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miniaturesuitgladiator · 5 months ago

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Hi 👋 this is the second chapter of the series I've created. I haven't named the series yet so if you guys have an idea pls tell me. I also appreciate everyone that read my last post. Pls don't be rude I'm still new to writing stories. So if you have any tips let me know!!! Thank you for your time and enjoy!!

Notes: talia is married to bruce. We're gonna act like Jason didn't die and it's ok for him to be seen with the Wayne's.

WARNINGS: Yandere (they aren't really yandere for reader yet.)

You loved church you truly did ,and like anyone else in the would. You observe things that you love. You knew everyone in church. Which wasn't hard because your whole town went. That and the fact that your town was small. The only people that didn't go to church was the people that were just plain bad people at heart ,and even sometimes they went.

They came and left as they pleased and your church welcomed them with open arms ,everytime. Which disappointed your father greatly. Mostly because he's the one that usually had to put them in cuffs when there supposedly good streek was over.

Nevertheless you were also one of the people that welcomed them aslwell. Decideding that everyone deserved a second chance. Anyway, you knew everyone in church by name and address. You even knew what are car they drove.

So image your surprise when there was a new car parked right in front of the church. Right were your father parks. Everyone knew that the parking spaces in the front were especially reserved for the people that helped organize the church. Not even the supposedly bad people at heart parked in your father's parking space.

"What on earth are these people on." Your father says ,and you know your mother's angry by how she doesn't even correct your father on judging people. You cringe at how hard your mother slams the trucks door. Silently you all watch as your mother practically stomps her way into the church.

Now, your mother may have wanted to be early for just about everything ,but she actually had a good reason to be early for church. Your mother was the daughter of the pastor ,and the head manager of the whole church. Everyone knew that.

Your mother was always known as the typical 'preachers daughter' ,but she also did things out of church like ,help with school fundraising ,donate to charities. It was safe to say she was big part of the community. But she didn't do all that to be part of the community. She did it to earn respect. An seeing someone park in the parking space that she's been parking in since she was sixteen and had gotten her first busted up car. Drove her mad. Rightful so, she earned that parking spot ,or atleast she believed she did.

Getting out of your car and walking towards the car that 'stole' your parents parking space. You noticed that it was a very nice car. Like a very ,very nice car. Something that you doubt anyone in you town could afford.

'Maybe their knew and mom will show them mercy.' You think to yourself. They were most definitely rich that was for sure. If they were knew they definitely came to the right place. Everyone important came to this church. So if they wanted to feel included in the community today was the right day. Especially since everyone was going to bring some kind of food to eat at the church ,today.

Everyone in town knew your family. That being said everyone in town knew you. Your grandpa was the pastor, but not only the pastor he's a judge. The only judge that your town has. He was kind as a pastor and a judge. He truly does believe everyone deserves a second chance. He's definitely where you get it from. Your grandma was the towns seamstress everyone knew that if you wanted a dress or a suit you go to her for the best of the best. Unfortunately for them she only made you the best of the best ,and sure others were jealous. But they also wanted to get on her good Side. fortunately for you, you never wore hand me downs dresses. Your grandma wouldn't allow it.

Your father was the sheriff and more often then not he butted heads with your grandpa. Solely because when he would put someone in jail your grandpa would 'turn the other cheek' ,and let them go the next day.

Your father was tall and quite intimidating. He's probably the reason you've never had a boyfriend. It's a small town and it's not hard to see that your the sheriffs baby. Sure your brothers the youngest but your his princess, his angel, his world. And no one wants to get on the sherrifs bad side, especially not with the connects your family has.

Your uncle and aunt are definitely the ones that spoil you the most. With your uncle being the mayor and your aunt being a lawyer. They definitely have some money. Sadly your aunt is infertile ,and their always so busy so they know they won't be able to adopt. So they treat you and riley as their kids. An In their hearts you two are their kids.

You know your family has controll over this town. Not only by what you see but by how people treat you.

Today's no diffrent than any other Sunday except for the fact someone 'stole' your parking space. Just like clock work you walk into the big church door and are greeted with friendly smiles and waves. By now though you can tell the difference between the real ones and the fake ones.

You hug you grandmother and she's excited seeing you wear the dress she made for you. You thank her and decided you should look for your grandfather since he's usually the first one that greets you at the door. How unusual. You walk by the church kitchen and spot your mother and father working on putting some food away. You can just hope your mother's not angry anymore or it'll definitely ruin your sunday.

You smile as you spot your grandfather talking to someone in the hall by the bathrooms. Not wanting to interrupt you simply offer a kind smile to your grandpa and begin to walk to the stage. But your grandpa had other plans. "And this is my granddaughter. " Your grandpa says pointing at you. Feeling awkward you just smile and slightly wave.

"Come say hi to are guest ,sunshine" Your grandpa says motioning with his hand for you to come closer. "Hello" you say with a small wave.. "Hello I'm bruce wayne and this is my wife talia." The man says gently shaking your hand and pointing at his wife. You offer the women a kind smile to which she doesn't retaliate. Shaking her hand she almost looks disgusted by you but you shake it off. Maybe she's just shy. " Well I'm y/n. Nice to meet you." You say and the women simply rolls her eyes. 😁

You suppose your grandpa saw that and got offended for you because of what he says next. "Well sunshine the Wayne's are in need of some land and since are towns land connects right to gotham their trying to by some." Your grandpa had said. It was true your towns land did connect to gotham. But you also knew that other people had already tried to buy land in your town but couldn't. Due to the fact that all the people in your town were plain stubborn.

If you hadn't know your grandpa and your town like the back of your hand you would have thought that your grandpa was just telling you what the Wayne's wanted. But you did know your grandpa ,and town like the back of your hand. You heard the teasing tone in your grandpa's voice and how his smile slightly betrayed him.

To the waynes it was a simple conversation just your grandpa telling you what they were talking about. But between you and your grandpa it was like mocking them. Which you've never seen your grandpa do. Especially not in the church. You knew that the people in your town had a hard time selling cows because of how possessive they are.

Your town was small because of its small number of people ,but it wasn't small in land. No it was quite the opposite ,in land. Your town was probably as big as gotham or maybe even bigger ,in land. Just not in people. And your town liked that. They liked what they owned. They liked having to work hard to keep what they have. Not only for themselves but for their children.

They found confort in knowing everyone in town. So did you. You smile kindly at what your grandpa says playing along in his 'teasing' manner.

"Well, that's exciting." You say staring at the women with the greenest eyes you've ever seen. "Well sunshine why don't you say hi to their children, they do look awfully lonely." Your grandpa says. Looking at their children, all boys ,sadly. Maybe if they were girls you'd have something to talk about ,but their boys. They do look rather lonely or maybe that's what your saying in your head to have some courage to go up to them.

Why your grandpas so sweet to these people you'll never know. You don't want to see these people any longer but you doubt they'll leave before the service and they have kids. Hopefully their kids aren't as rude.

"All right grandpa." You say hoping these people don't hurt your grandpas feelings. Your grandpa did have a sensitive heart after all.

Walking toward the group of boys you had began feeling nervous. What would you talk about. No, what could you talk about. They are nothing like you ,and if they were anything like their mother than you already disliked them.

Maybe it was God listening to you or just luck but before you had reached the boys. You heard someone call your name. To Your surprise it was Lola your bestie. She smiled widely as she waved at you. Quickly changing which direction you were walking you smiled back at her.

"You're actually early today." You say giving her a hug. "I know ,right. My mom wanted to come earlier to help with the food." Lola had said hugging you back. Lola family was usually almost late to church. So you didn't expect to see her so soon ,but oh how grateful you are that she's here today! Today was truly gonna be a good day...

"What were you doing before I came?" Lola asks breaking away from the hug. "Well some knew people came today. So my grandpa wanted me to welcome their kids and make them feel comfortable." You say slightly motioning to were the Wayne's kids are sitting. "So thats who parked in your parking spot ,today. " Lola says kind of shocked. "Yep , my mom was pretty angry." you say kind of laughing. "Well everyones already talking about it." Lola says.

"Do want to come say hi to them with me?" You question hoping she says yes. "Why not." She says shrugging her shoulders. "Come on." she says grabbing your hand and walking towards the wayne children.

Walking up to the group of boys the seem to stop talking about whatever they were talking about. And just stare at you and Lola. Standing in front of the boys your usually extroverted best friends mouth goes dry. You could definitely understand why. I mean these boys practically looked like models.

The silence was just to awkward so you had to swallow all the anxiety that you had and be the first to break it. "Hello my names y/n l/n." You say reaching out to shake their hands. The first boy that reaches out is not the tallest but does look like the oldest. He has black hair and baby blue eyes. "My names Dick." He says shaking your hand with a kind smile. He definitely was a sight to look at.

The next one is definitely the tallest. He has some what of a aggressive presence when you shake his hand and has a white streek in his hair. "The names jason." He says shaking your hand and you can tell he's forcing the smile he's giving you.

The third ones the smallest but you don't think he he's the youngest. "My names Tim Drake." He says gently shaking your hand. You can tell he's the more manned one by how he presents himself. He definitely seems friendly or atleast the less intimidating one.

Then you reach out to shake the last boys hand. He looks the youngest. He also resembles his mother and father the most. You look into his eyes as you shake his hands and notice their just like his mother's. "Damian." He says almost as low as a whisper but you heard what he said.

He looks as if he's glaring at you as you begin to speak but you ignore it. "We'll we just came to welcome you to our church. It's not everyday we get new guests." You say with the kindest smile you can manage.

"Well thank you. The people in gotham aren't nearly as nice as the people in your town are." The boy tim says. With a kind smile matching yours.

Your sure that if you were in a cartoon you'd have heart eyes right now. He was just so pretty.....Snapping yourself out of whatever trance you were in ,you begin to speak.

"Well, we try. So you guys live in gotham?" You say wanting to asking a million questions ,but you don't. "Yeah. Wait you don't know who we are. " The one that's named jason says. You slightly turn to look at him forgetting he was their for a moment. "No?" You say hoping to not embarres yourself. You are the niece of the mayor after all. Your supposed to know some important people.

"Well thats knew." Dick says as he scratches the back of his head. Almost like he's embarrassed that you don't know him. 'Who are these people.' You say in your head. But sadly the last name wayne just doesn't ring a bell. "N/n mama says that you need to help set up the stage." Your brother says running up to you. Thank goodness your brother saved you. You were literally about to pass out from embarrassment.

" ok , riley." You say gentle patting his head. An just as quickly as he came ,he left. "Well we have to go set up the stage ,but I hope you guys enjoy the service." You say grabbing Lolas hand. "Well thanks for talking to us." Dick says awkwardly and everyone slightly cringes at his words.

Finally getting enough distance from the Wayne's it's like you can breath agian. And you suppose Lola feels the same by how she Finally snaps out of the trance she was in. "They were sooooo hot!" Lola says practically jumping up and down.

You snicker at how excited she is. Even though she didn't say a word to them." Yeah hot enough to make you mute." You say. "Can ya blame me they look like angels. Especially the one with the blue eyes and straight hair. " She says walking up the stage stairs. "What was his name agian." She questions " Tim." You say smiling. " Of course you remember. You were practically drooling at him." She taunts but you know she's just teasing. You playfully roll your eyes and smile. "Come on we gotta get everything ready." You say nudging Lola's shoulder. "Yeah ,yeah gotta make sure everything's perfect for your future husband." Lola says nudging you back.

--------------------20 minutes later--------------------

They service began soon enough. You watched from you seat behind the preacher were all the choir members sit. You watch as everyone takes their seats and watch as the Wayne's sit near the front. You can practically feel your mother's anger from were you are. The guest never sit up front. Never.

Your grandpa began to preach as he usually did. With confidence and pride. You can tell he loved what he did and you admired him for that. While some might say that this was the best service your grandpa ever preached. The Wayne's seemed to differ. The Wayne's were obviously different then the people in your town ,but did they have to look like they were in pain while your grandpa preaches?

Soon enough it was your choirs time to sing the closing songs. You sang with confidence and peace as you usually did. But you couldnt shake the shiver that ran down your spine as you saw the Wayne's families eyes stare at you like you were an object.

Like you were prey.

You obviously don't understand that, that's what you are to them. Prey.

-💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗-

Thanks for reading!!!!!

#yandere damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x reader #yandere damian wayne #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfam #Yandere batfamily

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toournextadventure · 8 months ago

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everyone but her pt.42

Summary: While Wednesday is busy worrying about you, an unwelcome guests shows their face at the Addams Mansion. Wednesday is starting to wish you would lose your morals again.

Word Count: 7.6k Warnings: swearing, mentioned child abuse, racism against Outcasts, smut at the end (18+) Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Masterlist)

The Addams Mansion was louder than usual with its new guests. Much to her surprise, Wednesday almost found it comforting. If you had asked her even just two years ago if she would have enjoyed the newfound sounds in the mansion, she would have thought the notion preposterous. Absurd even. Of course she wouldn’t have enjoyed the sounds, the mansion was her home. It was a sacred place that should be left untouched.

However, with your family around… at least they treated the old home as it deserved.

Even the youngest were respectful of the knick-knacks and artefacts around the mansion. They had only needed to be told once, and everything settled again. Sure, they would point out the ones they liked, but their hands stayed far away. Rooms that were off-limits to guests remained closed, and everyone was respectful of the… unusual habits of the Addams family.

The only one that remained unusual was you.

If Wednesday was being honest with herself, she was rather concerned about you. She hadn’t heard you say much after that night. By all accounts, you were more similar to Lurch in your communication; doing little more than grunting in acknowledgement of whatever was being said. You hadn’t even talked to Weems, who had shown up not even a day after the event to check on everyone. It was rather disturbing. And not in a good way.

At least there was an upside to the whole situation. Grandmama Addams had healed your arm with little more than a light scar over the skin. It was clearly a burn; that was impossible to erase. But there had been no need to go into a medical centre like the original EMT had mentioned. An Addams knew tricks no normie could comprehend.

There was nothing comfortable about talking about feelings, Wednesday knew all about that. She had trouble talking about her own, and you certainly felt the same. It didn’t take a genius to know that. But she wished you would talk with her. Share your thoughts, what you were feeling at the moment. Or at the very least what you were thinking for the past few weeks, seeing as you still had yet to tell her how you had known the house was going to catch fire.

“Would you pass the sugar, dear?” Mother asked you.

You grumbled and nodded once before pushing it over with your scarred hand. It was a stiff movement, and your brows moved ever so slightly at the effort. So, Wednesday thought, you weren’t entirely healed. You made no other indication of your discomfort and turned the page of your book.

“Daniel seemed quite interested in the atrium,” Mother continued. You hummed for her to continue. “He’s asked numerous times about specific plants.”

You still said nothing in return.

Mother looked at Wednesday over the lip of her teacup. If you wouldn’t even answer her small talk, how would they ever get you to speak? Even if you were having a small spat with Wednesday, you would always talk with Mother. Yet now, she was talking of your brother, and you wouldn’t even answer? It was borderline rude.

You were never rude to Mother.

“There you all are,” Weems said as she entered the reading room. “Everyone was a bit too quiet.”

“You’re welcome to join us,” Mother said with a smile.

She did just that. Even you looked up from your book for just long enough to watch Weems sit down with her own cup of tea. It seemed everyone was indulging in caffeine. Everyone except for you, that was. You had opted for nothing more than a glass of water that sat untouched on the small side table.

Everyone resumed their activities; Mother and Weems were talking, and you were reading. Wednesday had her own book in her lap, but the words eluded her. How could she focus on a book when she was so concerned about you? How could you focus on your book? Were you not going absolutely mad?

She needed you to be okay. There was very little she could do to help, but she needed you to be okay. Perhaps you wouldn’t talk with her, but that wouldn’t be the end of the world, would it? No, she could survive you not talking about your worries with her, as long as you allowed her to attempt to help.

A word of advice from Yoko appeared in her head. She looked over at you and watched you for a moment. There was very little emotion on your face, but she noticed you blinking a little longer than normal every time your burned hand turned the page.

She gave herself no time to doubt herself before reaching over and grabbing your good hand. It stiffened, but when she linked her fingers with yours, you quickly relaxed. Before she looked back down at her book, she noticed the slightest pull at the corner of your mouth.

Good. That was progress.

Wednesday was acutely aware of Mother and Weems’ hesitation before continuing their conversation. It gave her an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach to know they were watching you both. Showing outward displays of affection was becoming less agonising, but there was something unsettling about knowing her mother and your mother figure were watching.

The prickling spiders were starting to crawl across her skin when something knocked on the front door. You didn’t look up, but Mother and Weems shared a look before Weems stood up from her chair.

“Shall I?” She asked even though she had already started walking toward the front door.

“Thank you,” Mother said with a small smile.

No one else paid any attention to what was happening. Everyone simply went back to what they were doing. What would it matter anyway? You were all aware that people only came to the Addams Mansion either based on a dare or had been invited.

“I don’t believe it’s wise for you to be here.”

Your attention was captured by Weems’ words. Wednesday would admit hers were too. There was a certain tone to the words, something that she didn’t think she had heard before. No, that wasn’t true, she had heard that warning tone before.

At Nevermore immediately after Nicky had died.

Wednesday’s mind was running rampant when you pulled your hand away from hers. There was almost no time for her to grab it again before you stood up. Mother sent a concerned look her way. It was a lucky thing Wednesday hadn’t had any tea, or she would have spilled it when she stood up.

Your body stiffened when you looked out the front door.

“I was hoping you would be here.”

That voice sent a shiver down every inch of Wednesday’s skin. By the slight shake in your hand, you felt the same. The closer she got, the more nervous she was. It was a complicated feeling for her. Very few things, and even fewer people, made her feel that way. She didn’t like it.

There was something comparable between your mother and hers. They both held themselves with confidence; something that you appeared to lack until you were in your mother’s presence again. However, there was a rather large difference between the two women.

Your mother always looked like she was out for blood.

“I was hoping to talk with you about something,” your mother said directly to you.

“I don’t believe that would-”

“-Alone,” she interrupted Weems with a venomous smile.

Very few people spoke to Weems in such a way, apparent by the way everyone stiffened at the harshness of the word. But that very reality was what seemed to get you out of whatever stupor you had drowned in. Behind you, your wings puffed up enough to make themselves known as you looked at Weems.

“I’ve got it,” you said in a soft yet confident voice. It was certainly a surprise to Wednesday, who had assumed you would sound weak after a large amount of silence.

Weems looked at you for another moment more. “Morticia and I will be in the study,” she finally said.

“As I said,” your mother said with the same sickening smile, “this is private.”

“Anything involving me involves Wednesday,” you said.

You and your mother stared at each other silently, and Wednesday felt like she was intruding on something. There was a history with you two that she knew very little about, but she knew enough. To stand there, watching your silent battle with nothing to say, was torture.

“Of course it does,” your mother finally said. She looked inside the mansion for a moment. “Won’t you be a dear and invite me in?”

“No.” You straightened back up and crossed your arms over your chest. “Say your piece and leave.”

Your mother opened her mouth to argue - she had stunning teeth, Wednesday noted - but quickly closed it once seeing the look on your face. Or rather, the lack of a look. Fear was the predominant look in your eyes when your parents were involved, but this? There was no reaction. You simply existed in her presence.

It was a wonderful look on you.

“Very well,” your mother finally said with a sigh. “I would like you to attend an event with me this weekend.”

“No,” you said quickly.

Your mother stood tall. “You will hear me out, Y/N.”

Fear flashed behind your eyes at the use of your full name.

“It’s a charity gala,” she continued. “For those with your…” she gestured vaguely between both you and Wednesday, “affliction.”

“We’re Outcasts,” you said, “not lepers.”

“Semantics, dear,” she said with a dismissive wave.

At that, you reached out and grabbed Wednesday’s hand. Hard. An ache spread through the bones of her hand as they were squeezed together unnaturally. The skin on your hand was tough, feeling closer to leather than skin. Truly a fascinating thing.

She squeezed your hand back to the best of her ability.

“After all the shit you’ve done, you want me to go with you to a gala?” You asked. “Just to make you look good?”

There was a red tint to your cheeks. Wednesday could hear all the words you weren’t saying. You killed my brother. You had me arrested. You abandoned me. Though she didn’t wish for a fight, she did wish for you to finally speak your mind. Let her know the hurt she had caused you all these years.

You didn’t continue.

“Your father is away, so you wouldn’t have to concern yourself with the restraining order,” your mother continued as if you were being nothing more than a petulant child.

“You’re not listening,” you said. “I’m not going.”

The tone underlying your words was all Wednesday needed to hear to know your next move. Your grip had loosened enough to ease the ache in her hand, but it stayed firm. Though she wouldn’t blame you, she knew you were done with the conversation. Nothing good could come from continuing to talk with your mother.

You turned around and started to pull Wednesday along with you.

“I heard about the fire,” your mother called after you.

You froze.

“Entire house burned to ash,” she continued. “A shame.” Your chest was heaving. “No longer having a home to call their own.”

The warmth of your hand in hers quickly disappeared as you turned on your heel. Wednesday’s feet stayed rooted to the spot even as she watched you walk up to your mother and stand over her. For the first time, she realised you were a decent amount taller than your mother. You could properly look down on her as she had no doubt you always wished you could.

In the background, the children could be heard playing in an unknown room.

“Don’t pretend you care,” you said quietly. Harshly.

“Oh darling,” your mother said with a smile that didn’t match her tone, “I couldn’t care less.”

“Then don’t talk about them.”

“I just assumed, perhaps wrongfully, that you would wish for them to have a home again,” she continued. The look in her eye was similar to yours. “A gift, if you will.”

You looked down at your mother silently. Oh, how Wednesday wished she could see the look on your face. She so very much adored when you were angry. There was a fire behind your eyes that lit something within her.

Then she started to think about the implications of your mother’s words. Would you allow her to offer such a thing? The reminder of your debt would follow you for the rest of your life. After all, you were still feeling indebted to her parents for the pendant you constantly wore around your neck. But with a home? She couldn’t even imagine the feelings it would invoke within you.

“Shall I continue?” Your mother asked.

You hesitated. Then gave a single, slow nod.

“If you accompany me to the gala, we will pay for the restoration of your little,” she hesitated, “family.” There was almost a sneer on her face, if Wednesday was reading her correctly.

“Are you blackmailing me?” You asked.

“Oh dear,” she laughed, “I’m not that dense.” Your jaw clenched. “It’s an incentive. A rather generous one.”

Your mother then stayed silent. A tactic, no doubt. It would give you time to consider her offer. Even Wednesday would admit it was a tempting offer. She and her parents had offered your family the same thing knowing they didn’t have the means to rebuild quickly on their own. It had been a quick rejection.

When it came to your mother, however…

“You’ll pay for the entirety of a new house,” you confirmed.

Your mother nodded in response. “Large enough for them all, in fact.”

“With the barn and stables.”

“Of course.”

“And nothing will ever need to be repaid?”

“It will be an act of charity.”

“And I can get that in writing?” You asked.

Oh. Oh, Wednesday could see the gears turning in your head. Once again, as she so often found herself doing, she thought back to those years she had believed you to be daft. Oblivious would perhaps have been the better word for it. Acting as if you were unaware of everything going on around you. On the rare occasion, even going so far as to act unaware of even the most basic aspects of life.

She used to believe you. After all, you were rather adept at playing off your intelligence. If she hadn’t been so tragically enamoured with you, life would have become far different than it currently was. She wouldn’t have had the pleasure of calling you hers.

However, she knew better. She could see the ideas forming behind your eyes. No, they weren’t simply ideas, they were full-fledged plans. Wednesday desperately wished to have the ability to read your mind. What plan were you meticulously concocting?

“You may have it in writing,” your mother finally said. “I’ll draft it when I get home.”

“Oh no,” you said quickly, “I wouldn’t wish to trouble you.”

Finally, for the first time since your mother had appeared at the front door, you turned and looked at Wednesday. There was a fire in your eyes reminiscent of the burning house she had been forced to watch you run into. It was thrilling.

It was terrifying.

“Would you call Señor Moreno?” You asked with a smile that made you look just like your mother. “Mrs. Smith would like to draft an agreement.”

—---

Your discomfort was clear, but Wednesday rather enjoyed you in your current state. There had been few times she had seen you dressed well, fewer times since it had been a happy occasion. This was neither happy nor unhappy, so she took it as a positive. You looked rather stunning, aside from your wings resting uncomfortably underneath your clothes.

Not for the first time, her chest ached when you removed your hand from hers.

Listening to your mother fill you in on who was who was not on Wednesday’s to-do list. No, she didn’t truly care who these people were. What she truly cared about was the feel of your warmth beside her, enveloping her in something she had learned to crave. Something she could only receive from you.

“Come on,” you said softly, far closer than Wednesday had believed. It was unsettling.

She loved when you were unsettling.

With her arm looped through yours, she walked with you around the overly crowded room. A ballroom of sorts, she supposed, not too unlike the one in her own house. The difference was this one was bright and filled with straight-laced professionals. Her house was more often than not filled with criminals and unsightly characters for miles to come.

This was a far more concerning environment.

Every beat of Wednesday’s heart grew stronger the longer she watched you in what would have been your natural habitat. Try as you might to deny it, you were rather skilled at talking up those that could owe you favours. For example, the senator’s wife. Though Wednesday despised it, you had her laughing and getting closer the entire conversation.

You were lucky Wednesday had promised to behave.

She was lucky you had promised to behave.

The longer she stayed by your side throughout the evening, the more she realised there was a side to you she rarely if ever got to see. The part of you that could be serious and prepared for business. It was fascinating to watch your expressions and tone match whoever you were talking with. Almost like a mimic, if she had to put a word to it.

Sometimes, if your mother was around, she noticed the most subtle accent to your words. You sounded just like her.

She would never tell you.

“This is Wednesday Addams.”

Your voice pulled Wednesday back into the moment. There was a man in front of you both that she didn’t care to know. With his horrific toupee and pathetic mustache, she mentally placed him as a wannabe politician. His black tuxedo was slightly dishevelled around the collar, and his buttons were off by one. How peculiar.

“Addams, you say?” He asked with a voice that betrayed him more than the pipe hanging out of his mouth. “I believe I know of your father.”

“How so?” She asked even though she had no interest in hearing his answer.

“We met at a ball many years ago, if my recollection is correct,” he said. A puff of smoke left his mouth. “He’s doing well, I presume?”

“Quite,” she said shortly. Perhaps if she made it clear she wasn’t interested in small talk, he would leave her be.

No such luck.

“Perhaps he would appreciate an invitation to our next ball,” the man said. “He can get proper connections in place for when you take over.”

Your hand on the small of Wednesday’s back twitched. Nothing serious, a minuscule movement. It was enough. Out of the corner of your eye, she saw the slight frown on your face. Nothing overtly noticeable. Not that it would have mattered, the man you were both talking to couldn’t be bothered enough to notice the change.

“The Addamses are old money,” you chimed in, “there’s no need to take over.”

“Of course, of course,” he mumbled. A puff of smoke escaped from between his lips. “In that case, you must take that advice,” he said as he gestured toward you with his head. “You’ll need the good graces.”

Your hand twitched again.

“I’m not sure I understand,” you said with a slight tilt of your head.

“When you take over your father’s company,” he explained. Your nails dug into Wednesday’s back. “After dear Nicholas passed - rest his soul - you became the beneficiary of the company.” He chuckled. “Perhaps they were keeping it a surprise until you came of proper age.” A wink. “Don’t let them know I told you.”

You pulled your hand away from her back. Quickly. You could not have made it any more obvious that you were deliberately putting space between yourself and everyone else. If you could have turned and ran, Wednesday was convinced you would have.

She couldn’t begin to imagine the things running through your mind. Not only had he mentioned Nicky - which she had learned would always be a sore spot no matter how much time had passed - but he had also told you something you undoubtedly had never wished to know. You looked like you had grabbed an electric wire and hadn’t let go.

“Are you alright?” The man asked in a tone that indicated he couldn’t have cared less what your answer was. Wednesday could appreciate the indifference.

“Quite,” you said quickly. “Just thinking.”

“Ah, of course, I could tell,” he said with a nod, “I’ve seen that face before.” Another puff of his pipe. “You look just like your father.”

That.

That was the final straw.

Wednesday could practically hear your sanity break at that simple sentence. Any semblance of control you had maintained throughout the evening vanished. Before, you had acted like you had been shot by the words. You would close off, become solemn in the wake of the conversation. Being told those words almost hurt you more than losing your brother.

But not this time. No, now you were furious. If you clenched your jaw any tighter, Wednesday was convinced the bones would have shattered. Her eyes fell to your hands before you managed to shove them into your pockets. They were balled into fists.

She wondered if it pained your superficially healed burns.

“I believe I need a drink,” you choked out. “If you’ll excuse me.” You didn’t wait for an answer before walking off where Wednesday could no longer see you.

She was mortified.

How dare you leave her with people that, not only did she not know, but she didn’t care about? She had only agreed to accompany you because it would be a sleight against your mother. Not once had she agreed to be left alone with these people. Did you not know that she was not going to be good for your image? If anything, she would damage it more than it already was.

“I hope our dear Y/N is alright.”

She knew better. Wednesday really, truly knew better. But she couldn’t help herself. With a small exhale, she turned to face your mother. A polite smile was on her face and she looked rather nice, if Wednesday wished to say something positive about the woman. Not that she deserved it, but that wasn’t necessarily important.

You had her nose.

“Oh she’s splendid,” the man said, “just stewing on some thoughts. Right, Miss Addams?” He winked at Wednesday.

She felt the rare twinge of disgust in her stomach.

“I presumed,” your mother said. “Would you mind if I stole Miss Addams from you?”

“Not at all,” he said. He bowed his head, let out a puff of smoke, and turned around to start a conversation with whatever unlucky soul happened to be nearest him.

“Walk with me,” your mother commanded.

Silence was Wednesday’s best friend as she followed the older woman. She would admit, she had never believed she would find herself in this situation. Walking side by side with your mother - not the woman who raised you, but who brought you to life. It had seemed like a far-fetched dream, if not a full-blown nightmare.

She was ashamed to admit that she was… uncertain of how to act.

“You’re a rather brave young thing,” your mother said as she continued to meander through the party, waving to people when she saw fit. “Has our darling Y/N ever told you that?”

“I’m aware of my own strengths,” Wednesday answered. She reconsidered for a moment. “Yes she has.”

“Then we raised her properly.”

Wednesday opted to stay silent. It had only been a few moments of conversation, but she could fully understand why you felt a certain way about your parents. Was she aware of the ridiculous things she was saying? Did she truly believe that they had raised you? A foolish notion at best.

It was beyond clear that your true family had raised you. If she extended the definition of the word, Weems had even raised you more than the woman she was walking beside. You even called Weems a mother, which was evidence enough. Wednesday wasn’t one to get overly emotional, but she knew the difference between what your family had done to raise you and what your mother had done. The difference was glaringly obvious.

While you hadn’t told Wednesday much about your upbringing, she knew enough. Your mother had never been there when you cried. She hadn’t helped you with your homework, or encouraged your hobbies. It would be of no surprise to anyone if she didn’t know of your passion for climbing or boxing. She had left you to cope alone after not only a crippling car accident, but the figurative and, eventually literal, loss of your brother.

No, they hadn’t raised you, and even someone as emotionally stunted as Wednesday was painfully aware of it.

“I’m sure she’s told you rather horrid things about Marcus and myself,” your mother said, coaxing Wednesday out of her thoughts. “But everything we did was for her own good.”

Wednesday understood the anger you harboured for them. She herself was feeling that same anger well up within her chest. Not quite threatening to burst forward, but making itself known. Subtle, creeping into her veins slowly, like waves gently breaking on the shore. All it would take was one wrong move and those waves would turn violent.

“I believe you truly think so,” was all she said.

“Everyone she loves gets hurt,” your mother said. She stopped in her tracks and turned slowly to face Wednesday. “Or dies.”

“That’s improbable at best,” she said.

“You’d be wise to leave before you fall victim to that curse of hers.”

Something cold and damp settled into the bottom of Wednesday’s heart. It was… difficult to describe. Was your mother warning her, or threatening? She was unsure. The words themself were threatening, but her tone… she hadn’t prepared to hear that tone from such a woman. Not after what she had come to know about her.

“Not everything you hear can be taken as truth, love,” your mother said softly, far too soft for her own words. She was ignoring Wednesday’s silence. Or simply not caring. “From what I’ve read about you, you know that painfully well.”

Wednesday turned to silence once again. She had nothing to say, which was a rather unusual experience. So far, she couldn’t properly think of a time she had been left without words. Or, quite frankly, even any thoughts. Skepticism was her friend, and your mother would not break her of such habits.

“There’s two sides to every story,” your mother continued. She looked out toward the crowd of people, and Wednesday followed suit. “This curse prevailed long before Nicholas.”

You had never told Wednesday of any incidents before Nicky. Though, if your mother knew about it, then perhaps you didn’t remember. Or you weren’t even aware in the first place. It indicated something that she wasn’t quite sure how to feel about.

Something that mixed together with everything she had seen as of late.

“We should get together one evening,” your mother said as she looked back at Wednesday. “Doubtless you have questions.”

She did. As much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, she had numerous questions that continued to pile up with each second that ticked by. With how much your mother hated Outcasts, was her implication of a curse figurative or literal? If literal, were you truly cursed? Who had done it? At the very least, who had been injured or killed when you were too young to even remember?

Would you hate her if she agreed? There had been a few times you had mentioned, in passing of course, about regretting knowing little about your childhood. Whether from young age or potential trauma, you remembered less than you liked. If she had a chance to find those things out for you, would you be appreciative? Or would you be upset with her for talking with your mother so casually?

Would you hate her?

Her mind was running through every scenario possible. She wanted to tell your mother something; of what, she wasn’t quite sure. Wednesday’s lips parted in an effort to buy herself some more time when someone’s arm brushed against her shoulder. Just the lightest of touches, otherwise unnoticeable. It had been quite a while since she had last felt that electric shock spiderwebbing across her skin.

This was different.

Fire raced through her veins, creating an inferno in her chest that she desperately wished to smother. She could taste the smoke rising up from her lungs, scorching the back of her throat before settling into little more than a tickle. When her eyes opened, she saw vague shapes of the forest.

She was getting rather tired of the forest.

The birds were silent, and even the bugs had ceased to make their high-pitched calls. It was as silent as the grave. After witnessing the fire, this very setting rested heavy in her stomach. The only saving grace was the two familiar figures she saw standing underneath one of the outlines of a tree.

When they turned to face her, all comfort fled. Their faces were nothing less than mangled. Blood fell freely down their chins to the already-soaked dirt below their feet. Wednesday wanted to cry, to scream, to warn them of the creature looming behind them, but she couldn’t. She was silent.

Just like you on that fated night.

She blinked once. When her eyes opened again, the forest was gone, instead replaced by a house that she could recognise even from her single visit. Wednesday had never been downstairs in your parents house, instead only exploring a few rooms upstairs when she came with you, but she recognised the tile. The entire building smelled like you, in some odd way.

The dining table was huge, accentuated by the measly five plates that sat around the perimeter of the stunning wood. Only five. Two seats were empty, and two more were filled with sights that Wednesday didn’t think she could have imagined even in her most demented nightmares. In the fifth seat, Wednesday saw the near-perfect reflection of herself.

She had never imagined what her corpse would look like.

“I said don’t touch her.”

Your voice. That was your voice, which meant she was out of her vision. Her throat ached like she had been screaming for years. There was a dull throbbing ache in her stomach where one of the wounds on her corpse had been. But your arms were around her, holding her close.

The ache would subside.

“It might be wise to seek medical attention,” your mother said.

“This happened while she was with you,” you practically spat. Wednesday still hadn’t opened her eyes, but she could imagine the fury on your face. “I can be forgiven for not taking your advice.”

“I’d advise you not to make a scene, dear.”

Your mother’s tone left Wednesday feeling cold. Her own mother had never talked to her in such a way, even out of fear. It wasn’t a way a parent should ever talk to their child. Yet, your mother did it shamelessly in front of an entire crowd of people that had no doubt found their way around the three of you.

Her eyes opened quickly. Far too quickly, the lights from the room hammered nails into her brain. But all the pain and discomfort faded away when she met your soft eyes looking down at her in concern. You were rather beautiful, and just the thought brought a smile to her lips.

A smile?

Perhaps she had hit her head on the way down.

“Can you stand?” You asked softly.

Wednesday nodded once.

You kept your hands on her as you helped her to her feet. The floor felt a bit uneven at first, but with your arm wrapped securely around her waist, she felt no concern. Her trust in you was unwavering. You wouldn’t let her fall.

“You should take her somewhere quiet,” your mother said, against everyone’s better judgement. “It will help.”

You shot her a look, but otherwise stayed silent as you guided Wednesday through the crowd. Everyone parted, looking away in some form of almost-shame. They didn’t truly care. Elites cared for little outside of their own interests. And at that moment, getting the gossip firsthand was in their best interest.

There was no telling where exactly you were taking her. She didn’t care to know. If you were taking her somewhere, it would be safe. You had never intentionally led her into harm, and she knew you never would. You cared too much, and though it often got you in trouble, she loved it about you.

…

She had definitely hit her head.

When you opened the door and led her inside the darkened room, she didn’t initially check her surroundings. Wednesday was no fool, she would know if something was unsafe. But when you flipped the switch and illuminated the space, she was overcome with… confusion.

“The coat closet?” She asked, turning quickly to face you.

You were already pacing back and forth in the small - well, small for a room, rather large for a coat closet - space. Each step was harsh, purposeful. Behind you, your hands were clasped terribly tight, as if you were trying to prevent yourself from doing something foolish.

Perhaps you were.

“Did she hurt you?” You asked without looking.

“No,” Wednesday said softly.

You scoffed. “Probably the only thing she didn’t do.” The carpet was becoming worn into a path from your feet. “We never should’ve come to this stupid party.”

There were a few things Wednesday could have said, but she remained silent. It wasn’t often you would find yourself pacing, let alone in a closet. On those rare occasions, she had learned it best to stay quiet. Once you had gotten your thoughts and emotions out, you were lighter and could move on.

“I can’t do this,” you continued without prompting. “I don’t want to do this.” A turn on your heels. “I didn’t even want their name, let alone their fucking company.” The muscles in your arms tensed. “And apparently everyone is preparing for it. What happens when they find out I’m a fucking Outcast?” You readjusted your jaw. “He told me we shouldn’t have come.”

Wednesday perked up.

“Who told you?”

There was no sudden freeze of your movements, as was usual. No, your pace slowed until coming to a graceful stop. Each breath you took was calculated, steady. Strange. She had seen enough of your panics to know this was different. Wrong somehow.

“No one,” you said without looking at her. “Just… just a thought.” You turned slowly. “The voice in my head.”

“Your conscience?” She clarified.

You didn’t answer.

Wednesday didn’t like when you didn’t answer her. It left a gross feeling she couldn’t quite describe. The best description she could conjure was mud sitting at the bottom of her stomach, weighing her down. She didn’t like the feeling. It made her… well, almost sad.

It was possible you noticed her discomfort because, almost instantly, you walked over to where she was standing. Her entire body relaxed - for the first time that night - when your hands cupped her cheeks. There was something pleasant about your touch that never failed to ease any negative feelings trapped within her.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You asked in a far softer voice. It was gentle and comforting.

She placed her hands on top of yours and nodded once.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” you continued. “We should’ve just had a nice night at home.”

Wednesday didn’t disagree. There were many more things she would have preferred to do than come to some gala that no one seemed to care about. You had come under the premise of a gala for Outcasts, but she felt it was a farce. None of those people cared about Outcasts, and they never would. It would have been a much better use of both of your time to do something else, something far more enjoyable.

An idea formed in her mind and she quickly looked up to meet your eyes.

“We can still have a nice night,” she said slowly.

“Wednesday,” you said with a tilt of your head. “You fainted and I’m plotting the death of my mother. You’d have to come up with something pretty… uh…”

Your voice trailed off once she guided your hands down her neck. There was almost a humorous joy to the way you went slack jawed at any indication of activities less than professional. And when she continued, fighting a shiver as your fingers brushed the side of her clothed breasts, you stared with wide eyes until your hands rested on her waist.

“Wednesday,” you whispered. Her name always slid off your tongue with a certain grace that she couldn’t find anywhere else.

“You need a distraction,” she said, “as do I.”

“Please don’t feel like you have to-”

“-I would like to,” she said quickly.

She knew where your mind was going and, in any other situation, she would have agreed. You had both agreed long ago that this wasn’t something frivolous; it meant far too much to the both of you. It shouldn’t be used for inappropriate reasons and, under normal circumstances, this would be an inappropriate reason.

Even though it was surprising to her as well, she genuinely wanted this.

“We’re in a coat closet,” you said with a slight squeeze of your hands. It felt nice.

“I don’t believe it would be our most unusual interaction,” she said with the slightest tilt of her head.

You bit back a laugh. It was a beautiful sound. “Please don’t call it an interaction, it sounds… dirty.”

She felt herself moving backwards. Whether you were guiding her or she was leading, she couldn’t tell. All she could focus on was your fingers rubbing light circles on her hips and your face getting closer to hers. If she simply leaned up on her toes, she could kiss you.

“I can call it intercourse instead,” she offered.

The both of you stopped when her back pressed against the wall.

“I think that’s worse,” you said, your breath fanning across her lips.

She waited for the question.

“Can I kiss you?”

A rhetorical question at that point, you knew the answer. You had always known the answer. Wednesday reached forward to wrap her arms around your neck and pulled you down into a kiss. It was soft and clumsy. After all this time, you were still clumsy for the first few kisses. Before you, she would have found it ridiculous.

Now, she enjoyed it.

Outside the door, the sounds of footsteps on the tile came and went. It didn’t stop either one of you, quite the contrary, it made the situation all the more thrilling. Wednesday knew the joy you would find in it; she could practically hear your words. Two Outcasts fucking around their personal belongings? Sexy.

Her breath hitched lightly when you slipped your hands underneath her dress. It wasn’t salacious; it was rather decent, if she was being honest. You didn’t hike her dress up over her hips and take her right then and there. Rather, you kept her covered, the only indication of something going on being your hands underneath the fabric.

“I’m sorry, mi vida,” you said softly against her skin as you pressed kisses across her jaw. “This will have to be quick unless you want to get caught.”

Wednesday was never a fan of what you and Enid - and clearly the rest of the world - called “quickies.” She was so selective of when and where she was willing to have sex that the thought had never appealed to her. Why dedicate such a short amount of time to something that required much longer? How was it enjoyable? Or even tolerable?

But, as she had noted throughout the night, she wasn’t particularly picky at that moment.

She nodded quickly. More footsteps could be heard outside the door. You were correct; she didn’t wish to be caught. The thrill was arousing, yes, but if it actually happened? There was no doubt in her mind that, though she wouldn’t care about their opinions, she would be mortified.

Your teeth pressed lightly against the pulse point of her neck as you smiled. If Wednesday stretched her neck just a little further, perhaps she could entice you to bite. There was something delectable about the feel of your teeth on her skin. As if you could read her mind, you lightly nipped at her collarbone.

It was a good thing you hadn’t completely enraptured her, or she would have made a surprised noise when you hoisted her up from the ground. Your hands held her by the back of her thighs until you pressed closer, leaving her trapped securely between your body and the wall.

Oh, she rather liked that.

Your unscarred hand moved, sliding softly against her inner thigh before brushing against her underwear. Her body shivered at the slightest of touches. It was humiliating. What was more humiliating was the smile on your face that she desperately wished would vanish.

“You’re already wet,” you noted.

She could kill you.

“The stoic Wednesday Addams is wet,” you said. Your fingers slipped underneath the flimsy fabric and she had to bite her tongue. “From a little makeout session in a coat closet.”

Out of all the times you could be condescending, you had chosen the worst moment. You chose the moment she was already going out of her comfort zone, but also, quite frankly, desperate. She finally understood the pleasure in quickies; it gave less time for words.

Wednesday would have told you to shut up right then and there. She would have stopped you simply out of spite. But her chance was ruined when you slipped two fingers into her with ease. Her head fell back against the wall as those fingers moved at a dangerously quick pace.

She wouldn’t have to wait long to finish. It was truly disgraceful how worked up she was. Had you known? Because she hadn’t. Wednesday had never anticipated ever being so close to a release with such little time. Perhaps it was you. You and your deceptively soft kisses on her neck. You and your nimble fingers that had learned long ago exactly what she loved. You and your damned thumb that never left her clit until she was so sensitive she could almost cry.

That warm feeling in her core didn’t build softly. It formed quickly with each swipe of your thumb, each thrust of your fingers that had her biting her tongue so hard she could taste blood. She managed to lift her head right when you pulled your own mouth away. Perfect.

Her lips pressed against yours before that feeling erupted inside her. It was different from all the other times. It was more intense, hitting her rather quickly instead of slowly cascading over the edge. Her nails dug into the back of your neck, but you didn’t seem to care. You simply held her closer, keeping your fingers moving in rhythm with her body until she could relax in your arms.

Footsteps came closer.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered against your lips, “I know it was fast, we can take our time at home.”

Wednesday didn’t have an answer just yet. She was still out of breath, trying to recover from the wave of bliss that had left her unable to properly function. But she could give you some form of answer; a soft kiss, nothing like what you had just done to her.

She felt you smile against her lips.

“Here,” you said softly as you lowered her back to the ground on shaky legs. “I’ll grab our coats, you take a moment.”

The moment you were gone, she felt cold. It wasn’t something she had ever admitted out loud, but she despised when you left her even if momentarily. She was fond of the warmth you gave her, both internally and externally. There was something special about it that evaded her verbiage. All she knew was she enjoyed it.

When she opened her eyes, she froze.

“What are you doing?” She asked in a husky voice.

You thumbed through the cash in the wallet. “I’m stealing.” You grabbed the wad of cash and placed the empty wallet back into the coat before moving on to the next one. “If I’m going to run a company one day, I should start getting used to it.”

Wednesday walked up to you slowly and waited for you to finish with what was currently in your hands. Once you paused, she pulled you down into a kiss. Slow, soft, good. You pulled back ever so slightly with a small smile on your face, and she just looked at you.

“I love you,” she said softly.

You leaned down to kiss her again.

“I love you too.”

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday imagine #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega

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scuderiahalf · 5 months ago

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of waning moons and eagle eyes — daniel ricciardo

pairing. platonic/romantic/up for interpretation!daniel ricciardo x reader

summary. goodbyes are hard; for now, we can just stay here a while. 0.5k

masterlist.

You stall behind Daniel, hesitating, shifting your weight, trying to think of what you could possibly say. You come up empty.

Daniel doesn’t look at you when you step beside him.

He just says, “If you’re going to tell me you’re sorry, don’t.”

“I was actually going to say you’re a talentless hack who deserves it.”

Daniel’s laugh is sharp and surprised. It feels good to be able to make him laugh, even in a situation like this, even if his face quickly goes blank again.

You follow his gaze upwards. The Singaporean night sky is an inky navy, too much light pollution for stars. But the moon, you can see. A little over half, closer to full than new but still waning. It won’t be a new moon until the month is over. After that, it will wax and repeat the process unto forever. Ever present, ever changing.

“I am sorry,” you say, despite the warning. “It’s not pity. It’s just what people say when a situation is fucked and someone they care about draws the short straw.”

Daniel exhales heavily, slowly. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome. I guess.”

He huffs out a half-chuckle.

You stare up into the empty sky for a while longer. It’s well past midnight, now. All the other drivers are gone. Most crew and other staff, too. But not you. Not Daniel.

“How do you even know?” Daniel asks, eventually.

“I have my methods.”

You shouldn’t know. You really aren’t supposed to; it’s a massive breach of security. Luckily, you are just you, and all you want to do with the information of Daniel’s being dropped is be with him.

“I wish they’d at least give you a proper send off,” you voice quietly. “This whole guessing game, making you keep it a secret, not talking about it—it’s messed up. It’s not what you deserve.”

“It’s whatever.”

“It’s not.”

“I’m not a world champion.“

“You’re Daniel Ricciardo.”

You put weight into his name because it means something to you, and it means something to the F1 community even if his team won’t give him a proper, respectful goodbye.

Daniel looks at you. His eyes are always so much lighter than you think they are, yellow-hazel like an eagle and sharp, intelligent, emotive. They show a lot. They show so little.

You want to know what he’s thinking. Want to split the skin of his forehead, shave away the bone underneath and peer inside to see how he’s hurting or healing or however he’s feeling. Broken? Elated? Caught up in what’s past or ready to face the next big thing?

You don’t know.

“There’s no one like you,” you tell him. You need him to know. “There’s never been anyone like you.“

Daniel smiles, eagle eyes quartered like the moon. “Thanks.”

His smile fades and you drop your head onto his shoulder.

“I’m going to miss you.”

“Yeah.”

Daniel lays his head on yours.

“Me, too.”

#f1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula one #formula one x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo fluff #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo fic #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo fanfiction #daniel ricciardo fanfic #daniel ricciardo

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gazavetters · 3 months ago

Text

"Here I am trying to fix my pants, and the jacket gose off!" These were the words of the late Samir Ghanem in the play "The Married Couples".

As a start : What happened, happened!

In our view, this is exactly what happened to us. We tried to put vetting in order when we created GazaVetters for important reasons, primarily to preserve the dignity and worth of the people of Gaza. How so? The success of GazaVetters is the answer. When we first started, we realized there was a marginalized group trying to vette their campaigns but struggling with the slowing pace of vetting. One reason was the work pressure and the overwhelming number of vetting requests, which exceeded the ability of one or two people to handle, leading some to resort to pleading with coordinators to vette their campaigns. This situation drove us to create a solution that preserves the dignity of our people. We, as members of this community, share the same need for recognition, vetting, and promotion. We wouldn’t accept humiliation for ourselves, nor would we accept it for others.

Instead of staying stuck in the initial stages of promotion, we sought to solve the problem and provided a dignified vetting experience. We were proactive, working with professionalism and high respect. (You can ask anyone about their experience with GazaVetters by contacting Abu Ahmed through calls or scheduling vetting interviews). Through this step, we eased the burden on the coordinators and, most importantly, preserved the dignity and self-respect of new campaign creators by supporting all those who wished to vette their campaigns.

[In this regard, and after an exhausting journey, we deeply appreciate the efforts of the original vetting teams, and we wish to thank them for standing with us through this crisis. We extend our gratitude and appreciation to them.]

And then this Happened

However, we encountered a new problem. Some platforms started using our list of campaigns unfairly, which contradicts the principles upon which our platform was founded.

We’ve all witnessed the story of the aid truck that ends up with a select few while other, equally deserving people receive nothing. All the campaigns we vetted are 100% legitimate, but seeing certain campaigns, even if legitimate, receiving large-scale attention while others that are equally in need are marginalized, this is simply not fair. This imbalance contributed to the exclusion and despair of campaigns that most need help.

Regarding Campaign vetting

To our friends and followers, rest assured that we will return very soon after evaluating the current situation.

In Conclusion

We will come back stronger, with a new mission.

The most important point right now is that we need your minds to think with us about solutions to organize this matter. We would be very interested in your ideas and suggestions, and if there are any points you would like to discuss with us, we would warmly welcome them.

Now, our brother ,"Abu Ahmed" initially kept his identity private by his own choice. However, in the spirit of constructive criticism, the challenge that arose was the lack of clarity about who was behind the blog, the "unknown soldier." Therefore, today, out of respect for everyone, we will present the blog of the person who fully vetted and archived this list (Abu Ahmed) @hs2024.

===============================

"جيت ألمّ البنطلون، الجاكيتة ضربت!" كانت هذه كلمات الراحل سمير غانم في مسرحية "المتزوجون".

في البداية: ما حدث قد حدث!

في اعتقادنا، هذا ما حدث معنا بالضبط؛ فلقد حاولنا ضبط أمور التوثيق عندما أنشأنا GazaVetters لأسباب مهمة، أهمها الحفاظ على كرامة وقيمة الإنسان الغزي. كيف ذلك؟ نجاح GazaVetters هو الإجابة. عندما بدأنا، أدركنا أن هناك فئة مهمشة تحاول توثيق حملاتها ولكن تعاني من توقف وتيرة التوثيق. وأحد الأسباب هو ضغط العمل وكثرة طلبات التوثيق التي تتجاوز قدرة شخص أو اثنين أو ثلاثة على إدارتها، مما أدى بالبعض إلى الاستنجاد والتوسل للوصول إلى المشرفين لتوثيق حملاتهم. هذا الوضع دفعنا لإيجاد حل يحفظ كرامة أبناء شعبنا؛ فنحن منهم ولديهم نفس الحقوق بالتوثيق والنشر. لم نقبل الإهانة على أنفسنا، ولم نقبلها عليهم.

فبدل البقاء في مستنقع الترويج التقليدي، ساهمنا في حل المشكلة وقدّمنا تجربة توثيق باحترام. كنا إيجابيين وعملنا بمهنية واحترام عالٍ. (يمكنكم سؤال أي شخص عن تجربة التوثيق مع GazaVetters عبر أبو أحمد، من خلال الاتصال أو جدولة مواعيد المقابلات للتوثيق). بهذه الخطوة، أرحنا المشرفين وخففنا عنهم من أعباء التوثيق، والأهم من ذلك، حافظنا على كرامة وعفّة أصحاب الحملات الجديدة، محاولين خدمة كل من أراد توثيق حملته.

[وفي هذا الإطار، وبعد التجربة المرهقة، نحن أكثر من يقدّر مجهود الفرسان الأوائل من الموثقين، ونودّ أن نشكرهم باسمنا جميعاً لوقوفهم معنا في هذه الأزمة. لهم كل الشكر والتقدير منّا جميعاً.]

ولكن تفاجأنا بمعضلة جديدة، حيث قامت بعض المدونات باستخدام قوائمنا بشكل "غير عادل"، وهو ما يتنافى مع القواعد التي تأسست عليها مدونتنا.

جميعنا في قطاع غزة شهدنا قصة شاحنة المساعدات التي تصل إلى عدد محدود، بينما يُحرم آخرون محتاجون منها. كذلك، على الرغم من شرعية جميع الحملات التي وثقناها بنسبة مئة بالمئة، إلا أن بعض الحملات حصلت على زخم ودعم كبيرين، في حين تُهمل حملات أخرى نعلم مدى حاجتها. هذا الوضع ليس عادلاً، بل إنه ساهم في إقصاء بعض الحملات التي بأشدّ الحاجة إلى الدعم، وترك أصحابها في حالة من اليأس.

بالنسبة لتوثيق الحملات

نطمئن أصدقاءنا بأننا سنعود قريباً بعد مراجعة الأوضاع الراهنة.

أصدقائنا الأعزاء النقطة الأهم حاليا اننا بحاجة لعقولكم تفكر معنا بحلول لتنظيم هذا الأمر.

سنكون مهتمين كتير بافكاركم و مقترحاتكم تحبون ان تتحدثوا فيها معنا و سنرحب بها كثيرا.

الان الاخ ابو احمد، كان سبب حماية هويته الشخصيه هو رغبته بذلك، لكن في إطار النقد البناء كانت النقطة الصعبة فيما حدث عدم معرفة من يقف وراء المدونة - الجندي المجهول - لذلك اليوم احتراما للجميع سوف نعرض المدونة الخاصة بهذا الشخص الذي قام توثيق وارشفة هذه القائمة باكملها (ابو احمد) @hs2024

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lionheartedmusings · 11 months ago

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hi everyone! i talked about my new "dream job" very briefly a few times, but turns out you really shouldn't count your chickens before they hatch. i debated not saying anything multiple times, and frankly perhaps i should've kept quiet, but i refuse to let this situation eat me up and i feel like the community also deserves some transparency on some things that realistically, you'll never get unless people speak up. i want to preface this by stating very, very clearly that everyone that i met in the studio on a personal level is incredibly talented, passionate, and kind. all of them deserve much, much better than the way they get treated. i applied to be a writer for quackity studios / qsmp and got an email back on the 18th of january. i interviewed for the position on the 23rd of january, and entered trial period on the 28th after signing an "nda".

early during trial period, i asked one of my supervisors about payment and was told they weren't responsible for that and didn't know, but would get back to me as soon as they knew which never ended up happening (i do not blame them at all, they’re incredibly busy people). i should've pressed further, but as someone in a very, very sensitive financial situation and someone who loves the qsmp and admires the talent of everyone who poured their heart and soul into the project, i chose to wait and expect the best. i was officially welcomed into the studio on the 10th of february, and while i waited to be contacted regarding a contract or payment, i had to once again ask (even after i was already working) about payment. i was redirected to "the" head admin as it was him who handled payment, and had to wait days for him to log on so i could add him as a discord friend and ask about my salary. during that conversation, which took almost a week from start to finish, i was asked multiple times if i'd worked professionally as a writer or freelancer (to which the answer was no) before finally being offered between 200-250 dollars (which i later found out shakes out to 170€) per month. i had to ask how i was being paid, and of my own accord provide him with my paypal email in hopes of a response as he never made it clear to whom i should send it. i was incredibly lucky compared to so many members of that team, because i did get paid for my work over that month, even if it felt like i had to beg for compensation that had been promised to me before. it was an awful salary, but i was desperate and so excited to be a part of the team that i accepted the conditions. after léa's tweets, the response "jay" posted, and quackity's emergency stream, i heard once from a supervisor that things were on hold but we'd be informed of any changes. to this day, there has not been any communication either publicly on the discord server or privately, even though i asked a supervisor privately for any possible updates on anything. there's been absolute radio silence. i want to add that i do not in any way blame my supervisors for any of their lack of communication, as they've been nothing but kind and caring towards me and i imagine they'd say something if they could. i have nothing but the utmost respect for them. a few days ago (and i apologize for not being precise with the date but i wasn't checking these things closely as i had no reason to) i noticed that my access to just about everything on the server apart from the announcement channel had been removed, and the only role i retained was the main "writer" one. upon checking, the other writers on the team still retain all of their previous roles. for some reason i do not know nor understand, my access got removed without any sort of word, communication, dm, anything. anything i've ever learnt about this situation, i learnt in the middle of the night live on twitch.tv while i waited to see if i still had a job or not. the only reason i can find for my access being removed and not the other writers is the fact that i'm friends with pomme's admin. i do not know if that is why, it's merely my own speculation, but it's the only link i can see that would lead to that decision. i hope i'm wrong, but hope hasn't gotten me very far in this yet. yesterday, i quit.

i only applied in the first place because i love the qsmp. i love this community, i love this project, and i genuinely and wholeheartedly wanted to help build it as well as be able to in some way support myself while being creative. i'm not making this post because i hate quackity and want to see anything burn — i'm just exhausted, and stressed, and losing sleep over a business that ultimately does not care for the people that made it a reality. i could not in good conscience not say something, because while i was very lucky that my time there was short and while i made friends there that i believe i will take with me for the rest of my life, i've never been someone who can sit and watch others be mistreated so blatantly and just ignore it. i honestly and sincerely hope that moving forward, things change, but after what i've seen i have very little hope left in me. this isn't just about the exploitation of people, or just about not providing people with payment for their work — it's about treating other human beings who are killing themselves and working themselves to the bone with the very minimum of care and respect. it's about people who made the qsmp what it is being discarded and disrespected constantly, and who live in fear and anxiety. these people deserve to be treated well, and that lack of respect hasn't changed regardless of any "announcements" made. my heart and full and complete support goes out to everyone who is dealing with these very unfortunate circumstances and treatment (my dms are always open if you ever want to reach out), to léa for being so incredibly brave and putting herself in the line of fire for the tens of people still in the studio, to all the actors and the twitter teams for the absolute silence they've received as payment for their hard work over almost a year, and to pomme's admin who despite what's going around on twitter has not received any contact from anyone in the studio yet, and deserves so so much better.

it’s my most sincere hope that qsmp thrives and conditions change, because everyone there deserves that. everyone there deserves to be treated like gold because they’re some of the best people i’ve ever met. i wish it didn’t feel like we have to put ourselves in the line of fire publicly for any sort of response because clearly staying silent hasn’t helped anything.

please, support the people who spoke out and support the people still in the project. they're the ones who made the qsmp the qsmp. they're the ones you should be standing with first and foremost.

#qsmp #qadmins #i'm so sorry guys but i personally don't feel comfortable tagging this with like discourse or neg #but <3 i will not be offended / upset if you use those tags if you talk about this #aaaaaaaaa

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tornado1992 · 1 year ago

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The world does not deserve some things.

It doesn’t deserve destruction, hate or cruelty.

Sonic has known this for quite a while, being some sort of fighter for nature or a so called “protector” of it by a lot of people, he’s not so sure about that though.

Just as the world can be beautiful it can become dreadful, the world gives origin to everything in it, and that everything is part of the world itself.

The people that live in it are the part that shows the contrast the most clearly, just as some inhabitants are kind, take care of each other and enjoy the wonders it has to offer, there was a few of them that seemed to spite everything that wasn’t like them, everything they didn’t like, and everything that wasn’t theirs. Sonic knows that, he’s been fighting that enough time to be named a protector.

All things considered, to him the world still meant kindness, endless opportunities, adventure… and it meant freedom.

Then it meant something else.

Between all his fighting and running, he met and befriended a lot of the ones that called him a hero before he could even process the title, some of them energetic, some hotheaded, and some unbothered, they reminded him that even if there was despair or tragedy, the world he knew and loved was still there.

At least it was there to him.

Getting to know all the world meant getting almost as much deception and anger as happiness, every new place meant new sceneries, new ways, and new people, and he wouldn’t want it any other way. Even if it meant taking all the damage himself, getting to know everything personally was better than blindly trusting anything he was told, he knew it was worth it; he confirmed it when he went through one of the worst parts to find the absolute best one.

The place wasn’t even bad looking, the nature growing harmoniously beside the artificial work, it gave a peaceful kind of vibe, the people seemed kind and respectful, kids playing and chasing each other while adults looked out for them from afar, even welcoming him with open arms not caring if he was a stranger, “a united and caring community”, no sight of conflict or cruelty came to view, they didn’t seemed to have any hate in them. Only kind words and even warm chilli dogs greeted him. He thought this was the kind of place he would fight for.

That thought lasted less than an hour.

It really doesn’t take much longer than 10 minutes to completely change your perspective of a so called perfect community when after thirty minutes of an apparent peaceful environment you notice the sick looking child they suddenly chase down the woods so he doesn’t “steal their food and gives them bad fortune”. Sonic gives them a full minute of doubt, doubt to himself as what he’s hearing and seeing, because that can’t be right, because it must be a mistake. What reason could there be for a kid to “give bad luck”? Why would a kid need to “steal” food? And why would he be called a “curse”?

Some villager takes a long four minutes to explain the reason for all that, falling down to “that mutant was born with two tails”.

Sonic spends the next five minutes looking for the kid, and restraining himself from committing several crimes.

He had to focus, ending a full village’s whole career can wait, what cannot wait is the fox kit that just ran away from a group of kids leaving a trail of blood behind him. Even in the thick forest tundra it’s easy to see the big droplets of blood on the tree branches, the ground, and the tiny bush that kept trembling.

That’s where he found him.

A fox kit, didn’t looked any older than two, but by what he heard he could even be four. He looked way too tiny to be around four.

Big baby blue eyes greet him, a glassy sight, sorrow, confusion and sadness behind them.

The moment the fox noticed the speedster he tried to run, but the bush was too thick around him, and his back was facing a big tree log, he was trapped, the kid flinched every time he moved towards him, whined whenever Sonic rose to stand, and even started silently tearing up while curling around his tiny bruised body when he tried to reach for him. This kid thought Sonic wanted to hurt him.

How much does a kid has to suffer for his first reaction to some one approaching him being to cry, tremble and try to protect themselves?

Sonic can’t decide what enrages him more, the matted brown fur that surely must mean a long time without proper care for it, the bruised skinny body that trembled every few seconds as if it couldn’t stand by itself, the obviously recent bleeding nose that made the fox kit whimper every time he breathed, or the so clear loud sound of an empty stomach.

This was the result of long period of abuse and neglect, and by the way the kid hugged his twin tails while crying, Sonic would even call it torture.

Sonic couldn’t help him without getting close to him, but the kit wouldn’t let him near him without flinching. Putting the kid through more distress was not an option, but leaving him alone wasn’t one either, and the kid needed help, so he stayed. Sitting beside the trembling bush, taking watch in case some of those hollow hearted villagers came back while thinking of a way of helping the kid.

This is not the kind of help Sonic is used to offer, but he cannot just leave the kit alone. Even if he didn’t know anything about taking care of younger kids, even if his first aid kit was almost empty in his plane far away from him, even if the fox cried at the very sight of him, Sonic won’t leave him alone.

He doesn’t remember feeling like this before. Frustrating, he remembers some adults calling it, a feeling of helplessness, anger, and even sadness that consumes one self through the impossibility of effective action, in his case, the impossibility of helping.

And so he found himself, frustrated, sitting on the forest ground while rubbing his eyes with his hand, who knew, frustration is stressful; he kept at that for a few long minutes, until he felt a slight touch in his back. Finding those big blue eyes when he turned his head, a tiny gloveless paw patting him gently, careful with his quills but yet touching them, trying to comfort him.

This kid could barely stand, was obviously scared, at the verge of tears, and hurting from the beating the other kids gave him; and he was trying to make Sonic feel better.

It was clear now, they didn’t seemed to have any hate in them because they put all the cruelty and hatred in a kid, an innocent, tiny, and so kind hearted kid. The same village that greeted Sonic with kind words and offered him warm food was willing to let a literal toddler starve, if he wasn’t killed by the village’s youngest inhabitants first. All over something that wasn’t even bad, it wasn’t even his fault.

That won’t do.

Looking less distressed than before but still trembling wasn’t an ideal state to approach the twin tailed kit, but again, the kid needed help, the most urgent now being probably first aid, but Sonic sadly knew that the thing that would calm down the kid more would be something to eat.

Sonic offered him a smile, an attempt to soothe him, standing as slowly as he could not to scare the kid, and running as fast as his legs allowed him to return with four chili dogs was the game plan, managing to startle the kid a little bit with his rushed return, with the most difficult part of the plan being convincing the kid that the food was for him, that he could eat, that it wouldn’t hurt him, that Sonic wouldn’t hurt him.

Words might be useful to communicate that, but they just might, this kid was obviously casted away from society, who knew since when, he might not even understand him, well, if he used words that is, for now he hopes his smile would do (that and him eating a chili dog himself so the kit would know it’s safe).

It took a while, but it seemed like the fox’s empty stomach finally convinced him to eat, his hands trembling as he grabbed the supper, eyes getting a different kind of teary as he took his first bite, his twin tails wagging as he devoured his second chili dog.

Sonic wasn’t much of a baby person, sure they were cute and all he didn’t saw the big deal, all babies were the same. But seeing this little kid, a hurt toddler, starting to smile and wet his eyes over something as simple as warm food.. while a part of him was burning with rage, another part of him couldn’t help but think that he wanted to see this kid truly smile.

He wonders how could anyone see this kid with anything but love.

So he stayed around him, always with a smile, but even bandages, chili dogs, and big smiles couldn’t help much with the kids perspective of the word, much less the perception of himself.

The only world the fox knew before Sonic was a merciless one, rejection, hate and cruelty being its main traits, with bad people who would hunt him down, hit him and hurt him because he was the bad one, just for existing in the same time and place as all of them, but not being the same as them. He believed he really was the bad one for some time.

Sonic wouldn’t allow that for any longer, so he took the best part of the world with him and never planned to return it.

His life wasn’t the ideal deal for a toddler, he couldn’t give him a traditional family structure, a roof over his head, or a warm bed, but he also didn’t trusted anyone else to take care of him, he didn’t trusted the world to take care of him. So he would take the job himself, this kid wouldn’t go a day without warm food, he would never lack shelter, and as long as Sonic was around, he would always protect him.

But Sonic still was a hero.

Sonic fought and ran, ran and fought, and when the running and fighting from him alone seemed like not enough, the kit didn’t even doubted risking his own life to help him.

After a life of suffering, as little and scared as he was, at barely four years old, he still wanted to protect the world that wronged him.

The world doesn’t deserve this kid.

But it was the world itself that gave Sonic the title of protector, guardian, and hero; he knows there are things worth fighting for, far more than the things that wouldn’t deserve any kind of protection.

He won’t deny the title, ever.

Because even if some day everything around him comes down, everyone gets mad and bad, and his own hope is questioned, he’ll still have a reason to fight.

After all, this kid is his world.

#miles tails prower #sonic the hedgehog #sonic and tails #unbreakable bond #they are cosmic truth #wholesome sonic and tails wednesday #wsatw #sth #he loves this kid #kinda based on thatbirdguy s tails ratify au #tailsratifyau #can still be read as the regular canon #tried to make it ambiguous enough but still put some references in there #their art so good u gotta see it #the bros #and remember they are each other’s world #baby miles tails prower #baby tails #they are brothers your honor

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queerstake · 6 months ago

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Good morning, Queerstake! Thank you to everyone joining us for our community fast and letter writing campaign in response to the 2024 Church Handbook update with regards to transgender people. The policy update has shaken all of us. It is exclusionary and degrading. But we will find strength in each other as a community and courage in our efforts to effect change in this church that belongs not only to the General Authorities who authorized this policy update but also to all of us. Change in the Church happens from the ground up. Harmful policies have been issued and redacted before in our own lifetimes! We deserve to be treated with respect.

Today, we will fast together as a community that the Lord softens the hearts of the First Presidency. We will also write and send letters expressing our grief. Please don’t be quiet about your feelings today. Share your heartbreak with as many of your fellow ward and Queerstake members as you feel comfortable doing. Please post your feelings as well so we can inspire and uplift each other as we write our letters. It’s important that our grievances are heard.

Please send physical letters to:

The Office of the First Presidency

47 East South Temple Street

Salt Lake City, UT 84150

If you are unable to send a paper letter to Salt Lake, because I was not able to find an appropriate email, please instead email your letters to me at [email protected]. I’ll print and mail them myself.

Edit: @nerdygaymormon found an email address! Please feel free to send email to [email protected]. However, you are still more than welcome to send them to me to print. In fact, why not do both!

A quick word of caution: Of course, no one can guarantee the type of responses we might receive for these letters. In fact, I urge you to consider using a pseudonym in order to avoid potential church discipline. Please take care to note what legal name or return address might be associated with your membership records. I don’t want to scare anyone, especially because we’re doing nothing wrong, but it’s always good to be very aware of what might make it back to your bishop.

Thank you again to everyone for joining. I’ve always felt so supported and uplifted by Queerstake. I know that our Heavenly Parents love us just as we are and that they don’t want us excluded and humiliated in our wards. We have unique and valuable testimonies to share. We don’t go unheard by our Heavenly Parents.

I’ve included a few sample letters and templates below the cut for people who might need a shortcut for one reason or another. You are welcome to send them verbatim or modify them.

Dear First Presidency,

I'm writing to express my grief and concern over the 2024 handbook policy update on transgender people.

I believe that Christ invites all to come unto him and that as Christ's church, we have a responsibility to embrace people from all walks of life. No other demographic within the church is being treated with such severity as our transgender siblings under this new policy. I fear our transgender siblings in Christ will feel excluded and degraded, and we will lose many great members.

I believe it's of the utmost importance that we express Christlike love and charity even to people we don't understand. There is no excuse for asking transgender youth to leave activities with their peers as though they are a danger. There is no excuse for not allowing transgender people to work with children or humiliating them in our bathrooms. This is a demographic of people who have suffered in our society and Christ would want us to reach out to them with open arms. I humbly and respectfully ask that you reconsider these policy changes with regards to the doctrine of unconditional love that the church espouses. I beg you to consider the church experience of our transgender siblings in Christ and to prioritize their feelings over the feelings of people that wish to hurt them.

Thank you for your time.

Dear First Presidency,

I feel deeply grieved by the Handbook update on transgender people. As a transgender member myself, I am doing everything I can to remain in the church and exclusionary policies like these make me feel deeply unwanted and deeply unloved.

I understand very well the church's position on gender, but I hope that despite that position that I might still be able to feel Christ's love at church. Our Heavenly Parents put me on this or Earth as a transgender person. I am not a danger to children and I am not a predator in bathrooms. I am your sibling in Christ. I want to serve in church. I want to serve in teaching positions. I want to serve the youth. I believe that we attend church with the purpose of uplifting each other and studying our religion together as a ward family. I want to be edified and I want to edify.

President Hinckley said every member needs a calling, a friend, and the word of God, and if I'm treated this way at church, I'm not receiving any of those things. If I can't have a real role to play within my ward, then I have no responsibility. If I am treated as an outsider and an enemy and a predator by policy and by my fellow church members, then I don't have a friend. If I can't also receive Christ's gospel through the love of the people around me, then I'm not receiving the real word of the Lord.

I seriously urge you to reconsider this policy update. I beg you on behalf of myself and my transgender siblings in the church to not hate us and to not exclude us.

Thank you for your time.

Dear First Presidency,

I felt ______ when I heard about the new policy update to the handbook about transgender individuals. I believe we should treat our transgender members with the love and respect they deserve as our siblings in Christ.

I urge you to reconsider this policy update because ______

Thank you for your time.

Dear Leadership of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints,

I'm writing to express my grief and concern over the 2024 handbook policy update on transgender people, which I have been made aware of due to the negative impact it is having on my [friend(s)/family/loved ones].

The reputation of love, kindness, and family values that your church fosters with its programs, teachings, and community outreach is undermined by your continued exclusion of LGBT+ members and specifically with this policy change of your transgender members.

My [friend(s)/family/loved ones] have expressed _____ in regards to the August 19, 2024 changes to the handbook that relegate transgender members of your church to second-class citizens within the organization, and deny them the full capacity of worship and belonging within your church; all because of something so insignificant to their capacity to worship and belong to a community as their gender being different than the gender that they were assigned at birth. This decision _____ me/ negatively impacts my view of your church.

Thank you for your time.

I believe that there is no excuse for asking transgender youth to leave activities with their peers as though they are a danger. There is no excuse for not allowing transgender people to work with children or humiliating them in your bathrooms. This is a demographic of people who have suffered in our society and I believe that every person needs to reach out to them with open arms. I respectfully ask that you reconsider these policy changes with regards to the doctrine of unconditional love that the church espouses. I beg you to consider the church experience of your transgender members and to prioritize their feelings over the feelings of people that wish to hurt them.

#queerstake #tumblrstake #Mormon #lds

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futurequibblerjournalist · 2 months ago

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Obvious hate for Rowling and HBO put entirely aside, what do you think about the casting choices?

You’re never gonna catch me talking about that bullshit show on my blog, but since it’s been asked I will clarify my opinion a final time for good measure.

There is no putting entirely aside hate for Rowling and HBO when her hate is so ingrained in everything she does. HBO has clearly shown where they stand simply by working with her and further sharing her IP in a way that makes her money. JK Rowling never puts aside her hate for me as a person, nor my community and thus I cannot do the same for her. If it was me and her in a dark alley I would be swinging at her and I don’t care if that makes me sound like a cunt. Fuck transphobes unconditionally.

That being said when it comes to the casting of this series I hope it becomes everyone’s worst nightmare. I hope no one looks like their book descriptions, I hope you get none of your fancasts, I hope everyone gets to see the actor they hate the most in there, I hope every actor that take part in this delivers their worst performance to date and I deeply, deeply wish associating with her will ruin their career from here on out. I hope with every part of my being that the entire franchise gets completely ruined for the dumbfucks who decide to give JKR and HBO their money because they deserve nothing but the worst. I hope every idiot who gets baited by the promise of wolfstar or drarry or whatever the fuck gay ship you want in there has the worst time of their life. I hope they actively ruin your favourite things about canon and I hope you can never see your favourite characters the same ever again. I hope you get shunned by the marauders fandom, a fandom that is supposedly built on its hatred for JK Rowling and its love for diversity, because you clearly chose the transphobe. I hope your favourite artist and your favourite writers block you and I hope you lose all the friends you’ve created through this fandom because that is exactly what you will deserve. Because by supporting, engaging with or hell, even just talking about this stupid ass series you prove that your support is conditional and that you are not a safe person.

I will be watching who is cast in this series for one reason only and it is so I can assure that I never engage in any of their shit ever again.

If you intend to watch this show, whether pirated or not, you are not welcome on my blog and I urge you to unfollow me right now. I have been blocking people who engage with this cash grab asswipe of a show and I will continue to do so, so there’s that. When I say fuck JKR in my bio I mean it wholeheartedly and a nicely wrapped carrot held in front of my face won’t change that. If it changes that for you know that I have lost all respect for you as a person.

And with that I hope I’ve made myself clear. This is not directed towards anon, I’m choosing to believe that you had the best intentions with your ask, but now that I’ve made myself clear,,, well, no more of that now < 3

#harry potter series #marauders #marauders era #hp marauders #dead gay wizards from the 70s #ask #anon ask

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thatlittlered · 4 months ago

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the craft | celebrimbor

warning(s): afab!reader (use of the word lady), very discreet spoilers for rings of power

GIF by @leotanaka

author's note: i think i deserve a little kiss for my use of the title craft because of its dual meaning, don't you? going to write another part, unless I don't because I can't be trusted :)

read the rest of "the craft" here

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A beautiful sunset melts from golden to orange and fiery red hues, almost as crimson as the seeds of pomegranate in your fingers. Fruit of the only such tree in the whole of Eregion and yet another undoubtedly hospitable gift from the Elf-lord Celebrimbor, whose kindness and generosity have proven to be as boundless as his artistry.

A guest within his palace for far longer than initially intended, you cannot help but feel horribly indebted to him; a sentiment he has always refused to allow you to express and instead showered you with even more gifts, so many that you could not possibly take them with you if and when you are ever to return home, or whatever might be left of it once these dark times are hopefully over. Such is the cup you are currently enjoying warm tea from, the kind that he personally recommended and had sent to you. Laced with intricate carvings of beautiful flowers you do not think you’ve ever even seen in your long lifetime, this gift surpasses the simple nature of others, for it was crafted especially for you and whilst you may not know this part, bears the likeness of his favourite flora that grows near the bank of the river Bruinen, where he had hoped to take you soon. Alas, his tender plans were soon cast aside when the mysterious stranger Halbrand unbeknownst to you, began to seduce him into isolation and an obsessive mulling over the Rings.

You have not met with Celebrimbor in weeks and his forge, which had previously been open to you in yet another attempt to make you feel welcome and perhaps even timidly show off his craft, now remains completely shut off from the rest of the world. Your gentle requests to meet with the Elven-smith go unanswered, as do your letters to the dear and endlessly respected friends who had sent you here in the first place. Of course, neither attempt at communication ever reaches its intended receiver. The stranger has made sure of that, and while you suspect something is amiss, all this silence has become its own form of isolation.

You were sent here as a trusted friend, meant to provide guidance and council while the High King leads the way toward the necessary path of war and your other companions follow, yet the situation has rendered you incapable of aiding either cause. It seems there is nothing to do but wait and carry on enjoying the commodities the Elf-lord sends your way despite his absence.

As if brought to life by the intensity of your thoughts, there is gentle knocking on your door, the kind you recognize from the often times he has been so eager to be in your company before.

'Come in.'

You try to wipe your fingers clean from the evidence of the sweet seeds, but his rushed entry in your chamber surprises you. Your still-stained thumb leaves the smallest of bloodlike marks on your tunic, but you do not notice when your eyes meet Celebrimbor’s. A smile blooms on his tired face instantly as he once again rushes to approach you.

'My dear friend, glassen na chen cenin.' It is my joy to see you.

You move to take hold of his hands in reverence, but he once again surprises you by grasping your face in his palms instead. The stranger’s persuasion has given him a newfound confidence along with a sense of purpose, when he had been as shy as a youngling in your presence before.

'My Lady.'

The title he has given you is not one of true nobility, for you bear no such titles, but one that simply rolls off his tongue in his endless admiration of you. Anything else seems too intimate when he tries to speak it, even your name in itself. His thoughts are muddled and overwhelming in your presence.

His palms are warm and surprisingly soft when they hold you. It is impossible not to smile.

'I did not expect your visit, but I am glad to be proven wrong.'

He frowns gently and you cannot help but admire the creases of his lovely face as they are illuminated by the last rays of sun for the day.

'I am deeply sorry for my absence. I can only hope you do not think I have abandoned you, for in my heart and thoughts, I am always with you.'

Your own hand caresses just above his brow in an attempt to soothe him. He always worries so, but you would gladly take over each and every of his burdens if it meant he would finally be at peace. He has never spoken words like these to you before, always hiding behind the cloak of hospitality in an effort to be close to you. Celebrimbor, the Ñoldorin prince and last of the line of the Fëanor, has inherited none of his ancestors’ pride, but instead carries the shame of their actions deep within his soul, where it most wounds him. It is that shame that has for so long allowed him to succumb to loneliness and refrain from fantasies of greatness.

Annatar’s revelation comes as a gift, a holy permission, to bring forth life’s work that could dare to compete with that of those who came before him. It allows him to venture and now, clad in this new air of hope and ambition, come before you as he truly is and as he truly hopes to be beside you.

'I couldn’t possibly think myself abandoned when you shower me with gifts, even in your absence. I am aware of the weight that has been placed upon your shoulders and you have rightfully given your time to more important matters, or persons.'

'None as important as you. Please, do not mistake it for hospitality, for I act based on my own selfish affections.'

'How can any such affection be selfish? I would say it is anything but.'

'Oh, but I fear it is. Even my coming here is to satisfy my own longing after having spent so many morns and nights without seeing you.'

Neither of you possess the poetic prowess to capture the tenderness of this moment, the ceaseless warmth of still being held in his hands without a regard to impropriety. Even if you did, words would undoubtedly fall short.

'Well, I am glad to have your company, for as long as you can spare it.'

'I never wish to withhold it again.'

Celebrimbor melts into this half-embrace until his forehead gently leans on yours.

'I only wish I could be of assistance and help you bear this great burden.'

'Your mere presence renders my soul lighter, guren vell,' my sweet heart, 'but I know now that what has been bestowed upon me is not a burden, but a gift unlike no other. Just as you are. I have been sworn to silence, but know that we have been blessed and when my work is finished, our woes will be over.'

Something has changed within him and it is there for everyone with eyes to see. It worries you.

'Sworn to secrecy? Even from I, despite my knowing the truth of your assignment?'

He lays a gentle kiss on your forehead, holding you even closer.

'What started as a desperate attempt to clutch at whatever power can be wielded in our favour during these trying times, has now become much larger, much more important than I could have ever imagined. Bigger than you or I, for it was brought forth by a glorious agent of Valinor and now I can finally be of use to this greater cause.'

He senses the uncertainty in you before you can speak it.

'You must think I’ve gone mad.'

'Of course not. I would trust you with my life, my faith knows no bounds. My hesitance is rooted in concern.'

'Concern for the safety of the rings?'

'Concern for you, melethron nîn.' My beloved.

There is such emotion in the way he is looking at you.

'I cannot gainsay that which has been asked of me, but afterward…'

'Afterward?'

'After I have proven myself worthy, perhaps you would consider staying here, with me. Perhaps then I will be someone you could imagine a life with.'

'Oh, Celebrimbor, you already are. What words must I speak for you to know the depth of my feelings?'

Words are miniscule when faced with the self-doubt that’s so deeply rooted within him. The stranger has seen this and taken full advantage. The promise of glory has overshadowed the love you so willingly offer, even though the allure of recognition was that he might come to deserve it in the first place. His adoring smile distracts from how flat your reassurance has fallen. His mind is set.

'When all of this is over, I promise to devote myself wholly to you and only you. Gerog i chûn nîn. Until then...' You hold my heart. His hands leave your skin for a moment in order to produce what must be a gift, neatly wrapped in rich velvet fabric. 'It is nothing of great significance, but I wanted you to have these.'

You carefully unwrap it, only to find inside the most beautiful jewels, cast in gold and carved with astounding detail, so much so that you can clearly make out every petal, every stem of the flowers he has chosen that remind him of you.

'I noticed you like to adorn your hair. I thought these might be to your liking, though my hands could never make something akin your beauty. Only the Valar can master such a craft and you are the living proof.'

Such sweetness comes from his mouth. Such thoughtfulness to even now, amidst the chaos he was forced in, dedicate all this time and effort to something just for you.

'Nothing of great significance? This is the most significant gift I have ever received. The gift of all gifts; a token of your love.'

Proper elven courtship is forgotten when your eyes lock again. A kiss is required for the sake of both of your sanities and you happily initiate. You would have thought him shy and reserved, but he quickly responds in equal fervour. Your lips are soft against his thin ones and his heart sings. If only he could find within him the words to convey that. Nevertheless, you do not require it of him and he loves you even more for it.

You are content to stay where you are; mouths and bodies tenderly interlocked. When you part, there are only childish grins to be shared, ones not to be expected from eternal beings, but perhaps maturity comes hand in hand with love and the two of you have only now found it.

'Might I?'

With an approving nod, you turn your back on him, once again placing your trust in the man you’ve come to love. He laces his fingers in your hair so gently, as if set to work on fragile sheets of gold, but to him, any part of you is far more precious. You feel him carefully pick strands and clasp in them in the lovely jewels, up until the last one. Curiosity wins and you try to turn your head enough to see, only to witness him touch your hair against his lips before adding the last one.

Celebrimbor blushes upon being caught, but does not look away. You take this opportunity to simply look at each other. He wishes to gather you in his arms, but does not dare. You, again, are happy to take the initiative, but he stops you before you can embrace him fully.

'Are you hurt?'

There is ample confusion until you feel his hand gather in the skirt of your tunic where the blood-like stain still resides. The panic on his face is touching, yet unnecessary.

'Do not worry, my love, it is only pomegranate.'

When in your arms again, he seemingly relaxes, yet his mind is still racing. A familiar sense of dread pools somewhere within him.

This is a bad omen.

#celebrimbor x reader #celebrimbor #the rings of power #lord of the rings #trop #spoilers #trop spoilers

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