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#but the reality is that there are women who already have children with men and we need to think abt what is actually best for them

odinsblog · 3 months

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Game of Thrones stars and other actors read South Africa's case file charging Israel with genocide at the International Court of Justice.

Transcript:

It was already known that repeated exposure to conflict and violence, including witnessing and experiencing housing demolition, combined with Israel'siege of Gaza since 2007, is associated with high levels of psychological distress amongst Palestinians.

Indeed, the United Nations Security Council Resolution 2712 expressed its deep concern that the disruption of access to education has a dramatic impact on children and that conflict has a lifelong effect on their physical and mental health.

This disruption and its dramatic impact on children must be considered in particular and in the context of the number of Palestinian students and educators who have been killed, 4,037 and 209 respectively, and wounded, estimated at 7,259 and the number of Palestinian schools having been damaged or destroyed 352 or 74% of the schools in the whole of Gaza.

Medical professionals assess that the health effects on all Palestinian children, women, men, older people, people with disabilities and people marginalized identities are immense.

An emergency coordinator for Médecins Sans Frontières interviewed on her return from five weeks in Gaza, describes: It's even worse in reality than it looks. The amount of suffering is just something incomparable. It's really unbearable. I'm speechless when I try and think of the future of these children. Generations of children who will be handicapped, who will be traumatized.

The very children in our mental health program are telling us that they would rather die than continue living in Gaza now.

The extreme levels of bombardment and lack of any safe areas are also causing severe mental trauma in the Palestinian population in Gaza.

Even before the latest onslaught, Palestinians in Gaza suffered severe trauma from prior attacks. 80% of Palestinian children experienced higher levels of emotional distress, demonstrating bed wetting, 79% and reactive mutism, 59% and engaging in self harm, 59% and suicidal thoughts, 55%.

Eleven weeks of relentless bombardment, displacement and loss will necessarily have led to a further increase in those figures, particularly for the estimated tens of thousands of Palestinian children who have lost at least one parent and those who are the sole surviving members of their families.

For the families who remain intact or partially intact, quote, “It's about doing everything you can so your child doesn't realize that you've lost control.”

There are reports of Israeli forces using white phosphorus in densely populated areas in Gaza.

As the World Health Organization describes, even small amounts of white phosphorus can cause deep and severe burns, penetrating even through bone and capable of reigniting after initial treatment.

There are no functioning hospitals in the north of Gaza in particular, such that injured persons are reduced to waiting to die, unable to seek surgery or medical treatment beyond first aid, dying slow, agonizing deaths from their injuries or from resultant infections.

Large numbers of Palestinian civilians, including children, have reportedly been arrested, blindfolded, forced to undress and remain outside in cold weather before being forced onto trucks and taken to unknown locations.

Medics and first responders in particular have been repeatedly detained by Israeli forces, with many being detained in communicado at unknown locations.

Videos published by Israeli media on Christmas Day appeared to show hundreds of Palestinians rounded up inside al-Yarmouk football stadium in Gaza City, including children, older people and persons with disabilities, being forced to strip to their underwear in degrading conditions. United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian affairs, or UN OCHA, reports video footage showing bruises and burns on the bodies of detainees.

Images of mutilated and burned corpses, alongside videos of armed attacks by Israeli soldiers are reportedly circulated in Israel via a Telegram channel called, 72 Virgins Uncensored, billed as exclusive content from the Gaza Strip.

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seraphdreams · 1 year

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DREAMIN' — underground racing miniseries.

“being a pretty flag girl is more than waving around banners and wearing cute skirts.”

WARNINGS. this series contains an ungodly amount of smut. reader discretion is advised. topics explored are: gangbanging, drugs, gang activities, semi-dark content, weapons, dub/noncon. each fic will be tagged with its own warnings. 18+ only.

NOTE. finally putting out this series that i’ve been thinking about for a while now. i hope you all enjoy it. each fic is inspired by a song so listen to them!

— STARTING LINE UP.

PART I — NO PHOTOS.

SHIBUYA CITY CHAMPION, BAJI KEISUKE GOES HEAD TO HEAD WITH KAZUTORA HANEMIYA.

PART II — BLINDING LIGHTS.

BRAHMAN’S PRINCESS RACES AGAINST BONTEN’S MASTERMIND, MANJIROU SANO.

PART III — P POWER.

DRAKEN V. HANMA SHUJI.

PART IV — TASTE.

IZANA KUROKAWA FLIES ALL THE WAY FROM MANILA TO RACE AGAINST BEST FRIEND, KAKUCHO HITTO!

PART V — TO BE ANNOUNCED.

Bonten had somewhat of a ritual. It wasn’t anything too crazy like pentagrams or summoning the dead relatives of their victims, but something that made them, them. It was the driving force of all their operations, the sole source that kept the organization afloat. When things went awry they knew they could always count on this one thing, something minor yet major.

Money.

Money granted them connections to criminal organizations around the world. Allies established, and enemies gained. The issue here was that Bonten was bored. All the money in the world couldn’t snatch them from their odd day to day realities of being glorified hitmen, they needed excitement. Something new.

“Any ideas?” All 8 of the men sat around the large lacquered oak table with a particular noble at the forefront. He wore a black suit with a white tie that complimented the strands atop his head. His gaze was empty, as if the light had died out ages ago. There’s two standing beside him, one with a blond skunk strip and slick back hair, the other with the same style except it was platinum all around and a short beard adorned the lower half of his face.

If you didn’t know them, you’d steer clear—They looked intimidating, terrifying almost. You knew Bonten too well though; under all that hardened criminalism were just regular salarymen.

You stood next to where Koko sat. A snarky young man with low patience. It’s hard for you to get under his skin like the others do, and though he’d never admit it, he did have a thing for his little assistant. “We already do so much, I doubt taking on other projects would benefit us financially.” Koko retorts to Mikey’s query. His hands are folded under his chin, propping his head up as if he was bored of the conversation that only lasted two minutes so far.

“Look at you only thinkin’ ‘bout a quick buck. Ya never change, do ya?” It was Sanzu who spoke. Eccentric as he is, when Mikey was in the room he was loyal like a dog. He was one of the many variables that contributed to Kokonoi’s premature graying. Never have they ever gotten along.

“It’s not always about profit. We could expand territory and utilize it for something bigger like weapon trade, or women.” The eldest Haitani spoke. You favored something about him, possibly the eyes or his charismatic nature. He was a caring soul as well, he put his brother above his own life whether Rindou liked it or not. “Bouncing off Ran’s idea, what about Okinawa?” Kakucho uttered.

Usually you tuned out business talk, it wasn’t important to your job. All you were paid to do was look pretty and occasionally pass out paperwork, but the topic at hand piqued your interest. Hitto continues, “We own land in Okinawa, we could build another headquarters there, a casino maybe?”

It seemed as though Manjiro finally took his children into consideration, nodding along with the conversation. “A casino is for idiots, let’s do underground racing.” Sanzu adds. There’s silence and judgmental stares before Mikey finally allows himself to speak once more. “I like it.”

“You can’t be serious, Boss?” Takeomi asks from his spot behind. “How can we even—”

It’s Hajime who interjects this time, the wheels seemingly turning in his head. “If we combine both Hitto and his idea, we could host bets and call in racers. I’m thinking motorcycles over cars. We can’t risk importing illegal vehicles overseas.”

That was just it. The very proposal that’ll put words to action. With a seance of agreeances, Mikey turns to Rindou for finalization. “Make it happen, Haitani.” Rin nods before taking a quick glance at you and back to his leader. “A flag girl’ll be nice too, preferably a hot bimbo.”

You were too fixated on checking your fresh manicure to feel the stares of all the men burning into your frame. The clearing of Kakucho’s throat pulls you from your focus and you finally make the realization. “Hm?”

Mikey tunes his attention back to Rindou, the one notorious for his connections with about any and everyone. “Call up your best racers and fly them to Okinawa. Set up a hotel and headquarters while you’re at it. Let’s take a little business trip.”

With the meeting adjourned, the plan sets in motion.

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onlyjaeyun · 6 months

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𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 – 𝟐𝟏

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲

↬ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

↬ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬!𝐀𝐔, 𝐂𝐄𝐎!𝐉𝐚𝐲, 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

↬ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟒𝐤

↬ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲. 𝐀 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐥'𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐄𝐎.

"Are you sure we're at the right address, Sir?"

His chauffeur's question barely makes its way to his consciousness, as Jongseong allows his gaze to nervously and curiously roam the parts of Seoul he's never been to before.

As a business man he's definitely seen most of his favorite and most important capital, yet it genuinely feels like stepping foot into a whole new city.

All of a sudden and for the first time in his life, Jongseong simply can't recognize the place he was born and raised in, the capital he's always loved and appreciated. All of a sudden and for the first time in his life he genuinely feels out of place.

"Yes, it's the apartment complex right here", is the only thing he manages to say before the car comes to a halt and he finds himself in the midsts of Seoul's other kind of night life.

Despite the time being quite late, there are children and teenagers out on the street, laughing and playing together, a group of old man comfortably seated in front of a random little restaurant as the old women are slowly starting to close their shops.

Jongseong doesn't know what he expected when he had spontaneously decided to join his driver to pick you up, especially since you had already told him about where your apartment is located, yet it absolutely didn't prepare him for the reality of it.

It's not like he's never been to the less wealthy parts of Seoul, but for some reason he can't help but doubt the safety of it.

The thought of his pretty girl having to take the bus at late times with all these possible dangers lingering around has his head spinning with worry.

There's absolutely no way he'll let you go home by yourself ever again after this.

With a harsh gulp, Jongseong gets out of the car, the boys' and young men's attention quickly shifting to him as he shoots his body guard a firm gaze to stop him from following the way he'd usually do it. Because for some reason, Jay feels like he doesn't need him in his back in this particular situation.

"Oh, damn", one of the boys yells as soon as his eyes meet Jongseong's, his face quickly giving away just how young he is, however his height as well as the proportions of his body making him seem like they're the same age, "seems like Y/N's finally getting over that stupid asshole!"

His words leave the young CEO speechless.

Why does he know you? And why the fuck is he all up in your business to the point where he actually knows things about your personal life in such great detail?

Jongseong can't help but wonder if you've managed to create bonds to these young men, and as he thinks about the possibility of it, he knows it's nothing too unrealistic, as you usually tend to treat every single human being the exact same way, no matter who they are or where they come from.

"I like him the most so far", another boy yells, a little older than the other ones yet still young enough to be in school, "he actually looks like he'll treat her well."

For a short moment, Jay tries his best to understand whether or not this is actually happening because despite how overwhelmed he is, he feels way more comfortable than he would have ever expected to.

"Y/N and I are just – friends", Jay suddenly says, a soft smile on his lips and the way all boys are quick to reciprocate the sweet gesture melts his heart on the spot, "I'm here to pick her up."

"Nah, you guys aren't friends", the first boy chuckles, "you like her more than that, am I right?"

This time he simply can't hold back a little chuckle in response to the boy's playful words and yet all he does is shrug his comment off.

"What's your name? Might as well let us know since you'll obviously come around a lot more from now on."

For a moment, Jongseong hesitates. Not because he doesn't trust the boys but rather because for the first time in his life, he doesn't want people to know what reputation his name comes with.

"Jay", is what he decides on, "I'll make sure to get to know you all as well next time, but for now I gotta pick her up. The host of tonight's dinner we're invited to is incredibly stingy when it comes to being on time."

The boys nod, some of them shoot Jongseong another row of smiles whereas the older ones seem suspicious and mischievous. And as Jay comes to stand in front of the apartment building's front door, he carefully looks for your name on one of the tags before ringing your bell and silently praying that you won't speak to him through the speaker bur rather just buzz him in instead.

To his luck you're way too stressed and in a rush to actually care about who you're letting into the apartment complex. After almost two three of living here, you've grown used to the random ringings on your doorbell because one of the kids has forgotten their keys again or a random neighbor asking you for leftovers, especially towards the end of the month when the money situation gets a little critical for everyone.

Ever since you've started working for The Park Company, you've been earning way more than most people in your complex and since you have nobody but yourself to take care of, you love giving the rest to the people in your community.

To some people it might be too much but these exact people were the ones who took great care of you throughout the few times you spent jobless and on the actual edge of poverty, barely making ends meet.

It's a great privilege and honor to finally give back to them and there's nobody in this neighborhood you're not genuinely grateful for.

It takes Jay a little longer than five minutes to find his way to your door, the middle aged lady at the end of the hallway quickly letting out an amused laugh upon seeing the tall CEO desperately looking for the right way to go before finally helping him.

And as soon as he lifts his hand to knock on your door, he feels his heartbeat picking up its pace in no time, thrumming in his throat as the blood rushes in his ears and easily blends out every single other noise.

You can't help but be a little surprised as soon as you realise that there's actually someone on the other side of your door since you weren't really expecting anyone and are pretty sure Mr. Park's driver didn't feel the need to come all the way up to your apartment.

With only one boot on your feet and your lips half way lined, you swing the door open and find yourself standing in front of none other than your boss.

The sight of Park Jongseong in your complex hallway feels surreal, like it's nothing but a mentally created image and the longer you stare at him, the more intimated you feel. This block, this part of the city, your life – none of these things are made for people who were fed with silver spoons the second they came to this world and even if you don't feel ashamed or embarrassed, you definitely feel a little shy and yet defensive about it.

If it wasn't for the initial shock, you would have easily missed the way his eyes widen just the tiniest bit and for a moment you're not sure if he actually just gasped for air, but with him you usually tend to read too much into his behavior, so without giving it another thought you take a deep breath.

"I'm so sorry for making you wait, Sir", you say and start fumbling with the little belt of your rather small black dress, too nervous to make eye contact as you feel his dark eyes roaming your body almsot shamelessly.

"I didn't know you would be the one to pick me up."

"Don't worry about it", Jongseong says and clears his throat, every single drop of blood finding its way into his cock, "I wanted to make it a surprise."

His words leave you flabbergasted.

And from the sudden nervousness grazing his features you're pretty sure you haven't done a good job at hiding your reaction.

Jongseong doesn't want to make you uncomfortable, yet he simply has no idea what to say.

You look like you came straight out of his biggest fantasies, your whole demeanor is what he's been dreaming about for the past few weeks and besides that one night at Heeseung's new club he's never been in your presence outside of work.

For some reason he kind of expected this to be a little easier, but at the end of the day all of his worries and doubts have become reality.

"Call me Jay, please", he suddenly blurts and looks at you with his pretty eyes roaming your face, "I think we're past the point of you constantly addressing me as 'Sir' and by my last name."

"But...you're my boss", you whisper and start playing with your favorite necklace, but still too shy to look him kn the eyes, "I don't want to be unprofessional or inappropriate."

"Y/N, I–", but Jongseong doesn't get the opportunity to finish his sentence as his phone starts ringing and the custom ringtone lets him know exactly who it is.

"It's Hoonie", he sighs and pulls the device out of his pocket, not yet picking up the call, "I'll be here waiting for you to get ready. No need to rush yourself."

All you do is nod before turning around and quickly looking for your second shoe as well as finishing the last touch ups on your make up.

For a single second you actually consider inviting him inside but you're not ready for your boss to see your tiny little apartment. This time it is a little bit of shema which kind of hoods you back because compared to his big penthouse, your place is as big as his home office.

Once you've finally finished getting yourself ready and actually presentable, you try your best not to stare at your boss who's currently talking to his best friend, leaning against the wall and looking absolutely out of place and yet like he actually fits into the whole picture perfectly.

With a soft sigh you throw away all of those little thoughts and glimpses of hope before locking your door and waiting for Jongseong to join you.

You're too nervous, too anxious and excited to actually hear what he's saying to Hoonie on the phone and as soon as he pulls it away from his ear, you find yourself gasping for air at the mesmerizing sight of Park Jongseong.

He's not wearing his usual three piece but the casual version of his daily outfit. Few of the buttons on the top of his white dress shirt unbuttoned, revealing just the right amount of chest as the blazer hugs his strong biceps in just the right places. You don't let your eyes find their way to his legs because you know the sight of his thick thighs in those black slacks are going to drive you insane. Riding and using them for your own pleasure being one of your personal favorite fantasies.

Neither one of you says a single word as you make your way to the car, the cold November air hitting you a lot harder than expected and now you're absolutely regretting your choice of jacket.

You quickly check up on your boys, who have obviously been waiting for you two to come downstairs, before they all shoot Jay a knowing look and an appreciative nod of acknowledgment, which you would have missed if you hadn't been attentively watching your boss's reaction to the kids of your block.

With a soft smile, Jay opens the door to his car, making sure you're comfortably seated before making his way to the other side.

You're quick to start a conversation with his bodyguard, since the two of you have been spending just as much time with each as you have with Jay himself and for some reason he can't help but feel a sense of relief hit him.

You're here with him. You're in his car and he finally gets to take the tiniest bit of care of you, something he's been daydreaming about for so long.

You can feel his eyes burning through your skin and you can't even deny how much you're enjoying it. Knowing he actually seems to like what he sees has the butterflies in your tummy go absolutely crazy, despite your many attempts to kill them off completely. There's just something about Park Jongseong which seems to turn the easiest things into the biggest challenges.

"Y/N, I've thought a little about the rules I've set up for you in my office and have decided to abandon most of them", Jongseong suddenly says and when you turn your head to meet his strong gaze, you're surprised to see that he genuinely seems nervous.

"Oh?" You look at him with raised eyebrows, your hands neatly folded in your lap and all of a sudden you feel a lot less anxious than just a few seconds ago.

There's just something about him, which never fails to esse your mind, yet you still struggle to put a name on it.

"I've talked to Yeonie and the boys about this quite a lot and have realised that most of these rules were rather ridiculous. You can wear whatever you want and personalise your desk however you see fit. Please also don't hesitate to call or text me whenever you need something, anything, really. I want you to see how much I appreciate your hard work and you've never done anything to make me doubt your abilities, which is why those rules are kind of nonsense."

You can't help but be a little iverwhelmed because not only has he never been this casual and smiley around you before but the fact he actually gave these things another thought to the point where he felt the need to talk to his friends about makes you feel incredibly seen and appreciated.

"That is really, really thoughtful of you, Sir, thank you so much", you say calmly and are surprised just how well you're hiding the excitement currently rushing through your body.

"I'm also going to organise a company car for you because I don't feel comfortable having you take the bus every single day after working so hard", this one Jongseong was the most nervous about. His urge to lay the world to your feet has been absolutely overwhelming and after quite a little bit of arguing back and forth with Sunghoon, the lawyer had managed to put the company car idea into the CEO's head instead of his initial idea of letting you live rent free in one of Seoul's most expensive apartments.

"That is not–", but Jongseong is determined and as soon as he cuts your words, you know there's no room for discussion left.

"It is necessary. Please, Y/N, let me do this for you. You work so hard snd you try your very best, at all times. Allow me to take care of you, it's the least I can do to show you my appreciation."

Fucking Park Jongseong.

Why the fuck did he have to pull the 'taking-care-of-you' card when literally every other explanation would have been the better choice? Because now that little voice you've been suppressing for the past few days, telling you that your boss isn't as neutral about you as he claims to be, has basically gotten a freeway ticket to freedom and you know it's going to be the only one up there for the next who knows how long.

"Thank you, Sir, I really appreciate this", you whisper and look away, whereas Jay refuses to look anywhere but you. He's been forcing himself to avoid you in any way possible for the past three months, he would never let an opportunity like this go to waste.

"Please, Y/N, let's try and be a little less formal with each other, yeah? I know I've been super keen on keeping everything strictly business but realising how much time we actually spend with each other has changed my mind", he says calmly, this time obviously a little hesitant. Jongseong doesn't want to let his intentions be known right away but rather ease you into it.

He rejected just a few weeks ago, no matter how badly he wants to dive head first into this and just tell you how crazy you've been driving him, he knows he has to slow it down for the sake of your mental and emotional well-being.

"I'll try my best to use your first name but I am afraid I won't get rid of the 'Sir' as easily", you chuckle nervously and carefully watch his reaction, only to regret your decision because the way he oh so obviously lets his eyes fall to your lips and back up has your blood boiling with arousal.

"That's okay", Jay replies calmly, "I like to hear that one from you anyway."

As if destiny heard the sirens in your head going off in response to his flirty little comment, the car comes to a stop and before you can actually think of a verbal answer, Jay's bodyguard has already opened your door.

The following hour is filled withw ay too many hugs and handshakes as Hoonie makes sure to introduce you to everyone you're not familiar with and by the time you finally get the opportunity to sit down, your friends are already all over you.

You don't tell them about your conversation with your boss, too shy and embarassed but also a little scared someone might hear and for some reason their lack of knowledge eases your nerves and soothes your anxiety in the best way possible.

It's a rather small gathering with about twenty people, most of whom you know, which makes the evening so much more bearable than you had initially expected.

The fact that your boss can barely keep his eyes off of you doesn't help much with your nervousness but you can't even deny how much you're liking it.

Every time one of his or your own boys comes a little too close to you, Jay physically tenses up to the point where you can actually watch the way his knuckles start turning white from his tight grip on the table when Jungwon pulls you into a silly little bear hug.

For a while, you completely forget about your actual relation to Park Jongseong. In this moment, you're just two adults with way too much chemistry and sexual tension and it feels like neither one of you is trying to suppress or run away from it.

You can't help but feel a little bit silly for gaining hope yet again but for some reason tonight feels different. Jay's never been this relaxed and casual around you, seeing him interact with his friends in such an environment is something you've honestly daydreamed about and to see it become reality seems surreal.

To your surprise, you find yourself seated next to none other than the man who's been messing with your head for the past three months and as the official dining part of Sunghoon's birthday dinner is about to start, Jongseong casually pulls your chair out for you to sit.

Nothing but a whispered thank you falls past your lips as you try your very best to stay calm but as soon as your gaze meets your group of friends, you know exactly how well that attempt went.

You don't let the girls' wide eyes and smiles as well as the boys shocked facial expressions get to you, the only person you allow yourself to indulge in is your boss, who's been more than just adamant about having a proper conversation with you.

It doesn't take long for his boys to chime in this time and even if he can hide his annoyance very well, he knows their actual intentions. With a soft sigh, Jay decides to pull himself out of your argument about which kind of stew is the best and why, his eyes never once averting from you as they take in your breathtaking beauty.

Maybe it's because he hasn't allowed himself to actually look at you in person or maybe it's because he wanted to maintain the mental and emotional distance to you, but regardless of the reasoning, Jongseong realises that up until tonight he's never fully comprehend just how beautiful you are.

Everything about your facial expressions, from the way you raise your eyebrows or scrunch your nose, as well as your brsathtaking smile and your incredibly adorable laughter simply blows him away.

He dowsn't even realise that Jake as well as Heeseung have gone back to their seats until you tilt your head to the side and meet his curious gaze.

"Hoonie's gonna hold a speech, Jay", you say softly and never once in his life has he loved the sound of someone saying his first name as much as this.

"Oh, right, sorry", he replies quickly and clears his throat, his cheeks filling with blood as embarassmenr overwhelms him, so to avoid an even worse moment, he simply turns around to face his best friend, who's just a single shot away from being absolutely drunk, yet makes sure to hold his yearly birthday dinner speech.

And as the waiters serve the appetizers and side dishes, you finally have a moment of absolute peace, only for the constant vibration of your phone to disturb you.

For some "unknown" reason you're so not in the mood to talk to Jiwoong. It's not line you're going to cancel the date over a simple conversation you probably misinterpreted yet again but talking to him on a night where your boss gives you his actual attention just doesn't feel right.

And on top of that you really don't feel like being on your phone all the time.

With a soft sigh you put your phone right between your own plate and Jay's, knowing he might notice the unnecessary high amount of messages you're receiving and all you can do is hope that he won't actually comment on it.

"Someone seems to really need your attention right now", Jongseong suddenly says and he has no idea why he actually decided to say anything because as soon as he got a single glimpse of the contact name a few minutes ago, his blood has been boiling with rage and jealousy.

It's not like he has the right to feel the way he does but the mere thought of you with that loser of a man makes him want to take you back to his place and claim you in the most intimate way possible.

You're his and he'll make sure to let every single fucker on this planet know about it as soon as possible.

However, until he's made sure he's won you over again, Jay has no choice but to accept your decisions.

And for now, Jong doesn't mind. He's known to be a patient man. He knows exactly when and how he has to handle these things, if he didn't he would have never made it this far.

He'll just make sure to have you forget about every single one of your little boy toys once you let him back into your heart.

"Well, I've got great company here and it'd be a shame if I wasted a night like this by staring at my phone the whole time, right?"

Your response it witty and slightly sassy, your smile actually cheeky and even if Jay knows it's the few glasses of champagne talking, he can't hold back the little chuckle regardlessly.

"Exactly", he says calmly and holds his whiskey glass up, waiting for you to react to his offer and as soon as you xlink your own against his, that heaviness on his chest seems to get just light enough for him to take a deep breath.

And as he watches you burst into loud laughter because of Sunghoon's random childhood story, he knows he has to have you. There's no way he's going to back away ever again until you're his and his only.

← 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

(A/N: I know this one's a little boring BUT it's super important because from now on Jay's finally about to act on those feelings and not just write them down and be all grumpy about the whole situation. I just wanted to thank you all for the love and support, you guys never fail to make me feel so loved and appreciated and it's everything to me. Sending everyone the fattest kiss! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!!!!🤍🧸)

TAGLIST CLOSED: @soonigiri @xrr-s4sha @kwiwin @heelcvr @deobitifull @kpoprhia @doodlelibrary @abrazosolorcereza @certifiedmoa @sleeping-demons @heerinnie @ohmy-moonlightx @heeswif3y @hoonieluv @fakeuwus @jjaeyuns @cheybabey @ineedsomezzz @super-amberlynn @kshoshi @tinie03 @soiimo @mimikittysblog @primroselover @heebrry @jebetwo @donghyckl @07myonlylove @enhamysunshines @quemirasboboandapaya @lostwonderwall @seuomo @enhaz1 @teawithbucky @beomgyusonlywife @dammit-jjk @lhsvibez @azurez @boutyouwonu @finchyyy @ocyeanicc @jaylaxies @glitterssim @in-somnias-world @zerasari @spookyauthorspopmusictrash @capri-cuntz @fluerz @3amstarlight

#enhypen social media au #enhypen smau #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen smut #enhypen fluff #enhypen jay smut #enhypen writers #park jongseong social media au #park jongseong smau #park jongseong smut #park jongseong fluff #park jongseong angst #park jongseong x reader #park jay x reader

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tonkatsubowl · 8 days

Text

misdemeanor.

▼ sunday x fem!reader

▼ yandere themes. triggering themes. nsfw themes. mdni.

▼ you got kidnapped. (since idk sunday's moveset or anything i just pulled something out of my ass)

sunday's reputation was well-known. his face was everywhere, and the knowledge that he was one of the family's greatest members was, well... well-known. because of this, you were given your own reputation, too, for being constantly seen by his side at all costs.

the family was known to harbor an immense amount of money, and there were rumors that if you stole a certain amount of money digitally, you'd wake up from the dreamscape and have that money in your account still. but was that possible? to steal something from the dreamscape and wake up with it?

...but digitally? would that actually happen?

some people chose to fuck around and find out.

unfortunately, you were the chosen victim for this crime.

the one time you weren't by sunday's side, life decided to choose you of all people to be... toyed with.

you were wandering through the streets of penacony by yourself. you wanted to admire the scenes of the night sky, and enjoy the festivities that occurred throughout the festive night. women, children, men and their families spent time together, giggling and laughing harmoniously as they gathered around, enjoying the moment of happiness that they shared together. you were enjoying the sight itself, but you recalled there was a hidden view here somewhere that a certain individual took a certain trailblazer to... and you wanted to check it out.

as you were making your way towards the area, you didn't realize you were being followed by a couple of a few criminals. you were humming one of robin's songs to yourself, only to find your voice was completely concealed behind the discomfort of a cloth, rendering your inability to breathe for a moment. you inhaled, smelling unfamiliar chemicals, forcing your body to relax. you immediately knew something was happening to you, but you tried to fight it back for a moment, but the sedatives were already forcing you to fall...

so you did. you collapsed to the hard ground, visiting the blackest night.

once you woke up, you were tied up, duct tape over your mouth. your eyes frantically traveled everywhere, panic now infesting the rest of your body. where were you? who took you? the immediate realization that you were kidnapped strucked you, and you were silently panicking.

you were trying to calm down, but the sedatives were making you feel sick. you felt tired, and you didn't feel strong enough to even move that well, either.

"she's finally awake."

an unfamiliar voice boomed to the side, and your head turns towards the direction. an unfamiliar face, several men. you felt your heart drop, faced with the reality of many possibilities. what do they want? are they going to kill you?

"hey there, pretty girl." one of the unfamiliar men took hold of your face, observing you.

"that's really (y/n)?" one says.

"is this even a good idea? the family is everywhere." another says.

"it's easy, boys. we just ask her for the money." another says.

"yeah, yeah. so, we'll remove the tape from your face and you start speakin'." the guy who held your face said.

he ripped off the tape of your face, causing your eyes to tear themselves up due to the pain you endured for a good moment.

"now talk—"

collecting up some saliva, you decided to spit at the man who spoke to you. you didn't say anything, but that enough should tell him 'no'.

he chuckled, wiping his face off with disgust. "you wanna get dirty, huh? we won't ask again; we want your money. it's easy. just give us one million credits and we'll let you go."

you didn't say anything. in truth, you were ultimately terrified. your body shook with distress and exhaustion, and you wanted to vomit. you looked around frantically, seeing that you were in a room, somewhere. a dark room, maybe in a building with little sunlight. but you had to get out of here.

you tried to wiggle out of the ropes that held you, but you couldn't. they were too knotted, and you were unable to do anything. you began to panic, but you tried to calm down at the same time.

"... not gonna say anything, huh?" he grinned, before taking out what appeared to be a handgun.

your eyes widen, your hands trembling. was this how you were going to die? then, you were pistol-whipped to the face, granting you to suffer from a cut and a bruise. streams of blood traveled from your injury and to your chin, dripping. you breathed, your breaths shakey. he lifted his hand again, and just right before anything could happen, the men froze. they were silent, unable to move. each individual was struck by a glowing blade from behind which materialized from nothing. they all grunted in pain, blood spurting from their injuries.

"what the-!? what's going on—!?"

from the door next to you, sunday opened the door and walked in, hands behind his back. they froze, ultimately accepting their defeat knowing that the checkmate had walked into the building. sunday's eyes rested on you, anger already apparent in his gaze. he walks over to you calmly, noting your injuries... which only infuriated him more.

"normally, those who 'die' in this dreamscape don't really die in reality, " sunday began to speak, untying your ropes, catching your body as it fell. you were in a panic, unable to move, unable to speak. you were shaking so bad, sunday could feel you vibrate against his frame, "for crimes like this, normally, you'd go to prison for it. but i'll make an exception for prison."

he lifts you up, your eyes softening at your lover. but you were too tired, and that was when sunday looked at you, turning his back to the culprits, saving you the scene of a brutal event. his eyes took steady of you for a moment, as though he was forcing you to sleep, to save you from the screams of their deaths.

"... i'll just have you all die, and wiped from reality."

your world goes to black once more, carried away by your lover, as the culprits who dared touch you would meet their ends. insufferably so, not given quick deaths.

you wake again to find yourself in an infirmary, where robin was asleep with a tear-stained face, resting her ahead atop of your body. you were dazed, tired, and you were patched up by the family's medical team. sunday was gazing outside the window, and the moment he heard you stir awake, his gaze softens, approaching you quietly.

"(y/n), you're awake." he whispered, careful not to wake robin. "how are you feeling?"

that was when you began to sob, your heart racing. "i'm... i'm okay, i'm... i'm just scared." you were terrified, even now, but you knew you were in safe hands.

sunday knelt by your bedside, brushing his hand atop of your hand. his gaze so gentle, his touch and everything was so gentle, you felt your body ease up. he leans over, pressing his lips against your injury, then your lips.

"you're okay, now. please, do not leave my side from now on, (y/n). something like this could occur again."

you nod slowly. you knew that full well that you would have to glue yourself to sunday's side, and if you had to leave, well... it'd have to be his approval.

"robin was worried sick about you. she was here all day sobbing, wishing for you to wake immediately. would you like anything to eat or drink? i'll have someone bring it to you."

god, you really were hungry. now that the adrenaline died down, you were wanting something now.

"... has robin eaten anything yet?" you asked.

sunday shook his head.

"let's get her something too. i would like..."

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr sunday #sunday x reader

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sailor-aviator · 2 months

Text

Amhrán na Farraige

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Selkie!Reader

Summary: For centuries there have been legends of beautiful women who disguise themselves as creatures from the sea, only coming to land to sate their curiosity about the world above. Bradley was a simple man who had a taste for simple pleasures. A whole life spent at sea meant he was accustomed to these tales, but nothing prepares him for the reality of them.

Content Warning: ANGST, smut (brief, p in v), Pregnancy, References to the supernatural, Third person narrative, Some fluff, Dub-con, Kidnapping, Forced marriage (kind of, you'll see), Stockholm Syndrome, Some domestic violence (against spouse and towards children. Nothing heinous, just some grabbing and shaking), Anger, Celtic myths/legends, Celtic songs, Depression, Lies, Men driven mad, Descriptions of blood. I think I got everything, but PLEASE let me know if I missed anything.

Word Count: 13.2k

Helpful pronunciations (not exact, but close):

Amhrán na Farraige - [oh-ron nuh far-ig-uh] "Song of the Sea"

Sidhe - [She] "Fairy" (Also there's a whole etymology thing with this but yeah)

Mo Chroi - [moh khree] "My heart"

Mo Ghrá - [moh graw] "My love"

Mo Mhuirnín - [moh wor-neen] "My beloved"

Mo Stóirín - [mo store-een] "My Little Treasure"

Song One (The cliffs) || Song Two (The end)

God was not real, of this Bradley Bradshaw was sure and certain. At the very least, if he had existed at all, he was surely dead now. Or perhaps he was a neglectful deity. Bradley had seen too much death and hardship in his life to think otherwise.

He had seen men gasp for an unhearing god as they lay on battlefields, blood coursing out the holes in their bodies as tears streamed down their unseeing eyes. He had seen children starve, begging their still mothers for food that would never come, not while hardship endured in the land. He had heard the wails of women as their sons, brothers, fathers, and husbands never returned home, hand reaching out for an embrace that would never be returned.

All eyes looked to God, but God did not look back.

The only thing Bradley was sure of, was the existence of the fair folk, the Sidhe his mother had always called them. The beings who walked the between, never staying long in this world or the next.

“That shadow that lingers in the corner of your eye?” She had smiled, stroking the hair out of his face. “That’s the fair folk, honey. Always watching, but never seen. If they see let you see them, Bradley, then it’s already over. They’ve gotten you.”

His mother had done her best to keep him sheltered from the horrors of the world, but death and famine followed the people along the coast. His father had died in a shipwreck off the coast when he was young, and while his mother had done her best to keep her sorrow hidden, Bradley often caught her eye turned towards the sea. She disappeared when he was only sixteen.

Bradley had heard stories of people being taken by the fair folk, lured to the hills beyond the town, some never to be seen again, while others came back different. He wondered if the men who had gone off to war had been taken, replaced with something hollow, something not quite all there. Had his mother been taken by the Sidhe? Taken to the land beyond to be with his father? Or had her sorrow and longing for her long-dead husband become too much all at once, the grips of the icy waters too tempting an offer to resist?

It didn’t matter anymore, though. Bradley was alone and took work where he could, soft hands of youth turning to calloused hands of adulthood. His once bright eyes grew dull from the monotony of the jobs at sea, life becoming routine as day after day he boarded a ship to earn his livelihood.

As he grew older, the wages from the odd jobs allowed him to purchase his own vessel, a small boat that rocked in the choppy waves as he hunted the seals that littered the coasts.

He remembered watching from the small house he and his mother lived in as the creatures hopped out of the water to lay on the rocks. He would inch towards the door until she caught him, a stern look on her face as she scowled at him.

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times,” she scolded him, hands on her hips. “You leave those creatures alone. They’re not doing anything to bother you.”

“Elijah’s da’ hunts them,” he remarked once, only serving to deepen her scowl.

“He does,” she muttered. “And he’s a lucky man that the selkies are a forgiving lot.”

“What’s a selkie?” Bradley had asked, eyes lighting up in intrigue. His mother regarded him for a moment before gesturing for him to sit in one of the chairs by the fireplace. Bradley settled in, eyes eager as he waited for his mother to explain.

“The selkies are fair folk of the sea,” she began, eyes serious as they darted above his head to look out the window towards the beach. “They may look like seals, but underneath their blubber and fur, they look like people just like you and me. They’re beautiful, Bradley, but curious to a fault. They walk on land in human form, shedding their seal skin once every seven years.”

“Why seven?” He had asked, voice small with wonder.

“Just the way the magic works,” she had replied with a shrug. “You can always tell when a seal is a selkie based on the size. The bigger the seal, the more likely it is to be a selkie, Bradley. Killing it and taking the skin will earn you pay, but you’ll have blood of the fair folk on your hand. Remember that.”

And he had remembered, for a while at least. He would watch the seals as they basked on the rocks, always wondering if the ones that met his curious gaze were one of the fair folk - a selkie.

Now the years had passed, grown from a small boy into a man of large stature. He commanded respect from those in the small, seaside village. Long had the days passed when his mother had warned him of hunting the seals and long had passed the days when he took those warnings seriously. He had joined the few who hunted the creatures around the rocky shores, braving the misty seas to earn himself a living.

He sat in his boat, the waves rocking him side to side in the way they often do during misty weather. Bitter cold clawed at his skin, numbing his fingers as he waited. Waited for something to come out of the water. Waited for any sign that he would earn a meal.

He fiddled with the ropes that lie around the floor of the boat, tying knots that he would need later. Undoing them, tying them, undoing them again. Anything to keep himself occupied while he lay in wait.

His breaths came out as white puffs of clouds, matching the ones surrounding him. Ice water clung to the whiskers on his upper lip, dripping down to run along his jaw and throat. He shifted, burying himself further into the warmth his coat provided. It was worn. He would need a new one soon. All the more reason to keep hoping for a prize catch.

The sound of disturbed water drew his attention towards the shore, and he slowly crept forward to peer over the side of the boat. A large seal bobbed at the surface, taking slow, deep breaths of the cold air that surrounded them. Slowly, Bradley reached for his harpoon, watching as the seal floated closer and closer. He raised his arm slowly, taking aim. He took a breath. Then another.

He released the harpoon just as a wave crashed into the side of his boat, sending the weapon veering off course. The harpoon struck the seal’s side, creating a gash that seeped blood into the water. The seal gave a pained cry, diving down into the murky depths of the sea, and Bradley cursed.

He stared at the spot where the seal had disappeared, already feeling the pangs of hunger stab at him. His nostrils flared as the desperate sense of anger welled up within him. How could he have been so careless? The size of that pelt would have brought in enough money to last him months. He heaved a sigh, pulling the rope to bring the harpoon back towards him. His fingers dipped into the icy water, the pain of it distracting him momentarily from his despair.

Bradley tossed the harpoon to the floor, the item landing with a thud as he slumped onto the bench. He buried his face in his hands, mind moving with blinding speed. He could still earn enough money to survive, he thought to himself. He could still do this. He just had to be more careful next time, should wait until he’s closer so he doesn’t miss. Still, his mind wandered back to the seal. The sheer size of it had his mind drifting back to the stories his mother had always told him. Of course, Bradley was older now, and he wouldn’t be scared by tall tales. However, the foolishness of youth still clung to him, for though he was now considered a man, he was barely twenty-two summers old.

Bradley heaved a sigh, sitting up and rubbing his hands together to create some warmth that would awaken his freezing fingers. He gripped the oars in his hands and began to row back to shore, the sun already dipping towards the horizon. He was always tempted to stay out past dark, but the older fishermen and hunters warned him of the dangers that came about at night. While Bradley was a fool, he wasn’t stupid.

He neared the dock that stood on the beach outside his home, moving to secure the boat to one of the posts when something caught his eye.

It floated in the water, a silvery grey blob that moved with the tide. Bradley’s eyes narrowed as he tried to place what it was in his mind. The blob slapped up against the side of the boat, and it was then that he realized what he was looking at. It was a perfectly preserved seal pelt, much like the one he had just seen. He supposed that it had fallen off a cart on the way to market, the winding roads by the cliffs being one of the few ways to make it into town. It wasn’t unusual for things to be knocked off of carts, finding their way onto the beaches and eventually into the sea.

Bradley wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, not after his blunder. He scooped the pelt into the boat, laying it out to dry before lifting himself onto the dock. It would be days before he could take it to the market to sell, and he hoped no one recognized it when he did make his way into town.

An odd feeling overcame him in that moment, a feeling of unease and tension winding up his spine and gripping his throat. The feeling told him he was being watched, but by what, he did not know. His eyes darted around, expecting to see one of his neighbors by the house, but no one stood atop the cliff. The wind picked up around him, the cold of it stealing the breath from his lungs, and he curled in within himself to try and preserve some of the warmth he had left. The feeling told him he was making a mistake, but he ignored it, surmising that what he felt was guilt at having come into fortune from another’s strife.

Bradley shook his head to rid himself of the feeling, taking one last look around before trudging across the beach and up the path to his home.

The house was cold, but not for lack of warmth. Bradley kept the rooms heated well. No, the house lacked the happiness that made it a home, and this was something he was keenly aware of. It had been a home once, way back before his mother had disappeared.

Now, Bradley existed within its walls, hoping one day that he would find himself ready to settle for one of the pretty girls in town, the ones that smiled at him sweetly whenever he deemed it necessary to venture in. Perhaps he would finally give in to Orla’s flirting. She was a sweet thing, always filling his cup more than she ought to, setting it down in front of him with a bat of her eyes. She wasn’t a bad choice.

Bradley shook the thoughts from his head. He couldn’t entertain the idea of taking a wife, not when his circumstances were so uncertain.

He settled further down into his chair, feet propped up by the fire, the glowing embers serving to help warm him from his time out in the cold air during the day. The wood cracked and popped as the fire consumed it, and Bradley soon found himself dozing off. Exhaustion seeped down to the very marrow of his bones, his muscles stiff from the hours spent hunched over on the boat. His eyes began to flutter shut, urging him to embrace the sweet oblivion that came with sleep.

His body jerked, eyes snapping open. He wasn’t sure what had startled him at first, his heart hammering away in his chest as he let out a shaky breath. His ears perked, eyes darting as he waited for whatever it was that had roused him. He didn’t have to wait long, a second cry sounding from outside.

It was one of pure, unadulterated sorrow. The cry of someone so grief stricken, they sounded almost like an animal. A chill ran down Bradley’s spine at the sound, and cautiously he moved to stand, heading towards the front door. Every fiber in his body screamed at him to leave well enough alone, but he worried that someone might be heart or in trouble. Grabbing his coat, he slipped back into his boots and walked out the door.

The cold was something he thought he should be used to at this point, but it still shocked his system every time he stepped foot out into it. The moon was the only source of light save for the faint, orange glow that filtered out of the windows of his house. The air stung his lungs, and he suppressed a shiver that threatened to run up his spine. The cry had sounded far, coming from towards the beach if he had to guess. He began to walk, boots crunching against the dirt path as it gave way to sand. The waves crashed against the shore like thunder, so loud that he almost didn’t hear the faint cries coming from further down the strip of sand.

He almost missed her huddled in the sand, back pressed up against one of the large rocks at the edge of the shoreline where sand met grass. Her head was buried in the crook of her arms, shoulders shaking as she cried, quiet whimpers wracking her body.

“Miss?” He called out once he was a few feet away. “Are you okay?”

Her head snapped up, hair falling in her face as sorrow filled eyes peered up at him. The look of her knocked all air out of his lungs, and for a moment he couldn’t focus on anything but how beautiful the woman in front of him was.

“Can’t find it,” she croaked. Her voice was still sweet sounding despite the hoarseness of it, and Bradley found himself captivated even further by her. His eyes left her face then, realizing for the first time that she was naked.

“Oh my god,” he murmured, rushing forward as he shrugged off his coat. “Here, take this.”

He wrapped the coat around her smaller frame, the material dwarfing her. Her lips trembled, though Bradley suspected it wasn’t from the cold. She didn’t seem to see him as she continued muttering to herself, eyes darting wildly between her hands and the sea.

“Can’t find it,” she said again, her voice growing in pitch as the desperation took hold.

“Can’t find what?” Bradley asked, brow furrowing in confusion as he glanced around the beach. “Did someone hurt you? Where are your clothes?”

A choked cry spilled past her lips as a fresh wave of tears began to stream down her face. She shook her head wildly, hands darting out to grasp at his shirt. Her fingers seemed to push him away and pull him closer at the same time as another wail climbed up her throat.

“Can’t find it!” She shrieked, eyes growing wider as she stared at the water. “Wanna go home.”

“Where is home?” Bradley asked, his own anxiety beginning to peak as he gripped onto the woman’s shoulders. Her eyes glanced to his, but they did not see him.

“Between the light, between the dark,” she whispered, eyes boring into him. “Between the cold, between the warmth. Between the moon, between the sun. Between the north, between the south.”

The between was something Bradley’s mother had always cautioned him about.

“It’s where the fair folk live, Bradley,” she had told him. “They don’t live here, but they don’t live fully in the other. They’re from somewhere in between.”

He shook the thought from his head. He knew he was being superstitious, ridiculous even. The fair folk were prideful beings, surely one wouldn’t be sitting here talking with him like this.

And yet, as Bradley looked upon this woman, heard how she spoke, a voice in the back of his mind whispered to him that there was something strange about her. Something…otherworldly.

“Are you alone?” He settled on, trepidation clear in his tone. “Is there someone I can go get for you?”

“Can’t go home,” she muttered, eyes turned longingly to the sea as tears streamed down her face. “It’s too late.”

Bradley heaved out a sigh. He would have to take her home, let her rest and try again in the morning.

“Can you stand?” He asked her. She said nothing, nails biting into the skin of her arms as she continued to stare out at the water. Bradley reached out to her, Taking her arms gently to help her stand. Her lips curled in a wince, hand flying to her side. His eyes flickered down, and for the first time noticed the dried blood on her side.

“You’re hurt,” he frowned, moving closer to inspect the wound, but she shied away from him, her own frown tugging on her lips. His tongue darted out to wet his own nervously, as he glanced from her to the house.

“My house is a bit of a ways up the hill,” he started, nodding towards it. Her gaze was more focused now, eyes flickering towards where he gestured. “Do you think you can make it?”

She didn’t respond, instead tilting her head to the side as she regarded the distance. Finally, she nodded, and Bradley felt his shoulders sag in relief. The wind whipped around them, and he was reminded of how cold it was. It would be best to get her inside as soon as possible, though he couldn’t help but notice that she seemed holy unaffected by the freezing temperatures even though she stood in nothing but his coat.

He waited for her to move towards the house, but she remained still, watching him watch her. Finally, he pressed his lips together and began to walk towards the house, boots crunching against the ground once more. The woman made no sound as she moved behind him, her gaze fixated on him the entire time.

He paused outside the front door, hand hesitating above the knob. Slowly, he turned to look at her once more. Her eyes stared back at him, eyes that reflected the orange glow cast into the night, eyes that swirled with knowledge that Bradley could only dream of. She said nothing as they watched each other, those sorrowful eyes watching him with curiosity, so much like seals that littered the shores. Bradley sucked in a quick breath before turning around to push the door open.

The warmth was welcome, and he felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders as he stepped into the main room, turning to watch as the woman stepped across the threshold. Her eyes darted around, taking in the various pieces of furniture and decorations that were scattered about as Bradley closed the door softly behind her. She took a few more tentative steps into the house, head cocking to the side in such an unusual way as to further confirm what Bradley was slowly accepting.

She walked past him, eyes glittering with intrigue as she came up to the fire. She crouched down, head still tilting to one side, and Bradley was captivated by the sight of this beautiful woman bathed in the light of the fire in his home. Before he could react, she reached a hand out into the flame, letting out a startled, pained yelp as she retracted it. A whimper left her lips as Bradley rushed forward, kneeling in front of her and taking her hand in his.

“Why would you do that?” He asked, no real heat behind his tone as he inspected her fingertips. “Don’t you know it’s hot?”

Her fingertips were a little pink, but otherwise no real damage had been done. She stared at him with an unreadable expression, eyes still studying him. He hesitated for a moment before moving to stand, keeping her hand in his.

“I can show you to your room,” he told her, tugging on her hand lightly. Her eyes scanned him from head to foot and then back again before allowing him to pull her to her feet. The two padded down a small hallway before he pushed the door open to a bedroom that had long stood unoccupied. He tugged her inside, motioning for her to sit on the bed. She sat obediently, watching and waiting for him to make his next move.

“I’ll be right back,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he exited the room. He made his way to the washroom, grabbing bandages, a cloth, a bowl, and a pitcher of water. He returned to the room quickly, finding that the woman had not moved an inch in the time he was gone. He sucked in a breath as their eyes once again met, wary meeting curious. He set the items on the bedside table as he gestured at her.

“You’ll need to take that off so I can see the wound,” he murmured, heat rising to his cheeks as he glanced at her uneasily. She paid no mind to his discomfort, easily shedding the coat and exposing her naked body to him as simply as if he had asked her to close the door. He cleared his throat, eyes darting down to look at the angry-looking gash on her side. The wound appeared to be superficial, but he couldn’t be sure until he cleaned it.

He turned to ready the cloth, keeping the bowl of water close so he could rinse if he needed to. Tentatively, he reached a hand up, running his fingers over the dried blood upon her skin, eyes darting up to search for any sign of distress. Her face remained impassive as she watched him, and Bradley’s jaw clenched as he began to wipe gently at the wound.

He had been correct in his initial assessment, the gash was more of a flesh wound and thankfully wouldn’t require stitching. He grabbed some of the salve he had brought in, applying a decent layer before wrapping a bandage around her midsection. Bradley tried not to think of how close he was to the woman, of how beautiful she was, especially when she seemed wholly unbothered by his presence.

“I, um,” he stuttered, cursing his nervousness, “I can bring you something to wear. I still have some of my ma’s things.”

He didn’t wait for her to answer, not that she would give him one if the last half hour had been any indication. He made his way down the hall to the door he had not opened in years, taking a deep breath to steady himself before pushing inside.

The room was just as his mother had left it all those years ago, the only thing having changed was the layer of dust that coated everything. Bradley moved quickly to the wardrobe on the far side of the room, opening it to reveal several different clothing options. He grabbed what he could carry, making sure to grab some of the sleeping garments before heading back down the hall. The woman sat unmoved once more as he appeared, draping the options on the chair to his left by the vanity.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” he said lamely, gesturing towards the clothing, “so I grabbed what I thought might look nice.”

The woman’s gaze moved slowly to the clothing before she rose to her feet. She padded across the room, not a sound from her as she walked over towards where he stood. Her eyes darted up to his for a moment before back down to the clothes. Small hands reached out to pick up one of the nightgowns he had grabbed, eyes studying it with a frown. Her hands tightened on the fabric, a look of despair washing over her face and disappearing just as quickly before she slowly eased it over her head, letting it drape down her form. She reached her hands up to pull her long hair out of the confines, letting it run down her back as she stared up at him.

There was something inherently wild about her, something that sent Bradley’s heart racing as he looked at her standing there in the room. She looked so out of place but so at ease with her surroundings, and he could hardly stand it.

“My room is just down the hall,” he told her, shoulders pulling back a fraction as he regarded her. “If you need me, I’ll be there.”

He gathered the things he had brought in, moving to leave when she grabbed his shirt, stopping him. He glanced at her from over his shoulder, brow furrowed in confusion as he waited for her to speak.

“Do you hear them?” She asked, voice barely above a whisper. “They’re calling for me.”

Bradley listened in the silence that followed, and it was a second before he heard the quiet, distant barks of seals mixed with the keen of something he could not place - something not quite human, not quite animal. He looked at the woman, her eyes having grown distant once more as a tear slid down her face. Bradley sucked in a quick breath as a shudder ran up his spine.

“You should get some sleep,” he whispered, breaking the silence. “You seem like you’ve had a long day.”

The woman looked at him once more, sadness swelling within her eyes before she slowly nodded, letting him go. She turned towards the bed, padding silently across the room once more.

Bradley closed the door behind him as he left, hands shaking as he listened for the click of the latch before putting away the items in hand. He put out the fire, washing the room in darkness as he dragged a hand over his face. With a glance towards the hall, he crept towards the front door, opening it and shutting it behind him carefully as to not make a sound. The cries from before could be heard louder now, and Bradley thought his heart would burst from his chest from the unease that enveloped him.

The moon still shone bright, lighting his path down towards the dock and his boat. The waves lapped against the shore, the cries louder the closer he came. His boat knocked against the wooden stands of the dock with every crash of the waves, and sitting there, on top of the bench, lay the pelt.

Bradley’s heart quickened at the sight, a sense of dread filling him at what he might find once he inspected it. His boots clicked against the wood as he made his way down to the edge. He kneeled down, snatching the pelt from its perch and into his hands. It was soft, nearly dry. He ran his hands over it, inspecting it closely as he squinted in the dark.

He was lost in the sensation of the pelt, how smooth and soft it felt in his hands, and for a moment he allowed himself to close his eyes and compare it to how soft the woman’s skin had felt under his fingertips earlier. He was pulled from his thoughts as the soft fur transformed into a matted and cracked mess. His eyes flew open, breath catching in his throat as he took in the bloodied tear down the side of the pelt.

Right where the gash on the woman was.

There was no denying it in his mind now. The woman in his home was one of the Sidhe - a selkie.

The cries grew louder, and Bradley’s head whipped up to stare out into the water. He couldn’t see them, but knew they were out there, searching for a sister that was lost to them. His grip on the pelt tightened, and his heartbeat thundered in his ears. He scrambled back to his feet, boots stomping against the wood and then the ground as he ran back to the house. His mind raced with thought after thought as his lungs burned from lack of oxygen. His hand reached out to open the door, but he stopped short, fingers hovering over the knob.

The cries off in the distance sounded as he stared at his front door before looking down at the pelt in hand. He could return it to the woman, let her return back to the sea she called home. But a more sinister thought crossed his mind. Why should he give it back? The woman was safe with him, after all. He could protect her from those that wished to hunt her, keep her warm and fed like a man should. He could love her, give her a life beyond what the sea had to offer. The memory of her skin under his fingertips once again rushed to the forefront of his mind, and he allowed his hand to drop back to his side. Yes, he would keep the pelt. Keep it hidden away where she nor anyone else would ever find it.

He turned on his heel, running towards the small shack just a few yards away from the house, ripping the door open and stepping inside. The structure held mostly items necessary for fishing and repairing his boat, but an old trunk sat in the back, practically hidden by various tarps and other objects. The cries of the other selkies grew louder, almost like they could sense the pelt in his hands and were coming to find it.

Bradley pulled the trunk out into the open, moving to the workbench and grabbing one of the keys that sat in the top drawer. He kneeled down in front of the trunk, unlocking it and opening the lid with a quiet creak. Inside lay old photos and trinkets that his father and mother had collected over their years together. He pulled a few items out before placing the pelt gently into the trunk, covering it back up with the aforementioned items.

He closed the lid, locking it. The wailing cries coming to an abrupt and sudden stop as he did so. He stayed there for a moment, the only sound to be heard being his heavy breathing and the waves crashing against the shore below. Slowly, he moved to stand, shoving the trunk back where he found it and hiding it away once more. No one would think to look in there. No one would know what he kept hidden. He tossed the key back into the top drawer, stepping out of the shack and back into the night.

The air was still around him, eerily so, and Bradley made his way quickly back to the house. His fingers were numb, whether it be from cold or nerves he wasn’t sure, but the tension didn’t ease as he closed the front door quietly behind him, his back pressed against it for a moment as he listened for any sound that the woman might have heard him. Hearing nothing, he toed his boots off, setting them by the door before making his way quietly towards his room, noting that no light shone under the woman’s door. He changed quickly for bed, crawling under the blankets as if they might shield him from the consequences of his actions that evening. He took a few calm, steadying breaths before closing his eyes.

Sleep did not come easy to him that night.

The first morning had been awkward, Bradley rising with the dawn to find the woman already sitting at the dining table, fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of the nightgown. Her eyes darted up to meet his as he entered the room, stopping short at the sight of her.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, shock clear in his voice as they stared at one another. She blinked at him, saying nothing. She seemed perkier this morning, albeit still cautious as she watched him walk further into the room. Bradley grabbed the box of matches from the shelf, taking one out and striking it with a pop. The woman jumped at the sound, eyes flickering to the watch as he leaned down to light the stove, shaking the match out once he was done.

“What is that?” She asked, and Bradley turned to look at her in surprise.

“What is what?”

“The colors,” she supplied, nodding at the burnt match in his hand. She pointed towards the fireplace. “They were in the cave over there last night as well.”

Bradley’s gaze flickered over to where she pointed before landing back on her.

“It’s called fire,” he started slowly, a frown tugging on his lips. “I use it to cook things and keep the house warm.”

“Fire,” she repeated, testing the word out on her lips. “It hurts.”

“It can,” Bradley agreed, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “You shouldn’t touch it.”

She nodded solemnly, clasping her hands out in front of her. She watched as he began to prepare breakfast, turning on the toaster and slicing up the fish to cook in the pan.

“I like those.”

Bradley turned back around to find the woman sitting with most of her torso on top of the table, her legs stretched to accommodate her. Eyes shone with delight at the sight of the fish, and Bradley arched a brow at her.

“Yeah?” He hummed. She nodded enthusiastically, tongue darting out to lick at her lips.

“There’s lots of them,” she told him. “They swim in groups and they’re easy to catch. The fishermen catch them using nets.”

“They do,” Bradley nodded, laying a strip of the mackerel down in the pan. It began to sizzle, and he was struck with how hungry he truly was.

“What are you doing?”

He jumped, turning to look where the woman now stood, eyes wide as she watched the fish cook down. He stared at her for a moment before turning his attention back to the fish, flipping it over before it burned.

“I’m cooking,” he told her. The woman leaned forward, sniffing at the food before wrinkling her nose.

“It smells weird,” she muttered, and Bradley laughed.

“It smells fine,” he smiled, sliding the fish onto one of the plates on the counter. “You’ve just never had it cooked, I’ll bet.”

He ushered her back towards the table, setting the plate down at the spot she just occupied and handing her a fork. He turned back towards the stove, laying another slice of the fish down as the woman took a tentative bite. Chewing slowly, she perked up as the taste rushed over her, shoveling more into her mouth with a satisfied purr. Bradley soon joined her, chuckling as he watched her. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so light, the last time he laughed so freely.

“You should slow down,” he smirked, taking a bite from his own plate. “You don’t want to choke.”

She peered up at him, pausing in her feast as she considered his words. She cocked her head to the side in that curious way before taking a slower bite, looking up at him for approval. The two ate in silence for a few moments before Bradley cleared his throat, drawing her attention.

“My name is Bradley,” he said, glancing up at her as he swallowed a mouthful of fish.

“Bradley.”

“What should I call you?” He asked, and she frowned in confusion.

“What do you want to call me?” She asked him.

“Don’t you have a name?” He chuckled, disbelief coloring his voice. Surely even the fair folk had names to give. Her face drew tight in sorrow once more, and Bradley felt a twinge of pain in his chest at the sight. Her gaze slowly turned towards the window where the sea lay just out of sight.

“Only the water knows my name,” she told him, grip loosening on her fork as it clattered against the plate. “Only it can say it.”

Bradley watched her. Watched how her breathing grew ragged. Watched how her eyes glistened with unshed tears for a home she would not return to. Her lips trembled, and Bradley cleared his throat.

“I need to head into town,” he said. “Need to see a man about a job. Do you want to come with me?”

She turned to look at him, eyes still hazy from wherever she had let herself wander. She blinked once, twice.

“I suppose,” she whispered finally. Bradley nodded, clearing the plates from the table.

“You’ll need to change,” he told her. “You can’t go out wearing that.”

She looked down at her nightgown with a frown before looking back up at him.

“It’s, uh,” he stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not appropriate for others to see you dressed like that.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just,” he blew out a breath, “please pick a different dress?”

She gave him a sour look before standing and disappearing down the hall. Bradley blew out a breath before moving to clean the kitchen area. The woman reappeared, wearing a simple, blue dress. Bradley nodded in approval before his eyes landed on her bare feet.

“Stay here,” he told her, walking down the hall to the far bedroom. He walked in, straight up to the wardrobe and began rummaging through until he found a pair of his mother’s old shoes. He reappeared in the kitchen, handing the woman the shoes with a shy smile.

“I don’t know how well they’ll fit,” he started, “but they should work until we get you some new ones.”

She eyed them distastefully, nose wrinkled in disgust.

“I don’t want them,” she said finally, moving to hand them back to Bradley. He shook his head.

“You need them. They’ll protect your feet, and people will expect you to wear them.”

She scowled, pushing them forward once more, but Bradley stopped her.

“Please, mo chroi,” he pleaded. “Just while we’re in town. You can take them off as soon as we’re home.”

Her gaze softened at the endearment, and reluctantly, she shoved her feet into them. He helped her lace them, calloused fingers making nimble work of them, and soon they were ready to go. He grabbed a thin jacket for himself while he made sure to hand her the heavy coat to combat the frigid air outside. The walk to town took about an hour, and the weather was sure to still be cold and damp as it often was during the time between spring and winter.

Bradley turned to her, a thin-lipped smile on his face as his hand rested on the door. He gave her a once over.

She looked like any other person upon first glance, but if you stared too long, something wild shone on her person that drew you in. Like it would suffocate you if you stared too long. He sucked in a breath, torn between keeping her in his sight and making her stay. If she came, the townsfolk would surely be able to guess that she was not a mere human girl, but if she stayed? If she stayed, she might find the one thing he hoped she never would.

“Alright,” he breathed. “Let’s go.”

Weeks had passed, and the two had developed a routine of sorts. Bradley had started work as the lighthouse keeper, walking every day down the path along the cliffs to clean and polish the light that guided ships to shore. When he finished, he began work on the nets for when he ventured out into the sea to catch fish. It was a steady source of food, and food was not something Bradley took lightly. Memories of what it felt like to go hungry when there was so little to go around, fueled his drive to ensure there was enough, always enough and plenty to spare. He showed mo chroi how to prepare and salt the fish they couldn’t eat, showing her how to store it for future meals.

She was a quick learner, performing the tasks diligently as the days passed, and soon she took over most of the household chores. The widow Callahan checked in on them from time to time, her wise eyes studying the new woman of the house every time she came by.

“Be careful, young man,” she’d always say, dark eyes narrowed up at him. “You may have tamed her now, but the fair folk were not meant for gilded cages. Don’t give her what you cannot spare.”

Bradley would assure her that he wouldn’t, but in truth, he had no idea what she was telling him. He was content with how things were, content to have a partner by his side to help with the work he had done by himself for years. He still caught her staring longingly out at the waters she once called home, but the longing looks grew farther and farther apart the longer she stayed with him, resigning herself to her new life on land.

He was mending a tear in one of the nets when she appeared beside him, silent as always. He was used to it now, no longer startling every time she appeared around him without a sound. He became attuned to her presence, sensing when she came and when she left.

She said nothing to him at first, content to watch him as he worked, and he was content to keep working. It wasn’t until she kneeled beside him, gentle hand placed on top of his arm that he stopped.

“What is it, mo chroi?” He asked, gazing up at her. The sun was sinking towards the horizon, casting a faint golden glow onto the summer evening. Bradley couldn’t help but to admire her beauty in the dimming light, eyes glittering and skin smooth as porcelain as they looked at him. She wore only a white chemise, something she was prone to do when it was just the two of them. She didn’t like the heavy, scratchy feel of the dresses, only wearing them when there was company or when the two ventured into town. Bradley complied with her whims, finding it hard to say no to her.

“Why do you not have a woman?”

The question caught him off guard, eyes widening as his jaw went slack.

“What?” He blinked, scrambling to make sense of her question. She hummed, pressing closer to him. Bradley found it hard to think with the feel of her soft, warm body so close to his, one hand tracing over the planes of his chest as she continued.

“The men in the village,” she pressed, eyes never wavering as they bore into his own, almost hypnotic in the way they captured him, “they all have a woman to keep them company, to hold them, to love them. But you do not.”

Bradley’s eyes darted back and forth between her own, words failing him. She lifted a leg, resting it in between his own as she straddled his thigh. The hand that rested on his arm trailed up to play with the curls at the base of his skull, her body flush with his now as his hands came up to rest on her thighs. The hem of her chemise rode up to reveal smooth thighs that had Bradley reeling with lust. She leaned forward, a purr on her lips as she trailed her nose along his jaw and up to his ear.

“Is it me?” She asked softly, hand splayed on his chest as her lips brushed along the shell of his ear. A shudder ran up along Bradley’s spine at the sensation, mind growing hazy and clouded with lust for the creature before him.

“Am I yours?” She breathed, meeting his eyes once more. The air between them was charged, and for a moment Bradley could think of nothing but the way she felt against him. The way her lips hovered over his.

He lunged forward, pulling her impossibly closer as their lips melded against one another. He was spellbound, captivated, obsessed. His hands tightened on her thighs, and she sighed against his mouth, spurring him on to nip at her bottom lip. She granted him entrance, gasping as he licked hungrily into her mouth, the sweet taste of her driving him mad as a hand slid up to press against her lower back.

She wasted no time lifting herself off of him long enough to free him from the confines of his trousers, small hands gripping his hardening length. He let out a pleasured groan, head tilting back as she stroked him slowly before positioning herself atop him. There was no buildup between them, Bradley gripping at her as she slowly eased herself down onto him. A keen left her lips as he stretched her, mind numbing pleasure coursing through his veins as her velvety walls fluttered around him.

Her eyes were closed tight as she rested on top of him, her hips flush against his as her hands rested on his chest for balance. Bradley had never seen a more beautiful sight. Slowly, she rolled her hips against his, breathing ragged as she built a rhythm. Bradley laid against the wood of the dock as he watched her take her pleasure from him, a hand running up her stomach to rest between her breasts. He could die a happy man right then and there.

Her pace grew faster as she approached her climax, whimpers and cries spilling past her lips as she rode him, and Bradley pushed himself into a sitting position, careful to not disturb her. A hand rested on her back as he nuzzled into the space between her breasts where his other hand had just been. The sleeve of her chemise fell off her shoulder, and Bradley lifted his face to nip and lick at the skin there. He could feel his own high approaching as she ground down on him, and his free hand rose up to wrap around her throat, squeezing gently. She froze, hips stopping as they locked eyes. The only sound to be heard between the two of them was their ragged breathing.

For a second, Bradley thought he had crossed the line, but she made no move to remove his hand. The two stared at one another for a long moment before one of her hands came up to rest atop his own, squeezing them lightly as she began to move her hips once more, slower this time, drawing out the inevitable. He groaned at the sensation, feeling his stomach tense as her eyes never left his, her gaze intense as she chased release. Her walls fluttered and tightened around him, and with a final cry, she came, her head thrown back and her hot, wet cunt milking his own orgasm out of him with a shout. His spend coated her walls, leaking out around him as he shuddered and fell back against the dock with eyes pinched closed. Her hips still moved against his, drawing out every ounce of pleasure she could, giving herself to him with every movement.

She was his now, he had marked her.

Her hips finally stilled against his, and he could feel her staring at him. Her fingers trailed up his chest, along his jaw, before finally stilling on his lips. Bradley peeled his eyes open slowly, and he would have sworn he had died and gone to heaven for if he didn’t know any better, he would have thought he was looking at an angel. The setting sun cast a halo around her head as her hair blew in the wind, hypnotic eyes boring into him as the golden glow of the evening enveloped her. His lover smiled down at him softly, fingertips stroking his lips before leaning down to press her own against them.

She didn’t look to the sea much anymore, her longing gazes turned to brief flickers as she went about her days. Still, there were nights when her eyes would glaze over as the sound of seals calling out in the night made their way up to the confines of the house. Bradley would watch as her lips trembled briefly, the look in her eyes growing farther away until suddenly she would snap back to the moment, offering him a loving smile as she continued her mending.

Her stomach began to swell in the autumn months, and Bradley often found himself reluctant to leave her side. He would place a hand on her stomach, eyes lighting up in delight every time he felt a kick to it. He’d rest his head on top of her, muttering sweet words and promises to the babe that grew within. She would rest her hand on his head, stroking his hair soothingly as the fire crackled in front of them.

They were happy.

There was one night, however, when Bradley came back from the village to find his wife no longer at home, and panic overtook him. He tore through the house, ripping open every door he could find until he was faced with a horrifying possibility. He ran outside to the old shack, nearly ripping the door off of its hinges in his haste to open it. His eyes scanned the dark interior, his lantern casting shadows across the walls as he sighed in relief at the realization that his secret was still hidden underneath tarps and old traps.

His brow furrowed as he stepped back out onto the open cliffs, the wind whipping around him as he scanned the dancing grass. His eyes stopped at the edge of the cliff, terror gripping him once more at the thought that his lover might have done the unthinkable. Had she tried to return to the depths from where she came? Her body would not survive the plunge, not without the skin that lay hidden in shadows. He trudged towards the edge of the cliffs, the wind biting his skin and seeping to his bones as his heart thundered in his ears. He peered down at the rocks below, stopping only when a song sounded on the wind.

Little sister, sister hu ru

My love, my sister hu ru

Can you not pity o hol ill eo

My grief tonight hu ru

The voice was beautiful and full of sorrow, cries carried on the wind and out to the sea. Bradley swung the lantern towards the rocky path that led up to the lighthouse, the moon casting ribbons of silver that silhouetted the tall structure.

I am a poor woman hu ru

Sad and miserable hu ru

I climbed up o hol ill eo

Ben Sgrìobain hu ru

Bradley moved quickly through the grass and up the path, the sound of the song growing louder with each step he took. The stone structure stood proud against the backdrop of the sea, the waves crashing against the rocks below, almost drowning out the song as he rounded the walkway, finding his wife standing on the edge of the cliff.

I didn’t find there hu ru

What I wanted hu ru

A girl o hol ill eo

With hair like a daisy hu ru

Tears streamed down her face as he watched her, her hair whipping in the wind as her hands cradled her heavily swollen belly. Her feet were bare, and she wore a thin chemise that did little to protect her from the gusts that enveloped her body. No sobs left her as she finished her song, only the look of someone who had been lost, lost and never found in a world that was not her own. Bradley sucked in a breath, lips pressing firmly together before he stomped towards her. He dropped the lantern at his feet, the flame within dying at the impact as he gripped her shoulders and whirled her around to face him. Her eyes grew wide as his rage flooded to the surface, nostrils flaring and fingers digging into her skin hard enough to leave bruises.

“What were you thinking?” He hissed, shaking her with every accusation. “You scared me half to death! What are you doing out here dressed like this? It’s too cold for you to be out here with nothing to protect you. I thought you had-”

He gestured towards the cliffs, the words dying on his lips as he choked on a sob. The tears sprang to his eyes unexpectedly, rolling down his cheeks as his hands gripped onto her even tighter. If he held on tighter, she would never leave, would never return to the sea, would never leave him. He couldn’t bear the thought of being alone again, not when he had tasted a life that was shared.

She stared at him, eyes wide and searching as the wind danced around them. Her hand slowly reached up to cup his jaw, thumb smoothing over the stubble that grew there.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, voice almost lost on the wind. She leaned forward, and Bradley lurched back, eyes wide and scared as they watched her. The two stayed like that for a moment before she moved once more, hand holding his face in place as she brushed his nose with hers before pressing her lips to his in a gentle kiss. Tears continued to stream down Bradley’s face as his eyes flickered closed, embracing her as different emotions swirled inside him.

“Never leave me,” he begged in a whisper against her, one hand dropping down to cup her stomach as he rested his forehead against hers. He opened his eyes to find her already looking at him, black water dancing in her gaze.

“Never, mo ghrá.”

Their son was born a month later, loud cries spilling into the night as Bradley waited outside with some of the older men from the village. His head perked up at the first wail, eyes shining with excitement as her screams were replaced by those of the infant. The widow Callahan opened the front door moments later, apron covered in blood as she wiped her hands on a rag.

“You have a son,” she announced with a small smile, and Bradley grinned so hard, he swore his face would split in two. The men around him clasped him on the back, cheers ringing out in the night as they opened up spirits brought with them for the occasion. Bradley was keen to see his wife and son, but one of the men shoved a mug into his hands.

“Have a drink first, lad,” he hollered with a laugh. “The misses and the wean will still be there after.”

Bradley downed the drink as quickly as he could, much to the amusement of the others. He shoved the cup into the hands of the man nearest to him, not waiting for it to be refilled as he made his way into the house. The widow Callahan was cleaning up her supplies along with her apprentice when Bradley entered the room. His wife lay propped up in the bed, a small smile on her face as she cooed at the small bundle in her arms. Her eyes flickered up to his for a moment before back down. He crossed the room, easing down gently beside her on the bed. The babe gurgled, eyes closed as he yawned, and Bradley felt his heart swell.

He reached a hand over to run a finger over his son’s hands, heart dancing in his chest when the babe gripped it, small hand so strong for someone who was only moments old.

“What should we call him?” Bradley asked, cuddling into her side, exhaustion seeping through her.

“I thought we might call him Ronan.”

Bradley paused. The meaning of the name was not lost on him, and his gaze flickered to her profile for a moment before nodding.

“Ronan,” he murmured, eyes turning back to his son, nodding. “Aye. I like it. Ronan it is then.”

The babe gurgled once more, and Bradley reached over to take him in his arms, cooing softly as the bundle fussed.

“We should let your mother rest,” He whispered to the baby, a small smile on his wife’s lips as she nestled into the inviting warmth of the bed, her eyes drooping as she fought to remain awake. “She’s had a long day, don’t you think? It’s not easy bringing someone into the world.”

He tore his eyes away from his son to gaze at her, adoration shining bright as he reached a hand to smooth the hair out of her face.

“We’ll be here when you wake up,” he promised, bouncing the baby lightly as he moved to stand, his eyes already fixated back on the bundle in his arms. Her eyes followed him as he walked towards the door, lips curled into a smile as she slipped further and further into oblivion.

Bradley offered her one last smile as she fell asleep, walking towards the main room and sitting down by the fireplace, the orange glow of the fire bathing the two in the warm light. The men outside still celebrated, and Bradley rolled his eyes, smiling down at his son.

“I wanted to talk to you, man to man,” he started, rocking the baby in his arms. “I can’t guarantee you an easy life, Ronan. In fact, it might be a hard one. What I can promise is that I’ll be by your side as only a father can be for his son.”

Ronan cooed, opening his eyes for the first time to look up at his father, and Bradley’s heart soared.

“You’re born from two worlds, you know,” Bradley continued, a small frown tugging on his lips as he considered what this would mean. “A living bridge between the seen and unseen, but what does that mean for you, I wonder.”

The fire popped as it consumed the wood, the crackling the only thing heard besides the faint sound of Ronan breathing. The men had left to continue their drinking in the village, and soon even the widow Callahan and her apprentice left, bidding him a good night as they did. Bradley said nothing to them in response, eyes trained on the baby in his arms even as the sun rose above the horizon.

Ronan grew quickly, much to Bradley’s surprise, and soon he was toddling around and talking, a smart lad whom Bradley found he never had to instruct more than once, eager to take on the responsibility of being the eldest. Two years after he was born, another bundle joined their home, a boy they named Rían who grew to fill the house with peels of laughter everywhere he went. His wife showed no more signs of longing for the sea, too enamored with her children to pay much mind to the sea which she once called home.

Three years after Rían was born, they welcomed Cillian into their fold, a quiet babe who grew into a curious and bright little boy. Bradley was happy with his life and even prouder of his family. He soon began teaching Ronan how to weave nets for fish and how to fix the traps they used to catch the migrating salmon, and it wasn’t long until Rían joined them. Cillian was too young, staying behind with his mother as the other three made their way out to sea to bring home food for the next day.

Their evenings were spent sitting by the fire, the boys playing with their toy soldiers as their mother worked on her mending, Bradley resting from a hard day’s work as he smoked a pipe, a habit he had picked up to help ease the tension he often felt these days as he grew older. It was on one such evening that Cillian pulled on the skirt of his mother’s dress, eyes so much like hers as they gazed up in curiosity.

“Ma,” he chirped, earning her attention. She smiled down at him, setting down her latest project to give him her full attention.

“What is it, mo mhuirnín?” She asked.

“The people in town say you’re not from here,” he continued, earning the attention of the two other boys and Bradley as well. “If you aren’t from here, then where do you come from?”

The silence was heavy in the room, not a soul moving as the words hung in the air. His mother’s eyes glazed over slowly as she thought about the home she left behind so many years ago. A look Bradley had not seen since before their first son was born made its way onto her face, and his heart began to thunder in his chest. Time seemed to stand still as she considered her words.

“Between the here, between the now. Between the day, between the night. Between the land, between the sea. Between the awake, between the asleep. Between the real, between the myths. That is where I am from,” she told him, a hand coming up to cup his chin gently. In that moment, Bradley remembered the wild that dwelled within his wife, the constant call from within to return back to the sea. He remembered that while he grew older, she remained forever the same, never changing. He remembered the fear that gripped him each night at the thought that she might leave, and rage filled him.

“Enough,” he snapped, drawing all four pairs of eyes to him. Bradley was a kind, easygoing man, not prone to anger, and the sight of him now shocked his children, fear flashing in their eyes at the look of anger that clung to his face.

“I won’t hear another word,” he hissed, grip tight on the pipe in hand. He gestured wildly at his children as they sat, paralyzed with fear. “To bed, all of you!”

They did not need to be told twice, scrambling to their feet as they hurried down the hall, the sounds of doors shutting behind them. Regret filled Bradley almost instantly, but it was not enough to quell the fear that still raged on inside of him. His eyes watched the hall before sliding over to look at his wife. Her head was bowed submissively, an impassive look on her face as she continued her mending, and Bradley settled back into his chair, an air of unease settling in around him.

It was a few weeks later when Bradley had taken the two older boys off that his world turned upside down.

Cillian was a curious boy, too curious for his own good, one might say. He loved to experience the world around him and oftentimes found himself in more trouble than he could handle. His father had warned him to stay away from the old shack that stood by the cliff, telling him that there were things in there that could hurt him if he wasn’t careful. Cillian heeded the warning, but grew more and more curious the longer it remained unexplored. It was for that reason he found himself opening the door, the creeks of the old hinges causing him to turn around to make sure he wasn’t heard. Confident that his actions still remained a secret, he crept into the dark shack, eyes wide as he took in the different trinkets strewn about.

It was nothing of import, mostly old tarps and broken traps his father had not seen fit to fix yet. An old desk sat against the far wall, and as Cillian crept farther and farther into the room, he noticed how more and more things lay stacked atop one another, as if trying to convince him to turn back. There was something that called out to him though, and the need to find what it was became stronger with each passing second. The pull pulsed around him, almost like a heartbeat as he inched closer and closer to the far side of the shack. It wasn’t until he came upon an old chest that the energy suddenly calmed, almost like it disappeared and Cillian reached out his little hands to try and pry the lid open. It did not budge, locked so that prying eyes would not find what was not theirs to seek.

Surely there must be a key? His eyes scanned the area around him, frowning when one couldn’t be found. His gaze landed upon the desk, and he stumbled over the items strewn about as he made a beeline for the lone piece of furniture. His hand reached up to drag the top drawer open, little legs stretching as far as they could to allow him to look inside. There were several keys that lay on the bottom of the drawer, but only one was carved ornately enough to match the old chest. Grinning at his prize, he seized it in his little fist, scrambling back over to the chest.

He let out a giggle as the key slipped easily into the lock, twisting it until a click could be heard. Looking behind him to make sure he was still alone, he lifted the lid of the trunk slowly. He vibrated with excitement at the thought of the treasures he might find, only to be met with the sight of trinkets tossed haphazardly inside. He reached a hand in to rummage through the piles of junk, frowning at the piles of nothing. He was about to close the lid once more when his fingers brushed against something soft, and his breath caught in his throat. He gave it a tug, but the object did not move. Huffing, he wrapped both hands around the object, grunting as he tugged it free from the confines of the trunk. He fell back with the force, landing against an old crate with a thud and a shout. He scowled at the crate, rubbing his backside before turning his attention to the prize at hand.

It was a seal pelt, the silver reminding him of the moonlight that danced through his window at night, the same beams that glittered atop the water of the sea. His hands ran over it, delighting in how soft it felt against his skin, and with a grin, he wrapped it up in his arms and ran out of the shack into the late afternoon sun.

His mother was hanging laundry out to dry, the sheets billowing in the wind as she pushed hair out of her face. Her stomach was swelling once more, just enough to be noticeable through her dress.

“Ma!” He cried out, running to her quick as his little feet could carry him. “Look what I found!”

She smiled down at him, gaze adoring before landing on the item in his hands. Her smile faded, the faraway look from that terrible night when his father had lost his temper returning to her face as she beheld the pelt in his hands.

Bradley and his sons walked up the path, smiling amongst each other as they hurried home, eager to be reunited with their mother and brother. Bradley’s eyes darted up the path, itching for a glimpse of his wife when his eyes landed on the scene unfurling before them. Her hands reached out to the pelt his youngest son held up to her, and his stomach dropped as he blanched.

“No!” He shouted, breaking out into a sprint up the path, but it was too late. Her fingers wrapped around the pelt, and something awakened inside of her, something long thought dead. A grin stretched across her face as she snatched the skin into her arms, letting out a delighted cry as she ran down the path, narrowly avoiding her husband’s arms and past her children. Bradley stopped short, turning on his heels to chase after her, legs pushing as hard as they could in a desperate attempt to catch her, hand reaching out to grab her. He was so close, fingers brushing the ends of her hair, but the call of her nature was stronger than any love he carried for her. She threw the pelt around her shoulders, a laugh leaving her as her feet touched the water, and with a leap into the air, the woman was once more a seal, landing in the water with a quiet plop. Bradley continued after her, feet pushing through the resistance of the sea as he clawed his way forward.

“Come back,” he cried, water up to his waist now. “Come back!”

It was no use, his wife was gone, stolen back by the sea, and tears streamed down his face as he scanned the surface for any sign of her. The water was oddly calm given how frantic he had become, and the despair inside him rose to a fever pitch, released in a guttural cry as he unleashed his anguish for the sea to hear.

“You promised!” He screamed, throat strained with the force of it. He let his face drop into his hands, clawing at the skin of his face as his eyes darted wildly all around like he was a man possessed. Sobs wracked through his body as the reality of what happened settled over him.

“Come back.”

Bradley was not the man he once was, and he would never be again. The house felt cold and empty with his wife gone, and he could not find it in him to do much of anything. Numbness filled his bones, the sorrow of losing that which he loved too much for his mind to bear. Most days were spent along the shore, desperate eyes searching for any sign of his wife before one of his children was able to coax him back to the house, usually well after the sun had disappeared below the horizon.

He didn’t eat much, sullen gaze turned down towards his plate, but never eating more than a mouthful or two of whatever was placed in front of him. His face grew gaunt as the weeks turned to months, dark circles growing under his eyes.

A house that was once filled with laughter now served as a tomb, the once happy memories enshrined within its four walls. The children no longer laughed, no longer played. The love of their mother was no longer there to keep them warm. Few words were uttered amongst each other, and no one was quite able to meet the eyes of another.

Utensils scraped against each other, not a word spoken as all eyes remained cast downward.

“I saw a seal today,” Rían whispered, jumping as the sound of metal dropped against a plate. Bradley’s eyes bored into his son, a haunted look on his face as he turned to him.

“What did you say?” He asked, leaning forward, tears gathering in his eyes. Rían stared at his father before casting a nervous glance to Ronan. Bradley pushed out of his chair, kneeling in front of his son as his hand gripped his shoulders painfully. Rían whimpered, trying to get out of his father’s grasp.

“Where did you see it?” Bradley rasped, voice croaking from under use. His nails dug into the boy’s skin, a pained cry spilling out of Rían’s lips. Ronan scrambled up out of his seat, hand wrapping around his father’s arms to try and pull him away from his brother.

“Tell me where you saw it!” Bradley shouted, shaking the boy roughly, eyes wild and unseeing.

“Da please!” Ronan hollered, pulling with all his might, and Bradley’s grip loosened, sending Rían flying back into his chair with a cry. Tears streamed down his face as he stared at his father, limbs trembling from fear. Bradley’s eyes focused, seeing his son for the first time in that moment.

“Rían,” he whispered, eyes darting around to look at the other two. Cillian sat on the opposite side of Rían, tears streaming down his own face as his bottom lip trembled in terror. Ronan stood behind him, face unreadable as stone as he watched his father.

“I’m,” Bradley breathed, stumbling to his feet as he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t wait for a response, exiting the room in a hurry.

The next day had them returning to their new normal. Ronan took charge of the fishing, bringing home what he could, which was just enough to keep everyone fed. Rían had taken up the housework in the absence of their mother, Cillian helping where he could at his young age.

Bradley’s days were spent at the shore, watching and waiting for a love that would never return to him. His thoughts often turned to the happier memories, of days spent in her embrace, the feel of her lips against his, the way she smiled at him. He longed for it. Longed for the time when he didn’t feel so alone, so listless.

The children had changed in the months since their mother left as well.

Ronan had taken up the mantle of provider, taking what he could to the village to barter and trade, but few would do dealings with someone who was not wholly human, mistrustful eyes that had once been focused on his mother now turned to him with disdain.

Rían’s once bright laughter was now nothing but a memory, something thought about only in passing now as he worked his way through the chores that needed doing. He slowly forgot how it felt to smile.

Cillian, who had once been the most inquisitive of the bunch, now never strayed far from his brothers, never moving far from sight. He did only as he was told, and his brothers started to wonder if he ever used to talk at all.

Much like every other night, it was Ronan who bade his father to return to the house once the sun set, frost hanging in the air now that winter was upon them. Bradley allowed himself to be pulled back to their home, head hung low as he trudged up the path behind his son. He sat in his chair by the fire, hand stretched out to hold someone who was not there as he stared into the flames, eyes unseeing, and his children wondered if they would forever see the unseen.

One by one, the boys left for bed, Ronan being the last to bid his father a goodnight, a frown tugging on his lips before shaking his head and disappearing around the corner.

Bradley sat motionless as the minutes turned to hours, still as a statue as he continued to mourn.

A knock sounded at the door, and he shifted in his seat. Another knock had his head turning in that direction. Who would be calling at that time of night? Slowly, he rose from his chair, walking towards the front door. He grasped the handle, twisting it and pulling it open.

The night was dark, the moon, which normally cast light onto the path that led down to the beach, was hidden behind the clouds. Bradley stared into the night, unfeeling and unmoving. He moved to close the door when a song rang out, the voice so alarmingly familiar.

Hò i hò i hì o hò i Hò i hò i hì o hì Hò i hò i hì o hò i Cha robh mi m' ònar a-raoir

'S mairg san tìr seo, 's mairg san tìr 'G ithe dhaoine 'n riochd a bhìdh Nach fhaic sibh ceannard an t-sluaigh Goil air teine gu cruaidh cruinn

His eyes alighted in recognition, tearing out of the house and onto the path as fast as his feet could carry him. The voice grew no closer as he ran, breaths coming out ragged as he gulped for air. The waves crashed against the shoreline as loud as thunder but never drowning out the voice he had longed to hear.

Hò i hò i hì o hò i Hò i hò i hì o hì Hò i hò i hì o hò i Cha robh mi m' ònar a-raoir

'S mise nighean Aoidh mhic Eòghainn Gum b' eòlach mi mu na sgeirean Gur mairg a dhèanadh mo bhualadh Bean uasal mi o thìr eile

He stopped, spinning wildly in search of her, crying out in frustration when he saw no one. A scream ripped its way through him, desperate and haggard as he continued to spin, only stopping when he caught sight of something on the dock. The same dock he and his lover had spent countless afternoons on, basking in the glow of each other and sharing stolen touches. He walked slowly towards it, boots crunching in the sand and then knocking against the wood as he came to the end of the dock. His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he kneeled down beside the small bundle.

Hò i hò i hì o hò i Hò i hò i hì o hì Hò i hò i hì o hò i Cha robh mi m' ònar a-raoir

Thig an smeòrach, thig an druid Thig gach eun a dh'ionnsaigh nid Thig am bradan thar a' chuain Gu Là Luain cha ghluaisear mis'

His hands reached out, stopping when the bundle moved, a gurgle sounding. His heart skipped a beat, the cold seeping through him in the winter’s night. It was then that the clouds moved, allowing the moon to shed light down on where Bradley crouched.

It was often said that Cillian was the son that bore the largest resemblance to his mother, but gazing at the babe in front of him, Bradley knew that this was the child his wife carried before she left. His hands crossed the distance to pick her up, hands gentle as he cooed down at her. He was struck then by the discovery that she was wrapped in silvery grey fur, the same size as a seal pup.

The baby let out a tiny cry, and Bradley shushed her softly, rocking her gently. He and his wife had discussed different names before that fateful day, but only one stuck out to him as he gazed at the babe in his arms.

“Aisling,” he whispered reverently, holding her tighter to his chest as tears streamed down his face. Aisling let out another cry as Bradley moved to stand, never taking his eyes off of her.

“‘s alright now,” he cooed, turning back towards the house. “Your da is here now, mo stóirín.”

His fingers wrapped around the fur with a frown. The small bundle in his arms would never leave him, not like her mother had. He would see to it this time.

Hò i hò i hì o hò i Hò i hò i hì o hì Hò i hò i hì o hò i Cha robh mi m' ònar a-raoir

A/N: I kid y'all not, this fic has been on my mind for MONTHS ever since someone suggested it. Selkies have always been one of my favorite stories from Celtic legends, and I really hope I did this justice because it was such a pleasure to write and pour my heart and soul into. I highly recommend you check out the stories if you have time because a lot of the inspiration for this fic came from them!

Another quick note as I wrap up here, I wanted to touch on the meaning of the names I chose. Ronan actually translates to "seal" or "oath, promise." Rían (pronounced Ree-on) means "king" or "ocean" depending on the etymology. Cillian (pronounced kill-ian) means "war, strife." Finally, Aisling (pronounced Ash-ling) means "dream, vision."

The first song I actually looked up the English translation, but it's a song sung by a woman who was stolen by the fae, calling out for her sister to come and help her. I thought it would be interesting to see it used in the reverse. The second song is actually one said to be sung by the selkies themselves, very fitting for this fic, I think.

Thank you all so much for reading this one! As always, reblogs and comments are appreciated. You can also find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator. Until next time!

#amhran na farraige #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #rooster #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster fanfiction #rooster top gun #top gun rooster

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audhdnight · 5 months

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OH MY FUCKING GOD

Seriously this has opened my eyes to something that I honestly feel like I already suspected because there is SUCH an emphasis on “teaching them while they’re young” and not turning them out into the world until they are “past the point of no return” like this is why Christian fundamentalists hate college so much, because at that age people are still capable of reversing the damage (at least, a hell of a lot easier then they are at say, fifty). The prefrontal cortex doesn’t finish developing until around 25, so if an indoctrinated teenager goes to college at 18 and begins to see reality, they are much more likely to leave the church than someone who is sheltered from the world until they’re 30.

(Side rant: This is also why it’s so frustrating to talk to Christian adults who seem to be genuinely incapable of thinking logically. It explains a phenomenon that I noticed a long time ago: when speaking to relatives, I attempted to show them that they didn’t actually agree with, let’s say for the sake of the example, capitalism. I would bring up all their complaints with our current system and demonstrate how each one is a facet of capitalism. I was able to get them to agree to each individual point, but when I tried to put them all together as a whole, the person (usually my grandpa) would revert back to “okay the system is flawed but it still works” even though we just spent an hour discussing how it doesn’t work, actually. They are incapable of putting multiple pieces together and viewing them as one whole.)

I remember so clearly growing up the sermons on Proverbs 22:6 (Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it) and the pastors stirring up panic about public school and colleges stealing our children’s faith and poisoning their minds. I remember how afterwards all the parents exclaimed how their children would never go to college, that this is why they homeschooled, that this was yet another reason why young men should go straight into the work force and young women should immediately get married and become baby making machines. I vividly remember the panic over statistics of how many people leave the faith in college and how it was so much higher than the numbers of essentially any other group.

Fundamentalists worst fear is reality. They do not want their children to have any exposure to any rhetoric besides their own, unless it is presented disingenuously by apologetics teachers. Everything is filtered and twisted and watered down to keep us “safe” from reality.

This is literally how cults operate. Fundamental Christian evangelicalism IS A CULT

This is also why they target vulnerable groups, because like the OP mentions, people who have damage to their prefrontal cortex are much more likely to fall for indoctrination. This is why you see Christian “outreach groups” in homeless shelters and rehabilitation programs and hospitals. This is targeted and it is malicious. Even the “good Christians” who really do want to actually help people are upholding this system that actively harms vulnerable groups.

#religious trauma #brain damage #tw religion #religious deconstruction #tw christianity #exvangelical

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marvelmymarvel · 1 year

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The Uchiha

Tobirama Senju x Uchiha!Reader

Synopsis: He hated all Uchihas, every last one of them. But you? You were somehow different... And he didn't like that.

Important note: I know the timeline/ages are OFF as Tobirama was 39 when he became Hokage. Let's pretend he was 25 :)

Naruto Masterlist: Here

Also, Tobirama drinks respect women juice. It's canon in this house.

Madara's huff of annoyance sounded out in the room as you turned down yet another suitor. "Sister, why must you sabotage every proposal that comes your way? I'm trying to help you find a husband-"

"I do not wish to get married yet Madara, I'm only 21" You bit back, arms crossed as you pouted up at him. This whole 'suitor' search had been going on for months now, and you were growing tired of the good-for-nothing men your brother brought your way. "And when do you expect to finally be "ready" for marriage, Y/n... Your time is running out-"

"I'm only 21"

You always hated the idea of marrying young and it was the Uchiha way to be married by the time you turned 22. As the head of the clan, Madara was having a very hard time accepting that you were not willing to follow protocols when he was already struggling to maintain power amongst the members. "Y/n please..."

He sounded so pitiful, so tired... But you were done with this conversation. Standing from your spot on the floor, you brushed off the dirt from your dress and started towards the door "We can talk about this later, I want to go for a walk"

"You can't run from this forever Y/n. You will be married within the next 6 months"

You slammed the sliding door shut, eyes rolling in anger as you took off towards the town. "How could he be so selfish, trying to set me up with men that I clearly have no interest in" you huffed out to yourself quietly as you stormed past members of the clan. Some sent you glares, others averted their gazes knowing that one wrong look would mean certain death from either you or your brother.

Your body relaxed as you entered Konoha's downtown area, the Uchiha section and its demands of you were now far away. The sound of the people bustling around the market filled you with joy. There were many girls that were around your age sitting around outside of a cafe, they seemed to be laughing about some stupid thing that had happened to one of them. It was so simple but it was a reality you yearned for.

Sometimes you hated being a part of the clan. They were just so far behind the times and it felt almost suffocating to exist among their stuffy ideologies.

'You're supposed to get married young and give your husband as many children as he desires.'

'Your place is in the home, where you care for your husband and children.'

'Ambitions? You don't need them! Don't forget, your place is beside your husband and that's that'

God, it made you sick. There was nothing wrong with being a homemaker, but it wasn't for you. You wanted to get out there, work, have dreams, and find love naturally... Not through your brother of all people.

You wanted someone else, someone different. Someone who wasn't in the clan and someone who would challenge you to be something more than just a wife and mother. You wanted-

You halted in your tracks as he crossed in front of you, his Kage cape flapping in the wind behind him making him look bigger than he was. Your mouth dropped a little as you watched them walk away, you hadn't seen either of them since Tobirama became the second Hokage and it felt like today was your lucky day.

"Tobirama! Hashirama!" You called out, hand shooting up as you caught up to them. Hashirama smiled brightly at you, arm opening up urging you to hug him "Y/n! How've you been? How's Madara?"

You slyly shot a glance toward the white-haired man, and you didn't miss the slight annoyance that flashed across his face at your presence. You knew he didn't like your clan. You didn't like your clan either.

"I've been good. Madara's been... Madara" You were trying to sound chipper, but the thought of Madara soured your mood again. Hashirama nodded, he knew you and Madara were on thin ice what with him trying to find you a husband and you NOT going along with it. "Husband search not going well?"

Your face morphed into a scowl and Hashirama kicked himself for even asking when he knew that's what was wrong. Tobirama's eyebrows furrowed together at your change in demeanor, he was used to your ruthless attitude, so this was something he wasn't expecting. You grew embarrassed under Hashirama's pitiful look and Tobiramas inquisitive stare, "If I do marry, it won't be an Uchiha" you muttered quietly before brushing past the two men.

The two brothers stood there in silence as they watched you walk swiftly down the street towards some food stands, "I shouldn't have said anything" Hashirama sighed as he rubbed his face in anguish, "Her brother's going to kill me"

"Why does she not want to marry an Uchiha?" Tobirama breathed out, he didn't know what was getting into him, but it felt like he was seeing you for the first time in his entire life. He had known you for years, ever since you were children. He found you to be quite annoying and lumped you together with the other Uchihas that he hated.

Yet something felt off.

"They treat their women like property. It's mandatory that a woman marries before 22 and has a child before 23. Her place is in the home and they can't do anything without permission from their husbands"

"That's ridiculous. Women have needs and desires as well-"

"Yes I know Tobirama but that's how the clan operates-"

"Well, it's another reason as to why I despise that god-forsaken lineage-"

"If you're so upset with it why not marry her?"

Tobirama slammed his mouth shut at Hashiramas statement. Him? Marry YOU? An UCHIHA of all people?! Hashirama stood his ground though, he wasn't stupid and he saw the looks Tobirama has been sending you for YEARS now. Tobirama could lie all he wanted to, he has always cared for you more than he'd like to admit. Tobirama started to take off back to the Hokage's office, not liking the look Hashirama was giving him "I don't think marriage is a good idea, the clan will disown her if she marries outside of their circle-"

"She hates her clan Tobirama and honestly, I think you're the only person who can make her happy"

Tobirama tripped on his footing trying to stop in disbelief. His eyes were wide and his face was full of disgust at what Hashirama was insinuating. Him? Make you happy? Not possible.

"Uchiha or not, you can't deny that you care for her in some way. I know this because you look at her differently than you look at anyone else. You don't even look at the women you try to court that way-"

"I'm done with this conversation" Tobirama huffed out, his face was burning red and the whiteness of his cloak only made it more noticeable that he was embarrassed. Hashirama opened his mouth to make another statement but Tobirama stormed towards the Hokage's office, leaving him standing there in disbelief.

How could someone so smart, be so clueless.

* 2 weeks later *

Your feet kicked at the ground as you waited for your turn to talk to the Hokage. Madara was unable to meet with Tobirama to go over the latest requests of the Uchiha clan, so you were left to the task of talking to the stubborn man who always seemed to make your heart race faster than it should.

"Y/n Uchiha? You're free to go in now"

You nodded at the secretary before standing and heading towards the door, heart pounding as your gripped the wooden door. Sliding it open, you popped your head in before letting out a quiet 'hello'. Tobirama's head shot up at the sound of your voice, he was expecting Madara so this was quite the surprise. "Y/n" he greeted firmly, trying very hard to calm his nerves as he took you in.

You were wearing a simple dress, not too fancy but not too casual. It fit you in all of the right ways, you were attractive sure.

But it was your smile that took his breath away. It reached your eyes, making you appear carefree even though he knew you weren't. "So sorry about my brother's absence. He grew ill over the weekend and asked me to step in for this discussion" you explained sheepishly as you navigated your way to one of the chairs across from the desk.

Tobirama didn't say anything but nodded at your apology, he wasn't upset with this change of plans. He was actually happy. After his discussion with his brother, he tried to push you out of his mind, but every time he saw you he was reminded of the feelings he so desperately tried to hide. "What do you want to speak about?" Tobirama started as you sat down in front of him. You looked at him wide-eyed as if he was asking you something foreign, "Oh! Yes, that" you finally stated as you opened up the envelope with the items to discuss.

Your eyes scanned over each bullet, humming to yourself in agreement with the requests on the page, but you grew still at the last bullet point. Tobirama cocked his head as he took in the way your face fell into disbelief and sadness. "Is something the matter?" His voice was clear but muffled at the same time thanks to the growing rage pounding in your ears. "They want your help with finding my suitor..."

His blood ran cold at the words, if they were asking for his help, that meant-

"They want to look outside of the clan" you breathed out, and in a way, you almost sounded relieved. "Is that something you want?" Tobirama's question was met with silence, but it wasn't a no. "I guess you'll need to marry into a higher-ranking family, do you have a preference-"

"Wait wait wait" you started, waving your hands as your cheeks heated up at the idea of marrying someone who wasn't in your inner circle. You didn't know if you were happy about this, you didn't know if this was a better option. Tobirama studied you from across his desk, you were somehow giving off the energy of relief but also anguish, two feelings that never went together.

"What do you want, Y/n?"

His question took you off guard, it wasn't usual for someone to ask you what you wanted. "I... I want to marry someone who will let me be more than just his wife. Someone that will let me be me." You finally breathed out, your nerves beginning to somehow morph into excitement at the idea of getting what you wanted. "So a higher-ranking individual who will let you be you? Is that all you desire?" Tobirama sounded calm, but inside he was kicking himself. He tried to rack his brain for who you could marry, but all he saw was himself.

"Yes. I suppose"

Your answer was quiet and bashful, had you somehow read his mind and saw the very image of you two together? "Do you have a preference to what clan-"

"Um... Maybe a Senju?" It was bold, very bold of you to blurt it out so quickly. It told him that you had pondered the answer to that question for some time now. "Well, you're in luck. The Senju clan isn't as backward as the Uchihas are. You will have no issue finding a husband who will nurture you and your desires" Tobirama was thankful you couldn't see his shaking hands below the desk. He didn't like the idea of you being with someone in the Senju clan, someone who wasn't him.

This felt wrong. He hated your clan so why were you different? Had he always felt this way and hated you to cover it up? He thought back to when you were kids. You were a couple of years younger than him and you were always trying to talk to him even though it was forbidden.

Forbidden.

'The Uchiha clan is evil. I forbid you from talking to them in any way shape or form'

That's what his father always preached, Hashirama never listened but he did. Now he was regretting it.

"How do you feel about me?"

"I'm sorry what?" You sputtered out, eyes wide at how calm he sounded. Tobirama didn't falter, only stared at you as if urging you to answer even if you didn't want to. "I uh. I guess I like you? I don't know I enjoy your company and-"

"I meant marrying me"

Your blood ran cold but not in a bad way. Your face burned and the heat began to travel down your neck and chest. He was what you wanted, what you've always wanted. Ever since you were kids you decided that he was the one you wanted to be with. But he always hated you so you wrote it off as a stupid crush and tried to move on.

The key word was 'tried'.

"I've wanted that for a while yes-"

"Then it's settled. I will send a notice to your brother. I will be taking you to dinner tonight, do you have a restaurant you like- What's wrong?"

Tobirama noticed your eyes widening at his words and he didn't know if it was a good or bad thing. You had just admitted that you wanted to marry him, so why were you looking at him like he had 5 heads? "I just didn't expect this to happen. I thought you hated me to be honest"

He bit his lip, contemplating what to say to reassure you that you were different. He did hate your clan but he didn't hate you. The hatred he felt was because he was infatuated with you. But how could he put that into words? There was no way to reassure you in the way you deserved. Instead, he stood and circled the desk before leaning against it. "Let me take you out. Let me court you... You'll see that the feeling of hatred was one of forbidden desire"

You nodded slowly at his words, still uneasy and unsure.

"Now where do you want to go for dinner?"

#tobirama senju imagines #tobirama senju imagine #tobirama imagine #tobirama imagines #tobirama x reader #tobirama senju #naruto imagine #naruto imagines #naruto #naruto x reader

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sansaorgana · 11 days

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Hey! I absolutely love your work and was wondering if you would be open to doing a John egan x reader but reader is really close with gales girl Marge and kinda takes care of her while the war is happening and neither of the guys know till they come back and release that Mabye reader moved across the street from Marge and how much she’s been helping Marge, I think it would be interesting to see a domestic and fluff relationship between the two girls and + the men being involved

hello, honey! 💘 thank you so much for your request 😘 it was a very interesting scenario, I love the idea of women helping each other in difficult times 💪🏻💪🏾 not gonna lie, though, I was so jealous of Marge while writing it 🤣 I'm a hopeless case when it comes to Buck, I swear 🙄

Nothing was easy when the boys were away. Handling everything on your own and worrying about your husband at the same time was driving you crazy. You could only imagine how the women left alone with their children had to feel like. You weren’t sure if you’d handle that.

Some women handled the new reality better, some had a more difficult time to adjust. Marge was one of them and as Bucky’s wife you felt responsible for her just like you knew that your husband felt responsible for her boyfriend. They were closest friends and you were aware that if it was Bucky who had stayed in The US, he would take care of Marge because she was important for Gale. But it wasn’t him here, it was you.

You had only met her a few times before John went to Europe but she was sweet and she had wanted you to remain friends like your men were. You would call each other every week and talk on the telephone, trying to cheer yourselves up. But when both of your men had found themselves in the POW camp, you noticed that Marge was getting worse.

You packed your bags and decided to move in with her for some time. She was living alone and spending her whole days worrying. You couldn’t let that happen.

“They are together there, darling,” you squeezed her hands in yours when you were sitting together on her couch. “Think about that, it’s quite lucky that they’re together even there,” you didn’t know how else to cheer her up.

“But God only knows how long they will be there…” She sniffled her tears back. “What if we never see them again? How do they treat them?”

“We can try to write them letters, how about that? I know that the Red Cross helps with delivering them. Maybe they will get ours,” you proposed and she nodded, hesitantly.

“You know, Gale asked me to marry him in his last letter before he went down,” she confessed and you gasped before hugging her tight.

“Oh, congratulations! Then you absolutely have to write to him! You can’t leave him waiting!” You encouraged her and she broke a smile.

“Of course I’m going to say yes.”

“Of course,” you winked at her. “You know, some part of me is less worried now when I know John’s in the camp. At least he doesn’t fly anymore,” you told her. “I only hope he behaves well there because you know what he’s like. If he acts up too much, they can hurt him.”

“I’m sure that my Gale is watching over him and doesn’t let him act stupid,” Marge squeezed your hand and you nodded. She was right. The boys were looking out for each other. Just like you and Marge.

A few weeks later you already decided to stay in the same town where Marge lived. There was a house down the road for sale and you decided to move in there. You knew that John wouldn’t get mad about it and he’d like to live closer to his friend, too. You were sure he’d follow Buck wherever he’d go so you just didn’t listen to your family telling you it was an impulsive decision. It was not. Marge needed you and you needed her.

In the meantime, Buck had his birthday in late December. Marge was very sad about it so you came up with an idea of baking him a cake and decorating it with candles. You invited a few close friends and took pictures of his birthday party to show him when he’s back. She wrote to him about it in a letter that she hoped the Red Cross would manage to deliver. You did the same thing in September 1944 when it was your husband’s birthday and then again in another December for Buck again. This time it was more sad, though, when you both realised that it was his second birthday in the POW camp already. You were slowly starting to lose hope to ever see your husband again, too. But you tried not to show it and be strong. For Marge.

In the letter you wrote to your husband, you mentioned that you moved closer to Marge and that you were looking after her. But you didn’t tell him everything because there were things that men would not understand. And there were things men should not know. You didn’t want them to worry even more but there were nights where both of you would just hug each other and cry. You tried to remain strong for her, to be the responsible one. But it was so difficult. You would let a few silent tears flow, trying to cheer her up although the words you were saying were not believable even to you.

“Germany is losing this war, Marge, we’re gonna see our boys again, soon,” you rubbed her back on those nights as you were sitting by the fireplace.

“What if they get rid of their prisoners? They’re not good people, they don’t respect the laws,” she sobbed.

And what could you answer? You felt the same, you were worried about the exact same thing on all the sleepless nights, clutching on the sheets and praying to all the gods above you to keep your men safe.

“It just won’t happen,” you told her as if you were a god yourself and you knew. But you didn’t, you couldn’t know. She chose to trust you because she desperately needed to be assured.

Sometimes you wished it had been you being held by her. Sometimes you felt weak, too. But you chose to look after her and you would not back out.

In the summer of 1945 they finally came back and you threw a small party at Marge’s house to greet the boys home. Everything had been arranged by just the two of you – flowers, decorations and food. You had lots of fun preparing it together, excitedly awaiting to see your men again.

Of course you feared they would be different now. They had spent so much time in that camp, there was no way they’d come back the same. But you promised each other to always be there for the other one; to help and support when needed. You were like family now.

At the first sight they seemed the same – except for the eyes, they were sadder now. But your John was still playful as he spun you around and rubbed his nose with yours. He made a few teasing comments and inappropriate jokes that would make Gale roll his eyes and sigh. Gale seemed to be the same as well – kind and charming as always, with only a few new scars on his cheeks that Marge kissed all over.

But you knew it was just an act. You knew because the way you behaved oh-so-normal around them was an act, too. You were smiling and joking around with your husband like in the old days, but in fact you just wanted to curl up in his arms and cry out all the ugly tears you had been holding inside for the past two years.

When all the guests left, you helped Marge in the kitchen to wash the dishes before you and John would go home, too. You were talking with each other softly about some silly things when Gale and John entered the kitchen and leaned on the wall as they watched you.

“What is it, boys?” You asked them with a soft smile.

“Just admiring our wives, can’t we?” John winked at you and you playfully rolled your eyes.

“I’m not a wife yet,” Marge teased.

“Soon you will be!” You reminded her excitedly and she giggled.

“I’ll go to the garden to see if there aren’t any dishes there,” she told you and you nodded. Marge went outside and you went back to drying the plates with a cloth.

“Thank you,” you heard Gale’s voice behind you as you flinched.

“Gee, you scared me. For what, Buck?” You asked.

“You were taking care of her,” he looked into your eyes deeply and for the first time this evening you could see all the hurt and pain on his face that he had been trying to hide.

“It’s nothing, don’t even mention that,” you told him as your voice broke. “You were looking after my Bucky.”

“And he was looking after me. Every day,” Gale nodded and walked away from you as Marge entered the kitchen again with a few plates and glasses.

You glanced at your husband who went oddly silent. He only watched you with sad eyes and you realised there were things about that war they would not tell you nor Marge in a long time. Perhaps never.

You finished the dishes and said goodbye to Marge and Gale. They were not married yet so he was supposed to rent a place nearby for a few weeks until the wedding but on that night he wanted to stay with her and you couldn’t blame him. You waved at them for the one last time and took John’s hand to go back to your house.

You opened the door and turned the light on with a relaxed sigh.

“I hope you like it, John. I had to manage everything on my own,” you told him.

He had been in the house early in the morning after his arrival but soon after you had left for the party at Marge’s house.

“Yeah, I can see that. Some things need to be fixed,” he pointed out and you shook your head at him as he grinned widely and pulled you closer for a hug. “I will repair them, don’t you worry, sugar.”

“Good. But overall you like it, yes?” You bit on your lower lip.

“Of course I do. It’s beautiful. But I’d live with you in a tent by the river, you know that? Everything would be beautiful with you in it,” he leaned in to place a soft kiss upon your lips and you threw your hands around his neck. “You’ve been a brave girl. I know what you did for Marge,” he whispered.

“I’ve already told Buck that it’s nothing.”

“No, it’s not nothing,” John insisted. “I know how much it had to cost you. Taking care of her when you needed to be taken care of, too. I know,” he caressed your cheek gently. “I’ve been taking care of him. Yeah, he was the one to keep me out of trouble but I’ve made sacrifices for him that only I know about,” he confessed.

For a moment, you felt jealous of Buck Cleven.

“I guess we are just good friends,” you tried to make a lighthearted comment about it. “They’re very lucky to have us.”

“Mhm, incredibly lucky,” John chuckled and leaned in once again to rub your nose with his. “I missed you terribly. Every day and every night. I’m not as good with words as Buck is, I’ve never been the romantic type but I hope you know that I mean it. I love you,” he whispered and you cupped his face with a smile.

“Bucky, baby, I didn’t fall for you because you were a romantic or good with words anyway. I fell for you because you were my goof. My class clown,” you assured him. “And I missed you, I missed you, I missed you… Terribly. Awfully. Dreadfully,” you kept saying these words and laughing through the tears of joy as he laughed, too.

“Okay, enough, I get the picture,” he pecked your lips. “Your goof is back now,” he assured you and you caressed his hair with your fingertips.

“I’m glad,” you nodded. “But if my goof needs to be sad sometimes or wants me to hug him and tell him it’s going to be alright, I don’t want him to keep it a secret, alright? I’m here for you, baby, for better and for worse,” you promised.

Bucky pulled you even closer for a very tight hug as he hid his face in the crook of your neck, his moustache tickling your soft skin. You put your arms around him and squeezed him in a loving way.

“I’m grateful, sweetheart,” he whispered into your ear as he placed a small kiss on your cheek, “but now it’s time for you to be taken care of.”

MASTERLIST

#sansaorgana: Answered #lovely anons #*bucky #lilysfiction #callum turner x reader #john egan x reader

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soundbulb · 24 days

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while I'm thinking about rust's motivations, I don't agree that rust is motivated by helping people, which is the common sentiment I see when people talk about his characterization. I don't think he's devoid of feeling about it or sees it as inconsequential or anything, but even I think the line "bad men keep other bad men from the door" gets taken a little too seriously, when it's rust's denial shielding him from his reality, but also independent of reality; what he observes and believes. throughout the story we very much see very much see that they do not, in fact, keep bad men from the door. marty was the bad man in his wife and daughter's lives.

when he says things like "those kids will be in that room again" and "when I think of my daughter, what she was spared" and "you see in that last moment they invited it" along with the visit to the girl he did save in '92, kelly, it's pretty obvious he doesn't think finding the murderers or the victims saves anyone. when he says "we have a debt" he believes that debt is to those who suffered at the hands of these men, because by not catching and stopping him they've damned these women and children to infinite lifetimes that cycle them through violence at the hands of these men over and over. it's not that they help; it's that they've failed, and this is recompense, and in this way I think the statement "we keep other bad men from the door" is denial, it's his own capacity for his illusion rearing, and this time period for rust and his monologues are especially rife with this illusion. older rust being interviewed gives a very different view, that his daughter was "spared" because her death was random and immediate. "to go out as a happy child." he specifically says that growing up is too late because you've already been denied mercy, already keeled at the hands of all this degradation you'll live over and over again, but his daughter's circle is just joy and then a painless end before she can pay the price of living, particularly the price of living as a woman. his daughter is who's in mind when he sees how marie fontenot dies, and even then how kelly lives after her liberation. she's catatonic, living in an institution. the boy died in that room after months of abuse, that's where it ends for him, and restarts, so it can end there again and again.

this is a sidebar, but a detail we get is that the boy was reported missing and kelly wasn't. at the time she wasn't reported missing "yet", but then we see her living in an institution meaning she either had no family, her family didn't home her, her family couldn't or wouldn't take care her of her in her state.

the state she's in reminds me of an article from 2017ish I think, where a woman, after a traumatic event, became extremely sick and catatonic, and a researcher saw her in his residency and then after a decade or so when he's a doctor he hears she's still there and recalls she's the sickest person he'd ever seen in his career. he works with her and turns out the traumatic event triggered a severe case of lupus and her immune system was attacking her nerves and brainstem. after decades of living like this she starts to "wake up" under strenuous and experimental immunosuppresant treatment. true detective makes this connection between disease and the mysterious machinations that produce horror, evil, sin, god or whatever framework any given character uses to describe it. characters illustrate exploitation and abuse in the same breath as disease and medicine. dora lang's mother saying "why would a father not bathe his child?" moments before a migraine that makes her wail, one that came from the chemicals she inhaled at work, which also wrecked her hands. marie fontenot's uncle having a "cerebral event", a series of strokes. dora lang's addiction making her an easy target, "chum in the water". hell, even the man at the revival tent, "they gave me bad medicine. I paid for that." and kelly's state after being trapped in that trailer being catatonia, looking a lot like many people with severe autoimmune reactions. the natural world is, in a sense, chum in the water for whatever cosmic horror lays out there. on the larger scale, the various hurricanes are an ultra present detail of the story at any point in time. the hurricane's make it easier for the men their chasing to pick off victims and dump them, making them appear like victims of flooding or exposure. the hurricanes are the excuse tuttle immediately starts setting up when rust probes at the christian schools. it keeps erasing these people, erasing their records in damage, killing them or covering their killings. sometimes I'm reminded of that phrase, "when there's violence in your home, it seems even the house takes sides" how the natural -- or visible -- world we live in feel like it sides with violence we experience at the hands of both our own, and at the hands of this cosmic, spiritual bigness we struggle to wrap our minds around. in twin peaks fire walk with me, laura palmer looks at the ceiling fan at the top of her stairs and it seems like this three eyed creature watching from up there. and when it spins she knows she'll be assaulted that night. the house takes sides. a hurricane takes credit for the killing the women these men hunted.

I've completely left the topic, but in terms of rust's characterization, he wants to see this cosmic animal that connects the natural world, and he feels specifically indebted to those trapped in the cycle that will lead them always back to men who will abuse and kill them every time. for dora lang it starts with her father, then her husband marks her for death by sharing pictures of her naked to the cellmate he knew was dangerous. beth runs from her uncle. kelly, unreachable, can't remember "the giant" without living it again. he doesn't believe he's helping them at all, he believes it's his debt. he doesn't think he helped kelly, likely the only person he could be argued to have helped. while true detective is tonally unlike the average detective show in many ways, I think it's intentional that there is no active victim to save in the end. the network tv detective show, or the copaganda shows of the past two decades, like criminal minds and whatever else usually have a current victim to save, always at the last minute. in true detective, this is kelly. but in true detective we don't see her until it's already over, and it was not a show down, it was clumsy, stupid, and abject. and they never knew she was there, she wasn't even reported missing. she's rescued in '92 because we need visit her ten years later to understand how she couldn't be saved from what already happened. there is no "happy ending" because she can neither unlive this, nor has it ended. when they catch her captor in 2012, he's alone in a maze, no one to rush to safety except for rust himself.

and they don't "get their guy" either. it's pretty clear that the men they're allowed to stop are only the ones on the fringes: impoverished, felons, addicts, at the edge of society. the men in power are also guilty of these murders -- the mayor, his family, the head of an evangelical institution, clergy -- but they're not allowed to be stopped. so rust and marty are allowed to catch white trash ledoux and the abominable offshoot incestuous childress, but not the men within their society that do the same things as them. so can they really help anyone when they're only allowed to go after avatars of this violence, and not the ones responsible for a legacy of violence?

by the end his thinking has been changed by his new belief that death is the end -- he finally is lurched into that great cosmic blackness, and recognizes it; calls it daughter, father. as he dies he feels an entirely different existence that will allow him to release into nothingness, and he comes away no longer believing that all these people will be reborn into the same life, doomed to go through all the suffering of life again and again. he welcomes it. in short, he believes those who have died found peace, and this allows him to accept the possibility that all is not lost. we're trapped into a cycle of violence, exploitation, degradation, and disease as long as we live, but living does have it's night; in the end, everything will be undone.

#true detective #true detective season 1 #rust cohle #htl #ht

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pazzesco · 6 months

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❣️♀️Beloved Woman

Cherokee Beloved Woman Nancy Ward

Nancy Ward, or Nan'yehi (nan yay hee), is the most famous Cherokee Beloved Woman. The role of Beloved Woman, Ghigau (Ghee gah oo), was the highest a Cherokee woman could aspire to. A Ghigau had a voice and vote in General Council, leadership of the Woman's Council, the honor of preparing and serving the ceremonial Black Drink, the duty of ambassador of peace-negotiator, and the right to save the life of a prisoner already condemned to execution.

The Native American Cherokee The word Cherokee is believed to have evolved from a Choctaw word meaning "Cave People." It was picked up and used by Europeans and eventually accepted and adopted by Cherokees. Traditionally, the people now known as Cherokee refer to themselves as aniyun-wiya, a name usually translated as "the Real People," sometimes "the Original People."

The Role of the Cherokee Woman The Cherokee were matrilineal with a complex society structure. Clan kinship followed the mother's side of the family. The children grew up in the mother's house, and it was the duty of an uncle on the mother's side to teach the boys how to hunt, fish, and perform certain tribal duties. The women owned the houses and their furnishings. Marriages were carefully negotiated, but if a woman decided to divorce her spouse, she simply placed his belongings outside the house. Cherokee women also worked hard. They cared for the children, cooked, tended the house, tanned skins, wove baskets, and cultivated the fields. Men helped with some household chores like sewing, but they spent most of their time hunting.

Women in the Cherokee society were equal to men. This privilege led an Irishman named Adair who traded with the Cherokee from 1736-1743 to accuse the Cherokee of having a "petticoat government."

Princess Tsianina Red Feather

Tsianina Red Feather was not a "Princess." The Cherokee never had princesses. This is a concept based on European folktales and has no reality in Cherokee history and culture. Beloved women and high ranking women in a clan were treated with such reverence, that Europeans assumed they were some type of royalty.

Red Feather was born Florence Tsianina Evans on December 13,1882 in Eufallia (Oklahoma Territory) to Creek and Cherokee parents. All her 9 siblings were musical, but she was the one who stood out.

At age 14, she went to Denver to be trained to sing. There, she met the composer Charles Cadman and began touring with him at 16. She became a mezzo soprano virtuoso. While touring the United States, Canada, Paris and London, she wore native dress, braided her hair and wore a headband she beaded herself.

In 1918, she and Cadman debuted "Shanewis" (The Robin Woman) at the Metropolitan Opera; the cast received 22 curtain calls. Cadman based the opera on Native American stories told by Redfeather. Although this opera had many firsts, it became the first contemporary opera to be performed for a 2nd season at the Met.

The Robin Woman: Shanewis, 1918 - an opera in one act and two scenes by American composer Charles Cadman and Tsianina Redfeather Blackstone. Cadman called the work an "American opera."

Photo is Miss Anna Trainor, who later became Mrs. Anna Bennett. She was only Cherokee on her mother's side, but because it was the woman's bloodlines that determined kinship, she was considered Cherokee.

The title Ghigau also translates to "War Woman," and Nan'yehi (Nancy Ward) earned the title by taking up her husband's gun when he was slain in a battle against the Creeks and leading her people to victory. Another War Woman, Cuhtahlatah, won honor during the American Revolutionary period by leading Cherokee warriors to victory after her husband fell. She later joined in a vigorous war dance carrying her tomahawk and gun.

It was important to the Cherokee that their losses be compensated with the same number of prisoners, scalps, or lives. Woman led in the execution of prisoners. It was their right and responsibility as mothers. Women had the right to claim prisoners as slaves, adopt them as kin, or condemn them to death "with the wave of a swan's wing."

In the Cherokee society your Clan was your family. Children belonged to the entire Clan, and when orphaned were simply taken into a different household. Marriage within the clan was strictly forbidden, or pain of death. Marriages were often short term, and there was no punishment for divorce or adultery. Cherokee women were free to marry traders, surveyors, and soldiers, as well as their own tribesmen.

7 Cherokee Clans - L to R: 1.Wolf Clan 2.Long Hair Clan 3.Red Tail Hawk Clan 4.Blue Holly Clan 5.Deer Clan 6.Paint Clan 7.Wild Potato Clan

Cherokee girls learned by example how to be warriors and healers. They learned to weave baskets, tell stories, trade, and dance. They became mothers and wives, and learned their heritage. The Cherokee learned to adapt, and the women were the core of the Cherokee.

Other indigenous nations were were matrilineal. Women of the six nations Iroquois confederacy (Haudenosaunee) had a political voice on this land for at least 1,000 years.

The male chiefs who are the representatives of their clan in the confederacy of the Mohawk, Oneida, Onondaga, Cayuga, Seneca, and Tuscarora Nations are selected, held in office, and removed by women – the clan mothers. Founded on the shores of Onondaga Lake, this oldest continuing democracy in the world is based on a system of gender balance. The position of the chief is vested in the clan mother, who is the eyes and ears of the people, while the chief is her voice. Women were “the great power among the clan, as everywhere else,” Elizabeth Cady Stanton marveled. Lucretia Mott wrote about listening to “speeches of their chiefs, women as well as men” (clan mothers and chiefs) when she visited the Cattaraugus Seneca community during the summer of 1848 before Mott, with Stanton and Quaker friends, organized the Seneca Falls convention.

In other words, the Beloved and Haudenosaunee women influenced the Women's Suffrage Movement.

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old-school-butch · 10 months

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The shrinking global population

This is something that is getting lots of media attention, especially in anything focused on economics and global growth.

The narrative goes like this: as a country’s wealth grows and living gets more expensive, women get more educated and push back the age of marriage and opt to have fewer kids.

There is an incoming deluge of think pieces and policies too to ‘encourage larger families’ that will range from abortion bans to baby subsidies.

As feminists, we must insist that these discussions focus on the reality of women’s labor as the unpaid resource that is being exploited in our society.

Some key points:

1. Even women working full-time jobs do more housework and childcare than their male partners. This is called the ‘double-shift’ and it’s been observed since the 60s.

2, Women in advanced economies that have more supportive programs for mothers, (where having a child doesn’t mean abandoning your career) have more kids that women in advanced economies that offer no support. In nations where those measures - like parental leave - extend to fathers, dads take on more of the work of raising kids and ultimately... this also leads to more kids. So the patriarchal argument that women’s rights need to end so women will return to being barefoot and pregnant can be rebutted with the simple notion of ‘maybe try making motherhood less shitty for women?’

3. Even without government subsidies, women around the world who have male partners who take on more of the house work and childcare have more children. A specific complaint of South Korean feminists, for example, is that men have not changed their attitudes about the role of wives as domestic servants. Why marry a man and have your workload triple - caring for yourself, him and a baby too? Women are making rational choices.

4. Limiting those choices will be attempted. Bans on birth control, abortion rights will be a theme for the next decade.

5. Appealing to racism and/or weird guilt trips will be attempted. Resist all messaging to ‘save’ whatever ethnic, religious, racial or cultural group you are in by having more children than you want.

6. We must resist another rational choice that will be available for some women - to offload the work of child-raising onto an underclass of women. From using surrogates, maids, or low-paid childcare workers - the ‘solutions’ available to upper/middle-class women will continue to exploit economically vulnerable women as a group. Men already exploit these women as mail-order brides, and this practice will increase since so many countries have aborted so many girl fetuses that there’s an excess population of males. Instead, we need to examine how to make childcare more efficient and extend health care for all families to protect women and children’s health.

7. A shrinking population is always framed as a disaster in the making, but surely some economists can come up with ways to manage this process in a way that makes a bit more room on this planet for plants and animals. Growing populations have driven famines and wars for millennia, surely it’s time for humans to learn to how to create a slower, more stable impact on the earth.

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cimerran-714 · 5 months

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I figured that it would be helpful to call out ten of the most common pro-choice arguments that you might notice online. I'll preface it by saying that I am not a philosopher (or at least not yet), but I am a person with common sense, and you can see through these "arguments" if you have two brain-cells left.

Also, I understand that there are good PC arguments out there (although they are of course not successful, for a strong argument doesn't necessarily have to succeed). I am only arguing some of the most insane and ridiculous ones you'd spot.

If you want to go through some really good claims made by pro-choice/pro-abortion advocates, I'd recommend David Boonin's 'A Defense of Abortion'. It'd help you instead of you having to regurgitate whatever you are spoon-fed by the leftist cult. Go check out that book even if you're pro-life, because it's a great one.

Let's get started, shall we?

A human embryo/fetus is not human:

Yes, it's both human and alive. Biologists agree with this (including pro-choice biologists), and even pro-choice philosophers acknowledge this. This is basic empirical reality. And you only have to open an embryology textbook to know how wrong you are. Also, these people can never explain what species the fetus belongs to if not "Homo Sapiens".

2. It's just a "clump of cells".

All of us are made up of cells. Some are "clumpier" than others. And plus, it's not merely a clump of cells: the embryo is a human organism in its earlier stages of development, and very soon is also differentiated as it grows. That's like saying that it's okay to destroy a car because it's just "a bunch of metal thrown together".

3. It's not a person/sentient, yadda yadda:

Irrelevant and it's the same logic that slave-owners used to own people. Human rights is species-based, and the embryo/fetus is human. That's all that matters. These people love to make up ridiculous, arbitrary criteria to justify their bigotry.

4. You cannot force people to donate their organs...

Not the same thing at all. You cannot be forced to save people, but that doesn't mean you can actively kill them. This is the difference between killing someone and letting them die. There is a significant moral difference between deliberately pushing someone off a cliff and not saving someone who's hanging off a branch at a cliff. Abortion is the former.

5. Women would die...

All states have life-threat exceptions built into it, so this is just deflection. And yes, there are doctors who refuse to perform entirely legal abortions, but that is their fault. It IS legal. They're just cowards, and you can't blame the law for this because they already make this exception.

6. You cannot force your views onto others:

If you support democracy (and, you know, voting) you're forcing your views onto others. That's how law works.

7. The child would grow up in poverty, yadda yadda yadda...:

We don't kill born children because of these reasons, so it's a ridiculous claim. You don't solve poverty by killing the poor.

8. They are just pro-birth:

Statistics show that Republicans donate more to charity than Democrats. Also, just because they don't agree with your method of helping people doesn't mean that they don't care about born people. You see, it's like saying "A fire-fighter rescued someone from a fire, but they don't want to pay out of their pockets to look after them throughout their lives. They don't actually care!"

9. Showing pics of fetuses belonging to other species as a gotcha:

Yes, mammals of different species look the same in their earlier stages, but that doesn't mean there isn't a difference between them. This is, once again, bigoted slaver logic (to want to kill people based on their looks).

10. Men cannot have a say because:

As men are directly affected by this, they absolutely have a say. They are fathers too, and remember that they're the ones who have to pay child support.

There you go. I am not expecting you to be pro-life yet if you are not, but I hope that I have cleared your head up somewhat.

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0lshadyl0 · 10 months

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Any HCs or scenarios on Yandere Hancock boa ?? I think she an interesting character 🥰

Of course, my dear, she is a fascinating character, in fact, she is my favorite female character after Nico Robin, I am weak to black haired women with cool powers and sad past.

Yandere Boa Hancock headcanons

• Brave of you to assume that she is not a yandere in the canon, that is, she has all the points to follow for her character to be a yandere, especially a delusional yandere

• sad past with traumatic events, no friends, position of power, no one contradicts her, she gets lost in her own fantasies, lives in her own reality and obsesses over a person beyond what is sanely possible, yeah she checks all the marks

• But, she would only become obsessed with her romantic interest if he has a very specific personality (for example, Luffy)

• Ok, let's say that the key for her to fix her eyes on you is that you have heroic tendencies, that is, she likes people with a good heart, willing to do what others would consider crazy in order to help others. the others (such as hitting a Tenryūbito, better yet, killing one)

• or just a very kind person with a great charisma, very positive mind but who doesn't take shit from anyone

• if things happened naturally, I'm pretty sure Hancock would be obsessed with a woman, Luffy is an exception to the rule (call it the power of the script thanks to being the protagonist of the series)

• Let's remember that the first men in her life that she met were the Tenryūbito and they are the worst experiences that a young woman like Boa could have, emotionally, physically and sexually (I'm 200% sure that she was raped by a good number of them, that's why despite being in love with Luffy she never sees herself having children with him… probably she can't even get pregnant due to irreparable damage to her sexual organ or simply they removed the ovaries so that she could not get pregnant by the Tenryūbito since she was a slave and the slaves are not worthy of having a child with a being as noble as a Tenryūbito is)

• Anyway, when she fixes her eyes on you, in her head she already begins to live in a world apart

• You've probably seen each other a maximum of five times and most of it in battles, possibly you saved her from some dangerous situation but not paying much attention to her, but in her head, you two are already engaged

• Yes, she is the type of women who, from a very young age, dreamed of getting married and having a large family full of love, a dream that has been transformed into only having a partner to love and be loved by because of the Tenryūbito and all their shit

• She is a relatively easy yandere to deal with, since the word of her s/o is divine law for her, she will never question you, nor will she go against you, she will not hesitate to put herself in danger or give her life for you, she literally will kill for you

• But, keep in mind, she is very jealous and in an unjustified way, nobody can look at you because she is already asking questions and imagining scenarios where you abandon her.

• Because, despite all that she says about being the most beautiful woman in the world, she actually has low self-esteem due to her past as a slave, she doesn't feel that she is worthy of you, because she is dirty

• But if you tell her that you are not interested in that person or deny knowing about the existence of the person who made her jealous, she will believe you without a shadow of a doubt.

• You can tell her that the sky is green and for her, yes, ultimately the sky is green and she will turn anyone who says otherwise into stone

• She is a stalker, she will follow you everywhere and will always be watching you, of course, at a respectful (Hinata-Naruto style) distance if the two of you get into a relationship, she will stick to you like gum, she is unbelievably clingy and has no idea of the meaning of personal space

• She is one of the few yanderes who have no sexual intentions, because she is traumatized with sex (she has never known about vanilla sex or consent) and considers it torture, she loves you too much to do you any kind of harm

• Oh, but if she were to get over her traumas and discover that sex can be enjoyed and is a way to stay connected to the one she loves, man, get ready for a long ride

#shady answer #one piece #yandere one piece #yandere posts #one piece headcanons #yandere x reader #yandere hancock #yandere boa hancock #yandere boa hancock x reader #one piece imagine #one piece boa hancock #boa hancock

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notesfromthepalace · 15 days

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The Nara Smiths of this World

I'd like to begin with saying in no way, shape, or form, will I be bashing the beautiful Black woman, wife and mother, Nara Smith. I actually aspire to be like her.

I also prefer content and media (both digital and physical) that cater to the life I have been creating for myself:

Led by God

With a God-fearing man (soon to be my fiancé - then husband, God-willing),

As a wife and mother,

While having the time and ease to do things that bring me peace and happiness like basking in the sun, working out, creating dinner experiences, rolling in academia - simultaneously having a career with a lower tempo, hints my transition from one career field to another (another post for another day).

I love watching her content, especially all of the dishes she makes from scratch.

But what upsets me, are the Black women that make a mockery of her lifestyle and make the excuse like "who wants to be a traditional wife" or "ain't nobody got time for all of that" and people saying that her lifestyle is unrealistic.

Lets be real.

A lot of women who bash Nara Smith are jealous.

Nara Smith is a young woman who is also a model, married, with two children and a third on the way.

Besides being a model, what about my previous statement is unrealistic or unattainable?

"Well who makes everything from scratch like that?!"

Everyone outside of the United States of America, darling.

I implore all the women who read my blog to please travel outside of the United States. Everyone makes everything from scratch and not only is it healthier, it taste amazing.

My first experience in Europe was the Summer of 2017, as an intern at the University of Science and Technology in Bydgoszcz, Poland.

While interning, I also traveled to Germany and Amsterdam.

During my tenure in Europe, I walked everywhere, used public transportation (it was clean, on time and efficient if I may add), went to people's homes where they made their authentic dishes and simple ones from scratch - while simultaneously losing 15lbs, and not on purpose.

Making your desired entrees from scratch versus using products that are processed and already made with preservatives are better for your health. Not only do you taste the difference but you will feel the difference.

Back to the point of women being jealous of Nara Smith's more traditional lifestyle and leisure:

The unfortunate truth of this - speaking as a Black woman with real Black Women experiences - so many Black women are truly perturbed by Nara's choice to take the time to cater to her children, household and husband as she does.

I think most of this disturbance comes from the fact that as Black women, we're told from early youth to work so hard and earn so many accolades where we do not need a man/husband and to not submit to the idea of motherhood and marriage until you receive every possible degree, award and accomplishment - which turns into us working just as hard as men to achieve a certain status, settling down in our mid 30s, yikes!

I have recently transitioned from one career field to another due to my desire to not only become a wife, but a mother.

But not an overworked wife who does not have time to cater to herself, household and husband, but a mother who has the time to be as hands-on as possible, make dinner, be a part of the Parent Teacher Association (PTA), etc.

This was my reality as a child. My parents were married; My father had a career that pulled him away sometimes but he was the providing a comfortable life for my mother, sister and I. My mother chose to have an at-home daycare so she can make my sister and I breakfast in the morning, be home to receive us after school, help us with our lessons, and put us to sleep. She was intentional with her career choice so she could cater to herself, take care of her home and her family.

And there is nothing wrong with a woman choosing to still work to have some independence, but choosing a career that is not as demanding that she sacrifices her family for it.

I brought all of this up due to conversations I had with women in my previous line of work who tried to convince me that I could "have it all" as they like to say: meaning that I could have the demanding career and title, be married, and have children.

Anyone who knows me personally, knows that I am extremely observant. During the last four years in my career field, I paid attention and listened quite carefully to the women who had children in both orthodox and unorthodox manners. The women who were married, with a child or children said all of the following:

"There was a time I spent a year away from my child, leaving them at three months of age."

"I was on my feet working just to go home and still be working."

"I got divorced because he couldn't understand that I wanted a certain level of success and being at home would not push me towards that goal."

"I don't even have time for myself."

"I have missed so many important moments."

Mind you, there's more. And I'm not saying that you cannot be married, with children and have a demanding career. I just believe it is irresponsible for older career woman to perpetuate the narrative that you can have 100% of everything all at the same time - when it's not true. Something or someone is going to be neglected.

So when I chose to transition out of my previous occupation, all of these women kept trying to persuade me to stay, but then I looked at their lives, it was not what I wanted:

Woman 1: Divorced with a boyfriend, three children (two different fathers) - spent months at a time away from her children, struggles with being feminine; Top of the food chain at work.

Woman 2: Married closer to 40, one child, lives a flight away from her husband to keep her demanding career, spends weeks away from her son.

Woman 3: Divorced, two children, sleeping around (with people we know) and the joke of our department, falls in love fast, one son has joined a gang, ex-husband is in-and-out of jail; Has worked for our organization for 15 years.

Woman 4: Left her newborn after two months to take a position in another country for a year, marriage suffered tremendously, also another "big dog" for the organization.

Now, as a woman who wants the lifestyle I already described in the paragraphs at the beginning of my piece, are these stories that I would want to emulate?

ABSOLUTELY NOT!

I won't go as far as saying that this is every woman's reality who has a demanding career, but even the women who stay married and have children have also told me that their marriage suffered tremendously and there is a closeness they lack with their children.

And again, that statement is not for the totality of working woman, but it's a shared experience of most.

When I told multiple women that I am ready to be a wife and a mother I was told I would regret it.

I don't and I won't.

I've had a job since I was 16; I have dated, traveled, lived in the city and suburbs on my own, and my truest desire is to live a life of leisure and peace, with my future husband and children.

So, for the girlies who are ready to settle down, leave the busy careers behind, do it!

Side bar - I just turned 26, I want to have my first child before 30 (and after I am married of course).

And do not, I repeat, DO NOT allow people's opinions, especially your Black female peers (it is what it is), to dissuade you from the lifestyle you truly desire, because they are the same women who complain about how miserable they are because of their choices, and misery loves company.

Choose your family, choose love, choose yourself.

With Love,

Sarah Chanel

#black women #black women in luxury #luxuriousbw #luxury #black femininity #black women in leisure #black women fashion #blackwomen #black beauty #nara smith #motherhood #marriage #relationships #happiness

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horizon-verizon · 7 days

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Honestly as a neutral party I would prefer Jaehaera living to Daenaera being introduced. Jaehaera is an innocent, mentally disabled child and her death is needlessly cruel. Her death is the least plot relevant of all of the child deaths that have happened in the dance and it's reasonable for people to want that changed since it comes off as pointlessly cruel. Killing Alicent or even just focusing on her imprisonment more is enough to show that the greens have paid for their betrayal. At least Daenaera can still be introduced and do something else in the narrative even if she doesn't marry Aegon.

I've already explained why Jaehaera's death was plot relevant HERE and HERE.

Daenaera's entire narrative purpose was to marry Aegon and have his children to propagate the Targ line AND to become part of Aegon's mental rehabilitation from the effects of the civil war and watching his own mother get eaten burned/alive by a dragon. This is also reason why she's a fan fav in the first place; it's seen as a noble undertaking to some and a way for the Targs to move away from the greens finally. What other narrative use would you have her have?!

We can't bring up how after the War of the Roses the two fighting houses (Yorks and Lancasters) were successfully brought together in marriage to justify Jaehaera marrying and having a family with Aegon. Because:

Elizabeth of York wasn't disabled like Jaehaera

neither her nor Henry Tudor were little kids when they married

this is a fictional tale that, while modeled after some real events and people, is using them as springboards for a specific, purposefully created "message" unique to the author's

and imagine what it would being pregnant several times really be like for a very mentally incapacitated and traumatized girl like her?!!

Much less the other traumatized boy who's to be her husband? What the consummation and all the...impregnating times looked like?! Then, imagine what the family life would have been like, with these parents unable to ever connect thus the resentment is worse and their kids seeing that?

This doesn't justify Unwin Peake murdering Jaehaera, but no she never should have been married off to Aegon or anyone in the first place and that was not Unwin's doing but a larger group's--Aegon's council/patriarchal feudalism. This is what GRRM's trying to tell you, stop resisting it.

I can believe that it is the way she died and the other context of so much violence men and adults perform against women and girls in this world is what really offends people enough for them to say that somehow, this a narratively irrelevant death. Because they're just that horrified.

The feelings are valid. But the action to erase the significance of the death is not valid. You definitely can wish for a much less violent one, like a poisoning that puts her to sleep or something. The death is supposed to be tragic and make you feel that it wasn't deserved, was horrible, etc. Because it was all those things.

And to say such an untrue thing as "not narratively relevant" also leads me to suspect that some people don't like Jaehaera's death either bc they just:

wanted the greens to win in some way bc they favor them and their cause (my second linked post)

you--knowing that Daenaera will likely be black in the show IF they ever get to the Maiden's Ball--go so hard for Jaehaera bc she at least is a white girl in the universe of HotD

want excessively centrist politics to sway the story at the expense of actual understanding of why we should change and upend the status quo entirely (here the feudal entrapment of girls and women); deny a reality, discourage learning to the oppressive status quo can prevail [on this trend of neutrality]...the truth is the villains/antagonists were always the greens

AND/OR, are avoidant of facing ugly, sordid truths of oppression because they are close to it in real life and haven't found ways of separating that from collective understanding of oppressive systems/coping mechanism

Look anon, Alicent's imprisonment doesn't make up for mass death. Because it's not even just about Alicent as the individual, the grandmother, the mother, etc. It's the effect of her actions on a population. Jaehaera was one of many girls Otto AND Alicent endangered (another being Halaena). Though her actions became something much bigger than her & things went out of her control, that doesn't stop them from being hers AND having affected thousands of lives. Her main aim was to accrue power through her kids and grandkids--who she chose to risk by usurping Rhaenyra and beginning the war--the consequence is she loses said kids and grandkids through other's similar ambition. Again, bc even though those kids were noble and were supposed to be relatively safe, because they are all technically heirs or adults around them can use them accrue power (whether by killing them or through marriages or whatever), they were also targets. We could say similar for Rhaenyra's children, as what happens to her youngest 2; all of them in one way or another die because they were or could be used. however, they AND the greens' kids were all safer if the greens had not usurped Rhaenyra.

The greens were the aggressors and transgressors. The ones who started this war and looked for something out of it. They tried to act worse against Rhaenrya before/during the war AND the whole of Westeros before/during/after, thus they get the worse punishment and lose more than she did.

The entire point is that the greens lose everything, because they went after "everything". They lose everything, including their kids bc they relentlessly and hypocritically ran to obtain more power for themselves by attempting to exclude a woman from the position she never would have had without the will of a man.

They went on the basis that a girl/woman should not rule or become an heir before any direct male relatives...so Jaehaera was cut out of the line of succession by her own side of the family, thus she was also less prioritized, thus she was made into a baby factory for Aegon III. She became their last chance to get their blood to at least be part of the future line, but even that's dashed by a man who had similar ambitions as Otto and Alicent.

In trying to go against the king's word/an actual law, the greens also made it much more justified for someone to not care much for Aegon II's claim or authority...bc if you can so easily flout a king's word, why should you care about the guy you're trying to make king?! And using people who themselves are willing to be so dishonest creates a higher likelihood that they'd betray you, as similar to Ulf and Hugh betraying Rhaenyra. (And somehow, Rhaenyra is the only naive one when she expects people to follow through with their oaths 🙄)

Have you ever thought, anon, about those other girls who were maimed or terrorized into not appearing before Aegon III in the Maiden's Ball? Sure, most of them weren't disabled (Priscella Hogg was, I think), but what happens to Jaehaera is because she was girl in the way of a man's ambitions and not because she was disabled. What about all those Tumbleton folk, Bitterbridge refugees (the raped septas and girls as young as 8!), and riverland peasants--most of them children! Undoubtedly, you will have disabled children in those populations, anon. Why is Jaehaera's death so much more valuable than these mass deaths of also children? Remember that Alicent raised her kids to easier justify committing these atrocities. Maelor and Jaehaerys' deaths also reflect these events. Jaehaera's death was markedly different in meaning from theirs (to open up space for another girls who's being used) because she was female. In the first linked post, I talk about why and how people used Jaehaera's marriage to Aegon and how that reflects on her death being unique from her brothers' because of her gender.

GRRM comments, through Jaehaera and these girls and Rhaenyra what one pattern of F&B has: being female is dangerous because it is to be more of an object or property in lieu of self-concerned ambitious men to the point where the most vulnerable and those who cannot practice some of the same sort of agency can experience gruesome consequences--sometimes to become terrors themselves in their attempts to gain denied agency or defend themselves.

#jaehaera targaryen #daenaera velaryon #asoiaf asks to me #jaehaera's death #fire and blood writing #the greens vs the blacks #fandom critical #hotd fandom #green stan nonsense #fandom nonsense

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cereal-before-milk · 2 years

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VAGINAS AND JAPAN

What would happen if in a country like Japan, which has a festivity on phallic symbols (Kanamara Matsuri), a woman decides to exhibit art whose main concept is the vagina? Maybe you already know the answer or you can imagine it or maybe not, anyway this is what happened to Megumi Igarashi, a mangaka, artist, sculptor, feminist and activist, whose mission is to free Manko.

❀ MEGUMI IGARASHI

also known by her stage name Rokudenashiko, which means good for nothing, she was born in Shizuoka prefecture, Japan, on March 14, 1972. Unlike her sister, who was a perfect girl, Megumi wasn't a good student, wasn't even good at sports and wasn't a very formal girl either. Igarashi was also bullied, although she was so insensitive that didn't even realize she was being bullied. In 1990 she moved to Tokyo to study philosophy at Kokugakuin University. Shortly after graduating in 1994, she began to devote herself to manga, even winning an award from the Kodansha publishing house in 1998. Making manga made her less and less excited due to the competitiveness, but Igarashi found a refuge in experience reporting manga or of reality (taiken rupo).

In 2002 Megumi got married so she began to introduce her sexual experiences into her works. She created a manga about infidelities (something that happened in their marriage on both sides) and as the society in which she lives they only get angry with women and men are usually forgiven, but very few people in Japan managed it understand, so didn't have many sales. When discussing her sexual experiences, she realized that no female mangaka drew pussys. Megumi says that all the feminist artists' portraits of vaginas she had seen were sad and dark, showing how difficult it is to be a woman, but she wanted to show a more cheerful and colorful vision of the vagina and make it a pop icon, just like the penis in her country.

Igarashi had a complex about her own vagina, as she had never seen another one before and thought her might be abnormal. More or less there came the idea of starting to make molds and art on her vulva. At first the artist was a bit cautious, but when she started receiving a lot of negative reviews and comments like "you must be a really horny girl", she jumped at the idea of dedicating herself to making art with her manko (Japanese slang for refer to vagina).

Megumi wants women to be able to talk about their pussy freely. "Most Japanese women have been brainwashed by their parents since they were children to think that their body, especially their vagina, is obscene. Boys are allowed to talk about the penis easily, even in public, but girls are not allowed. Parents forbid it. I think it leads women to think that our sexual organs are shameful and dirty. If women had more freedom to talk about their vagina, they could ask to use a condom, discuss sexual illnesses, their problems, etc. without being embarrassed, since people feel uncomfortable just hearing man(ko), but the same doesn't happen when they hear the word penis". Verbatim words from her blog 6d745.

❀ MANKO ART

As I said before the main theme of Rokudenashiko's art is her Manko. With that idea always being the center of her artistic concept, she has designed a lot of objects from necklaces, bracelets, to cell phone covers or even a remote-controlled robot.

Within her art collection in 2011 a series was born that she calls Deco-man, which is a play on words between decoration and manko. It basically consists of making molds of her vagina, decorating them and turning them into dioramas where her vagina is subtly camouflaged, like on that golf course or on the moon.

Her star work is a 2 meter Kayak called Pussy Boat. She even cost her freedom to carry it out.

And how can we forget about Manko-chan, her beloved pop icon. A very striking figure with a funny (obviously) slightly anthropomorphic pussy shape that has a manga and a lot of merchandising such as: floats, clothes, figures of different colors, plushies, etc.

She also organizes workshops for women who are interested in learning more about their vagina. And they don't need to bring materials, since Megumi prepares everything.

❀ HOW DID SHE BECOME AN ALLEGED CRIMINAL?

In July 2014, the mangaka was arrested at her home and all her works were seized for violating Japanese law against obscenity. It all begins in 2013 when she wants to raise money through crowdfunding to carry out her star work, a Kayak (pussy boat) with which to take walks.

To all the people who contributed to the project, she sent the data of her vagina so that they could make the 3D project, but despite the fact that it was something artistic / for work, it violated the laws of obscenity, since in Japan it is forbidden to share your private parts. Obviously, Igarashi didn't think her detention was fair at all, since sharing data isn't obscene at all. "My vagina is no different from my legs or my arms," She claimed to the police. And of course it was not fair at all, since the police and the press, from a corrupt system, violated her rights and criminalized Megumi for an act that she didn't even initially have, political, vindictive and far from obscene intentions.

She spent 10 days in jail, during which time a total of 21,000 signatures were collected online to drop the charges against Megumi, and a week later she was released. But on December 3 of that same year, she was arrested again along with Minori Watanabe, a feminist writer and sex shop owner, for displaying an "obscene" object, a plaster replica of Pussy Boat, in Watanabe's store. (everything in a sex shop could be considered obscene, don't bother). On December 24, Igarashi was charged with "exhibition of obscenity", "electromagnetic obscenity recording" and "distribution of electromagnetic obscenity recording medium" and was finally released on bail on the 26th. In 2015 the trials took place to declare her guilty or not guilty.

A couple of curiosities that I have read on her Twitter is that of the 3 judges of the supreme court who handled her case over the years, all were men and in Japan there are also women in the supreme court and also that since she was bored between trial and trial looked for a part-time job.

*a part is not guilty* Photograph: Kazuhiro Nogi

In 2016 she was found not guilty, because as the Kayak had such a striking decoration and color it was difficult to relate it to a pussy. She still had to pay a fine of ¥400,000 (€2,800 / $3,100) for having shared her vagina data and everything that the police had seized from her was returned and Megumi was finally able to navigate her kayak.

Had she been found guilty, she would have faced 2 years in prison and a fine of ¥2.5 million ($19,400/€18,000), a disproportionate punishment considering what she did. In 2021 Megumi Igarashi could already breathe without worry since she had her last trial (she could still have gone to jail), she paid the fine and is finally free. But not everything was a punishment for Igarashi, thanks to the fact that her case went viral and reached many parts of the world, Mike Scott, singer and guitarist of The Waterboys, became interested in her, he is currently her husband and they both had a son. So for Megumi being arrested became a kind of Tinder.

❀ WHAT IS OBSCENITY? 2016

French edition/ spanish edition

Megumi Igarashi narrates in this manga a bit of her life, everything that led her to make art with her vagina, the days she was in prison and the injustices and absurd situations she has experienced.

Obscenity is full of very interesting reflections on the female body and why it is considered obscene. Spoiler alert: because the man only sees them as a sexual object, but Rokudenashiko proves that it is just another body part. "They can be erotic, but they can also be funny, empowering or adorable."

The manga It a strong criticism of Japanese society, although it can also be applied to many others (I think the whole world shares taboos towards the vagina, maybe not in the same way, but in essence). This criticizes hypocrisy, since of course penises and vaginas are not the same, but not only in form and function but also because of how they are treated/represented in society. Megumi questions the reason for this, because the vagina is disgusting and is never portrayed, why it is talked about with disgust or even it seems as if it is forbidden to talk about it because it generates rejection and yet the same thing doesn't happen with the penis.

A couple of details that catch my attention is how the "Good for nothing" hides her anger with humor. In fact, humor is also used to cover up situations of criticism and injustice and thereby demonstrate the strength of the author, she applied the best way to laugh rather than cry. The other detail is how she never gives a conclusion. This manga that borders on the documentary, doesn't have absolute answers, only guidelines through personal experiences so that you can draw your own conclusions and be more or less on her side. She doesn't try to force you to have her same ideals.

What is Obscenity? is an excellent choice if you want to eliminate the taboos that your society has put in your head about the pussy, see the vagina with different eyes, normalize it, appreciate it much more and turn it into something pop.

Just say thank you Megumi Igarashi and FREE MANKO! <3