encouraging you to keep on going.

“Seungmin can look into our accounts and see how much money we have… Seungmin, we’ll pay for your surgery. Innie, we can give you the money you need to go to fashion school. Changbin can see his mom again, and the rest of you, we can give you space to figure out if this is what you really want to do. There will be no punishment for leaving.”

You see the way that Seungmin and Jeongin’s eyes light up at your words, immediately receptive to your idea. Nobody seems completely turned off to the idea–it’s just a matter of logistics.

Felix decides that he likes your idea. He’s willing to fill Chan’s shoes, he decides, if it means that he can use his power to help everybody else out. He doesn’t want to have any empty promises, unlike Chan. It’s in this way that he feels he can truly find a purpose for himself, after everything that has happened. He asks Hyunjin if he will become his right-hand man. You can tell that that action means a lot to him; you make note to truly thank him later for all that he did, in helping you and Felix escape.

Everyone decides that they want to stay in the house. Whether they’re going to participate in SKZ activities, only time will tell for some of them, but over the years they had created this family that they just didn’t feel ready to leave. One that you have become part of.

Which is why when Felix asks you in front of everyone what you want to do, your answer is easy.

“I want to stay,” you explain. “I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. It will take some adjusting, but I want to find a job. Something to do for myself. It’ll be different, being able to leave freely. I’ll probably take some time to go visit my sister, to explain the situation, but I want to reform my bond with her. And I want to stay here with Felix, and with all of you, if you’ll have me.”

Felix smiles, his eyes turning into soft crescents at your words. “Of course we’ll have you.”

And that settles that.

That night, you crawl into Felix’s bed with him. You cry in his arms, as you often do most nights since the incident, but he consoles you. When he’s with you, you get the feeling that everything is going to be okay.

He tells you that he loves you. You say it back.

You are his and he is yours. The future looks brighter than it ever has because he will be there with you. You have a whole group of people to fall back onto now. Even after everything you have been through, you don’t regret it and you wouldn’t change it.

You are a different person, after all, and you like who you are now. You have become stronger, more resilient. And while you want to thank Felix for that, you know that you have done a lot of it yourself. You are proud.

Hopeful.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

A/n: The end guys! I hope everyone enjoyed. Thanks to everyone for sticking with me, and thanks to my frequent commenters and rebloggers, you guys have all made it worth it. I'm finally done with my first multichapter story and it feels so bittersweet, All In really has been my baby for several months. Let me know what you thought of the ending!! I don't know what will be next, probably several random oneshots but I hope you all will stick with me for my next story, whatever it may be. <3

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laurentpark · 7 months ago

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don’t tell my boyfriend! — [4] better than me

synopsis. where jimin stalks her boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend after a certain incident happened and couldn’t help but grow hatred over her. coincidentally, her and jimin happen to be global ambassadors of the same famous luxury brand and have to work together for a commercial. at first, jimin despised the girl with all her flesh and bones but soon understands why her boyfriend fell for the young actress in the first place… because she was starting to fall for the young actress as well.

“minjeong, is that you?”

the short-haired girl curses underneath her breathe once she heard her leader call out for her. what was supposed to be a trip to the kitchen to grab a cold glass of water might just turn into a therapy session after what the older girl is going through right now.

“yeah, it is.” minjeong responds before turning back to see jimin still at full focus into the tv screen, eyes glued, as her eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

minjeong wasn’t particularly a nosy person, let alone gets in interested in things but she was invested in what show or movie the leader is so invested in to stay up all night rather than sleeping especially after a full day of practicing.

her gaze travels from the back of jimin’s head to the tv screen, there showing a close up shot of jaewook’s face before it cuts back to a close up shot of y/n.

then a kissing scene arrives.

minjeong looks back at her leader with concern and sympathy evident in her expression. “that’s the last show you should be watching.”

“they look good together, no?” was all jimin responded.

“mind telling me why you’re watching a romance drama with your boyfriend as the male lead in the first place?”

“they dated.” jimin pauses the show, the tv stuck on y/n’s face which jimin took the time and examine the actress’s features. “him and y/n…they dated.”

the eldest member explains as she never took her gaze off the screen, her eyes glued onto it as if she was being hypnotized by the actress’s beauty. despite this, she could feel her throat tighten, fists clenched in anger…perhaps even in envy, she could feel her head being filled with hatred the more she thought of the girl.

minjeong takes notice of this and raises her brow.

“unnie, don’t tell me you’re jea-“

“i’m not!” jimin snaps, gritting her teeth as she tears her gaze from the tv and looks her younger member deeply in the eyes. “have it my way, winter. your boyfriend is only dating you to get over his ex. their fans are spreading hate all over your social media. but what i hate the most is that she’s so much more better than me!”

“what are you talking about?” minjeong’s voice was gentle and laced with concern. “what do you mean he’s only dating you to get over his ex?”

“you know how aeri somehow knows everything, right?” minjeong nods her head in response. “she revealed to me last night how i might just be a rebound to jaewook after all.”

minjeong’s gaze hardens. “explain.”

“right before i asked him out- y/n apparently broke up with him.” jimin sighs as she grips on the couch tightly before looking back at the tv screen. “and the worst thing is i can’t even compete.”

“unnie…” minjeong’s spoke in a gentle tone, stepping closer towards her leader and gives her a comforting hug coming from the back. “do you know what i would do?”

“what?”

“talk with jaewook.” minjeong responds. “ask him about the truth, if he shared any feelings with me in the first place. it’d be unfair if you broke up with him right off the back, you should talk. have proper communication and try to understand each other. who knows, maybe he did accept your confession to get over y/n but eventually fell for you the more you spent time together.”

“you think so?” minjeong nods silently. “should i give him a chance then?”

“collect your thoughts and talk to him later.” minjeong advised to the leader. “try to work things out. it’d be waste for you to break things off just after you confirmed the dating news.”

“yeah…i should that.” the leader agrees with her younger member and flashes her a small smile. “you know for someone who barely talks, you give pretty good advice.”

“don’t expect this to become an everyday occasion.”

pre-chap. next chap. masterlist

tags. @xen248 @thefckghost @yunalvrrr @yeetaberry127 @lisaswifey @gtfoiydlyj @seunghancore @jeindall777 @multiliker @hyejin67 @1luvkarina @cwpiqwon @sunshinez4 @yoontoonwhs @wintersgff @celtyryuko @sixflame438 @rinapomu @ahnneyong @gayforalll @yukianism @winieter @inybits @nctislifue @pandafuriosa60

#aespa x reader #karina #karina x reader #aespa #kpop #kpop x reader #smau #winter #yoo jimin #giselle #ningning #ning yizhuo #kpop smau #kpop fanfic #don’t tell my boyfriend!#wlw #gxg

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bucephaly · 4 months ago

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Reconnecting Cherokee Masterpost

I’ve had a few Cherokee posts blow up on here and as a result I’ve gotten lots of ‘my grandma said she was cherokee’ ‘I’m supposed to have Cherokee roots I wish I knew anything about it’ ‘I was never taught anything about my Cherokee ancestry’ type sentiments in my activity. So! I wanna make a little masterpost with some resources on how to verify or disprove these types of family stories and how to get started for those interested in reconnecting!

A little about me and a disclaimer. I’ve not been reconnecting that long, about a year and a half, and before that I didn’t know I was Cherokee. I did not grow up Cherokee and I am white. What I’m going to be talking about is simply resources for genealogy, language, good places to connect online, etc. these are all things I’ve dealt with as I reconnect, but I am not any sort of authority on Cherokee issues or culture. The purpose of this post is to get people who know absolutely nothing about Cherokee identity and community started in learning more and seeing what needs to be done before reconnecting. And I acknowledge that the genealogical records and resources available for Freedmen descendants and Afro-indigenous people may not be as conclusive, and I simply urge Afro-indigenous people to do what research you can. I am also only Cherokee, I can’t speak for how any of this works for other tribes. Now, to get started

I’ll be talking about

Genealogy

Enrollment

Basic info about Reconnecting

and Language

Genealogy

Genealogy is the most important first step for anyone wanting to reconnect, or even just wanting to claim Cherokee ancestry at all. Unless you have done genealogy research that has shown ancestry connecting you to ancestors on the accepted Cherokee rolls or you are or have family who are citizens of one of the 3 federally recognized Cherokee tribes, please do not make claims of Cherokee identity or ancestry.

Fake ‘granny stories’ of Cherokee ancestry are very common, particularly in the South / Appalachia. These stories often go something like ‘my great-grandmother was fullblood Cherokee. She hid out from the soldiers rounding the Cherokee up for the Trail of Tears.’ There are many many variants, such as children being adopted by a white family, being traded away, or just otherwise being left behind or abandoned. I also frequently see ‘they escaped and hid in the mountains,’ ‘they pretended to be white / black,’ etc. Remember, the Trail of Tears happened in 1838, 185 years ago. My ggg grandfather was 2, so unless you are 60+ it would be unlikely that a great grandparent was alive during that period. This mythical great-grandmother is also occasionally an ‘Indian princess.’ There are many excuses for why ancestors might not show up on known Cherokee records, such as ‘the records were burned in a courthouse fire’ or ‘they were intentionally removed from the records,’ etc. Physical features are also claimed to prove stories, such as high cheekbones, dark hair, darker skin, etc. Old family photos showing grandparents with tan skin, etc, are also brought up pretty frequently. None of those prove anything, as many people of European or mixed ancestry can have these traits. Stories like this are also not exclusive to white families, they can definitely be present in Black families as well. These stories are most often entirely fabricated or resulting from a misunderstanding. It’s pretty common to have someone be familiar with the fake stories but convinced that their family story is the one exception and has to be real, which ends up being instantly caught as fake by anyone that knows the history, you’d be surprised haha. Here is a post I’ve made talking about fake stories in more depth.

DNA testing cannot prove descent from any specific Native tribe. An ‘indigenous American’ result on a DNA test does not prove native ancestry, as DNA tests are frequently wrong especially when it comes to ‘trace ancestry’. Nor does a DNA test showing 0 native DNA prove that one doesn’t have native ancestry. DNA tests are a novelty and irrelevant to native genealogy. The only time they are useful is in finding cousins through DNA matches, which can be especially useful for adoptees.

Now, getting into actual genealogy, the main process with Cherokee genealogy is fairly simple. I’m not going to go in depth on the process of genealogy in general, there are plenty of resources for that. Get what info you can from your family [names, birthdates, places people lived] of your recent ancestors, then find their census records [census records from 1950 and earlier are publicly available] or what records you can, and go back, finding their parents, etc. The goal is to get around to 1900. See where they were living at that point, as that will effect what rolls they might be on. There are three main Cherokee rolls that are looked at for determining ancestry [but there are other rolls as well]

The Dawes Rolls taken between 1898 - 1914 recorded the Cherokees living in the Western Cherokee Nation, Indian Territory before Oklahoma Statehood. This roll came with allotments, parcels of land given to the Cherokees. Cherokee Freedmen are also recorded on this roll, along with Intermarried and Adopted Whites. This is the roll that CNO and UKB uses for enrollment. Here is where it can be searched.

The Baker Rolls taken between 1924 - 1929 recorded the Cherokees living on the Qualla Boundary in western North Carolina. This is the roll that the EBCI uses for enrollment

The Guion Miller Roll taken between 1906 - 1911 recorded Cherokees living anywhere and was associated with a cash payout.

I can’t find free searchable databases of the Baker or Miller rolls, but you can find them on some ancestry sites like ancestry.com with a membership or free trial. Also, be aware that these rolls all have “Declined” sections of people who applied and were declined for having no proof of ancestry, mostly just applying to try to get money or land meant for Cherokees. This is especially true of the Miller roll, where 2/3rds of the applicants were declined.

If your ancestors aren’t on any of these rolls, can be found in US census records before 1900, or aren’t living in the Cherokee homelands in the early 1800s, they are almost surely not Cherokee. Also, be wary of results on ancestry sites that start cropping up in the 1700s where the only evidence is another person’s family trees. There are many people claiming descent from Dragging Canoe, Chief Moytoy, and others that put these things on their ancestry trees when none of these people have any descendants. And people will just make up entirely fictional people. Just be sure there are actual documents tying them to the Cherokee and to your ancestors [as people will make up fake children of real figures like Nancy Ward as well]

There is a fantastic resource for Cherokee genealogy in the Cherokee Research and Genealogy Facebook group. The researchers are experts on Cherokee genealogy and will run your lines for FREE and determine conclusively whether you have Cherokee ancestry or not. When they find someone with Cherokee ancestry, they will also find your ancestors’ enrollment applications, allotment locations, etc. they’re really fantastic and I highly recommend checking them out and saving yourself the trouble of doing the research yourself. Just read their rules thoroughly. Even if you did do some research, if you hit a wall or just want confirmation, check them out! Especially if you think you found legitimate ancestry, getting them to double check will remove any doubt.

Enrollment

There are three federally-recognized Cherokee tribes. Each has their own community, resources, and different requirements for enrollment. These are: the United Keetoowah Band [UKB] located in Tahlequah, OK, the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians [EBCI] in Cherokee, North Carolina, and the Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma [CN or CNO] in Tahlequah, OK. Each of these have distinct histories. Cherokee Nation is the largest by far.

Be wary of fraudulent state-recognized Cherokee tribes. If a Cherokee tribe is not one of the three mentioned above, then it is not recognized by the others as legitimate. These state tribes often take resources that are supposed to be going to legitimate native communities [such as school funding], spread misinformation, etc. These communities often have obviously fake non-Cherokee traits such as ‘naming ceremonies’ and members with laughably stereotypical names like ‘spirit wolf’ and ‘white owl’ lol [also, this is specifically about state tribes claiming to be Cherokee, I can’t speak to the legitimacy of other groups.]

Two of the three Cherokee tribes have a blood quantum requirement. Blood quantum [BQ] is how much ‘native blood’ one has, depicted as a fraction. BQ is a very complex topic in native communities, which I won’t get into here. EBCI has a 1/16 BQ requirement, so to be a citizen you must has 1/16 Eastern Cherokee blood, as well as have an ancestor on the Baker Roll. UKB has a 1/4 BQ requirement, so citizens must have 1/4 Cherokee blood and an ancestor on the Dawes Rolls or the 1949 UKB roll. CNO has no BQ requirement, if an ancestor is listed as By Blood on the Cherokee Dawes Rolls, or listed as a Cherokee Freedman, then you are eligible for CNO citizenship.

Do not come into Cherokee spaces just asking what sort of benefits enrollment can get you. It’s pretty disrespectful and makes it seem like you only care about what you can take from us.

Reconnection

So you did your genealogy and found that you have documented Cherokee ancestry, what next? Reconnection is a long and difficult process and I’ve barely even started, but I’ll try to give what resources and info I can.

Who can reconnect? This can vary between people, but most often I see people [biased towards Cherokees who are active online] saying that anyone with legitimate documented Cherokee ancestry can reconnect. Some people prefer reconnectors are able to enroll in one of the 3 tribes, some prefer people have connected living family, it varies a lot. In my experience as someone who is white and not a citizen yet, if you are respectful and humble, people are pretty accepting. It’s also important to think about why you want to reconnect. You need to be prepared to give back to your people as much if not more than you get. That means learning the language, the history, learn about current issues, etc. Don’t go into it just wanting to be able to say you’re Cherokee as a fun fact or get some sort of monetary benefit. It’s also important to remember that you will get asked to prove yourself. Don’t be offended if you’re asked if you’re enrolled, who your family is, how you’re Cherokee, etc. This is part of our cultural protocols. Not only do we want to keep people with fake family stories from getting into our spaces, we also just like finding relatives! It’s also very important to remember your place as a reconnecting Cherokee. Don’t think having legitimate ancestry suddenly means you’re able to talk with authority on native issues or suddenly claim to be oppressed. If you’re white, don’t suddenly start claiming to be a POC or “white-passing,” you can be white and Cherokee. Cherokee is not a race.

Reconnecting is a difficult process, especially if you are far from any Cherokee communities. You cannot reconnect alone. You aren’t reconnecting to some distant past, or to stories in a book, you are reconnecting to a living community. This can be tough for people who are far from Oklahoma or North Carolina, and there are some things that are not really possible to learn except in person. But you can still learn, and there are some online spaces. I particularly find the ᎠᏂᏣᎳᎩ ᏍᎦᏚᎩ (Cherokee Community) Facebook Group valuable. It’s kinda small, but it’s one of the best ways to engage with Cherokee community online. Sorry if you’re a Facebook hater, Facebook is going to be your best bet for actually meeting people and engaging. The Cherokee Community group requires proof of ancestry before members can join. This usually just means sending your tribal ID or your thread in the Cherokee Research and Genealogy group to an admin and they’ll let you in.

Here are some good basic things to check out for reconnecting

OsiyoTV

Cherokee Nation YouTube

Museum of the Cherokee People YouTube

Cherokee Stories of the Turtle Island Liars Club by Chris B Teuton, Hastings Shade, Sequoyah Guess, Sammy Still, and Woody Hansen

Cherokee Earth Dwellers by Chris B Teuton and Hastings Shade

Mooney’s Myths of the Cherokee [note: this was written by a white man in 1910 after after spending some time with the Eastern Cherokee. The history is iffy, but the stories were recorded directly from Cherokee storytellers.]

Trail of Tears: The Rise and Fall of the Cherokee Nation by John Ehle

Do your own research, but be extremely wary of Anything posted publicly online. There is lots of misinformation about Cherokee culture. Personally, I mostly do my learning in the vetted Cherokee Facebook groups, in books written by actual citizens, and by talking with connected friends. Google is rarely your friend in this case.

Language

The language is the center of our culture, it is what makes us Cherokee. It is our duty as Cherokees and as reconnecting people to learn the language. I can’t stress enough how important it is. If you aren’t putting any effort to learn the language, it shows others that you aren’t committed and you will likely have trouble getting any help reconnecting from others, it just looks bad haha. Not saying you have to be fluent overnight, I’ve been reconnecting for a year and I still am very much a beginner, ‘it doesn’t matter how slow you go, as long as you don’t stop’ as CNO language teacher Ed Fields says. Luckily, there are plenty of resources for learning online!

It’s good to learn the syllabary or at least familiarize yourself with it early, as it’s a good introduction to the sounds present in the language. It’s an important part of our culture and the language too. There are also many learning resources that are only in syllabary, so you’re missing out on those if you don’t know it. Here are some good resources for learning:

Simply Cherokee Syllabary by Marc W Case [HIGHLY recommended. I got reasonably confident in syllabary in like a weekend thanks to this book. You can find fairly cheap ebooks versions. It has a story for each character that makes it so easy to remember and associate the characters with their sounds.]

Learn Cherokee Syllabary app [Apple] [Android]

Syllabary fonts and keyboard

There are lots of resources for learning the language. It’s really good to hear it as often as possible when learning vs just reading it, as I’ve messing up so much in my pronunciation from just reading it and now I’m having to break habits. You preferably want to hear first language speakers. There are two main dialects of Cherokee, usually roughly split between Eastern and Western. Dialects vary a lot within those communities as well. If you still have contact with any relatives that speak Cherokee, it’s always better to learn as much as you can from them.

youtube

Cherokee Nation language department [just explore this site, they have lots of resources!]

Cherokee Learner site [explore this site too, this is a great compilation of pretty much every Cherokee language resource, eastern and western]

Online Cherokee Class with first language speaker Ed Fields

RSU Cherokee Lessons [youtube]

Mango lessons

Other apps, including the Memrise course

Online Cherokee dictionary

That’s all I can think to say right now! I’ll probably add to this later as I learn more, find more resources, and get suggestions from others. But for now, good luck, ᏩᏙ, ᏙᏓᏓᎪᎲᎢ !

#Cherokee #tsalagi #ᏣᎳᎩ #ndn #reconnecting #ndn tag #indigenous #Native American #definitely open to corrections and suggestions. please let me know if anything here is wrong or misleading

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cece693 · 5 months ago

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I'm Staying with You (Edward Scissorhands x M! Reader)

I just watched Edward Scissorhands, and why isn't anybody writing about this sweat bean? He deserves a good ending, fight me.

Summary: M/N remembers the day he met the shy, cute boy with scissors for hands. After all, his mother brought him into their home and slowly integrated him into their community. So when things go south, it is M/N who decides to run away with him.

When your mother announced a guest was staying with them, M/N didn't think much of it. He didn't care nor would he attempt to interact with them, but when a boy with literal scissors for hands had sat at their dining room table, M/N grew fascinated.

Edward was unlike anything or anyone he'd ever met—his mannerisms were that of a gentleman, a word that literally fit the boy to a T. He was soft-spoken and held such an innocent aura about him, M/N at first thought it was all an act. That Edward had an ulterior motive because how would he have survived centuries isolated from the world without one noticing? But as M/N interacted with the boy, it became clear it was just who Edward was. A cute, sweet, albeit too trusting, boy who just wanted to be accepted. So it wasn't too much of a surprise when M/N found himself becoming protective and slightly possessive over Edward.

Hearing that their neighbor Joyce had taken her clothes off while showing him the back of a store infuriated M/N, angrily stabbing at his plate until Kim uncomfortably changed the subject. But the damage was already done. Ignoring Edward’s curious gaze, M/N stood up from the table and stormed out of the house. He didn’t have a destination in plan, just wanting space to process his emotions. M/N wasn’t dumb; he knew he had unexpectedly fallen for Edward, but he also knew Edward felt similar feelings towards his sister Kim. A part of him was jealous of the relationship they shared, but another was happy that Edward knew some sort of happiness. In his eyes, Edward deserved the world and more. If Kim was part of that, how could M/N be angry?

But then, fucking Jim had to ruin everything with his jealousy. M/N was horrified when Jim tricked Edward into stealing a van, only to leave him to face the charges alone. He seethed with anger as the townspeople, who once marveled at Edward’s talents, now turned their backs on him. Where was this hate when Edward was cutting their lawns and styling their hair? It was clear they had only used him for their benefit before discarding him like yesterday’s trash.

Jim’s cruelty didn’t stop there. He took it a step further, escalating his torment into a physical fight with Edward. M/N watched in worry as the two struggled, the situation spiraling out of control. The confrontation ended with Jim’s death—an act of self-defense, but M/N knew the townspeople wouldn’t see it that way.

M/N’s heart pounded as he turned to Edward, urgency lacing his voice. “Edward, you have to stay here. The townspeople—they won’t understand what happened.”

Edward’s large, dark eyes looked up at M/N, filled with heartbreaking innocence. He shook his head slowly, his hands—those delicate scissor hands—trembling slightly. “I don’t want to leave you.” He whispered, his voice soft and pleading.

M/N felt his resolve wavering as he gazed into those puppy-dog eyes. This was supposed to be goodbye, the last time they’d see each other. He had planned to protect Edward by sending him away, but now, faced with the boy’s sadness and fear, M/N’s determination crumbled. “Edward.” M/N began, his voice catching in his throat. He stepped closer, raising his hand to place it slowly on Edward’s face. “I…I don’t want to leave you either. But if you come back with me, they’ll hurt you. I can’t let that happen.”

Edward’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as he continued to shake his head. “Please, don’t go.” M/N swallowed hard, his mind racing. He couldn’t bear to see Edward so heartbroken. The thought of leaving him alone in that mansion, isolated and afraid, was unbearable.

“Okay.” M/N whispered, his voice turning firm as he made a snap decision. “Okay, listen to me. Stay here in the mansion. I’ll come back when I resolve everything.”

Edward’s expression softened, a flicker of hope igniting in his eyes. “You promise?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

M/N nodded, his thumb tracing Edward’s jaw reassuringly. “I promise. I just need to fix things here first. Make sure no one follows us. Then I’ll come back. Just wait for me, okay?”

Edward hesitated for a moment before finally nodding, trusting M/N’s word. “Okay.” he said softly. M/N leaned in, pressing a brief, tender kiss to Edward’s forehead.

“I’ll be there soon.” he whispered. “I swear.”

With one last look, M/N down the stairs and out the mansion, into the snowy ground. His mind raced as he thought through the plan. He could tell the townspeople that both Jim and Edward had killed each other, using Jim’s body as evidence. But to make the story convincing, M/N knew he needed something else—something tangible of Edward’s that wouldn’t raise questions about the legitimacy of his story.

As the realization hit him, M/N’s eyes widened. Without wasting another moment, he turned on his heel and raced back into the mansion, heading straight for the room where Edward’s creator had left his tools and inventions. The room was dusty and filled with remnants of unfinished work, the echoes of a life dedicated to creating Edward.

In the corner of the room, M/N spotted what he needed: multiple prototypes of Edward’s body. His gaze fell on a hand made of flimsy metal scraps, an early attempt at the scissor hands that had become a part of the man. It was incomplete, rough around the edges, but it would serve its purpose. M/N carefully picked up the metal hand, feeling its cold, uneven surface in his grasp. This would be enough to convince the townspeople that Edward was gone.

Leaving the mansion, M/N began his trek back to town, the cold biting at his skin as he walked through the snow-covered path. With each step, he couldn’t help but rethink his decision to leave everything behind for Edward. He would miss his family dearly, the warmth of their home, the familiarity of their voices. But deep down, M/N had known for a while that he never truly belonged.

The town, with its narrow minds and rigid expectations, had never felt like home to him. There was always a part of him that longed for something more, something different. Meeting Edward had only solidified that feeling.

And it wasn’t as if M/N couldn’t make short visits to his family—specifically his mother and sister, Kim. He could still see them from time to time, even if things would be different. To the outside world, he could fabricate a story about moving to a faraway city for work or to start a new life. It wouldn’t be entirely untrue, just missing a few crucial details. Mom and Kim would understand, or at least, M/N hoped they would. Edward has been abandoned for far too long; M/N wanted to fix this.

#tim burton #edward scissorhands #Edward scissorhands x male reader #Edward Scissorhands

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mudandmire · 7 months ago

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Contrasts

Azris Week - Day One: Contrasts

~~~ Hello hello! I found the Azris ship and the community this year and have absolutely been consumed by it. I love this idea, I love these two characters, and I love that there's so much potential between them and for them to feed and inspire such a wonderful community. I've never participated in the acotar fandom apart from this, and I'm so excited! Thank you so much to @azrisweek for putting together this event, I have had so much fun letting my brain run free like a dog off a leash with these prompts :D ~~~

Tell me

Azriel calls him tatlım, and Eris doesn’t know what it means.

It’s a secret, he supposes he can accept it—relate to it. Nooks and hidden corners itch and snarl with the weight of his own. An enchanted drawer he keeps in the washroom holds his greatest wonder and his greatest shame.

The journal weighs heavy in Eris’s mind. He traces back the parchment pages with intangible fingers during lulls in his father’s council meetings. The drone of bees, lazy and fat in the afternoon sun becomes the hushed whisper of a canyon gale through dried grass. The lines he inks, stroke by stroke, Azriel matches in full, thrumming strides. Words next to his are clean, unbroken, while Azriel’s remain thick, written in charcoal with smudges at the corners from where his fist has run over the line.

When it’s dark, a time when even shadows cannot creep and loom larger, Eris presses his own fingertips to those words. The smears of charcoal because Azriel had told him early on in their budding friendship when they were young that he can’t use quills.

“They're too thin, my hands shake too much.” A smaller version of Azriel speaks the memory into his mind. The whorls and pockmarks on his hands hidden between the gap of his thighs.

Eris had taken it as a challenge—and now he revels in it. Azriel is messy with his charcoal pencil, too free with his mistakes and smudges and it leaves Eris half a country away and entirely breathless.

‘Tell me what bothers you, tatlım.’ Azriel had written him earlier, the familiar scrawl of his heavy hand appearing stroke by stroke in the filled pages of Eris’s enchanted journal.

Two were made, Eris gave one away. He could not bring himself to regret it even if his life were on the line.

‘Tatlım?’ Eris had asked, his letters looped and coiled together in the way they get when he rushes, when he needs answers.

There was no sound save for Eris’s own steady pulse, the whistle of air through his nose as he waited for a response. And yet he could’ve swore he heard Azriel’s laugh, the breathy one, brush against the point of his ear.

The words appear in the space between one breath and the next: ‘Maybe one day, gach’lilit, I will tell you. For now, stop avoiding my prying.’

Eris places a hand on the rise of his chest. Holding in something that seems to be rising from his stomach to his throat and lands gently on his tongue like the orange and black patterned butterflies in the garden.

‘Tell me now,’ he begs, ‘and I will tell you whatever you wish, Azriel.’

‘Come back to visit me, sweetheart. That’s all I ask.’

It had formed a pause in their effortless back and forth. Eris wanted to—Azriel knew that. No, the issue wasn’t in Azriel’s plea, he knew just how much Eris longed for the little village in the Illyrian steppes. The stable in the field and the small, knobby kneed, black lamb that follows Azriel around like ducklings in the Forest House pond in spring. He misses the creeping, ruby red moss and the yellow and sage aspens that crop up from out of the golden plains like the jagged teeth of a cliff.

Most of all, most desperately of all, he misses Azriel. There is not one inch of his soul that doesn’t.

The inked tip of his quill hangs over the page, a knife poised for the final push. Through skin, muscle, bone, to the heart of everything—the rot that waits, festering under the floorboards of his adamant desire to run. It is one thing; it is also a collection of things Eris has stored like the most gruesome of trinkets, the most harrowing of trophies.

Because Azriel calls him sweetheart. He writes in his tongue letters of longing and punctuates them with words like tatlım, and gach’lilit. As much as Eris wants to stitch those given titles to his chest, he already has one.

Eris Vanserra. Heir of Fire. Son of Autumn.

Sweetheart. Tatlım. Gach’lilit.

He cannot have both. The heir who wears the crown, who feels it’s golden spiked thorns pierce the thin skin of his head knows this. Eris Vanserra was not born with room on his chest for titles other than this: his father’s son.

When his quill meets the page, a heaviness in his hand that wasn’t previously there, he knows Azriel already knows what he will write.

‘Soon,’ he lies, ‘when the festival of the summer sun comes, I’ll visit.' Eris Vanserra cannot flaunt about the wilds of the Night Court without purpose or reason. Even less if the hint of the reason is his desire to see an Illyrian male—but he can set out on inter-court business to strengthen alliances, break down information, and gather intel. Eris Vanserra cannot winnow straight from the quilts of his bed into the hay-strewn floor of Azriel’s stable.

No matter how much he wants to.

His chest pinches, a sharp point digging into the sensitive skin between his ribs when Azriel takes a minute longer to reply. The page remaining horribly empty with their spare words, their delicate dance.

‘Then I will just have to hold onto these words a little longer, besheirt. I wish for you to hear them in person, for they are as sacred to me as you are.’

Something cracks, folds then splinters and out pours a smile like evening sunlight through the painted colors of autumn leaves in the canopy. The tension building in his shoulders leaks down and pools around his feet, an unwanted puddle he completely forgets about. Eris may be an heir, a son of autumn, and child of a loveless, forced marriage; but he is also sacred. Something holy and divine by only the rights of Azriel, and Azriel alone.

Eris has his titles. The stitched corners of his heart taken up piece by piece, but he will forever play the game of keeping himself in between the two if it will let him keep Azriel.

He has his own titles to give him.

~~///~~///~~///~~

(Key for words:)

Tatlım - ‘Sweetheart’

Gach’lilit - ‘Firefly’

Besheirt - ‘Notion of a soul mate, but mostly means Intended in terms of spouse’

aH. Alright okay cool I'm so normal about them. This is a short little thing, and it doesn't follow canon lore lol sorry about that. I really loved the idea of contrasts because for me it's what first drew me to this pairing. At first it seemed like there were too many contrasts for them to even be compatible, and then through softening my perspective of both of these characters and their flaws (and no small amount of delusion in which we merely squint from afar at SJMs portrayal of these characters) I found that maybe these contrasts actually enhance their chemistry. what crazy imagine that.

#your honor im obessed with them thanks #azris #azrisweek2024 #azriel x eris #ah im main tagging this is frightening.

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rileyslibrary · 2 years ago

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HELLO!!!! Soo i was wondering if you could do a very strictly platonic COD MW2 141 (or others, whatever u want!) x gn or fem (she/they pronouns or they/them pronouns, both are fine to me) reader 😸 it can be them interacting, or on a mission, or something along those lines!!! For aome specifications, i was thinking of the reader being the youngest in the 141, but still very skilled at what they do. Lots of love!!! ❤️❤️

Hmmm…I believe have just the thing for you, anon! *climbs up the rolling library ladder and comes down with a story*. I was saving this for another time but, here, you can have it.

(It doesn’t have everything you requested in it, and I added a few things here and there, but I think it works. Enjoy!)

———————————————————————

“Are they okay?”

“I don’t know, but I think they’re breathing.”

“You sure?”

Soap hikes up his pants and settles on a bench, a few meters away from where your body lies. He tilts his head and squints his eyes, searching for any signs of movement.

“Yes,” he finally says to Gaz, who sits beside him, legs stretched out and back resting against the concrete wall. “You’re right—they’re breathing.”

You all just returned to your temporary base from your latest mission, exhausted but unharmed. It has been a while since you managed to secure a win, and a much-needed one at that, after a string of defeats which began to take a toll on the team’s morale. Fights started to break out, filled with little jabs of what could have been done better, whose fault it was, and pointing fingers instead of acknowledging the team’s effort.

On the outside, you maintained a professional facade for the contractors and the world, but the strain was beginning to show behind closed doors. It was like a house with a pristine front porch, while the backyard concealed a chaotic mess, hidden from view.

But this time, you nailed it—all of you. Whether it was luck, improved communication, better strategy, or the alignment of stars, you managed to come through. And suddenly, the future seemed a little brighter, for now.

“I can hear you, you know.” You murmur, slowly pushing yourself up into a seated position.

“Didn’t mean to disturb you,” Soap says, “we were just making sure you were alright; you took quite the beating earlier.”

You give him a tired smile. “No worries,” you reply, stretching your arms and legs. “I was just doing some breathing exercises to relax.”

“You know,” he says to Gaz, “I read about these breathing exercises, and they’re supposed to—”

“You read?”

Your attention shifts to the corner nearby, where Ghost and Price stand, engaged in their conversation about the mission. Price smiles at Ghost’s comment, but Ghost’s tone suggests he isn’t joking. It’s hard to tell since his voice always sounds the same, whether telling jokes or giving orders.

“Yes,” Soap replies, “and they say it’s supposed to help calm certain edgy, skull-faced boys.”

“As a matter of fact, I think you would all benefit from this,” you state, spreading your arms wide, inviting them to join you. “Lie down.”

“Not my way of calming down, kid,” Ghost replies, “I’d much rather prefer a glass of bourbon.”

“Do you have a glass of bourbon right now, Lt?”

“No.”

“Then lie down.”

“Order me one more time, you little sh-”

Price claps his hands once and places his right hand on Ghost’s shoulder, giving him gentle pats.

“Come on, brother,” he says, “We have nothing else to do right now—our flight won’t be arriving anytime soon, and my back is killing me.”

You’ve often wondered what makes the Lieutenant so salty, and each time you resorted to blaming that mask of his. Having it on all the time must be uncomfortable, like a bra that you can’t wait to sling across the room at the end of a long day. But you never doubted what brings him back to his senses or at least makes him more accepting—it was Price himself.

Ghost sighs and removes the towel he had draped over his shoulder. He places it on the ground and lies down. Soap, Gaz, and Price follow his lead, with Price placing a towel while the others rest directly on the concrete. Ghost mutters something like “ya filthy mutts” under his breath, and you make soothing hushing noises to prevent any potential conflict from arising. The last thing you want right now is a simple breathing exercise to turn into a Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu session.

You wait for them to settle in a comfortable position, and with a gentle voice, you begin guiding them through.

“Let’s start by taking a deep breath through the nose,” you whisper. “Feel the air fill your lungs. Hold it in, then slowly exhale through your mouth.”

You continue the guidance, leading them through a series of deep breaths. You focus on the softness in your voice and pair it with the rhythm of your words to create a soothing cadence.

“As you inhale, imagine a wave washing over you,” you continue. “And as you exhale, imagine releasing any burden, letting it drift away with each breath.”

As you guide them through the breathing exercise, everything becomes so serene, even for you, who acts as their guide. There’s some heavy breathing and slight shifting here and there, but that’s much better than the usual arguments, yelling, and complaints. There are no more blame games or defeated postures. You have all worked so hard. Now you and the team can finally find some peace.

You twist your body to look at your teammates, and a smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you find them all asleep, like children at nap time.

Ghost has one hand behind his head, the other resting on his chest. He has finally let go of the tension that usually consumes him. So much for that glass of bourbon, Lieutenant, you think to yourself.

Soap is curled up to the side, with his knees drawn closer to his body. He has formed a pillow with his hands and placed them under his head.

Next to him, Gaz lies on his back, one leg straight and the other bent to the side, like a ballerina caught mid-spin.

Price placed his hat on his face, shielding his eyes from the light. His legs are crossed, and his fingers are interlocked on his stomach.

You continue speaking, but softer now, to avoid waking them. You rise up, careful not to disturb them, and move silently to the door, leaving it slightly open, to not startle them upon closing it.

You step out into the hallway and close your eyes, taking one deep breath of your own.

———————————————————————

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librarycard · 1 year ago

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I thought i was done with talking about my chemical romance fandoms crazy gender essentialism and transmisogyny and misogyny in general but i have one more thing. actually two. because i have yet to discuss why this is so personal to me.

number one: i really, really hope you people don’t talk to trans women like that in real life.

number two and in relation to that: the way people (you know who they are, or you don’t, in which case consider this a general statement.) are about trans people, trans women specifically i should say, and have been talking about trans people on here in general, has been deeply concerning to me because what they’re doing has happened to me.

when someone is dealing with their gender identity, you dont just tell them what they are. You can make it a safe place for someone to come out WHEN THEY ARE READY just by being openly supportive and in arms with transness and the transgender community. unless a person is going through immense obvious suffering and cannot understand why that’s the case you should NOT fucking walk up to people and just tell them what they are because 1 you are not them and therefore can’t be sure 2 that isn’t your place and 3 everyone deserves to be able to figure out to what extent they would like to address their gender dysphoria and what their desired timeline for doing so is.

you can say IF THE SITUATION CALLS FOR IT “hey, it seems like you might be struggling with issues related to gender. have you heard of transgender people? if so, do you feel like addressing your problems through this lens might help alleviate your suffering?” <- or similar. of course, i figured this should be obvious to trans people, who typically (bar conservative “transmedicalists” who make for an entirely different conversation that i don’t want to have) know exactly how harmful the inherent association of physiological and sociological traits in human beings with gender identity (and, by extension, gender dysphoria) is.

but really just making sure a person knows it’s cool and awesome and most of all OKAY to be transgender openly if they want to is the most important. you don’t do this by telling them who they are but by exhibiting public love for and solidarity with trans people. it’s always supposed to be on their terms, not yours. if you realized you were gay or trans because someone told you you were, that’s okay. i’m ecstatic that you were able to discover that about yourself and i’m glad it did you more good than harm. but almost never does the situation call for that; as you should know, you are not the transgender monolith; there is no monolith; there is no straightforward path.

there is only support and solidarity, which is not the same as declaring that someone is x when they themselves have not clarified it or rather need drastic intervention for their mental wellbeing and are genuinely blatantly clueless. i promise you most people struggling with gender identity aren’t clueless and know they’re uncomfortable with the box they’ve been put in, so don’t feel like you should just go ahead and pick a different box.

now on the personal side: it was really harmful for me when someone who wasn’t even transmasc told me i was a transgender man and that i should just accept that. my gender identity was more complex than that and i was addressing it on my own terms at the time internally because it wasn’t the business of others. publicly, i told people i was okay with using any pronouns and i disclosed the name i went by, as well as telling people i felt kinship with transness, but that was it. (if you’re reading this as someone that is aware of the celebrity-stranger central to the discussion at hand, you may be familiar with their own similar public disclosures.)

the way that maleness was foisted onto me by (well meaning) others made me collapse in on myself. they used he/him pronouns for me and barraged me with questions about my comfort with she/they/etc, as if i did not know better than them.

in the end, i just wasn’t good at being a man. pursuing maleness made me feel worse about myself because it was incongruent with my internal experience. not always, of course, because i am mostly a masculine/gnc person, but there were key aspects of being a trans man i exhibited because people told me i was one that made me uncomfortable, and i, just wanting relief, chose to pursue that angle seeing as it was other members of the lgbt community that pointed me there. im from a small town in the bible belt deep south and i’d never seen the world, because my family was poor and conservative and there was nothing for them otherwise. my new college friends were from big cities and had seen much more of the world than i had.

in truth, i should have been allowed to figure it out as i would have liked to. these people were aware that i knew about transgenderism and related to it, and i had told them what pronouns i wanted them to use, but they continued to apply pressure onto me. to this day, years later, i am devastated that i was robbed of my path to self discovery as it might have come about naturally. i would have made some choices the exact same, such as hrt and top surgery, but the emotional gravity of what i experienced will always stay with me, and the insecurities that came with it are still being shaken off.

this is my personal experience, but i know other people have felt similar pressure to conform to what they’ve been identified as by outsiders who were flat out transvestigating them.

i’m trans; i love being trans; i love my transgender brothers and sisters, i love trans men and women, and i love gnc people and the nonbinary identity, which has more or less fit like a glove and allowed for self expression that has ultimately been the most comfortable for me.

i am not saying i am going to be the leading example of all trans people, but i am an example of the consequences of these kinds of invasive claims.

if you’ve made the conversation at hand a “we the gerard way transgender believers and knowers vs the deniers who claim gerard is male” you have lost, because that is not what people believe. I would say most of us are very comfortable associating gerard with transness because they themself have expressed kinship and solidarity with us.

i hope if you took the time to read this you take all i say in good faith and understand why this conversation has hit home for me so personally. i hope you were able to understand why i am so distressed by those standing on a soapbox preaching harmful rhetoric and practices. and i hope that people who have engaged in said practices perhaps discover that they are hurting a lot of trans people, out or not, and i hope that they express love for out trans women more than pursue what they appear to believe are “closet cases” or “flagging”. i hope we all learn from this as a community online and choose to engage only with gerard’s gender to the extent that they’ve verbally signaled they are comfortable with, which includes not assigning them labels, whether that be female, male, trans woman, cisgender, or otherwise, and at least when talking about them seriously, using their pronouns (no, i don’t think you lovingly calling gerard your girlfriend is the crime here. it’s why you do it that’s the issue; you aren’t doing it with solely affection but rather with a motive as well.)

just let them, as well as other people, especially those you might encounter in your day to day life, be themselves without argument or unnecessary investigation. just leave people alone about their gender identity, please.

#that’s all.

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syrupfog · 8 months ago

Text

Law isn’t sure he can remember the last time he felt safe. The last time he stood still and didn’t feel the constant itch under his skin to run or hide.

He can’t remember the last time he touched someone.

He’s been circling the edge of a town for the last two days,

finding which bakeries and restaurants don’t lock their dumpsters. There’s more than usual; this place must be low on crime. He might be able to stay here a bit longer without people noticing and getting suspicious, which would be nice— cold weather is coming soon.

He’s aware, as he digs through a dumpster just after the sun has set, that he’s due for his heat — overdue, really — but he’s lost enough weight and been under enough stress that it’s not come.

That’s a small mercy, but also a dangerous one, because there’s no predictability— it could come at any time.

He sniffs the wilted remains of a salad and grimaces. It probably won’t come soon if that’s any indication.

Nimbly climbing out of the dumpster, a light misting rain hits his shoulders, making Law shiver. He looks back towards the woods—

but then, daringly, looks toward the coffee shop that owns the dumpster. It’s still open, warm and inviting, and if it’s busy enough he might be able to get away with not buying anything, or grabbing the dregs of a forgotten drink.

The rain grows heavier, and he takes a chance.

Inside is warm, dry, and loud. Law slips into a tall seat near the front window and breathes in the scents of almost twenty busy people working, talking, living. The omega part of Law yearns for community like this, for touch and connection.

The other part wants him out of here.

Still, he stays, assuaging his fears and reminding himself he’s far from home. No one would recognize him here. Maybe he can even sneak into the bathroom to freshen up if there’s not a code on the door.

The scents are a bit overwhelming, though.

Law’s hands have a natural tremble to them now. Omegas aren’t supposed to go this long without touch, without community. He’s got stims in his pocket but he’s past the point of them being useful. When alphas pass by he shrinks inward, afraid of his body getting overwhelmed.

That is, until someone is pulling back the other chair at his table.

“Hey!”

Law blinks. It’s an alpha, but younger than him. Bright eyed, with a sorry straw hat on his head.

“Sorry,” Law says. “Was this your table?”

“Nah, it’s yours!” says the alpha, grinning.

“Okay…” Law hedges. The door is maybe six paces away. He can make it five in a run.

The alpha glances where he’s looking and then shrugs. “Here,” he says, putting a to-go bag on the table and sliding it over to him.

“Didn’t order anything,” Law says automatically.

“I know,” the alpha says. He smells like sunshine. “We baked more, so this would’ve gone in the trash anyway. This way you don’t have to dig for it!”

Law freezes, wide eyes trained on the alpha, a ringing in his ears. Is his goal humiliation, is he going to attack?

But the alpha just sits there… smiling.

Law, with trembling hands, reaches for the bag. He pulls out a danish, warm to the touch, which… defies the alpha’s story.

“I can’t pay for this,” Law bites out, shame hot on his face.

The alpha blinks. “So?” He asks.

He sits forward, head in his hands and just STUDIES Law for a minute. It’s uncomfortable.

He says, “I’m Luffy.” Then, “Why are you shaking?”

Law’s heart rate picks up again. He zeroes in on the clearest route to the door, and stumbles out of his seat, making a run for it.

Interested alphas are dangerous alphas. Interested alphas usually already know too much.

He’s only two steps away when a hand touches his wrist. Doesn’t grab it, doesn’t twist it, just touches him.

But it’s the first alpha to touch him in at least six months, if not longer.

And Law’s way past any acceptable level of touch deprivation.

A whimper leaves his lips at the sensation, a pathetic, disgusting, needy, dangerous sound, and he drops, then and there, losing consciousness in the middle of a coffee shop.

The first thing Law is aware of is warmth. It’s like a tether, pulling him slowly and carefully up from the darkness he’s in.

The second thing Law is aware of is incredibly off-tune humming. It would be grating if it weren’t also comforting, vibrating softly through his sternum.

He shifts, taking account of his limbs one by one. He’s… laying on his stomach, but for once he’s not cold. For once he’s not wet. For once the thrumming headache is gone. There’s warmth underneath him and around him and the humming is *so* off key, but… pleasant.

Awake and aware, Law never would have done this. But in this syrupy-slow headspace, he nuzzles against the warmth, seeking out the peace and pleasantness.

He’s rewarded with a hand in his hair, scratching at his scalp, and Law melts, only becoming aware when he feels laughter.

“You’re like a cat,” says a voice, incredibly close, and Law *recognizes* who it belongs to, the alpha from the coffee shop, and he stills in fear.

“Noooo,” the alpha — Luffy, his mind supplies — whines. “It’s okay! You needed a nap so we brought you home.”

…*We*?

His lids are heavy, but Law cracks an eye open. He’s laying on the alpha’s chest, in what looks to be a small living room.

A small living room in which what looks to be nearly ten people are crammed, all on mismatched furniture or sprawled on the floor.

Law opens his mouth, breathing in the scents of everything and one thing becomes apparent *very* fast.

Everyone in this room is in a pack. And although the alpha Luffy seems to be about the smallest one here, his scent is clearly marking him as the leader.

Oh SHIT.

“Shhh,” Luffy says, nosing him like a dog. “You smell like fear, but you don’t need to! These are all my friends, and you’re my friend now too, so we’re going to help you. Okay?”

Not okay. Definitely not okay. Law searches the eyes of the pack, before one alpha with green hair speaks up. “You’re going to get his help whether you like it or not,” he says. “Luffy doesn’t give up on his friends, so he’s definitely not going to give up on the person he’s chosen as a mate.”

There’s light laughter and Law blanches. He tries to protest, but the protests die as Luffy cups his face and brings them eye to eye. Law notes the scar on his cheek, and he wants to trace it.

“What’s your name?” asks Luffy.

“Trafalgar,” saw Law.

“Traffy,” says Luffy. Law grimaces. There’s more laughter. “I’m going to stop whatever’s hurting you,” he says.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying, thinks Law. But… something inside of him wants— wants this alpha to be right.

“And then,” Luffy continues, undeterred, “We’re going to get married. Okay?”

Law… nods, his cheeks squished between Luffy’s hands. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

#lulaw #lawlu #my writing

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hoedamn-eron · 11 months ago

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baby, please - part 20

You thought it would be just another dinner with Santiago, but it doesn't end like you expected it to.

Warnings: Angst, angst, angst. Hurtful words are thrown around. Themes of abandonment. Swearing. Mentions of unsupportive family members. I actually proofread this! But there’s probably still mistakes that I missed 😂. Word count: 3,304 F!Reader, no use of Y/N.

Part 19 ● Series Masterlist ● Part 21

It was supposed to be a usual dinner with Santiago.

But you knew something was off the moment he opened the door to his apartment, inviting you in. He was tense, and he wouldn’t meet your eyes. He wasn’t talking much, and when he did respond to you, you were met with one-word answers, or just a grunt. You tried not to let it get to you, but you felt like you were imposing on his time, despite the fact that he had asked you to dinner.

It was weird. But he had been acting weird for weeks. Maybe it was because you were so close to giving birth. You only had two weeks left, after all, your lives were about to change forever. He even said so himself, he wasn’t ever expecting to have a family of his own. He was happy to just be by himself, so…maybe he was just nervous. There was no need to worry about it, he’d been there the whole time for you.

But it was obvious something was bothering him (and not just tonight, it had been going on for a while), and he felt like he couldn’t tell you, which hurt. You thought you were closer than that. You were supposed to trust each other with anything, since you’re going to be co-parenting. You didn’t want your kids to think that their mom and dad couldn’t talk to each other.

There was no avoiding it, you were going to ask him what was wrong. Tonight.

You make general small talk, which is weird for the two of you. You follow him into his kitchen where he offers you a water (he’s ran out of Diet Coke), and he turns his back to you to the sauce bubbling on the stove. You quietly sip at your drink as you watch him stir. Even now, as he’s just making food, he’s tense; his shoulders stiff, jaw clenched, and he’s holding that spoon just a bit too tightly.

“Santi, is everything okay?” you ask him, already knowing that it wasn’t.

He winces at your voice, almost as if he forgot you were there. He still doesn’t look at you as he answers, “Yeah, everything is fine.”

Fine.

There’s that word again. Every time you ask him if something is going on, it’s always ‘fine’.

You shake your head. “No, I don’t think it is, Santi. You’ve been weird for weeks, what’s going on?”

“Nothing!” he says, finally looking at you with an uneasy look on his face.

“There is, Santi. Come on, you can tell me. We’ve talked about communication – “

“Did it ever occur to you that I might not want you to know?”

Yikes, that stung. You blink at him a little, taken aback. “I-I mean, sure, but I just want you to know that you can be open with me and talk to me.”

He studies you for a moment before he shakes his head. “I can’t talk to you about this.”

He turns back to the sauce.

“Why not?”

“It just isn’t the right time.”

You frown at him and place your glass on the counter. You fold your arms as you watch him for a few moments. The silence in the kitchen weighs heavy before you break it with, “Okay.”

You don’t accept his answer, not one bit.

After a few more awkward minutes, the pasta is ready, and Santi is preparing a plate for you. He asks you shortly if you want cheese, or if you want another drink, and you shake your head at him before following him to his dining table. You sit opposite him, eating slowly as you keep glancing at him.

He’s asking you one-word questions on the food, not meeting your eyes when he does. It makes your heart sink. The last time he acted like this was when he thought you wanted to date and he was holding you back, back when you went shopping for baby clothes together and ran into Craig.

Surely now he still doesn’t think he was holding you back. But then why would he be arguing with his friends over something like that? Why would they even care about it? Unless Santi had told them something, or they have been pressuring him in some way. Why else would he engage in such heated discussions if there wasn't some underlying concern or conflict? The questions swirl in your mind, leaving you to ponder if they are somehow connected to your relationship with Santi, and its impact on yours and your babies’ life.

After a few more moments contemplating, you place your fork down before clearing your throat. “Santi, I only want to know what’s bothering you.”

“Por el amor de Dios,” Santi mutters, rolling his eyes as he slams the fork down on the table. He gives you a hard stare. “Just drop it, okay?”

“I don’t want to drop it,” you say, giving him a concerned look and you lean towards him slightly. “I’m worried about you! You’ve been arguing with Frankie and Will, that’s not like you – “

“How would you know, you’ve only known me eight months,” he snaps at you.

You balk at his reaction, leaning back from him. “That’s a long time, Santi, I like to think I know you pretty well.”

“No, eight months is in fact not a long time,” he snapped at you. There are a few moments of silence as you stare at one another, before Santi closed his eyes and sighed, his shoulders finally slumping in defeat. He buried his head in his hands, his elbows leaning on the table.

You stare at him for a moment, not sure what to say. You bite your lip and look down at your plate, all of a sudden not even remotely hungry. You look back up at him before going to stand. “I’ll get going, we can catch up again another time, when you’re feeling better.”

He doesn’t say anything to stop you as you gather your things, before you spot something at the end of the corridor. The nursery door, Santi’s old spare room, was slightly open, and you could just see a pile of unopened boxes. Your brow furrows before you glance at Santiago, and suddenly make your way down the hallway.

The calls of your name go ignored as you push open the nursery door, only to find that…it wasn’t ready. Sure, it had been painted like Santiago said it had been, and there was a feature wall of some jungle themed wallpaper, but…that was it. The room was bare. The furniture you had shopped for together was still in the boxes, collecting dust. You looked around the room, sudden tears in your eyes as you take in the fact that the room felt cold, and nowhere near as if a new family would be using it.

You turn quickly to look at Santiago, who had followed you down the hall. He had an exhausted look on his face as he awkwardly tucked his hands into his jean's pockets.

You take in a shaky breath from the tears and look back at the room. “It’s not done.” You look at him, worry sitting densely in your stomach. “It’s not done, Santi. They’re going to be here in two weeks, and you haven’t fixed up their room. Why isn’t it done?”

Santiago doesn’t answer for a moment before he sighs. “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you.”

Your heart sinks. You try to regulate your breathing as you turn back and ask him, “Tell me what?”

He sighs before running a hand through his hair, looking at anything but you. He can’t seem to stop fidgeting. “I can’t do this.”

Oh…no.

He can’t mean what you thought, right? He just meant dinner tonight, he couldn’t do dinner. Maybe he wasn’t well and felt bad about cancelling. Yeah, that’s what he meant. It has to be.

But you know, deep down, you were wrong.

You try and play dumb. To give him the chance to take it back, to rethink what he just said, because really, he can’t be saying this to you right now. Not now. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t…do that,” he said, looking back at you with a stern look in his eyes as he shakes his head. “Don’t be an idiot, you know what I mean.”

He’s never been so harsh with you before. You give one final look around the room before squaring your shoulders and turning back to him. “So, what, you…you don’t want to be involved anymore? Is that what you’re saying?”

He hesitates for a moment before giving a single nod.

You can feel the slow anger building in your chest, your skin practically prickling with tension. How could he do this to you, now? The air becomes thick with unspoken words, each heartbeat within you resonates with the weight of the betrayal that has unfolded before you.

As Santiago’s gaze falters and you both just stare at each other with nothing to say, you find yourself grappling with the whirlwind of emotions that threaten to consume you. The trust you once held for him now hangs precariously in the balance, and the echoes of disbelief reverberate through the room.

You had never imagined that this moment would arrive, not now, not at a time when trust and loyalty were vital. You look back on the last few months, trying to see where it had all gone wrong. Was it back when you discussed your dating life? From what you knew, he hadn’t been seeing anyone, seriously or otherwise. Did he feel trapped? Was it the almost kiss on Halloween? No, he started acting weird after Thanksgiving. So what brought him to this conclusion, that he didn’t want to be a father anymore, that you had spent all this time together planning, and working on yourselves and together to become parents? Was it the scare that you’d had?

You loved this man. Loved him. Oh, God, you can feel your heart breaking into a million pieces.

“This just…came at an inconvenient time – “ he starts again, the prolonged silence evidently becoming too much.

Your jaw sets and you glare at him, the bubbling in your chest erupting. “Oh, I'm so sorry, when would this,” you gesture to your bump. “Have been more convenient for you?”

He closes his eyes for a moment in exasperation. “Don’t be like that – “

“Be like what?” you ask, your gaze still hard on him. “Don’t be upset? Don’t be angry? You’ve just told me you don’t want to be a father to our kids anymore! How am I not supposed to be upset?”

“I know it…it’s bad, honey, I know – “

“Don’t ‘honey’ me, you…you…” you gasp as you realise you’re crying. You reach up and touch your cheek, almost as if you’re shocked that you’re crying.

You’d never truly cried over a man before.

But it wasn’t just a man. It was your kids. Your babies, who would be here in two weeks, ones who you had planned a whole life for; to raise them in households full of love and warmth, where you thought their father would be a part of their lives. Where they would have three amazing uncles, who had welcomed you with open arms, who had helped you with your house.

Your heart stutters as you realise; they must have known. They must have known how Santiago was feeling when they organised your baby shower, when they were actually at your baby shower, when you were at Santiago’s place for Christmas…God, you bet they had a good laugh, knowing that you were being strung along. They knew he was planning on leaving you.

“When did…when did you plan to do this? When did you plan to leave me?” you ask him, wiping at your eyes harshly.

He swallows thickly before shaking his head. “I didn’t plan anything. It…look, it’s not important - “

“Yes, it is, Santiago,” you snap, pointing to your chest. “It’s important to me, to my kids!”

He watches you again, and you grit your teeth, trying not to look away from him. He looks you up and down before he matches your heated and tense energy, his arms crossing over his chest.

You scoff at him. “Really? You’re choosing to be quiet now?”

“I’m not cut out for this,” he says. “I’m not used to staying in one place for so long, and you’re a good ten years younger than me, you should be with someone your own age. This just wasn’t how I planned my life going, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, you think I planned my life to go this way?” you ask him, starting to pace the small width of the hallway. “To get pregnant from a stranger after a one-night stand? I gave you every opportunity to leave when we found out about this – “

“Yeah, well, I should have left when you told me I could.”

You stop your pacing to look at him in disbelief. “Really?”

“You – and them – would be better off without me.”

“Oh don’t you spout that martyr bullshit on me,” you snap, finally stopping your pacing. You know you sound like a petulant teenager. But you’re angry. You’re fuming. “Is this because of Halloween? When we almost kissed?”

You see how he tenses. Neither of you had mentioned that night since it happened, having silently decided that it was the alcohol, that it wasn’t anything more to it than that.

He shakes his head. “It has nothing to do with Halloween.”

“Then it was Thanksgiving,” you say. “I took you away from your family, who you hadn’t seen in a while – “

“It has…” he starts, but he stops himself, running his hands down his face in frustration. “There is nothing specific that has happened, I’ve just had more time to think about it. And I don’t want it. I don’t want to be a dad.”

You’re crying again. “So all these months were just a lie? You were leading me on?”

“That is not what I was doing!” Santiago says defensively. “Don’t twist my words around!”

“I am two weeks away from having a C-section,” you cry. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me!”

“I – “

“I should have fucking listened to you on our date. I should have seen this coming, really,” you say, giving a small, humourless laugh as you shake your head at yourself. “That you weren’t looking for anything serious, and there’s nothing more serious than two kids! And how you wouldn’t get rid of the truck – “

Santiago gives a loud, annoyed groan. “Again with the truck. Why does it always come back to the fucking truck? You’ve upturned my life enough, can I not keep something for myself?”

Something seems to snap in him then.

“You throw this huge bombshell on me, that not only are you pregnant, but it’s twins,” he says. “I had just come back to Florida after the worst year of my life, ready to have some normalcy, and I’m suddenly going to be a dad, with a woman who I barely know! And everyone seems to think I should be okay with it, to accept that this is my life now! And now my spare room is full of baby shit, my friends won’t stop talking about how much my life is going to change, and everyone keeps bombarding me about my truck. It’s my fucking truck, and it’s the only thing that I own that doesn’t even remotely have anything to do with a fucking baby!”

He stops, a little breathless. You stay silent after his outburst, and you look at each other silently before you both physically deflate. This is it. It’s over.

“So what?” you ask him. “It’s too much responsibility for you, and you’re starting to feel trapped? You don’t have your life anymore?”

He hesitates before nodding. “Yeah.”

You wipe at your eyes furiously. Jesus, why can’t you stop crying? This is embarrassing enough.

You nod at him with finality. “Okay then. Fine. I’ll just go.”

You wipe your eyes once again before walking past him, giving him a wide berth, because if you even so much as brush against him, to feel his touch, you’re going to break all over again. You make it to the front door before pausing. Is this really how this ends? With bitter words and your heart broken? You can’t believe this man, who you adored, loved with all your being, was doing this to you.

Your parents and sisters were right. He did decide to leave once he realised he didn’t want them. And you didn’t want them to be right, you wanted to be able to prove your family wrong, just like you had proved everyone else wrong whenever they made a judgement about you. How stupid and naïve you were.

No, you’re not stupid. Or naïve. You’re hopeful, and you had a great support system without Santiago, or your family.

Fuck your family and fuck him.

“You know what?” you ask, suddenly spinning around to look at Santiago. He looks at you, the exhausted look back on his face. “I don’t need you. They don’t need you. They don’t need to know that their dad didn’t want them. Do you know why? Because they have me. They will never know the feeling of being unwanted or abandoned. I will shower them with the love they deserve, and they will be surrounded by happiness.”

You didn’t stick around long enough for him to give a response. You slammed the door loudly on your way out, suddenly glad that you had driven here (although he hadn’t offered you a ride, which he usually did, but now you realise why he didn’t). All the things from the past few months were suddenly falling into place; he hadn’t called you corazón in forever, evidently realising the nickname didn’t have as much as a meaning to it as he thought. He hadn’t even taken much part in the baby shower your friends had thrown together for you. And of course, the stupid truck; you should have seen the signs long ago.

You reach your car and climb in. Taking a moment to yourself, the confined space offering a temporary sanctuary from the outside world, you finally let the fresh wave of tears stream down your face, leaving salty trails on your cheeks. Your shoulders heave with each ragged breath as you don’t bother holding back the sobs that had been pushing to escape.

Your hands grip the steering wheel tightly. The air inside the car feels heavy, saturated with the weight of your emotions. The warmth of the seat contrasts sharply with the chill that has settled in your chest. Time seems to lose its meaning as you sit there, caught in the grip of your emotions.

In this cocoon of seclusion, you fight with the complex feelings of a mix of sorrow and frustration, and you mourn the end of your relationship with Santiago.

After a few moments, you give one final sob, before taking yet another shaky deep breath. You wipe at your eyes again ferociously, before giving yourself a look in your mirror. You’re a mess. You don’t even recognise yourself in the mirror.

You flinch as a neighbour comes out one of the neighbouring apartments, a reminder of a world that continues to move forward while you're stuck in this bubble of despair. They don’t seem to notice you having a complete meltdown in your car. You best get going, you’ll look like a mad woman…and Santiago might be watching.

You start your car, and with one final look at Santiago’s apartment, you leave. For good.

• Por el amor de Dios - For the love of God

Tagged - @khonsulockley, @superficialfeelings, @othersideoftheparadise, @beezusvreeland, @itsmytimetoodream

#triple frontier #santiago garcia x reader #santiago x reader #santiago garcia #oscar isaac #pregnant!reader #santiago garcia x f!reader

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bronx-bomber87 · 10 months ago

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Good evening Fandom :) Gonna try and be more concise and mini this time haha Wasn’t so mini last time. Imma really try LOL Also the gif library just refuses to pull anything that's new and its driving me nuts. Guess all the pretty gifs will have to wait till summer when the library gets it's act together and I can be more in depth. LOL This is supposed to mini anyways. I'll do my best to make this brief but impactful haha This is a new gear for me.

6x02 The Hammer

Their first interaction is fraught af. Tim is radiating hurt still not that I blame him. He is trying to sweep it under the rug but the man is hurting. I do love Lucy trying to let him know not how healthy communication works. heh She's not wrong. You know I was so Tim in this moment before therapy. Surprise surprise right?

Deeply hurt but when it gets brought up I shirked it off. Try to put it in a box and bury it. Lucy is right it’s not healthy. But he isn’t in the place to receive that right now. I do love her saying they have stuff to talk about if she ever goes under. Yes.... yes you do. Lucy seems to have calmed down at this point and Tim isn’t there yet…

Credit to This post for this image

Lucy getting roped into the ring thing LOL Their tension is immediate as they sandwich Angela in their fight. Angela is the fandom as she watches them bicker. My goodness not hiding how they feel whatsoever….Tense af while they’re fighting. Could cut it with a knife. Sniping at each other. Tim saying he knew she wasn't really over it.

Which kills my 'calmed down' theory for Lucy haha Even though they're at odds Tim still offers his help because it's his girl. Lucy saying she will accept it even if she doesn’t need it. These two.. Angela's final words had me laughing. Wanting to come and enjoy their fight with popcorn. Tim saying she’s not funny on the way out hahaha Not in the mood for his bestie either.

Love Lucy reaching out to touch him and make a joke bout Hammer's real name. Tim full of sass asking if he can finish? Well I never Timothy. LOL He has a warrant out and it’s outstanding that'll make this easy.... Even worse he loves to fight cops. Oh boy. Ladies first lmfao oh Tim I love you so. Putting his hand on her back. She’s smiling though.

OMG I can’t believe Tim tried to get her to fight the Hammer. My love no.... Her argument is solid af that she has to look amazing. That no one cares what he looks like. I mean I care what he looks like but it’s true she needs to look hot at haha Tim caving because well it's Lucy. Like fighting the sun right now. heh Lucy telling him he’s got this. Oh my lord it's so cute.

Lucy wanting to jump in but Tim stops her. My heart. He’s getting his ass kicked at first oof. Tim launching off the bed to kick Hammer into the closet. Holy shit that was sexy. I hope this fight gets gif'd it was great. He wins though. Well done Tim that was fine as hell. Got my motor revving.

Oh my goodness him bending on one knee and looking at her. The looks are LOADED here. Especially on Lucy's end. Getting me all in my feels goodness. Especially Lucy’s face. Myriad of emotions going on there. Foreshadowing at it's finest Oh my. I have a feeling when do the summer review I'll have a novel on this. Tim passes the hell out shortly after. Getting asthma attack just looking at him.

Love the set up girls night/boys night and their talk bout their relationship. Celina asking Lucy to have less baking at her party HA! Naww love Celina thinking in those terms. Lucy saying that's way off. Seeming worried it’s not in their future. Heart clutch. Adore this back and forth between Lucy and Tim at the parties LOVING Chastity telling Lucy like it is. Calling her out really. Even she can see it. I mean feel like Lucy is scared and just won't back down from this path.

It's not just Tim. It's her too but she is digging her heels in. I can’t say I don’t agree with Tim on the projection. Lucy using Isabel as an excuse for that. I think she is using it more than he is IMO at this point in time. She usually is right on the money with Tim. This time doesn't feel like it. Almost as if she’s using Isabel as a scape goat for being scared more so than Tim. Lucy saying she’s fine. Lying liar my love lying liar.

Poor Tim wanting to show he’s not the problem my love. That he's not the only one. There is clearly still a lot to sort through for them. This scene is proof of that. Lucy gets a call from Tim to meet at the station. This has to be the lie detector test. Harper telling her to run I was dying.

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How cute is Tim in his black shirt all wired up for her? I'm dying how precious it was. The way she crosses the room sweet lord. Eyeing her prey. She basically is straddling his thigh. Imma pass out. Getting as close as she can to him. Basically hugging his thigh with hers. I’m getting hot under the collar already. She is so ready to ask him anything but UC questions to start this off. Clearly wanting to ask him specific things on her mind since he's hooked up to the machine.

The bug question LMAO. The most Tim and Lucy thing ever. Of course that man doesn't release the bugs haha. Very her to ask him to do it though. God this was so cute I cannot. Small little insight to their relationship we don't usually get to see.

Then she went right after it with asking if he loves her? A question I think has been weighing on her mind for awhile. Knowing she can immediately see if he's lying. Gah look at him light up. The way he leans into her. Reminding of his posture in 5x09 when he asked her out again. Just as serious now as he was then. Saying he loves her ugh my heart. Our big softie in action in this moment.

Lucy couldn’t be happier with this answer. Same look she got whenever he complimented her in the past. They be beaming everyone. Then he get’s a big fact lie with the UC question crap. Now I feel this isn't fair. Because the man LIVES to support her but he is a struggle bus about this path. To me that 'lie' wasn't because he doesn't support her. To me just those damn demons that won't rest for him.

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Tim looking fine af. Looking for his girl of courses sigh. Cool cool cool fun angsty glances. Damn you gif library was primo angsty looks. Even though they’re sitting next to each other it’s the most physical distance seen between them really in ever. Yeah their arms are touching but not much else. More angsty looks between them at the reception. Gah they’re intense as hell.

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Tim coming to find her my heart. Being the one to break the distance. Asking her to dance and confronting this issue. So proud of him and what he tells her. What a man. He's owning the trauma he still carries. Which is HUGE for him. Lucy thanking him and saying they'll make it through. I love this. Always love us touching back on. 'Unless it is.' moment. Because yeah this is hard but they're worth it and they continually see that and show it.

Now do I love it squarely being just on Tim this UC Fight? No I don't. I do think she is still having doubts but love him laying it out there. I think the issue's Lucy is having just haven't been confronted yet. Their fight from 6x01 was about Tim's issues for most part. Her's were for sure in there just not as prominently. I'm hopeful we touch on her's later this season.

This still feel unresolved to me and imbalanced. Especially now that Tim has admitted some fault to their problems as of late. I feel like I have a really good grasp on these characters. To me my gut is telling me Lucy is scared, having doubts, worried about a long term assignment. What it'll mean for them. Her side of it still needs to be delved into. 5x20-5x21 shook her more than she is letting on. Truly think this just hasn't been explored yet. Because they both have things to resolve with this career choice.

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Also wanna note in this lovely scene. Lucy has her hands all over her him and I’m about it my god. The intimate swaying and leaning into each other. That magnetic force of their's bringing them back together. Their bodies relaxing for the first time in this entire episode. Just happy to be near one another. They're glowing when they come back together in this moment.

Gah their chemistry is out of this world. Her hand on the back his head too phew lord and we get a return ILY. *heart clutch* Lucy's eyes searching his face hoping her saying as such soothes his wounds a little. The cute lie detector line I cannot. It’s was so precious. Their smiles have me on cloud 9. Couldn't be more in love if these two tried. *happy sigh*

Lucy and Tim leading the charge hot damn they pretty. Tim in formal wear and his badge? Lord help me. Phew this was a HEFTY one. So many things to sort through. Like I said in my OG post these are first thoughts. Should be interesting to see how they change come summer and we're in the hiatus.

Thank you to everyone who liked the premiere post. These are a different gear for me glad they're liked ha Imposter Syndrome is real ya'll lol Feel free to comment your thoughts I love chatting about them and this season best part of going through it together for first time. See you all next week!

~~~~

Side notes-non Chenford

Lmao the cold open. Daddy cop was always a fav one of mine.

Hey Henry is back sorta. ha

Love Luna checking in on Aaron. Then having a little ptsd poor love.

Oscar is back too LOL

‘Miss Cleo' nickname LMAO

Poor Aaron having a rough time of it. I was worried he was leaning on Celina too much tbh. Also that kiss yikes my man yikes...

#Caitlin's Mini Reviews #chenford #s6 #6x02 The Hammer #the rookie 6x02 #otp: doing my job #otp: you know me so well. too well.#otp: some things matter more #otp: you did good #otp: you're nothing like him.#otp: unless it is #tim x lucy #tim bradford #lucy chen #the rookie #lucy x tim #eric winter #melissa o'neil

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casanovawrites · 7 months ago

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FROM season 1 sentence starters

you're like a poem. you know that? you make everything around you beautiful.

we can't take any chances.

this, unfortunately, is going to be the worst conversation of your life.

do you believe in monsters?

if you climb high enough, even a nightmare can look like a dream.

i can’t find any more bodies. i just can’t.

let me go first. it doesn’t have to be you.

they know there’s only so many places we can go.

i feel like i’m hanging on by a thread here.

what are you looking at?

denial is a major part of our family tree.

i wish you had the luxury of grief, but you don’t.

people are scared. the edges are starting to fray.

you need to be the one to tell them it’ll be okay.

you need to use me as a punching bag? need a place to put all that anger, that regret? fine.

i don’t just sit around accepting the world as it is.

you’re gonna be the hero.

this is how we go home.

if you’re in that much of a hurry to fucking die, you should just go and do it.

you have no idea what it’s like being smarter than everyone you know.

you’re connected to this place in a way no one else here is.

it’s about celebrating survival. reminds me that anything is possible.

you need to get over it and be the scary hard ass we all know you to be.

the second we stop looking for answers, that’s when we lose.

get the fuck out of here before people start thinking we’re friends.

i’m gonna say something to you that might make you hate me, and if it does, that’s okay.

i found something. something i think is going to help us.

there’s no way you could’ve survived out there. not if it was real.

it’s time to wake up. it’s time to wake everybody up.

i’ve been trying to find the courage to say something.

can you kiss me?

we could’ve died. there’s no way we could’ve survived that.

i’ve just been so angry for a really long time.

it wasn’t your fault.

i’m sorry. i’m so sorry. i’m sorry.

i just didn’t want you to leave without saying goodbye.

this is not goodbye, okay? you hear me? this is not goodbye.

just come back.

we’re in a tight spot. no one is going to pretend otherwise.

the least we can do is keep ourselves together.

we’re a community, so we can do this together.

how do we go back now? after the things we’ve seen, the things we’ve done?

how do we go home? we’re not the same people anymore.

this is the only place we’ve ever known together.

i’ll go find a sharper knife. this one’s just taking forever.

how do you know we won’t just walk and walk and walk back to where we started?

i’ve seen this town make good people do bad things.

let’s just keep moving.

when we get home, i’m gonna call my friends. i’m just gonna call them.

when we get home, i want to just be happy.

we’re all going home, right? we don’t need this place anymore.

it’s not a home anymore. it’s a fucking tomb.

if we push too hard, then something will push back.

i can hear them! i can hear them!

this isn’t some grade school softball game where everyone gets a participation medal.

you wanna know what i’m grieving? i’m grieving the loss of what we almost made this place.

this place almost felt like something that could work.

you can’t see what this place is gonna become when you fail.

what are we supposed to do? sit here and not try to go home?

at least here, the monsters have the decency to show you what they are.

it was more than that. it was special.

all those people from different places, different lives, living together. there was something. there was joy.

you have to be prepared for the fallout if it doesn’t work.

i think you’re gonna find there’s more to miss about this place than you thought.

that kinda day, huh?

she knows how to wield an ax. i’ll give her that.

i’m not gonna stand here and pretend that it was a great day.

i just need you to promise me, if it falls apart, if you fall apart, just promise me, you’ll come to me.

you have no idea how much pressure it is to be the one everyone assumes can just fix an unfixable problem.

you’re a pretty bad liar.

what’s got you feeling so optimistic?

what if we were supposed to come here?

back home, we never talked anymore. now we’re together again. like, we’re really together.

i wasn’t sure you’d wake up.

there are things out here that are worse than the monsters.

i’m sure you would’ve figured it out eventually.

where do you think we are?

i don’t even remember anymore who i was before i saw you.

i don’t wanna find out who i am without you.

you are the love of my life. and we could be anywhere, i mean we could be here, we could be there, we could be anywhere in the world, but it would not matter, because you are my home. and i would really like to be yours.

you brought me out here because you thought i could help. look where we are.

doing this is our part.

there is no way out. is there?

this fucking place! fucking makes you think that you’re doing the right thing, it gives you hope, then it takes it away like it’s feeding on your pain.

you want my pain? you want my fucking pain? come on, get it.

we have to keep moving. towards the light. we have to get towards the lights.

the voice you heard in your head is right, we’re gonna die out here.

i know how offensive you find my proclivities!

i don't know what to do. and that really freaks me out.

i don’t feel guilty.

we��re going in the right direction. we just need to keep going.

if you don’t go, we are both going to die.

this place is angry now.

#*#sentence starters #sentence prompts #rp sentence prompts #rp ask meme #ask meme #ask memes #meme #open sentence starters #from sentence starters

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crystal-fems · 3 months ago

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Current thoughts on the Pearl/Greg situation…

First of all, It’s crazy coming back to this Steven Universe centered blog after all these years since I still hold so much love in my heart for this show that allowed me to discover who I am and live with confidence as well as helping me through many rough periods in my life. And now since we’re suddenly getting a few trickles of new content here and there (and discourse, but it’s SU so that’s always been a part of the fandom lol) I’m getting the feeling we’ll be getting some kind of big announcement sometime soon. Fingers crossed!

But alas, on the GregPearl early drawings that Raven, a former storyboard artist leaked that were drawn by Rebecca that have been resurfacing around the internet, I am able to see both sides. And incoming is a bit of a rant on the latest debacle…

At the end of the day these are Rebecca Sugar’s (Who is bisexual and genderfluid btw) original characters who she poured her heart and soul into, a lot of whom she based characteristics around herself and the people in her life. So first and foremost, what she decides to do with these characters is up to her. Not you. Of course you’re allowed to have your opinion on it, but Rebecca is nowhere in the wrong here and I’m tired of hearing about it because of the lgbtqia+ community’s blatant biphobia. She also fought tooth and nail to have a wlw wedding in her show but people have the audacity to say this is lesbophobic when these concepts and personal sketches were drawn very early on anyway and not even implemented into the fucking show.

Now on the other hand, I also understand where certain people are coming from to an extent. It’s odd for me personally to see Pearl with Greg and really any other man for that instance, as she’s always been lesbian representation to me and many others as well. At the time, she was the representation in cartoons that we so desperately wanted and needed. She was actually the first character that made me realize I was attracted to women in the first place. And because of that, many of us attached so heavily to this part of her identity which was never officially confirmed.

But you know what’s forgotten? Pearl is also nonbinary. All of the gems are nonbinary. But there’s erasure in that too of course because the community only wants to see her as a futch presenting lesbian when in reality, she physically can’t be that. Now don’t twist my words and think I’m for a second implying that you can’t be nonbinary and a lesbian, because that’s just not true either, but she’s supposed to be an alien for fuck’s sake. The whole idea of gender and sexuality is completely abstract to her species. AND ESPECIALLY SO in a world so inclusive and accepting of everyone, no matter what race, ethnicity, physical capability, gender identities and sexualities. You’d think for a show with a plot that’s so integral on being open about embracing who you are and not being afraid to love yourself as well as the people around you no matter the status quo, that people would have a little more open-mindedness and compassion.

#steven universe #su #pearl #Greg #greg universe #rebecca sugar #crystal gems #su discourse

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mywitchyblog · 4 months ago

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A lot of the people who are so against race changing make no sense. I saw this one that said that “If you shift for empathy reasons, you have low empathy.” And then five seconds later said “you can’t understand because you’re not a poc!” what is it? Do you want me to have empathy, or am I suddenly not allowed to because apparently according to you only black people have experienced oppression and can understand that feeling?

Do they not realize that there are people who qualify as white and still face racial discrimination? People who are German, Ukrainian, Polish, Russian, Iranian and Egyptian, and many more?

The hypocrisy and double standards are annoying and it makes no sense.

Fundamentally, race is a social construct with no scientific or biological basis. To legitimate something we often see in society: that there is only one race, the human race, and the so-called other "races" are just a sign of a superiority complex that has festered far too long in humanity, bringing us nothing but strife and pain. To claim that some individuals who engage in race changing during reality shifting lack empathy is not only hypocritical but fundamentally flawed.

The idea that race-changing is a sign of lack of empathy or moral failing is untrue. It's clear to see that the condemnation of race changers often blurs the context of oppression and suffering, which exists in countless forms over a very wide spectrum.

It is always important to remember that oppression does not form one solid experience solely for any one group; it takes place in many different contexts, and yet all are based on prejudice of physical appearance or place of origin.

Although the following examples do not reveal racial oppression in its classic sense, they certainly can be viewed as forms of marginalization that rely on superficial factors, such as how a person looks, comes across, or where they are from. It needs to be taken into consideration by anyone that while the experience of oppression varies widely for many, there is a shared foundation of discrimination.

The race-changing controversy in the reality shifting community shows a mirror to this hypocrisy and double standard around most of these arguments, especially people who shift into "fictional" races. Many people will shift into races that are clearly meant to be allegories for real-world POC populations, such as the Na'vi in "Avatar," whether in white or BIPOC spaces.

Why is it then that shifting into a fictional race, oftentimes one that serves as an allegory for the struggles of real-world oppressed groups, is considered acceptable, while shifting into a different human ethnicity is considered to be taboo?

A prime example is the Na'vi from "Avatar."

I have seen white people and BIPOC shift into this race, completely unconcerned, because it is "fictional." But, well, of course this race is basically an allegory for Indigenous peoples: fighting colonization, preserving their culture. Shifting into a Na'vi could be described as shifting into the experience of being Native American with some blue paint on top of it.

But when someone is asked what urges them to become Na'vi, most people reply that they want to "discover the culture," "understand what it feels like to resist oppression," or "experience the beauty of their world." But it is because the Na'vi are considered fictional that they don't receive the same attention as the human ethnic group. This is the core of the hypocrisy: those who bash one for shifting to a different human ethnicity are doing the same, only it is in a supposed "safer" context—around fiction.

They overlook the fact that both types of shifting are fueled by similar, often innocent and pure-hearted intentions, only to explore, understand, and relate with experiences other than the ones outside of one's original identity.

By holding such double standards, critics ignore the broader implications of their arguments and reveal more about their own comfort with real-world racial issues than about any supposed moral failing on the part of those who engage in race changing.

Engage in all discussions here, with consistency and empathy; understand that reality shifting—whether it be into a fictional or human race—can serve profoundly in your tool of personal growth, empathy development, and deeper cultural understanding.

#reality shifting #shiftblr #desired reality #shifting #shifters #shifting community #shifting realities #reality shift #reality shifter #shifting antis dni

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pinkroseblooms · 11 months ago

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It's Better Than Regretting

Kikaku Hanbee/f!Reader, post break up, mentions of sex and some light dirty talk (once again, minors dni) probably a little OOC but I tried. This fandom needs more content and this crazed witch like man has a place in my heart. The title is lyrics from "Crashed the Wedding" by Busted which was what inspired me to write this. Summary: Post breakup, Kikaku finds out you've agreed to a marriage of convenience. word count: 4.1k

Kikaku feels the wedding invite burning a hole in his pocket; he takes a long drink of beer, wondering for the tenth time if this is a mistake. The two of you broke up; he and you wanted different things out of life. So what if his parents were friendly with your old man? No one expected the two of you to end up together. In fact, Kikaku had been made all too aware of your father’s disapproval of him. When you got your first piercing, when you got drunk for the first time and missed an exam, when you started staying out all hours of the night frequenting different music venues, the blame was placed squarely on Kikaku’s shoulders for being a bad influence on his perfect princess.

It was always like that; your father would say he was only looking out for you, but Kikaku called it how it actually was; all he was doing was forcing his own expectations onto his only daughter. You had come to him many times, complaining about the feeling of suffocation, wondering how you were supposed to call the man “family” when you couldn’t even talk to him half the time without walking on eggshells. Kikaku didn’t have any answers, aside from telling you “Fuck that shit” and take you out for a good time.

Eventually, inevitably, the two of you transitioned from friends to friends with benefits; sitting and nursing his beer, Kikaku tries to shove the memory out of his head to no avail. How could he forget? His band had played one of their first shows and barely anyone had showed up, and the people that did hated them.

You had been the only friendly face at the bar, toasting to him at the end of their set with a sympathetic smile. None of his other girls were answering his texts; you were there and the two of you had a little too much to drink at his place. When the other members left and it was just you and him, Kikaku let you hug him; according to you, he looked like he really needed one, but that wasn’t all he needed. Your body was soft and your breath smelled sweet and sharp from the plum wine. Before Kikaku could communicate to his brain that his dick was acting up around you and it would be a bad idea to act out on this sudden urge, you had kissed the top of his head and squeezed him to your chest. Kikaku can’t remember too much of what happened afterward, only flashes and sensations and waking up in the morning with a raging migraine and you laying nude on the futon next to him.

It was a good thing the two of you had for a long time until the day you had come back to his apartment and refused a make out session with a serious expression. Kikaku could have guessed the problem; it was always the problem with his main girls. They got too close, too attached, even though Kikaku really didn’t make much of a secret that he wasn’t into the whole exclusive thing. Frankly, he didn’t think what the two of you had was special. You just had the benefit of knowing him the longest and being his friend first.

That being said, you never showed signs of jealousy or feeling hurt by Kikaku’s other lovers, so he really hadn’t expected that to be the reason you decided to end things officially and not just the sex, but everything. No more shows or take out or movie nights. No more being friends; you called it being amiable. When you crossed paths, you would say hello and engage in a little small talk. Nothing more, nothing less. Kikaku accepted without making a fuss; he was in a shitty mood for a while but hey, getting dumped is never fun.

“Is that why you ended things?” Kikaku cut right to the chase as soon as you took the stool next to him; he slid the card over to your coaster, like it was some distasteful object. “You wanted to make things serious with this guy?”

“Hello to you too. How did you get this? Oh no, just water please.” You told the bartender, who had just come over to take your order. “Kikaku, my father sent this to your parents; how did you get it?”

“Wow, you weren’t even planning to invite an old friend to such a grand occasion?” Kikaku grumbles. “Cold. I thought you said no hard feelings.”

“I heard you were busy with work; besides, since when do you enjoy going to formal parties?” You give him a wry half smile. “Unless there’s an open bar.”

“Is there?”

“Yes. Father spared no expense.” You hold your glass of water but don’t take a drink. “He set up the whole thing. I didn’t even have to worry about picking out a dress. It’s all been decided.”

“What, did he pick out the groom too?”

Kikaku snorts but your smile is nowhere to be seen; you take the invitation and push it over to him.

“I know it’s short notice, but I’d like your parents to come if they can. They’ve always been good to me; they’ve treated me more like a daughter than he ever did.” You tell him softly. “I must look pretty lame to you, huh? Letting my father marry me off and domesticate me. Is that why you called? Did you want a good laugh?”

“What the hell are you talking about?!” Kikaku turns so quickly in his seat, he nearly knocks over his now empty glass. “I was joking: did your old man really pick the guy out? What, did he send out a resume or something?”

“He works at the same company; we’ve met a few times. His name’s Kenji Hazawa. He needs a wife and my father needs me to settle down. A match made in heaven.”

“So? What is wrong with you?” Kikaku’s eyes scan your face, hardly believing the words coming out of your mouth so casually. “You’re gonna let your dad marry you off to some asshole you don’t even like?”

“Stop. I do not need you, of all the people in the fucking world judging my decisions.” You fix him with a cold stare. “I gave it to you for free. You know what I get with Kenji? A comfortable life and my father finally off my back. I get freedom.”

“How?! How the hell is selling yourself to the highest bidder-?”

“I knew you wouldn’t understand. It’s why I never told you. That's why I stopped talking to you.” You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. “You just don’t get it, Kikaku. I’m a single woman nearly past her expiration date, father’s words not mine, and no one is letting me hear the end of it. I’m done fighting against it all by myself.”

“You don’t have to do this. He can’t force you.”

“It’s already decided. I just have to walk down the aisle and say ‘I do’ and I never have to worry about money or being looked down on again. Sweet deal, isn’t it? Sorry. I guess I’m not the cool badass bitch I thought I was.” You roll your eyes and suck in a breath of air. “I tried doing it my way and what did I get? My father is ready to disown me, everyone in my life is treating me like a joke, minus your folks.”

“I never-”

“No, no, I wasn’t a joke to you. I was a good time.” You correct yourself. “Well, now I’m tired. I’m fucking exhausted and weak, alright? There, I admit it. I’ve been on my own in this and I’m sick and tired of it all. Is it really that different than you giving up music professionally for your merchandising job?”

“My job doesn’t fuck me.”

The sentence slipped out before Kikaku could filter himself; but it’s true, isn’t it? Won’t your husband expect you to perform your wifely duties? Kikaku’s nails dig into his palms; he can’t get the image out of his head, a faceless man, on top of you, taking you as though you’re his. You might get pregnant.

“How is this happening? She’s mine…she was mine.”

“It sounds like your job fucks you plenty.” You take a sip of water. “So, is that your issue? You won’t have the chance to get in my pants again if I’m spoken for?”

“Stop changing the subject, this isn’t about me.”

“It’s always about you.”

Kikaku glares at you, but somehow can’t bring himself to truly be angry; you’re being so despondent and resigned. The person sitting next to him might as well be a stranger. The fire is gone from your eyes and the sly quirk of your lips is nowhere to be seen. But then, maybe that was just the face you showed him. Kikaku can’t even defend himself and say you hadn’t made him aware of what you were going through. You had, multiple times, for years. He just wasn’t taking it to heart. At some point, you apparently decided to pull back entirely.

“Look, I don’t want to fight. I don’t hate you, Kikaku. This isn’t your business and I never meant for you to even know about the damn wedding. I’m going to get married next week and it’ll be okay. Kenji is a good man; we get along enough. We both know it’s a marriage of convenience.” You smile but it doesn’t reach your dull eyes. “Who knows? Maybe somewhere down the line we could fall in love. Either way, we’ll be content. It’s more than most people get to have.”

“This is fucking crazy. You’re crazy.” Kikaku is hunched over the bar counter; his voice is shaking. He can’t look at you; all he can do is stare blankly at the wood panel. “You can’t be happy with this. I don’t believe that for a second.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not asking for your blessing.” You put a few bills on the table. “Here, I still owe you for the last time we got drinks. You might not believe it, but I’m doing what’s best for me. I’m living my life for me. It’s my choice to do this, to make it all a little easier.”

“Is that the logic you’re using? Give up something to gain something you want more?” Kikaku leaves the bills on the counter, untouched. “Is it really worth it? Is this really what you want?”

“That’s also none of your business.” Despite your words, your tone is almost kind; with a faint smile, you stand up and push in the stool. “Have a goodnight, Kikaku.”

No. You can’t leave now, not like this. That smile is as fake as they come. Kikaku knows what your fake smiles look like; he’s always been able to tell how you’re feeling. He might not have been much of a comfort on your bad days, but he knew when you were having them, and he would try to make it a little better.

When did that stop? It wasn’t his intention to make you feel uncared for. Kikaku might have played around, but it didn’t make his feelings for you any less. He was just caught up in other things. He had no idea you were having that hard of a time.

You walk away and Kikaku doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t yell or leap from his chair to drag you from the door. He can’t feel his legs. You’re getting married. You’re going to be someone’s wife. He’ll never be able to make up with you. It’s over. You’re not going to give him the second chance Kikaku hadn’t even realized he had been hoping for.

“She’s really gone. It’s really over. She’s getting married.” Kikaku mutters to himself. “She’s getting married and I…I can’t do anything to stop it.”

“Hey don’t worry so much. Most marriages end in divorce.” The bartender comes over to collect the empty glasses. “I got married twice and we were actually in love. Besides, if it’s a marriage of convenience, maybe you can be her side piece.”

“Huh?” Kikaku glowered up at the man smiling placidly down at him. “Who the fuck asked you?!”

“Just trying to offer some comfort. I thought you guys weren’t serious anyway. How drunk are you? Don’t you recognize me?”

“Uh…”

“Nekota? This is my bar; it has been a while, but you came here a few times with a couple of my buddies.”

“Oh right. Usao-kun and Kumao-kun’s old friend.” Kikaku recalls. “My bad, I was…I’m kinda out of it today.”

“I could tell. That seemed rough. Want something stronger? On me, but just this once; still gotta make those child support payments after all, haha.” Nekota laughs good naturedly as he pulls down a bottle of tequila from the middle shelf. “Hey, that’s something to drink to; you’re a young bachelor, you’ve got plenty of time to settle down if you want to.”

Settle down? Kikaku never wanted to settle down; that was why things didn’t work between him and you in the first place. He has no right to feel so deflated.

Was there some secret part of him that hoped you would eventually come back? Well, contrary to Nekota’s assurances, Kikaku doesn’t have time. You’re going to be married in a week. You’ll be someone else’s. He won’t have a place in your world, not any more, not when you’re going to be somebody's beautiful, blushing bride.

“She doesn’t even love him. How can she do this?”

“Come on, Kikaku, right? Here, have a drink and relax.” Nekota beckons with his hand and sets down the shot of tequila. “The little lady said so herself, it’s not your problem.”

“No. I guess it’s not.”

Nekota is right and Kikaku doesn't need a two time divorcee to lecture him on matters of the heart. You had every right to go and marry another person, for whatever reason. Kikaku isn't even your friend anymore and he's certainly not your boyfriend. You don't owe him a thing and it's not his place to step in and try to convince you to not go through with a sham marriage. You've chosen your path and he's chosen his. All he can do now is toast to your nuptial and hope for the best. He can do that much for you.

"To the bride and groom."

"Here, here!" Nekota clinks his own shot glass with Kikaku's. "Good man, you're gonna be just fine."

"Cheers." Kikaku slurs and downs his shot in one large swallow. "Here's to the whole thing goes off without a hitch."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you take this woman, to have and to hold, to-”

“I OBJECT! NO ONE SAY ANOTHER DAMN WORD, I OBJECT!!!”

It took Kikaku two hours to get up that morning; he had been drinking into the late hours of the night in a last ditch effort to make sure he wasn't able to be mobile today off all days. Even now, dressed sloppily in an old suit, hair hastily tied back and eyes sunken in with sleep deprivation, he feels like he’s running in a dream. The venue is quaint but tastefully decorated in pastels. There’s not many guests; he supposes your father wanted to get the wedding done with little fanfare. The objective was to tie you down, not throw a celebration.

“Son of a bitch.” Your father is the first one to rise; he addresses you angrily. “Did you invite him?”

“N-no!”

You look aghast, glancing rapidly between Kikaku as he comes barreling down the aisle and your soon to be husband. Kenji looks twice as confused and a little scared, which is fair, considering how haggard and demented Kikaku looks, like a twitchy spider rushing to catch its prey. You hadn’t heard a peep from Kikaku since that night and his parents had politely turned down your invite, as they had a previous engagement they were committed to attend. It was a good thing they couldn’t, because you’re certain both Kikaku’s mother and father would keel over and die from the spectacle their son is currently making of himself.

“I said, I object!”

"Heavens above." The priest frowns. “Not another one.”

“WILL YOU SHUT UP?” It’s a wonder Kikaku can yell so loudly when he’s barely breathing; there’ sweat stains at his collar and the underarms of his blazer. “You can’t marry these two-they shouldn’t be married!”

“Who the heck are you?” Kenji’s brows furrow and he looks at you questioningly. “Do you know this guy?”

“Yes.” You sigh. “Kikaku, you’ve been drinking, haven’t you? I could smell you from the doors. Didn’t I tell you this wasn’t any of your business?”

“I don’t care! Dammit, I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry it took me so long to get my head out of my ass, but this isn’t about me.” Kikaku finally manages to speak without gasping. “I get it. You’re tired of dealing with your father’s bullshit and you think this is the only way out, but it’s not.”

“I’m calling the police!” Your father’s face is red and he looks ready to run up to the podium and deck Kikaku in the face. “How dare you? Haven’t you done enough? You weren’t good enough for her then and you sure as hell aren’t now.”

“Dad, you don’t need to call the police,” You look at him pleadingly. “Kikaku will leave on his own. He knows this is what I want.”

“No it’s not.”

“Dammit, will you leave already!?” You’re the one raising your voice now; hot tears prick the corners of your eyes. “Why, Kikaku? Why are you doing this to me? Are you just upset because I won’t be available anymore? Well, too bad. Go play with one of your girlfriends and stop making a scene.”

“I’m sorry. I'll say it as many times as I have to.” Kikaku steps forward until he’s standing in front of you. “I’m sorry for not listening. I’m sorry it took me this long to get it, but you don’t have to get married.”

“What? Is this your idea of a proposal or something?”

“I don’t deserve you either. I should have been there more. I can be.” Kikaku looks at you, exhausted, desperate. “Don’t do this. Let me be there for you like I should have been all this time. You don’t have to fight on your own, not anymore. I’ll never leave you alone again.”

You blink and tears drip down your cheeks. “Kikaku,”

“I sent out messages to all the girls I was seeing last night. Look at my contact list.” Kikaku takes his phone out of his pocket and shows you the screen; his contact list only has a handful of names, people you recognize as family and work colleagues and friends. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, just…don’t marry this guy.”

“Kikaku, you’re being absolutely-!”

“Hey,” Kenji begins tentatively. “I think he makes a few good points.”

“What?” You turn to stare at your fiance. “But, I agreed to this.”

“It’s not like we’re in love.” Kenji cracks a begrudging smile. “It could’ve been nice but something tells me that’s not going to cut it.”

“I’m…I couldn’t just-”

“Also, your friend’s kinda freaking everyone out and I’m a little scared he’s going to put a curse on me.” Kenji glances at Kikaku. “You couldn’t have showered before coming to take the bride away?”

“You-!” Kikaku grabs your hand. “Just for that, you’re cursed! Everyone’s cursed! I hope the open bar is worth it assholes!” his eyes soften as he looks at your stricken face. “Can we talk somewhere more private? I think your old man is gonna kill me before the cops show up.”

You look at his hand; his palm is sweaty.

“Please.” Kikaku’s voice is hoarse. “I won’t leave without you. I never want to go anywhere without you.”

“Damn you.” You’re really crying now. “You asshole.”

“Yeah.” Kikaku offers a weak smile; he glances down at your dress. “Oh. Wow.”

“Don’t say it.” You shake your head and wipe your eyes aggressively. “I know, it wasn't my choice.”

“You’re beautiful.”

Kikaku exhales and his grip on your hand tightens; he’s only just taking in the sight of you, dressed head to toe in a flowing white gown, dolled up and looking like an angel descended from heaven.

Maybe he was full of shit because right now all Kikaku wants to do is take you away for himself. He brings a hand up to wipe the tears off your cheek; why do you look so sad? Is he really not wanted here? Is giving himself to you not enough?

“I’ve been a fucking mess all week.” Kikaku admits, eyes searching your face for any sign you don’t despise him. “I couldn’t sleep or eat or focus at work. I’m being shameless, you don’t have to tell me that. Maybe it’s too late for us, but I can still fix this. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Just tell me what I have to do.”

You’re blushing now under his intense stare. “...take me with you.”

“What?” Kikaku leans in to catch every word. “What do you want?”

“You. I want you, Kikaku. I want you to take me out of here.” You confess, trying not to whimper as his thumb rubs your hot cheek. “I can’t do this without you.”

“Say no more.”

You hike up your skirt and kick off your heels; Kikaku leads the way, the two of you ignore the shouts and gasps and threats being hurled your way by your father. Your eyes stay glued on the hand still clutching onto yours and you run, run, run until the car is in sight, decked out in flowers and a “Just Married” sign on the back. Kikaku opens the passenger side door and guides you into the backseat, even lifting the hem of your skirt so the door doesn’t close on it. The driver, rightfully skeptical and a bit horrified, practically throws the keys at Kikaku when he screeches for them.

“I think everyone assumes you’re some sort of demon here to kidnap me.” You watch as the driver races up the steps of the venue, probably to explain why he’s left his post. “We’re going to have to return the car.”

“For now we drive,” Kikaku turns the keys, backs out of the parking space, and slams his foot on the gas.

“This is fun for you, isn’t it?”

“A little.” Kikaku laughs, suddenly quite cheerful. “I’m relieved. I thought I was going to lose you…again. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“I’m still on the fence about that.” You tell him warily, taking off your veil. “Did you really mean all that?”

“I might have lied a tiny bit about not wanting to steal you away. I want you for myself. I know it’s not fair to you, but that’s how I feel. I was going crazy.” Kikaku looks at you from the corner of his eye. “You look really good right now.”

“Thanks.” You adjust your seat belt. “Eyes on the road.”

“I want to fuck you in the dress.” Kikaku blurts out. “Let’s get a hotel and pretend we’re married to get a free bottle of champagne.”

“Aren’t you still hungover?”

“Hair of dog. Besides, this calls for a celebration.” Kikaku smirks a little. “I know it’s scary the first time, but I’ll be gentle with my pretty little bride.”

“Kikaku, was this all so you could play out some weird little fantasy?” You grumble. “I’m gonna jump out of this car and run back and see if Kenji will reconsider.”

“No! I was half joking…I just want you so bad.”

“Kikaku,” You cross your arms. “I mean it, I’m not in the mood for any teasing.”

“I meant it all. I’m yours, if you’ll have me.” One of Kikaku’s hands leaves the steering wheel; his playful smile is gone. “Do you not want me anymore? I don’t expect you to believe in me, after everything…but do you want to try again?”

For a tense moment, Kikaku thinks his chest will explode; he might actually die if you say no, even if you have every right to reject him. But then you take his hand and interlock your fingers. You smile, a little exasperated, but it’s a real, genuine smile. It practically blinds him; Kikaku has half a mind to beg you to marry him then and there. There’s still time and Kikaku plans to use it making you fall in love with him so you never regret today.

“Yes.” You kiss the back of his hand and smile brighter than he’s ever seen. “I do.”

#kikaku hanbee #kikaku hanbee x reader #x reader #fem reader #reader insert #ao3 fanfic #uramichi oniisan #big brother uramichi #life lessons with uramichi oniisan #nekota matahiko #one shot

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