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bahablastplz · 29 days 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

taglist: @shuporanporang ; @purp13st4r ; @eurydiceofterabithia ; @heartsbyandra ; @thicccurls ;

@rylea08 ; @the-sweetest-rose ; @oddracha ; @kapelover ; @goldenmellow ;

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@changbokkii ; @1810cl ; @sillyhal ; @abcdefgiwsmctyeliaitaiglykoh ; @justastraymoa

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laurentpark · 6 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 · 3 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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mudandmire · 6 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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cece693 · 4 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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rileyslibrary · 1 year 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

Text

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 · 7 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 · 10 months ago

Text

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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boxofbonesfic · 2 years ago

Text

Title: 𝙳𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚐ä𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 [3]

Pairing: Dark!Ransom x Reader, Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Summary: Your husband’s twin brother has always made you uncomfortable, and after two years of marriage, you finally find out why.

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Basement-wife, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Breeding kink, Smut, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do not eat!

Word Count: 6,133

A/N: oof. this one is a long one, but i really hope you all enjoy. no smut, but be assured… it’s on it’s way. 😈

Dinner is privately catered, a stoic chef cooking for the four of you in the big communal kitchen in the largest villa, the one you were staying in with Ransom and Lloyd. You’re practically ravenous, splitting your time between watching him impatiently through the large open archway into the kitchen and staring enviously at Nathalie’s over-full glass of wine.

“Don’s supposed to be getting here tomorrow, he and Kathy are coming with mom and dad,” she says, and Lloyd nods. Your brother had refused Lloyd’s offer of airfare, as had your father. They were both hard-headed and cynical on the best of days, so you assumed it had been because they thought he was trying to buy them off. If he was, it had certainly worked with Nat. Who, despite your mutual dislike of Lloyd, had not been able to stop thanking him. He preened under her praise of course, peacock that he was.

“I can’t wait to meet the in-laws.” He says, hoisting a glass of wine as if in a toast to your absent parents.

“My in-laws,” Ransom reminds him, and Lloyd makes a face you can’t discern beyond vague irritation.

“That’s what I said,” he snaps back, his lip curling.

You roll your eyes at their bickering. “When are your parents getting here again, babe?” You ask, talking over Lloyd’s irritated muttering. Ransom cocks his head.

“Day after tomorrow. But they’re not staying here, you know my mom. Full amenities.” He shrugs dismissively. “Why?”

“Just curious,” you say, eyeing the chef over his shoulder again. It looks like he’s plating up the food, which you’re grateful for, because you’re hungry enough to eat a horse. You don’t exactly hate the idea of the Thrombeys staying somewhere else. The plates come out hot, and you’re grateful to be served first, picking up your fork immediately. The chicken is flavorful and well seasoned, and your eyes roll as you bite in.

“Oh my God,” you say, and Nat releases a similarly pleased groan.

“Right? This is—Christ. Do they rent this place out like, monthly?” She leans over to elbow your brother-in-law. “Because I would definitely move here. Only if the personal chef is included, though.” You eye Nat’s glass of wine jealously as you eat, knowing it would pair perfectly with the chicken. Probably better with her fish, but I can’t eat that. You know you shouldn’t be sullenly coveting your sister’s dietary freedoms, after all, she’s not the one who decided to go ahead and get pregnant.

You wonder what Ransom’s parents will have to say about the baby—you know part of the purpose of this trip is to butter them up to the idea of being grandparents. Linda wasn’t exactly the most… supportive of you and Ransom getting together, her cold acceptance the one constant every time you were forced to interact. Maybe, you think, placing an absent hand on your belly as you push the food around your plate, she’ll finally find something to be happy about.

“Hey, hello,” Nathalie snaps her fingers in front of your face to get your attention. You scowl, slapping her hands away as she laughs. She’s never quite grown out of her irritating younger sibling behavior, and you don’t want to smile at her childish antics, but you can’t help it. “I was thinking maybe we could go into town tomorrow, maybe see the sights, take some pictures—”

“That won’t work,” Lloyd replies before either you or Ransom have time to consider it. “I have work.”

“Work?” Nathalie scoffs. “What work? We’re on vacation,” she says, shaking her head. “And besides, we can just meet you after, can’t we?”

“No.” Lloyd’s voice is oddly strained, like he’s angry at the suggestion even being made. “If we can’t all go, we should stay here.” You frown—you don’t like him snapping at Nat like that, and you make your displeasure known.

“Lloyd this is our trip too. We’re allowed to do things.” He cuts his eyes at you before they soften just a little at the edges.

“The two of you shouldn’t go places alone.” You get the feeling that isn’t really what he wants to say. “The town is nice, but it can get… dicey.” It’s your turn to roll your eyes. “Besides, it’s a family trip—”

“Honestly, Lloyd, if you’re upset at being left out, just say so,” you snap, reaching rather forcefully for your water glass. It takes a moment for you to realize that everyone is staring at you—Lloyd’s eyes angry, Ransom’s amused, and Nathalie’s worried. You’re tired of him nagging you, his secretive smiles, knowing little glances—you’re already sick of it. You know they’ll probably chalk it up to hormones, and you’re willing to let them believe it, ignoring their looks as you focus on your food.

“How about we make plans tomorrow?” Nathalie says, her voice small. You know she’s capitulating to save herself having to sit through the argument she can tell is brewing. And hell, maybe it is hormones, but you’re not going to put up with Lloyd bossing you around all week. You don’t take part in the small talk that creeps up around the table in the wake of your outburst, and you feel a shameful amount of pleasure at having thrown Lloyd for a loop. For once, he’s broody and irritable instead of smug, and you can’t help but revel in it.

Nathalie excuses herself back to her little cabana, and you to the suite you share with Ransom, knowing he’ll be there soon to chastise you. You pop into the shower, standing gratefully underneath the scalding hot spray. It’s the one thing you’ve never really understood, your husband’s staunch defense of his brother. There’s little you know Ransom would deny Lloyd if he asked, and Lloyd never hesitates to take advantage of his brother’s good will.

When you exit the shower, your prediction has officially come to fruition. Ransom is sitting on the bed, his arms crossed as he purses his lips at you.

“Sweetheart, picking fights is not going to make things easier.” You roll your eyes.

“He’s a prick,” you huff. “He’s controlling and rude and smug—”

“And he’s trying to get closer to you—to us. He wants to be a real part of our family,” Ransom says, his eyes dropping pointedly to your belly before he drags them back up to your face. “Why can’t you try and get along with him, too?” You huff as your husband stands and walks over to you. Stubbornly, you don’t return his hug, and he chuckles, pressing a kiss into your hair. When he doesn’t let go, you sigh, wrapping your arms around his broad torso in return. You turn your head, pressing your cheek to his chest. You catch sight of the bracelet on the dresser, and sigh again.

“I am trying to get along with him,” you say petulantly, and Ransom fixes you with a deadpan stare as he leans away. “Fine. I can… I can try harder. For you,” you add the last part pointedly. “I know you guys are close, and I don’t… Ugh. I don’t want to get in the way of that. I just… I didn’t like how he was talking to Nat,” you admit, and Ransom laughs. You do too, even as you slap playfully at his arm in Nathalie’s defense.

“Spoiled rotten, both of them,” Ransom cedes that to you, at least—even if he has to incriminate Nathalie in the process. Which you don’t really mind—it’s not like it isn’t true. “Let’s give him this one day, okay? We’ll all go to the beach after he’s done work.”

“Fine.” You say, shaking your head as you move toward your suitcase. The resort staff had offered to unpack it for you, but you were less than keen at having a stranger go through your things, so you rummage around until you’ve found one of Ransom’s old university t-shirts.

“I don’t even know what work he could be doing here, like five-thousand miles away from his job,” you mutter as you climb into bed. With only a touch of shame, you watch your husband get undressed, leaving a trail of clothes behind him as he goes to shower too.

“Did you take your vitamins, Sweetheart?” Ransom calls from the bathroom, and you curse. You aren’t used to your new regimen of prenatal vitamins and supplements, and you grimace, remembering the size of them.

“No, but I’ll take them tomorrow,” you call, and Ransom pokes his head out of the bathroom, a stern look on his face. “Fine, now,” you climb back out of bed and grab your toiletry bag. You’d been surprised when Ransom had insisted on you seeing the family doctor after your own, and doubly so when he had prescribed you a veritable laundry list of pills. Even now as you line up the bottles on the dresser, you feel intimidated by their sheer number. Vitamins for you, vitamins for the baby, supplements for you, supplements for the baby, something for your blood pressure, for the morning sickness—too many to count.

Ransom gives you a satisfied nod before ducking back into the bathroom. You want to stay awake until he comes out—you’re not finished with this Lloyd conversation, not by a long shot—but your eyelids begin to droop before the water even shuts off. Your awareness is patchy, brief moments of clarity as it becomes harder and harder for you to surface from underneath the pitch black weight of unconsciousness.

You’re alone, and then Ransom is in the bed with you, and then he isn’t, and then his voice, and then—

Nothing.

—

You greet your first morning in the villa groggily. The morning sun streaming in through the gap in the blinds paints a blinding stripe across your face as you squint. There’s a chalk-dust taste on your tongue when you sit up, and you grimace, swallowing dryly. Each of your limbs feels like it weighs easily twice as much as normal as you drag yourself to the bathroom, nausea twisting your stomach into an acid mess. After your—now routine—session of heaving up absolutely nothing, you rinse your mouth out in the sink.

The digital clock on the dresser tells you its half past ten, easily an hour or two after you usually wake up in the morning. The villa is quiet, though, no signs of Ransom—or Lloyd. You chalk it up to luck as you pad down the short set of steps into the empty kitchen. You can hear the ocean if you listen hard, just underneath the sound of the comforting breeze passing through the trees before it flows in through the wide open windows. You open the fridge, and find evidence of breakfast—sliced fruit, cold pancakes.

Ignoring the pancakes, you grab the plate of fruit, pulling off the saran-wrap covering it before popping a date into your mouth.

“Oh, you’re up. How’s your stomach this morning?” You glance briefly around the open door of the fridge at your husband, before closing it.

“Ugh. I puked again this morning,” you say, swallowing at the memory of the acid bile on your tongue. “Not looking forward to nine months of this.” You pop another piece of mango into your mouth.

“Well, you know they say there are good remedies for morning sickness.” There’s a suggestiveness in his voice that makes you laugh, a bashful heat rising in your cheeks. You shake your head, plucking an orange slice from the plate before looking fully up at—

Your chest tightens—this isn’t Ransom at all.

It’s Lloyd.

How he’d managed to sound exactly like Ransom you aren’t sure—their voices are similar, but certainly not identical. You hadn’t even realized at a glance, his telltale mustache missing, as were the thick signet rings on his fingers. The smile on his face remains disgustingly innocent, as if he doesn’t know what he’s done.

“Something wrong?” He asks, parroting Ransom’s drawl with terrifying accuracy.

You swallow, suddenly uncomfortably aware of the fact that the hem of Ransom’s t-shirt skirts the tops of your thighs. And more than that, you are aware of the fact that you are alone.

“I th—” The words stick in your throat. “I thought. Um. You were Ransom.” Your voice is tight, like your white knuckled grip on the fruit plate. Lloyd’s eyebrows rise, and he clucks his tongue, a apologetic little pout forming on his lips.

“I’m sorry, Princess.” You know he isn’t sorry, he isn’t sorry at all. “Even the best get us mixed up from time to time.” He breezes by you, making a show of looking in the fridge. He’s so close to you that you can feel the heat of him, smell his cologne. Your body is tense and frozen as he rummages through the fridge behind you, too close for you to move without touching him.

He’s doing this on purpose.

You know the thought is unreasonable, but you can’t help thinking it anyway. Lloyd hadn’t claimed to be Ransom, not really. It was you who had made the assumption, and to be fair, you hadn’t even voiced it. He just didn’t correct me. As per usual, Lloyd’s proverbial cup fucking runneth over with plausible deniability, and you’re stuck debating whether what you’re feeling is even real at all.

After what feels like an eternity, Lloyd closes the fridge. The few extra inches of space the shut door allows you to slip around to the other side of the kitchen island, keeping your eyes on him the whole time. Lloyd leans forward to pluck handful of grapes off of the tray.

“No need to be so anxious, Princess. It was an honest mistake.” His smile is too amused for the situation, and it unnerves you. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” You say, wishing your words had come out in the slow and measured way you’d meant for them to. Instead, they’re rushed, hard.

Defensive.

“Exactly.” Lloyd pops the last of the grapes into his mouth, and claps his hands together in a manner you know is meant to be agreeable. Try to get along, says the needful Ransom in the back of your mind. For me.

“I’m going to, um. Go and get dressed.” You gesture loosely at yourself. “If you could send Ransom my way, I’d appreciate it.”

“My pleasure.” He purrs. You retreat back to your room, careful not to rush. You feel Lloyd’s eyes on you the whole way, and it isn’t until you’re in the bedroom with the door shut and your weight leaned heavily against it that the feeling dissipates. You’re tying the bandeau on the back of your swimsuit top when Ransom comes in, and for a moment you forget the nagging feeling as he sweeps you into his arms, nuzzling the side of your neck affectionately.

“Sweetheart, I’m glad you’re up.” He smooths greedy hands over your hips before tapping your ass sharply through your linen shorts. “Almost makes me want to take you back to bed.”

You giggle, slapping at his wandering hands.

“I was promised a beach outing,” you reply, reaching around him for the matching blouse. “You can take me to bed after.”

“I’ll remember that,” Ransom replies, pulling his own trunks out of his suitcase. He’s already starting to tan, freckles appearing over the bridge of his nose and the tops of his cheeks. You can’t help but inspect him closely, especially after… you shake your head, adjusting your top in the mirror.

“You’re staring, baby. Do I have something in my teeth?” He asks, cocking his head at you.

“No, no,” you say quickly, shaking your head. There’s nothing to tell. “It’s nothing.”

—

“Baby girl!” Your father sweeps you up into a crushing hug, your mother fluttering around from your left to your right like an excited hummingbird. “You don’t know how happy we are to see you.” He plants an embarrassingly loud kiss on your cheek, and then moves out of the way to allow your mother her turn. Nathalie sucks her teeth from beside you.

“Where’s my warm welcome?” She complains jokingly, crossing her arms. “Am I chopped liver or something over here?” Your mother clucks her tongue at your sister over your shoulder.

“We see you every Sunday for dinner Nathalie,” she says, and over her shoulder you see your father roll his eyes.

“Yeah, and every time you need money.” He gripes, but moves to hug her anyway.

“Now that is a grossly unfair assessment of my character,” Nathalie sniffs, ignoring your father’s outstretched arms in favor of giving him a cold handshake. He laughs, and you wonder if the booming sound of it travels all the way back to the gate from here. Your father has always been a cheerful man, and you see that the long trip hasn’t dulled that disposition. The only thing that seems to be putting a damper on his mood is—

“Sir. I trust your trip was comfortable,” Ransom says, leaning forward to shake your father’s hand. He regards your husband with a cool, muted smile before returning the gesture. You aren’t sure why your father—and your brother, who has disappeared from the back of the shuttle with your sister-in-law—have taken such a dislike to him. It had been tough work convincing him that Ransom wasn’t just some rich weirdo looking for a good time, and to be quite honest, you aren’t sure if he’s entirely convinced, even now.

“It was.”

You could cut the fucking tension with a knife, you think, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“So, um. Are you guys hungry? And where’s Don? He and Kathy have been looking for a bathroom for like, ever,” you mutter, unable to resist trying to diffuse the tension with chatter. If your father was cool on Ransom, you knew he actively disliked Lloyd.

Getting piss-drunk at my wedding didn’t fucking help, you think grimly, looking between your dissatisfied father and your husband. You know Ransom—he isn’t going to bow and scrape for your father’s approval. And, you’d had this argument before.

“We’re going to need help unloading all the bags.” Your mother answers, and you look at her confusedly.

“All the bags? Guys this is like, a four day trip.” A disbelieving little laugh escapes you before you can swallow it. “How much did you pack?” Your inquisition is interrupted by the sight of your brother, Nathalie worming her way in between you to point him out. He and his wife are pushing one of the resort’s little dollies, no doubt with the intent of loading it up with suitcases. You peek around the back of the van, and your mouth drops at the veritable mountain of suitcases.

“Squirt,” your brother greets you, and you scowl at the nickname.

“You have got to stop calling me that. We’re all grown up now, Don,” you say, and he laughs.

“When you’re taller than me, we’ll talk about it.”

Everyone seems overjoyed to see you, and you wonder guiltily if you really have been away so long. Nat is prone to complaining about the distance between you, but you generally chalked that up to her clinginess. And sure, your mother usually found a way to lament seeing you now on holidays and special occasions, but…

“I bet you’re all exhausted,” Lloyd replies, interrupting the chain of your thoughts. “Why don’t we get you guys unpacked—we’ve got reservations in town at nine.” You turn to look at him in confusion. No one had told you about dinner reservations. And by the easy smile on Ransom’s face, he certainly isn’t surprised by the news, and neither is Nathalie.

You seem to be the only person out of the loop.

Ransom squeezes your hand, drawing shapes on the back of it with his thumb as you all make your way into the main villa for coffee and presumably awkward chit-chat. About as soon as you walk inside and kick off your flip-flops, Nathalie drags your mother and Kathy off to take in the amazing view, leaving you alone with the men. They seem about as eager to talk to each other as you are to play mediator, and you leave them in awkward silence to get ready for dinner.

When Ransom edges into the bedroom, you’re already dressed, sweeping your hair up into a messy, loose bun. He hums with approval as he approaches you, smoothing his hands appreciatively over your bare shoulders. His lips follow, and you can’t help but giggle. Your eyes meet his in the mirror, and Ransom’s playful smile turns smarmy as you watch his gaze travel down to your breasts, pushed up by the bra you’re wearing.

“You look good enough to eat.”

“You like it?” You ask, turning to face him, and he chuckles.

“If we hadn’t already made dinner plans…” He trails off, cupping your cheek with one palm. Ransom’s fingers trace down the side of your throat, catching at the delicate silver chain nestled there. The pendant rests just above your breasts, a tear-drop shaped sapphire winking in the light from the vanity. It was Ransom’s first birthday gift to you, the first one of many extravagant displays of affection.

“You should wear your bracelet,” he says, nodding at Lloyd’s gift. You haven’t put it on since he’d given it to you, and you wonder if Ransom’s suggestion is because he’s noticed. “It would match with your necklace.” He picks it up, and begins fastening it around your wrist without your input. You eye yourself skeptically in the mirror when he’s finished, holding up your arm so that you can see the jewelry together. It does match—absurdly well. Even down to the little leaf designs on the prongs holding the stones in place.

Weird.

It does look nice with the flowy, silky taffeta dress you’re wearing to dinner.

“I still can’t believe how much this cost,” you mutter. The stones sparkle in the light as you turn your hand.

“Oh?” Ransom asks, glancing at you in the mirror as he buttons up his shirt. “How much?” You cock your head at him.

“What?”

“How much?” He repeats the question casually, like he doesn’t understand why you’re looking at him like he’s grown another head. “What,” he asks with a little laugh. “Lloyd tell you not to tell me, or something?”

“Fif—It was fifteen-thousand dollars, Ran.” You know you’re staring, but you can’t help it. “You told me.” Like something clicks in his brain, Ransom makes an oh face, and then smacks a hand against his forehead.

“Ugh. Jet-lag,” he says, shaking his head. “I forgot.” He smiles at you warmly in the mirror as he finishes buttoning up his cuffs. You want to chalk it up to his rich upbringing, after all, fifteen-thousand dollars is a paltry sum to someone with Thrombey money. Easy to forget.

Isn’t it?

You and Ransom greet your parents in the living area, and both they and your brother and sister-in-law look much refreshed. Lloyd is there too, Ransom’s spitting image in perfectly reversed colors. You know you shouldn’t feel… a way about him looking at you, about his eyes traveling slowly down the bodice of your dress to where your hands are clasped in front of your belly. His brows rise a fraction at the sight of the bracelet, and the corners of his mouth turn up in a little grin. You’d describe it as almost triumphant—but it’s gone just as quickly as it had come, and you’re left wondering if you’d even seen it at all.

“Are we all here and ready?” Ransom asks, and the quiet murmur in the room ceases. You’re still not quite sure how he does that, how he commands all of the attention in a room with no effort at all.

“No, we’re missing Nathalie—where is that girl? I’m starving,” your mother replies, beginning to dig into her purse for her phone. As she pulls it out, Nathalie rushes through the sliding door to the patio, still tugging on her shoes.

“Sorry, sorry, I was on the phone with Jaiden,” she mutters in apology, rolling her eyes. “He is so clingy.” She smooths her hands over her dress, and then claps them together. “But I am ready to go! Starving.” Your family begins moving outside toward the cars, and Nathalie slides her arm through yours.

“If he’s so clingy, why didn’t he come with?” You ask suspiciously, and she rolls her eyes a second time.

“He… would have. I just, I don’t think, um. Meeting the family is the best idea. We’re not, you know. Serious.” You poke her with one outstretched finger as you walk, and she swats at your hand in protest.

“Does he know that?”

She snorts.

“He should. We don’t do anything but f—study.” She looks quickly in your father’s direction. He’s busy getting into Ransom’s rental, but you know that doesn’t mean he isn’t listening carefully.

The ride to the restaurant is a quiet one. You can’t quiet your thoughts no matter how much you try, and it’s noticeable—your mother tries to fill the gap in the conversation left by your absence, trying in vain to get your father to acknowledge Ransom’s conversation hooks with more than terse one-liners.

Fifteen-thousand dollars. You don’t know why you’re still thinking about it but you are, turning the thought over in your head as if it were a pebble in your shoe.

Fifteen-thousand dollars. You would think it was a sum you wouldn’t soon forget—but Ransom had. It wasn’t just that he had forgotten—when you’d been on the plane, he’d delivered the dollar amount with offhanded familiarity, it just didn’t… it didn’t make sense. Does it have to?

It feels like you’ve only just gotten into the car when you’re piling back out of it again. The restaurant is like something out of a movie, set into the cliffside as the sound of crashing waves echoes up from the rocks below. You lean over the railing, marveling at the sight of the moon’s face reflected in the dark, shifting waters.

“Oh you look so pretty,” Nathalie gushes, reaching for her phone. “Let me take a picture—Ransom get in here, God,” she gestures at your husband. “This is a Kodak moment.” The smell of him is comforting and familiar as he presses close, tucking you into his body as he tilts your head up for a kiss. “Aww, that’s cute. Stay just like that!” He brushes his lips against yours, a soft laugh puffing across your cheeks.

“Bossy, isn’t she?” He asks, and you laugh too.

“I think we’ve had this conversation.”

Ransom wouldn’t lie to me. You’re still thinking about it—fifteen-fucking-thousand dollars—how could you not be? But you want to believe him. After all, what would he have to gain by lying? You lean forward and kiss him fully, and you feel his fingers sink appreciatively into the curves of your hips through the layers of your dress. He wouldn’t.

“Alright, alright lovebirds, I’ve got enough pictures,” Nathalie says. Ransom kisses you one more time—out of spite, you’re sure—before he grabs your hand, and you make your way into the restaurant with your family.

“I had the terrace reserved,” Lloyd says, a haughty sort of pride evident in the words. No one else seems to notice or mind, though. Your mother gasps appropriately at the sight of the candlelit table, and as she and Nathalie titter about how beautiful it is, you swear you see Lloyd’s head inflate two sizes.

“It’s just lovely,” your mother gushes, trailing her fingers along the silky tablecloth. The plates are all ceramic pieces, and you can tell they’re handmade, probably by a local artist. There are seashells set along the table too, in between the place settings and around the glasses.

“It is lovely,” you say, admitting it begrudgingly as Lloyd basks in your praise. “Thank you, Lloyd.”

“Anything for you, Princess.” He purrs. “We’re all family now.” His grin makes something cold settle at the base of your spine, and you watch as he turns to the host. “A bottle of Prosecco for the table, please.” He leans in close, and whispers loudly, “And a bottle of sparkling cider, please.” You wince. Your parents are also still blissfully unaware of your condition, and you certainly don’t want LLoyd tipping them off. You glare at him, but either he doesn’t notice, or he doesn’t care as he gestures at the the table.

“Please, sit, everyone.” Lloyd holds court like Ransom does, and you hate to admit that you find him equally enthralling. He’s just as good at telling stories, at commanding rapt attention, just like your husband. Ransom pulls out a chair for you, and you feel your face heat. He still makes you feel like a giddy newlywed, even though you’re staring down the barrel of two years in just a couple of months. You sit, and Ransom takes up residence at your right. Much to your chagrin, Lloyd sandwiches you in on the other side.

You stop yourself from shooting him a sharp look—there aren’t any assigned seats at this table, and unfortunately for you, it seems like no one else is privy to your discomfort, all seating themselves without issue. You try to ignore him, propping open the menu. There are little English translations underneath the Greek, and you squint, trying to see them in the low light.

“Would you like some help, Princess?” Lloyd asks, and you hate that his voice manages to be silky smooth even through the thickness of his Boston accent. A glance at Ransom tells you he’s trying to engage your brother, and surprisingly doing a fair job of it without your help. Lloyd’s thigh brushes up against your own as he scoots closer, his arm going around the back of your chair while he leans in close.

He smells like Ransom.

The thought is unsettling. They’re probably wearing the same cologne or something, but either way, you don’t like not having an additional physical tell.

“All of the seafood is down here —no fish for you, though, right, Princess?” He hums amusedly. “Red meat here, chicken here, pasta, and salads.”

“Thank you.” You smile curtly at him retreating a few inches to the other side of your seat. To your dismay, he follows. His fingers brush your bare shoulder as he presses in tighter. You know that to anyone looking, it seems like he’s helping you. You aren’t sure why you feel differently, like there’s a different sort of intent simmering underneath his innocent touches.

“Oh, any time.” He lingers for another second or two before settling himself firmly back into his seat. You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Fifteen-thousand dollars. You purse your lips, pushing the thought back out of your head with effort. Ransom’s hand covers yours, and you turn to him gratefully. The conversation around the table falls to a low hum as the waiter approaches. When the orders are all taken, you see a look pass between Ransom and Lloyd, one you don’t understand. A thin tendril of jealousy curls in your gut, even though you don’t want it to. They’re brothers, twins, of course you can’t be privy to every aspect of their relationship.

It doesn’t stop the sting, though.

Ransom stands, clearing his throat as he clasps his hands behind his back.

“I just wanted to thank you, Phil, Bonnie, Don, Kathy, Nathalie, for joining us. Family is… very important to me, to my brother and I,” he gestures at Lloyd. “And I know blending two very different families is difficult, at best.” He looks at your father when he says it, and to your surprise, he nods. Ransom produces a black velvet box from his pocket. You feel your breath catch in your chest as he turns to you.

“When we first started dating, I remember you told me you were looking for something solid. Something forever, and I quote ‘like my parents have.’” Your eye darts quickly over to your parents to gauge their reaction. Your mother’s lips curve up into a soft smile, and even your father looks rather touched. “You told me about how hard things were, when you were younger, the way your parents sacrificed everything to make sure that you could stand here, with me, now, and I thought to myself ‘those people gave me the greatest gift, and they don’t even know it’.” He laughs, shaking his head a little.

Ransom pushes his chair out of the way, and walks around to the other side of the table where your mother is sitting.

“This is for you. It isn’t anything compared to what you’ve given me,” Ransom looks lovingly at you and warm pride fills you at the sight. “But it was the best I could do.” He places the little jewelry box in front of her. “Please, open it.”

“You really didn’t have—” Your mother goes silent, covering her mouth with one hand as she looks at your father. “Phillip, I…”

“How did you get this?” Your father’s voice is tight with emotion as your mother reaches with trembling fingers into the box. Threaded between her fingers is a delicate silver chain, with a heavy looking pendant—a locket, hanging from it. You recognize it, but only because you’ve seen it about a dozen times in all of the family albums.

“We-we sold this.” He lets a disbelieving little laugh as your mother holds it up. “We had to. Two babies, and another on the way—we couldn’t let them cut off the power, or the heat, so…”

“It was my grandmothers,” your mother’s voice is thickly laced with tears as she places it carefully back into the box.

“Well, when she told me that, I thought maybe I could track it down. I had to enlist my brother’s help, of course,” he says, nodding in Lloyd’s direction. “Couldn’t have done it alone.”

Lloyd nods graciously in a way that tells you he’s pleased. “Amazing the things you find when you’ve got high enough clearance.”

He winks. Your mother is openly crying now, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin so as not to muss her makeup too much. To your astonishment, your father’s eyes are wet too. And though he doesn’t shed any tears, you don’t mistake it for anything less than complete astonishment and gratefulness. He stands up and sniffs, his mustache wiggling above his lip as he walks over to your husband and hugs him, clapping him loudly on the back.

“Welcome to the family.” He pats Ransom again between the shoulders with a clap. “Son.”

Fifteen-thousand dollars.

Your father nods at Lloyd before sitting back down, and your mother carefully tucks the jewelry box into her purse.

“Government clearance, huh?” Don says, nodding respectfully at Lloyd. “What’s that like?”

Ransom sits back down beside you, and you turn to him, squeezing his hand as he settles back in. Servers come out with drinks, and suddenly the table seems more lively than it was ten minutes ago, the terrace brighter and more welcoming against the starry night and dark sea. You feel somehow disconnected from it all, though, as though a glass pane stands between you and everyone else as the thought rings again in your unwilling head—fifteen-thousand dollars.

“I can’t believe you found that for my mom,” you say quietly, and Ransom smiles at you, shrugging. “That was like, ten Christmases worth of gifts all in one.”

“Do you think that means I can skip ten Christmases?” He asks, and you laugh, shoving at his arm.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know if we were going to be able to get it. Plus I didn’t want Nathalie getting it out of you.” You know you should feel happy, this is a big stride, and a happy night. You want to be happy. And most of all, you want to believe. You want to more than anything. Because you already know where you’ll end up if you don’t.

You know where the thin, winding thread of that distrust leads, and you don’t even want to think it. It’s such a silly chain of if, then’s that you don’t want to follow it all the way through to the end, not when you can be happy.

Because if Ransom is lying, then it wasn’t him on the plane at all—

It was Lloyd.

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#cevans fanfiction #cevans fandom #cevans characters #lloyd hansen #ransom drysdale #lloyd hansen x you #ransom drysdale x you #lloyd hansen x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #dark!lloyd hansen #dark!ransom drysdale #lloyd hansen imagine #ransom drysdale imagine #lloyd hansen smut #ransom drysdale smut #darkfic #boxofbonesfic #doppelganger fic

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bronx-bomber87 · 9 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!

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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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