#how to take information and communicate it to someone else in different ways

[leebrontide]

Hello!

I'm Lee (any pronouns), a middle aged queer writer from the midwest of the US. It's been a bit, so I'm doing another writeblr intro, to find more potential writeblr folks to chat with!

What I write:

- Mostly scifi! I have a bit of fantasy brewing in a collab project, but mostly, scifi.

- Queer stuff. Lots of different types of queerness.

- Community. Both in the group-hugs-and-support variety and the extreme-mess/everybodies-traumas-keep-smashing-into-each-other variety. I have training as a family therapist and am endlessly fascinated by interpersonal dynamics. This is the meat of my work.

- Grounded worldbuilding. My main project right now is near future scifi that diverges from our timeline around 2001. I'm enjoying the hell out of playing the US I know with some very key tweaks that changed society. I know a lot about medical systems, criminal justice systems, and legal systems and like using fantasy and scifi elements to show them as I know them. But like, in a way that should appeal to people who give 0 shits about US institutions.

- Disability stuff. Not that after-school-special shit. I am just tired of characters being generic pretty dolls whose physical attributes don't impact how they move through the world. That means not only writing a variety of different disabilities, but also different bodies. My characters aren't "inspiration porn" or just waiting around for less disabled characters to come save them. They are messy, with a wide array of relationships to their limitations and the things they use to cope with those limitations.

- YA into new adult. Not exclusively, but mostly. I really like taking characters from YA into early adulthood. Not just a standard coming-of-age arc, but the actually moving from a self-concept of a dependent teen into someone with legal responsibility for themselves, jobs, college, etc. Especially when combined with all of the above. I love a nice long character arc with lots of sub-arcs along the way.

What I have out, now.

- I have two books out so far, Secondhand Origin Stories and Names in Their Blood. I'm working on book 3 in that planned 5 book series now, which is currently titled Brittle Idols.

- I have a free monthly newsletter called Shed Letters where I talk about psychology, tech, queerness, storytelling, and the creative process, plus whatever random topic I've been researching for my books recently. Also contains pictures of my three very photogenic cats.

- Newsletter subscribers also have access to a novella I wrote that goes between Secondhand Origin Stories and Names in Their Blood, that's about an fictional AI (the only kind I like) trying to decide on a body for themself.

- I also draw and animate, with my first and still in-progress animation project being a "trailer" for Secondhand Origin Stories.

What I'm looking for

- writeblrs - especially writeblrs that aren't JUST writeblrs. I want to feel like I'm meeting people, at least in some manner, rather than just hearing about a product in process. That doesn't have to mean deep confessions or private information, but honestly I'm not likely to remember you for your writing project alone. Sorry. Please show me what else you care about!

- Bonus points for queer or disabled scifi or fantasy writers.

- I am white for most intents and purposes but I always want to find more AOC who write sci fi.

- Also always excited to meet more YA authors- especially the currently kinda sidelined YA scifi.

- People who care about where society is going but aren't posting that everything is doomed and pointless. I mean you post whatever you want but I don't need that on my dash. That shit is not helping me help.

I sometimes do ask games? It's fun when I have the time. It'd be fun to have more folks to do them with, provided those folks are patient.

Please interact if this has piqued your interest!

[soluversworld]

About that one post

In the tags of TKATB post, I saw a post and before things go too far, I would like to address about it.

post https://www.tumblr.com/tenderlyfracturedscheme/787382689005240320/exposing-a-racist-and-predator-artist-in-tkatb?source=share

Before anything else, please note: The person being discussed is an artist in the (TKATB) fandom who goes by the username kazueisaloser. (Please make sure to read the Twitter post in question first—but also be aware that the post is entirely fake and misleading.)

In short, the person behind the post is accusing Kazue of racism and other serious STUFF. I want to clarify that, based on my personal interactions with Kazue, these claims are false. From what I’ve seen, Kazue has always come across as a kind, funny, and respectful person.

To be direct: the screenshots being circulated are fabricated/faked. This appears to be a group of minors attempting to “cancel” Kazue simply because she reminded them that they shouldn't be engaging with 18+ content or spaces.

This is well informed in X/twitter than here. So I'll link the people who spoke about it This post is just making people aware about the post before People go crazy.

1.

IVE 🎀 on X: "I don’t usually address things like this publicly, but for the sake of clarity — we have confirmation of her actual Discord account. This impersonation is false. Please stop spreading misinformation." / X

2.

Lalaluna on X: "We have plenty of evidence of you people making channels just to hate on Kazue, even if you’ve already deleted the server. It’s clearly one of you staging it because why is the conversation at the start different? And fyi Kazue’s actual discord has a toilet pfp frame btw. https://t.co/nvroF2SH94" / X

3.

emi🩶 semi-hiatus! on X: "Kazue NEVER behaves like this. We are friends with her in discord and all her socials are linked in her profile. I hope you know this is literally a cybercrime because this is already too much." / X

4.

Lalaluna on X: "Please explain how she’s the horrible one when you are saying all this about her including wishing physical harm and death upon her and now impersonating her too. All because she rightfully scolded a minor for being in a 18+ space. https://t.co/sKQq95AVGp" / X

Kazue responded to these allegations too. With evidence.

1.

Miss KAZUE! on X: "I refuse to take this poor impersonation attempt lightly. The first ss shows the fake account falsely claiming to be me, even copying my Tiktok profile description. The second ss displays my actual discord acc. I'll also show further evidence of this situation. (1/5) https://t.co/9ML0zjZbne" / X

More posts might come, exposing them as the time of posting this.

Please, for the love of god—don’t jump to conclusions based on so-called “evidence” without knowing the full context.

This is social media. Things can be faked. Screenshots can be edited. Narratives can be twisted. What looks like proof isn’t always the truth.

But the truth does come to light—eventually. So before you choose sides or spread accusations, take a step back. Ask questions. Look deeper.

Because once someone’s reputation is ruined, you don’t get to undo that damage just because you didn’t wait for the full story.

Let’s be clear: minors should not be in 18+ communities. Those spaces are labeled that way for a reason—because the content, discussions, and themes are not appropriate or safe for underage individuals.

And now, instead of respecting those boundaries, some of these same minors are creating fake screenshots and trying to cancel an someone—all because she gave a reasonable and necessary warning about staying out of adult spaces.

That is not okay. Minors are still responsible for their actions. Falsely accusing someone and faking evidence is serious, harmful behavior—no matter your age. Being young is not a free pass to lie or ruin someone's reputation.

[chambergambit]

Some Redditor: I used chatGPT to write all my papers in college, and now I'm having trouble writing things on my own.

Me: Well, first you gotta give your diploma back and rewrite all those papers.

[kathaynesart]

And here we go. For the full experience I would recommend reading while listening to THIS SONG. It inspired a vast majority of the scene as well as the timing, though I fear you'd have to read pretty fast to get to the ending at the same time as the song ends, so uh... good luck! Trigger warnings below:

The Day the Sky Bled Red

BEGINNING || PREVIOUS || NEXT MASTER POST

Whew. I'm so glad to finally be done with these big updates. After over a year I will finally be able to return to my smaller update format.

Some keen viewers might notice the reuse of certain shots from the series. There is very much intentional, though the reason for this will not be made clear until the ending of the arc.

As of the final shot we are FINALLY back to present-day in the Replica timeline (if it wasn't obvious). I'd drop in a timeline for reference but uh... I maxed out on the Tumblr images. Oh well. Hopefully the context clues were enough to help though!

I do want to take a moment to TED Talk about Raph's ninpo, if that's alright. Unlike his brothers, Raph didn't really spend much time trying to come up with unique ways of using his abilities. Why improve what already worked for him? However, I do think one interesting ability could have come naturally to him over time. I always found his way of mentally connecting with his brothers as "Mind Raph" to be a fascinating joke in the series. They way he could help and communicate with his brothers is something that was always really important to him and I see that ability bleeding into his ninpo. Because of this I feel that his Raph clones were always able to find and reach his brothers no matter the distance. His ability to interact with them at the same time was something he was still learning in the series, like when Mind Raph apologized to Leo for taking a moment too long to respond because he was busy helping someone else. Because of this I see his clones being able to react and communicate independently (kind of like Naruto clones), but are in constant connection to the original source, Raph himself. This made it really easy for Raph to relay information to the brothers, though it was seldom needed since Donnie's ninpo tech normally had that covered. On another note, I also wanted to make a point that whenever one of the brothers died in the bad future timeline, it was when they were separated from their brothers. I always liked in the movie how it wasn't until the brothers worked together that they were able to regain their abilities, confront the Krang, and even open portals to different dimensions. I wanted that lesson to resonate in Replica as well, even if subtly. Anyways, thanks for coming to my TED Talk!

The rest of the arc will be a lot less action, but still plenty more emotions. I can't promise that we won't be doing more flashbacks in the future but nothing to the extent of the "Holiday Special." We got a story to get through after all!

Thank you so much everyone for your patience with me as I slowly inch my way through this big story. It means a lot to me! I promise the next update will not be so emotionally draining.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: omegaverse, omega reader, careless alpha husband, marriage problems, poor communication

♡ GN reader

He’s a little reckless sometimes—not always paying attention to the feelings of those around him, but he means well, you’re sure of that.

He’s just a little high-strung, is all—doesn’t really have the time to think things through.

He’s always been like that—ready for just about anything and everything anyone would throw his way, and just sort of expecting everyone else to be onboard. He’s an Alpha, after all—it’s not in their nature to worry or look back.

All your life, he’s been the leader—all you others could do was chase after him and just hope on your life to keep up. And as an Omega, you were comfortable like that—with having someone to follow. It felt natural to you—safe and good and correct.

But when he started courting you, you admit being a bit skeptical—weren’t sure if it would work the same way, not sure if it even could. Being mates is different, after all. You’re supposed to be in tune with one another, and you weren’t sure if you’d be heard or just end up being bulldozed.

But you figured, since you weren’t too big on making decisions anyway, that you’d just go along with it, and it would be fine. You’d put your trust in him and follow his lead, and maybe that would be enough.

And it was. Everything worked out perfectly—for the most part. You married in the spring and moved into your new house the day after. He’s a good husband and nice man, deserving of the respect he garners, and he’s successful. A true Alpha. Perfect on all fronts.

What more could an Omega ask for?

Well… suppose it wouldn’t hurt if he listened sometimes. Or no, that’s not fair. You’d have to speak up first in order for him to listen. Still, you think… he should be able to tell without you saying anything. 

You don’t even know what you’re complaining about, really… It's not as if he’s done anything overtly bad. You just feel… well, you suppose you just feel a little left out. He’s so dominating in everything he does—you just end up being swept along in the process. He doesn’t ask for your input, nor do you give it. Things just happen the way he wants them to before you’ve even agreed. You don’t even think he recognizes it himself, how he makes decisions you’re supposed to be making together on your behalf.

He bought the house without telling you, for starters. But it was a wedding present and a nice surprise, so you’re not mad about it exactly. But given how big a step it was, it still feels strange to have been on the outside. Then he sprung that vacation on you and even called your boss to schedule your leave—only a month after your honeymoon, no less. Not to mention the wedding itself—how all the arrangements were already done before you’d even sat down with the wedding planner, of whom was his choice. In some ways, or in many ways, you felt as if you were just a part of the decor.

But it’s not as if you aren’t happy—because you are. And it’s not as if you don’t love him—because you do. It’s just well… You know it’s not exactly fair, but you’re beginning to feel a little taken advantage of… as if he doesn’t even care about you or your thoughts and feelings as long as you’re keeping him happy.

But you can’t keep feeling that way without telling him, you decide. You’re sure none of it is his intention. You’ve never taken an interest in decision-making, so why would he think you’d want to? For all his prowess, you can’t exactly expect him to read your mind, either.

So, tonight’s the night you’ll finally say something. You want to be included. If he’s hiring a new maid, you wish to be a part of it. If he’s buying a new TV, you want to help pick out which one. If he’s taking you out to dinner, you want to be informed, preferably beforehand. Even if all he’s doing is getting his hair cut, you want him to tell you about it.

“Hello, welcome home,” you greet once he staggers into the bedroom, looking tired yet no less neatly put together than always.

“Hello, my sweet,” he mirrors, voice gruff with the toils of the day as he marches over to plant a kiss on your cheek.

It’s late. You’ve already gotten dressed for bed, having been just about ready to cut your losses and postpone the talk for tomorrow.

He could have told you he was working after hours. No, he should have.

You were just about to switch off the night lamp and go to sleep—but find yourself feeling redetermined now.

This was just another one of those things you can bring up as an example, after all.

“I-”

“God, I missed you today. Felt like work took an eternity,” he groans, hurriedly removing his suit with sloppy movements, throwing his jacket on the floor, shirt quickly following before he’s back on you. “Give me those pretty lips—I’m starving.”

He takes your mouth with his, one hand steadying him against the bedframe while the other works on unbuckling his belt, hunching over where you lay.

You put your hands on his bare chest to distance him, asking, “Can it wait a bit?”

He drops his pants on the floor and climbs on top of you, face buried in your neck while muttering, “No, not really. Been waiting all day.”

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about something-” you try again, to no use.

“No talking tonight—none, except pillow talk.”

He says it with a smile. You feel it against your neck—his teeth and tongue and the heat of his voice.

You’re sure he means it playfully, and yet you freeze, feeling a little sick.

“But I really need to—”

“Omegas are supposed to obey their Alphas, you know.” 

His touch isn’t rough, but it’s not without force, but more than that it’s those words that make your heart jump and then stutter. 

You hold your breath, but it goes unnoticed by him or maybe ignored—you’re not sure which. It shocks you—scares you even, but then, following the original freight, your heart sinks, and you feel nothing but disheartened and disappointed.

And then, even a little angry.

“Oh…” you mumble, lying still beneath his onslaught. “I guess I thought I was yours ‘cause I wanted to be, but I see now…” Your brows cinch with many feelings between them. “I had it wrong.”

He halts then—struck with a sudden pang of guilt maybe, or perhaps just puzzled by your words. Whatever the case, the former rush he’d been in is gone, and he looks down at you—finally.

“What? What do you mea-”

“No, no, never mind. I was out of line,” you brush him off—harshly, and he blanches, going rigid. “Do what you want—you’re the Alpha, after all—so by all means.”

You turn your head to the side and lie still.

Eyes prickly and throat tight, you push the words out all stiff and hoarse, “I have no right to stop you, and even if I did, it’s not like I could. But who cares, right? Nothing I think matters.”

“Baby, you know that’s not what I mea–” he tries.

“Then what did you mean?” you all but bark, snapping to face him again. But however pointed your glare is, there’s no mistaking the now visible tears brimming in your eyes.

Seeing it, he stiffens even more, undaring to move. Trying to make his voice softer, “Don’t cry.”

But his acts of comfort are far from sufficient.

“Why? Does it make you uncomfortable?” 

Good, you think—it better. He made you uncomfortable when he ignored your wishes, so why shouldn’t you? And ignore him in turn?

“Funny that, isn't it?” you continue. “The only thing I have against you is a pesky few tears. Would you like me to turn around, maybe?” 

You know you’re guilt-tripping him—and you’re not sure why or if it’s the right thing to do, but even so, you couldn’t find it in you to stop either—no, not until you had punished him, for some reason.

“If you hide my face in a pillow, maybe you won’t hear it either–”

“Please stop,” he finally begs, bowing his head. “I’m sorry.”

You stop. You’re not sure if he even knows what he’s apologizing for. And though the thought of asking him to clarify strikes you, it doesn’t feel important. Those weren’t the words you wanted to hear.

You sigh then, trying to calm yourself down. “I don’t need you to be sorry. I need you to see me—to listen—I need you to respect me.”

He looks up again, this time with a deeply remorseful expression warping his face. “I do. I’m sorry-”

“Really?” you question. It's a little harsh, you admit, but it's what you need, “Then get off me and go sleep downstairs.”

He’s rigid under your admonishment. Shocked by your claims, yet begrudgingly ashamed by the truth in them. 

You were right. He wasn’t paying attention. And by the looks of it, he hasn’t been paying attention for a while.

 “Okay,” he ends up agreeing.

Sliding off the bed like a shunned dog, he walks back to the door he’d only just come through a moment ago.

Keeping a hand on the doorknob, he looks back—head still bowed.

“Good night.”

You feel a little bad about how it turned out, but you steal yourself. You wanted to be alone right now. In fact, you think it would do you both some good.

“We'll talk tomorrow. Good night.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Hawks, Mirio ♡ JJK – Gojo ♡ HQ – Kuro, Bokuto, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin, Sae, Yukimiya, Baro, Aiku ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi ♡ WB – Umemiya, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[luckyladylily]

So like, transandrophobia.

To start this out, I am a trans woman, been around in the queer community for a while. I'm also bisexuality, polyamorous, disabled, and aromantic, and I think these other parts of my identity and the crap I've caught over the years for them heavily informs how I analyze something like transandrophobia. My wife is also asexual, so that plays a part in it too.

So every group of marginalized people has their own unique experiences and problems. It's more of a rule than something we've mathematically demonstrated, but as far as these things go it's ridiculously well established, and personally every time I've done even a basic dive into the issues faced by a marginalized group it's been self evident. I could easily list a dozen groups ranging from racial minorities to different kinds of disabled people to different queer identities and analyze their social issues but let's be real, this is pretty well established theory, anyone who needs me to do that is not really interacting with good faith. This is one of the big reasons we talk to people about their own experiences and groups, we cannot reasonably extrapolate the experiences of others from our own.

So like trans men and trans mascs and anyone else that falls under that umbrella has their unique experiences. The idea that we would even question this is weird to me? Like I can't even imagine the kind of evidence someone would need to present to me to change my mind, and given the pattern of the queer community to be shitty in exactly this way to people in our community, yeah that is not happening.

Therefore, we are taking it for granted that the trans men/masc/related umbrella has their own things going on like everyone else ever, and I don't understand how someone acting in good faith can try to claim otherwise unless they are young or otherwise very inexperienced with such things.

The next point of contention seems to be the name, and I gotta be real I don't care and I don't understand why other people do. I've read all sorts of arguments against the word transandrophobia and the majority of them seem to be rooted in a misunderstanding of intersectionality, and even then it's like there is such a thing where people get so mired in theory that they miss the forest for the trees.

Perhaps more important to me, getting overly worked up about something as unimportant as the precise term is... weird. Like exclusionists hating on bi and ace people weird. I remember what it was like a decade ago when exclusionists were trying to police the words of bi women, and five years ago when ace and aro people were under constant attack under the pretense that our language was harmful for some reason or other. You are going to have to work very, very, very hard to convince me that any bickering over language as it relates to transandrophobia is not just more of the same.

Next, "transandrobros hate trans femmes" and similar stuff. I've seen the callout posts and found them completely unconvincing. Again, they read a lot like the old "ace people hate lesbians!" posts I used to see. I'm not convinced that the individuals involved were a problem, I am certainly not able to extrapolate a problem to the rest of the group.

Finally, there is this idea that "maleness is not a vector for oppression" and this invalidates something about the whole transandrophobia thing, ranging from the entire concept of trans men experiencing prejudice to something about language being imprecise all the way to "This is fascist shit, omg these people are basically nazis" depending on who says it. I'm not going to touch any of that and just look at the underlying logic.

This is based off a misunderstanding of intersectionality theory. Many people think of intersectionality as defining intersecting prejudice, like a ven diagram, such that transmisogyny is the intersection of transphobia and misogyny. This is incorrect. Intersectionality defines unique prejudice experienced by people with intersecting identities. Instead of a transmisogyny as the overlap of transphobia and misogyny, imagine adding a third circle that overlaps both but also has its own areas covered by neither.

Applied to transandrophobia, even if we assume maleness is not a vector for oppression, there is no reason to assume that the intersection of maleness with a marginalized identity doesn't result in new issues. Imagine that 3 circle venn diagram that represents misogyny, transphobia, and transmisogyny. Even if you remove the misogyny circle there is still plenty of ground covered by the transmisogyny circle.

This just isn't a valid criticism. It is a pure theory approach based on a flawed reading of theory.

So in summary:

Everyone has their unique shit going on and I've seen no convincing evidence that trans men, mascs, etc. Are the exception.

I not seen any convincing argument that the word itself is bad.

I've not seen any convincing evidence that there is some epidemic of transandrophobia truthers hating and harassing trans femmes on scales higher than normal background queer infighting.

The most coherent objection to transandrophobia I've seen is categorically incorrect and based on a fundamental misunderstanding of intersectionality theory.

I would like to remind everyone at this point I am a trans woman, part of the group that is supposedly a problem for and I've just not see it at all, to the point where it is kind of weird how intensely some people are pushing this.

I'm not trying to be mean or whatever, I'm sure the distress on display here comes from a real place and real trauma, but I've yet to see anything that makes me think there is substance to the objections to transandrophobia as a concept. It feels and reads like the latest round of queer intracommunity exclusionism, and the fact that this time around I'm not one of the target identities doesn't change that for me.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

how do you think leona would do if he falls in love?

Here are my thoughts in bullet-point/headcanon form for ease of reading! Key word there being my thoughts. (There will of course be different interpretations based on who you ask this question to.)

Standard disclaimer: These points are nothing more than my opinions and I am NOT saying my opinions are any more or less valid or “correct” than yours. Please, I’m not pre-book 1 Riddle/j It’s fine to have other takes; just remember to be mindful in how you communicate differences in opinion.

To start with, here's how I think Leona would deal with the experience of first love:

Firstly, I definitely feel that Leona is the type of person to not easily fall in love. There are many examples in canon of Leona rejecting the love he receives from others, whether it be from his own family (Cheka, Falena), dorm members (Ruggie, Jack, Savanaclaw mobs, etc.), or other peers. Even though he desires others’ approval and praise, he also simultaneously believes the compliments are insincere or that he may not be deserving or worthy of it, that he hasn’t “earned” it. It’s also difficult for him to be emotionally vulnerable with others, and I feel that this would extend to romantic circumstances.

Continuing from the previous point, I think it’d be a slow burn. Like, the feelings develop gradually and manifest in small but increasingly more forward-facing ways like his gaze lingering for a second or two longer than usual, him getting slightly irritable when he smells (I 100% believe that smell is a Big Thing for beastmen) some other guy on the object of his affections, or simply… his mind wandering to them, maybe in a daydream.

A lot of it is Leona musing about the situation and then being in denial. He’s not so oblivious as to ignore what are clearly blossoming feelings, but he's not so hasty as to act on them right away. He'd sit with those feelings, examine them, question them. What is it that he is experiencing and why, how did things come to this, etc. He may even try to convince himself it's a phase or he's "too good" for this or he's "above" this. Really takes a long time to wrestle with his emotions and to sort them out. And then when he has come to his conclusion, he might not be very pleased with it because (as I said before), he has self-esteem and self-worth issues despite outwardly presenting himself as confident and in-charge.

For a while, he keeps his distance and observes. He’s nothing if not a big cat biding his time, keeping an eye on his prey until—BAM! Down comes his paw, ensnaring the mouse. It's like a game of chess or... cat and mouse. You have to watch your opponent and predict their moves, then plan your own moves two or three or more steps ahead of them. He'd want to gauge if they're already taken, if they seem to express an interest in him too, what they like and dislike, information like that. The last thing Leona'd want to do is charge in, guns blazing, only to be rejected and have his pride hurt.

He may also go out of his way to test the object of his affections by purposefully engineering scenarios to see how they react. At first, it's subtle things that could easily be passed off as coincidence or happenstance. For example, maybe Leona would accidentally bump his shoulder against yours or as he's walking by his tail flicks you. That's just the start though. He'd put more pressure on over time. Like he'd be more confrontational, putting himself in your path as some obstacle to overcome, still being sort of an asshole to see how you handle yourself around him.

Leona tells himself he has the upper hand, and he's usually pretty consistent about hiding his feelings to that end. It might peek through here and there, but they easily read as him being tsundere as per usual. I think that would be his way of coping, because deep down he doesn't want to admit that a part of him is scared to feel this way. It's something else he could fail at, someone else he could frighten away or destroy.

With time, I think he'd become more confident. He has a better grasp of the other person, he's been able to sort out his thoughts. But the thing is, his pride is still a major deterrent. Instead of coming out and saying it, it would become another game. If you've ever read or watched Kaguya-sama: Love is War, it'd be similar to that. Leona would push for the other person to be the one to fall for him and confess first. Part of it is he's kind of afraid to be so emotionally vulnerable, part of it is that he's desperate to be wanted and needed by others, and part of it is that he feels he needs to "earn" that love by winning you over. He wants that sweet, sweet validation from you. He wants YOU to choose HIM.

I think he expects a certain amount of push and pull. If the game's too easy for him, the (psychological) hunt loses some of its thrill. I think he'd also be the type to seek a partner that isn't just a blind yes man (despite him giving off the vibes that he wants to be in total control, especially in his own dormitory); they should be able to keep him on his toes one way or another, and they shouldn't idolize him in a really unrealistic way--because then he worries what would happen if they learn about his flaws. Would they see him differently? Reject him? Etc.

It'd take a considerable amount of time and effort, but slowly he'd let the walls around his heart down to let you in--but ONLY if you pass his tests and prove that you can be loyal, trustworthy, and cognizant + accepting of all his flaws. He has high standards, so he's pretty picky about who he allows to be by his side. I don't think he'd be happy having to like... put in a fake "perfect prince" act or airs for someone else. Pretending to be someone you're not in order to have love might be just another source of stress for him.

He would take a more aggressive approach if the object of his affections makes it obvious that they return his feelings. More "accidental" touching (but of course nothing that breaches into something they find discomforting), intentionally dropping phrases that come off as flirtatious, demanding to spend more time together, etc.

If they're not into it, he'd respectfully back off. However, that won't stop him from moping about it in private later.

Then, assuming a scenario in which he and the person he's romantically interested in get together/start formally dating:

I think he'd be a lot more blatant and shameless about "showing off" his affections and/or the relationship in general. Overt flirting at this point, casually laying his head on the shoulder or wrapping an arm or tail around you, etc. Who cares who sees? Let them know you're already taken.

Oh yeah, he's really into physical touch (within whatever limits you deem to be acceptable; he respects your autonomy). Cuddles while napping, hand holding, head pats, listening to your heartbeat, etc. It grants him a sense of security that you're like... physically there with him.

I think words of affirmation are also up there, however I don't think he would appreciate it if it's like... overdone. Too many compliments might start to feel disingenuous or even smothering after a while (what comes to my mind specifically is how he reacts negatively or with denial to his brother, Cheka, Kifaji, and even his own dorm members praising him).

As I mentioned earlier, I think there'd be a lot of banter and teasing; Leona strikes me as someone who likes to toy with his pre or puts up a fight; he still has his pride and won't take sass lying down, he'd definitely retaliate but in a playful way.

Slightly whiny and needy. Key word: SLIGHTLY. He's not going to go full yandere on you. I believe that Leona would be somewhat insecure about the relationship and wants you to validate him with your presence. Like, if you're lying down somewhere and try to get up to leave... he might pout and be all dramatic about it, maybe throw in a sarcastic line about how he's "a delicate prince" and how he'll "wither like a flower" without you.

Slightly possessive. Again, the key word: SLIGHTLY. He's not going to restrict your movements or demand complete control of your life. However, he might sulk if he like... sees some other guy hovering or getting handsy, obviously making you uncomfortable. (If it's a particularly bad day for him, Leona might get intrusive thoughts about being the "second pick" and his partner leaving him for some "better" guy.) We've already seen he can get pretty territorial when it comes to Savanaclaw and the Botanical Garden, so I think at some point he'd also step in to intimidate people he feels are becoming a problem for his S/O. It's not the case for every situation though; his partner should be able to handle themselves or let him know when he's overstepping.

I think he'd be a little more tolerant of things his partner pulls. They're the one exception for certain things, like touching his ears or being more willing to listen to their requests to go to class or to try this new vegetable.

He'd try to distance his S/O from his family, especially in the beginning. Leona would tell them he doesn't think they're ready to meet the royal family yet (especially knowing the rocky relationship he has with his family), but really a lot of this stems from his pride. Falena, for example, honestly might make him look uncool by infantilizing his "baby bro".

Leona doesn't really go out of his way to plan grand gestures (he's not Kalim). If he does anything "big", it's probably like sending Ruggie to your doorstep with fancy flowers and a notecard or something. What he values isn't the "frivolous" stuff, but spending quality time together (even if it's doing nothing in particular). Might still spoil you on, say, special occasions, but he generally dislikes making a big deal of these things.

I think he'd be into you wearing his clothes. It's an easy visual indication that you're intimate enough to do this, but also it cloaks you in his smell so every other beastman in the immediate vicinity also knows you're "marked". Leona tosses his unworn blazer over you, casually saying, "Keep it."

Speaking of!! I think he’d also really like the idea of marking (bites, scratch marks, etc.) or scenting his partner. Just animalistic stuff like that, y’know. I’m sure he could hold himself back if they’re not comfortable with these aspects.

I do believe he has the capacity to be very sappy, but I don't think he'd want to be at this level all of the time. It would probably be limited to private settings and done sparingly, sort of like a treat?? Cuz if he does it too often, then it might lose its "special" feeling, and I also feel like he wouldn't be open to being all squimshy 24/7. Usually his sappiness is sarcastic.

Going to keep it 100 here, he's going to be more vulnerable around you (especially in private), and that means potential traumadumping. That's not to say that he'd do it super frequently to go into full-blown details, but his S/O would be one of the few people he feels comfortable enough with to open about his deepest insecurities and fears. He sometimes needs someone to hear him out, a shoulder to cry on, etc. Of course, he's not going to treat his partner like an unpaid therapist. Leona just... needs some extra support every now and again, reminders that he's doing fine, you know??

IMPORTANT ADDITIONAL NOTES:

Leona being in love would NOT smooth out all the rough edges to his personality. He's not going to white knight/act like you constantly need his protection, he's not going to bend over backwards and do anything and everything his partner asks of him. He still has a will and he can and will disagree or argue if he's opposed to something. He'll still let you handle yourself as needed.

Leona being in love would also NOT magically cure him of his personal issues and struggles. This is also true of the other characters who have deeply rooted trauma, but I feel this point should be included as a reminder anyway. It's of course not his entire personality, but his past experiences will impact how he interprets and reacts to things in present day (hence him being needy/wanting validation, etc.).

Like all relationships (whether romantic or platonic), it would not be flawless. There will be highs and lows, fights and disagreements, etc. This is normal in any relationship; what matters is that you're able to be mature enough to patch things up afterwards and learn from those rough patches.

[rustyironskillet]

Day 12: Time Travel

“Sooooo Phantom, do ya have any siblings?” Kid Flash asked as he tried to make small talk with the newest recruit to the team.

A few days ago, Young Justice was called to a meeting by Batman where he introduced their new team mate, Phantom. Phantom was a tough looking dude, he was jacked and towered over them all, even Conner!

Batman didn’t give them much information about the guy but apparently John Constentine was the one who suggested him for the team since he needed “community service hours”.

The dude was currently drinking some soda next to the computer as Red Robin searched for any new info on their latest mission. He turned his attention away from the can, and stared at Wally, his red eyes piercing into his soul.

“Why?” 

“Well we are all about to go on a mission together and none of us really know you so I think it’d be best if we all got to know you better,” that was half true. Mostly Wally was just being nosey, but the dude really did make everyone nervous since he was this really tough dude with blood red eyes and apparently was here because John Constentine said he needed community service hours???? Constentine typically say some wild shit, but what the fuck do you mean by community service? Wally knows you can’t use those for school, he’s tried, and what else gave you community service? Juvie and prison!!

Phantom stared at him hard for a few seconds, his eyes searing into the back of Wally’s skull before saying, “Okay fine”.

The answer surprised everyone in the room, I mean the guy had barely even spoken the last few days and had rejected every question about his personal life.

“Depending on how you see it, I have 2 to 4 siblings”

“Is your father a serial adopter too?” Tim joked.

“Yes and no”

“Huh?” 

“It’s pretty complicated,” Phantom shrugged, seemingly deciding to end the conversation there and taking another swig of his drink.

However, Tim, out of annoyances of every attempt to get to know this jerk being thwarted and a bit of confidence his family was more complicated, decided to challenge Phantom’s statement.

“Ehh, it probably isn’t as complicated as my family, we got about 50 more siblings adopted each month, all with lots much trauma”

At this, Phantom narrowed his eyes at Tim.

“I see what your doing, your trying to get me to talk tell you guy more about my family by acting like yours are more insane”

“Am I?” Tim asked, trying to hide the shivers going down his spine from the way Phantom was staring at him.

Phantom to a huge swig of his soda, emptying it and throwing it into the garbage, before fully turning to Tim.  

“You’re lucky I am always good for competitions, now sit down this is going to take a bit”

Tim gladly obliged and soon everyone sat around Phantom as if it were storytime in kindergarten.

“Okay, so at first I only had an older sister and my parents” Phantom began, “but then they died because of a mistake I made and I had to move in with my evil godfather”

Megan raised her hand and asked, “Isn’t a godfather someone who is very close to the family? Why would your parents choose an evil person?”

“‘Cause my dad was oblivious to this and though they were good friends even though the dudes tried to kill him multiple times”

“I see,” Megan lowered her hand, no less confused.

“There I went mad with grief and had him remove my humanity and tried to kill all of humanity”

“I think that was a bit of an overreaction,” Wally joked.

“You tried to kill all of humanity? Why weren’t we told of this when it happened?” Kaldur'ahm asked.

“That was in a different timeline, I was a big enough problem that they gods tried to kill the younger version of me to stop me, so to avoid dying, my younger version decide to try to defeat me and the only reason he did was cause I was underestimating him,” Phantom emphasized the last part because he had to stress he didn’t not lose to a 15 year old boy because he was weaker than him.

“What happened next?,” Artemis asked, completely inraptured in the story.

“I was then imprisoned for sometime before escaping, causing problems and then realizing that causing younger mean the same pain I experienced won't bring my loved ones back,” Phantom continued to explain, “so I am now going to therapy, doing community service, and got the majority of my powers taken away”.

“Is your therapist open to seeing new patients?” Konner asked.

“No, but this timelines version of my sister is and she has a lot of experience so I can give you her number instead”

“Sure, that’ll work”

“Okay,” Phantom said before writing her number down and handing it to Konner, “The thing is I can’t go back to living with my real parents because they don’t know that I am Phantom so I have to go back to living this timelines version of my godfather”

“You gotta be kidding me” Tim groans.

“Exactly what I said!!” Phantom put his arm up defensively, “Fortunately, this version is a little better, he is no longer tiring to kill my dad and has stopped chasing after my mom, he did clone the other of me and now there is a genderbent version of him but my godfather treats her like a princess and will not stop spoiling her, which I am also guilty of”

Phantoms continues to explain more and in the back of Tim's mind he remembers he was supposed to be doing something but honestly this conversation was too good to care.

“Anyways that's how I technically have 2 to 4 siblings, Jazz and Elle are permanently my sisters and I love them so much, and even though the other Jazz is technically the same as this Jazz, I still think of her as someone else, someone I miss dearly. Also if I considered this Jazz my sister, I guess I’d have to considered the other me as my brother”

“Damn bitch your family is crazy” Wally said, happy he finally managed to get through Phantom’s tough skin.

As they finished up their storytime, the Zeta-tubes activated and Red Tornado and an upset looking Batman walked to the group.

“You all were supposed to leave thirty minutes ago”

[heavyhitterheaux]

Meet Me at the Altar Part 3

AN: Our wild ride finally comes to an end 💕

Synopsis: Both you and Joe have to get on the same page in regards to raising your daughter together while he also pleads for forgiveness for his actions towards you and asks for another chance to make it right

Pairing: Ex-fiance!Joe Burrow x Ex-Fiancée!Reader

Read Part 1 and Part 2 first (Joe Burrow Masterlist)

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

The new phone that you had recently purchased to contribute to your fresh start was constantly ringing and you had ignored it each time. When you glanced to see who it was that kept calling you repeatedly, it was no surprise.

The same number.

Over and over again.

And it was no one other than your older sister who you didn't consider to be your sister anymore, Marlene. She had to have gotten your new number from your mom's phone somehow because there was no way in hell you were about to give it to her willingly.

You would think that she would have stopped trying to talk to you by now because of her role in breaking up what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life, but one thing that was for sure was how consistent she could be.

Consistent in calling you and consistent with sleeping with your fiancé.

Not once.

But multiple times.

Your mom told you that she had given birth to a baby boy and that Joe straight up told her to do the DNA test because he wouldn't take no for an answer.

Good for him for advocating for himself, but at this point it wasn't going to make a difference what the result came out to be.

You were never going to forgive him for as long as he walked this earth and more than likely even after that.

At this point, you could have cared less if it had come out to be his, but deep down you knew that it wasn’t.

Having about a month and a half to go with your pregnancy, reality was starting to hit you. Finding out the baby was a girl gave you a sense of excitement, but also dread. Because the picture perfect life you had dreamed of was pulled out right from under you.

Knowing that you and Joe would raise her, but not be together hurt to no end, but there was someone better out there for you that would give you the happily ever after that you deserved. Someone that hopefully wouldn't embarrass you at the altar. Because it was now evident as much as you wanted it to be Joe, that ship had sailed.

It was a hard pill to swallow, but all you could do was take it day by day and focus on having a healthy pregnancy.

The two of you rarely communicated and for good reason. You didn't have anything to say to him anymore because you were not going to subject yourself to being hurt again. No matter how many times he said that something like that wouldn't happen if you were to give him another chance. Every appointment that you went to, you sent him the ultrasound picture and he always asked if the baby was okay. Every single time your answer was always thumbs up and this had been going on ever since you left.

Well after you unblocked his number on your old phone of course.

It shouldn't have happened the first time with how much he said he loved and adored you.

He adored someone else so much that he went between her legs.

Your phone continued to ring and you quickly grew annoyed. Hoping to put an end to this once and for all, you answered.

And immediately regretted it.

“What do you want?” You asked her as you sat down in the nursery and started to organize all of the books you had bought her, Goodnight Moon being your all time favorite.

“Y/N! Thank God! I thought you would never answer.” Marlene breathed out as you did the hardest rolling of your eyes known to man.

“I only answered because if I didn't, your ass was going to keep calling me.” You told her flatly.

“Oh, well the baby isn't his…..”

“Okay? What am I supposed to do with that information?” You asked her unsure of what her motive was.

“I.. just thought you should know and I owe you an apology.”

“No apology will ever suffice for what you did to me. You could beg on your hands and knees until they were bleeding and I still wouldn't forgive you.”

“Y/N…. I'm….”

“No. Don't Y/N me and I could care less. You and Joe deserve every bad thing that comes your way and both of you can go and fuck yourselves. Oh, look! You already did that. Now do me a favor and never call me again. I don't have a sister anymore. Enjoy motherhood.”

Without another word, you hung up and promptly blocked her number before setting it back down on the table.

As the due date was getting closer and closer, you were dreading the fact that there were a few things that were housed in your previous Cincinnati home that you wanted.

The only way that was about to happen was if you went and got them yourself.

Because there were only two people who knew where they were-you and Joe. And you damn sure weren't asking him.

Now that meant trying to avoid Joe at all costs to get what you wanted.

That was when you got an idea.

The plan was to coordinate with Ja’Marr so that he would make sure Joe was out of the house while you went and grabbed everything you needed. 

You would be able to make a quick getaway without having to deal with him or see him or breathe the same air as him.

Because that was the last thing you wanted to deal with and everything that came with it.

Joe would be pleading for you to take him back and your answer was the same on your almost wedding day as it is now.

A stone cold no. 

Hoping that he would answer, you quickly opened up Facetime so that he would be able to see you. Even if he was one of Joe’s best friends, after everything that happened he would check on you on a weekly basis and always asked if you were okay or needed anything.

He was blindsided just as much as you were about the entire situation.

The phone didn't ring for a full thirty seconds before Ja'Marr's face came into view as he gave you a wide smile.

“Hey, Y/N. Everything good over there with you and the little one?”

“Hi, we're fine but I need you to do something for me.” You said as you bit your lip waiting for him to say yes.

“Sure, anything you need.”

“I need to come back to get a few things out of the house. Can you just make sure that Joe is occupied? I don't want to see him for obvious reasons.” You replied as you rolled your eyes as Ja'Marr gave you a slow nod in response.

“Yeah, that's not a problem. When did you plan on coming?”

“By the end of this week, so Friday more than likely.”

“Mind if we get lunch while you're here? Give us a chance to catch up.”

“Sure, I'd like that. I'll let you know all the details once I get everything figured out.”

“Okay, sounds good. Take care of yourself, Y/N.” Was the last thing he said to you before hanging up.

“I promise I'm trying to.” You whispered to a now unoccupied screen as your eyes started to water.

One thing you weren't prepared for was how lonely you had now become. Joe was your person who you would do everything with and always wanted to be around him and would get upset every time he had to leave the house instead of staying with you.

It's amazing how the tables had turned and turned so quickly that it honestly made your head spin.

Friday was now here and after you had gotten checked into your hotel and rested your eyes for about an hour or so, you sent a text to Ja'Marr to let him know that you were there.

The two of you agreed to meet up at one of your favorite restaurants in the city and you had been dying to get your hands on their footlong mozzarella sticks ever since you moved to Denver. 

Ja’Marr paid for both of your meals before telling you that he was meeting with Joe as soon as the two of you left so that way the house would ultimately be clear.

You couldn’t face him, just yet.

You weren’t ready and needed a little bit more time.

However, time was running out seeing as you were getting closer and closer to your due date.

Pulling into the driveway of the house, it took everything in you for you not to cry.

You missed this.

And you missed him.

Parking and then pulling out your key that you should have gotten rid of months ago, you opened the front door and walked into the foyer.

It was as if no time had passed. Everything was still in its rightful place and you would think that there was a beautiful newlywed couple who lived there seeing as your engagement photos were still covering the walls of the hallway that led to the staircase that would take you upstairs to what once was your master bedroom. 

When you walked in, you tried not to waste time as you headed straight for the closet and pulled out one of the many bags you had and began to throw different items into it. 

As you were packing things as quickly as possible into your bag you heard the last thing that you expected.

Footsteps.

And not just any footsteps. They were Joe's because from the time you two were together, you memorized exactly what they sound like.

There was a time that you couldn’t wait to hear them coming up the steps, but now the only thing you were filled with was dread.

Sure enough, you heard him call your name.

“Y/N?” Joe said quietly from behind you.

Taking a deep sigh, you turned around and gave him a blank stare.

He was taking you in and once his eyes landed on your midsection he looked at you in disbelief not realizing how much the baby had actually grown since the last time he had seen you.

“I didn't know you were coming.”

“Because I didn't tell you and wasn’t going to tell you. And besides you didn't need to know.” 

“Does this mean you're moving back? You came back to talk to me, right?” Joe asked hopeful and you looked at him confused.

“Joseph, I am literally packing a bag with the things that were still in this house that I wanted and I know you could see what I was doing from the door. What would make you think in your right mind that I came to talk to you? You weren't supposed to be here and weren’t supposed to know that I was even here in the first place.”

“But I live here…. And so do you.”

“I haven’t lived here in almost a damn year and I gave Ja'Marr instructions to make sure you were out of the house.”

Bottom line was that you were going to absolutely kill Ja'Marr. 

“I… I thought you'd still be out. I just came to get a few of my things and I'll be gone.”

“But I don't want you gone. I…. please sweetheart just talk to me. I will literally do anything at this point. Marlene’s baby isn't mine.” Joe took a step forward to move closer to you and you immediately stepped back. 

“I know. I been knew. And you have lost the right to call me sweetheart. I am simply Y/N to you, the mother of your unborn child. That’s it and that’s all.” You responded while shrugging.

“If you knew then why didn't you come back sooner? We have a lot to talk about. And you're pregnant. You shouldn't be by yourself anyway. What do you have like a month left? Not even a month actually.”

“Joseph, I didn't come back sooner because we don't have anything to talk about. You broke my trust as well as my heart and you are NEVER going to get either of them back. You think I would just forgive you and welcome you back with open arms? Come on now, you're smarter than that and both of us know it. I don't want to talk to Marlene for as long as I live and as far as I'm concerned, she's not my sister anymore. And as for you, if I wasn't carrying our child, you would have been dealt the same treatment. Why would I even want to be in the same room as either of you? This interaction has gone on for far too long too and I need to leave.”

“I… deserve that. But there has to be something I can do. Just tell me what it is and I'll do it! You are the only person I want to be with!” At this point, Joe was pleading with you, but all you continued to do was shake your head.

“You know what you can do?” You quietly said while looking at him and you suddenly felt your little girl kick catching you off guard and immediately went to the spot on your stomach where you felt it.

She had heard his voice, so you knew it was only a matter of time. 

“Name it and it will be done.”

“Give me your hand.”

Joe did as he was told and you placed it directly on your belly where she had just kicked moments before hoping that she would do it again so that Joe would be able to feel it.

Your wish came true as Joe’s eyes went wide and it was almost as if she knew that it was his hand on your stomach and not yours.

Anytime she would hear his voice whether it be on the TV, TikTok or Instagram as you were reminiscing on what could have been, she would give you multiple kicks in a row. Even though she was still in your belly, she probably missed him as much as you did.

“You feel that? She does it everytime she hears your voice.”’

“I’ve missed out on so much.”

“And that’s no one’s fault but yours, but what I was going to say is raise our daughter and be the best possible father that you can be and teach her not to fall for fuck boys like you so she doesn't get her heartbroken like her mother did.”

“I…” Joe started to say as he opened his mouth, but immediately closed it again.

“Y/N, I just need another chance. We want to raise her together, don't we? I can’t do that if you don’t live here… and I don’t even know where you’ve been for the past eight months anyway! All I got were sonogram pictures and a thumbs up emoji when you actually remembered to send it!”

“You want to know where I’ve been? Trying to get the FUCK over you and what you did and it’s been so damn hard! You have no idea how I’ve felt and how sometimes I just want to pick up the phone and call you to hear your voice, but I CAN’T. You said you love me, but you LIED.” Now the tears were starting to build up in your eyes and it was only a matter of time before they actually fell.

This would be the most you cried over him in almost a year.

All the other times, you stopped yourself and could refrain from it, but seeing him here, in front of you was a completely different story.

“I didn’t lie and I still love you!”

“How can you say that when you SLEPT WITH MY SISTER? The most important person to me on the face of this earth besides you?! Utter BULLSHIT.”

“I know I messed up.”

“You did more than mess up and the fact that I found out all of this mere SECONDS before we were going to say ‘I do’. I know Robin and Jimmy raised you better than this, but sometimes shit like this just happens because you wanted to have your cake and eat it too. This conversation is going nowhere and I need to leave.” You told him as you zipped up your bag and was trying to walk around him, but was stopped as he grabbed your hand.

“Wait, just…”

“Joseph, I need you to get out of my….” You stopped mid sentence as a gush of liquid was felt and you silently cursed under your breath.

“No, not now, sweet girl. You couldn’t have waited until mommy was back home in Denver?”

“You’ve been in Denver?! And what is going on? Is that what I think it is?”

“My water broke, Joseph…..”

“Wait, just now? Like right now?” Joe asked and you looked at him dumbfounded.

“Are you stupid, simple, or slow? YES NOW AND I HAVE NONE OF MY THINGS WITH ME. It probably happened because you made me upset!”

“I didn’t mean to, I just wanted to talk to you. But I guess it works out right? I at least get to see her be born.”

“Just take me to the hospital, NOW.”

Luckily the hospital wasn’t far and you now found yourself in one of the birthing suites with the epidural already given and you were simply waiting to be ten centimeters dilated so that you would be able to begin pushing and finally meet your baby girl.

Joe had basically been silent the entire time really not knowing what to say, because at this point in time what could he say?

He had simply been giving you ice chips and putting a cool cloth on your forehead when you asked, but other than that, nothing.

“Y/N, shouldn’t you call your parents and maybe Camille? You’re already seven centimeters and I know you mentioned a while ago that was who you wanted to be here with you.”

“No, I’ll call them after she’s here.” You flatly said as you continued to play on your phone.

“Uh, are you sure? Because I can….”

“Leave it alone, I already told you what I wanted.”

It was quiet for a few minutes with the only noise in the room being the TV, when Joe suddenly opened his mouth when he came to a realization.

“Well, since you’re having her here, you should stay for a while. That way I can help you.”

“No.”

“Y/N, let’s be realistic. You are not getting on a plane with my newborn daughter. Can you imagine all that she’ll be exposed to? I know you’re mad at me and I get that, but we have to be logical about this. It’s for your own safety and hers. I want to be a part of her life and you need to let me do that and stop shutting me out. Yes, I fucked up and ruined our relationship, but don’t ruin my relationship with her. I can’t be a good father if her mother is going to keep her away from me.”

Joe spoke up again since you had remained quiet and crossed your arms.

“I.. actually have a nursery in the house for her hoping that you would come back. She has everything that she could possibly need in there and of course all your clothes are still in the closet. I haven’t touched anything since you left and I can get you set up in the guest bedroom since I know you’ll want your own space. And whatever she needs or whatever you need, I’ll buy it. You just have to tell me. I know this is probably not the time, but I do still love you and will always help you if you need me.”

“Three months at most, that’s it.” You quietly said agreeing with him and Joe nodded satisfied with your answer.

Ten years later

Joe spotted Maddox as she made her way outside of the airport doors in order to meet him. He was taking her in and couldn’t get over how tall she had gotten since the last time he had seen her in person. When she finally noticed him, she ran full force into his arms and received a bone crushing hug in return.

“Hi daddy! I missed you!” She told him as they finally broke apart and Joe placed her suitcase in the backseat while opening the front passenger side door for her.

“I missed you too, baby girl. Your flight was okay?”

“Yes! The nice flight attendant gave me extra snacks. I think she did that because she recognized me as being your daughter.”

“Hmm, what do you think gave it away? Only thing you might have is my eyes. Everything else you got from your gorgeous mother.”

“No, I told her that you were my dad and showed her a picture so there was no way that she could have denied it.”

“Mads…. What have I told you about doing that?” Joe asked as he pulled off and was headed towards the highway which was the fastest way to get back home. 

“Daddy, I was hungry. Mom didn’t pack me enough snacks! I only use that trick when I have to.”

“And don’t make it a habit.”

“I promise I won’t. I can’t believe I get to be with you for the entire summer.”

“I know, I’m excited about that too, I have plenty of plans for us but if there is anything specific that you want to do, you just have to tell me, okay?”

“Okay, I will. Daddy?”

“What’s up, princess?”

“Can you keep a secret?” She asked as her big blue eyes resembling his stared at him.

“Of course, what’s the secret?”

“Mommy is getting married.”

The second those words left her mouth, Joe’s heart dropped.

“Oh.”

“I really like him and she’s happy. But…..”

“But, what?”

“He’s not you. I want you and mommy to be together and get married.” Maddox quietly confessed before staring out the window at the different buildings passing by.

 “Well that was a reality once and I blew it.” Joe told Maddox, but of course she didn’t know the full story and she might not ever know. He knew for a fact that she would look at him differently if she did.

“Why can't you just say sorry?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that, sweetheart.”

“If two people love each other, the last thing it should be is complicated. And as much as she loves Josh, she still loves you too and I can see it.”

“Mads, if an opportunity comes about for me to be with your mother again I’m all for it. But for now my only focus is being an amazing dad to you.”

“Daddy, you’re amazing and I wouldn’t want anyone else to be my dad and I love that grown up answer, but I think you need to crash the wedding and get your girl back.”

—-

Fluttering your eyes open, you were awakened by your husband placing kisses all over your face, ultimately startling you.

It took you a second for your eyes to focus, but when they did Joe was staring at you with a smile on his face, while you were looking at him confused quickly making him grow concerned.

“You okay, babe? You told me to not let you sleep too long since we have to get ready for the rehearsal dinner.” He asked you as he helped you sit up. 

“Oh, um what rehearsal dinner?” You asked and Joe looked at you confused.

“Are you feeling okay? Is this your way of telling me that you don't want to marry me anymore?” He jokingly asked, but you were just trying to wrap your mind around everything.

There was no way you dreamed that entire thing.

It felt a little too real.

“No, I just…”

“And I'll pack some Zofran for you just in case baby Burrow makes you nauseous like she did earlier at your appointment. Oh, sorry baby, I didn't mean to cut you off. What were you saying?” He told you as he made sure to grab it and set it by the purse that more than likely you would be carrying.

“How long was I asleep?”

“Two hours at most. You didn't really sleep a lot last night, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

“Sweetheart, you really have me nervous right now. What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?” He asked as he had now sat down next to you and promptly pulled you onto his lap.

“You'd never cheat on me, right? Especially with my sister?” You blurted out and Joe instantly got a look of confusion and disbelief across his face.

“Baby, what in the world are you talking about? I would never cheat on you, much less with your own sister. How fucked up is that? And where is this even coming from?!”

“I just needed you to answer my question.”

“But something obviously had to cross your mind for you to ask me that, so spill it.”

“I guess I dreamed the entire thing. You literally told me at the altar before we were about to say our vows that you cheated on me with her and that she was pregnant. It didn't actually turn out to be yours, but…”

Joe stared at you with a tight lipped smile and was sincerely trying to wrap his mind around this.

“Y/N, you are literally the only person that I want to spend the rest of my life with and there is no way I would fuck that up. I asked you to marry me for a reason. I love you and only you. Understand?”

“Got it and I love you too.”

“Now go ahead and get ready while baby Maddox is behaving herself.” He told you before kissing you and sliding you off of his lap so that you could stand up.

Hearing him say her name felt like a punch to the gut and there was absolutely no way your dream was just a dream. It had to be a premonition of some sort of what was to come in the future.

The future that was just three days away.

When you and Joe walked down the aisle.

Shaking it off knowing that Joe would never hurt you that way, you set your focus on getting ready for the rehearsal dinner.

He watched you walk towards the bathroom and closed the door before pulling out his phone and opening his text messages.

Joe- What happened last weekend can never happen again.

Marlene- No, I agree. But you said the same thing after the first time.

Joe- I'm serious this time. She literally woke up and told me in her dream I cheated on her with you and got you pregnant. Had me low key panicking that she knows.

Marlene- Well the first part is correct, the second part not so much. And she doesn’t know anything. Don’t be stupid, Burrow. 

Joe- Whatever this is, it's done.

Marlene- Just one more? Meet me after the rehearsal dinner when she falls asleep. She'll be out cold since she's a heavy sleeper.

Joe- Marlene…..

Marlene- This is it, promise. Then you get to live your little perfect cookie cutter life with her.

Joe- And then we don't speak about this ever again and I mean it.

Marlene- Whatever you say, Burrow 😉

As Joe stared down at the text thread, he sighed deeply to himself and knew that he had to cut Marlene off and do it for good before this got any messier. But… what you didn’t know wasn’t going to hurt you, right? 

[olderthannetfic]

I mean, I do feel like if someone was traumatized by their religious upbringing, helping them to recognize that as a bad thing and helping them to be free of it is arguably the right move? Yeah just telling them “god isn’t real, get over it” is most likely insensitive but arguably freeing them of their self hating beliefs is the ideal outcome?

--

Man... I was raised to despise religion, but a steady diet of nerdy youtube and really weirdly anti-intellectual takes on tumblr has forced me into repeatedly defending religion. I did not ask for this, but here we are.

Personally, I find most religion kind of dumb, but it is a key part of a great portion of humanity's search for meaning. It's the backbone of so many cultures in so many places and times. Knowing about it is useful for everything from being more politically informed to making up better fantasy world building in fiction.

When a person has religious trauma because they were told that their religion, in this context probably Christianity, hates them, telling them to ditch religion is like telling them they're not allowed to ever have a birthday party again because their abusive parents did something awful at their past ones. Ah yes, cut yourself off from major celebrations and cultural experiences, not to mention community. That's sure to fix things!

It would be far more effective at 1. making them feel better and 2. making them stop adhering to a shitty religion if we introduced them to better religion.

The history of Christianity is one of the most studied subjects on the fucking planet. There are a multitude of progressive scholars who have explored things like how the early church very possibly had major female figures that later asswipes tried to downplay and cover up. I think Religion for Breakfast has some interesting videos that at least touch on this.

There's a whole complex conversation to be had both about how the early church actually handled same-sex relationships and about why a given prescription is even in there from an anthropological perspective. Take the pork thing: it's probably about taxes. Some of the others are about differentiation from nearby groups at the time. Understanding the historical cultural context helps dismantle the idea that this or that specific prescription is a vital core part of the religion that must remain unchanging thousands of years later.

"A true Christian wouldn't have abused their gay kid" is a far better message than "Give up everything you know", and it has plenty of support from scholars who are deeply religious but not dumbass textual literalists who can't grasp that even if a holy text were the word of god, English language edition such-and-such is subject to human interference in the form of All Your Base-level translators.

If Christianity or whatever religion is the issue is a no go due to the traumatized person's past experiences, plenty of people would still be happier finding a different religion than going without.

I really, really cannot emphasize this enough: Religion is a key part of many people's lives the same way, say, sex is.

A lot of people around here seem to fundamentally not get this in the same way that you see people who haven't realized how ace they are going "But whyyyyy?" over the central role that horny plays in somebody else's life. You don't gotta get it, my dudes. Doesn't mean it's going away.

Even just understanding the parameters of what counts as religion and all the different flavors that exist out there will help put the trauma into context for many people. Your asshole parents are in a cult not because all religion is lies but because this Christianity has been perverted into a vehicle for abuse. Other religious people like the scientific method, research, logic, and evidence. It's just your church that's atrocious.

Shitty religion leads to self hate.

You can pick another religion.

[sleepynoons]

And With You Came Summer Thunderstorms

You're dragged back into the very hell that you had escaped from years ago, and this time, there's no way out.

yandere!jing yuan x afab!f!reader, yakuza!au, 18+

word count: ~10,600

cw: explicit language, mentions and descriptions of death/blood/gore/violence/etc., symptoms of severe ptsd + anxiety, stalking, blackmail/manipulation/coercion, kidnapping, suggestive tension, implied age gap, ocs as side characters

notes: i'm surprised this made it out of the wip vault. it's my birthday, so here's my gift to everyone. infinite thank yous to my wonderful betas, @staraxiaa and @pranabefall, because they both read through 4-5 different drafts, and entertained my jy brain worms and gaping plot holes throughout the entire process. i always feel so loved by the two of you. thank you to @lorelune as well for your very informative yandere jy thoughts, which helped form the basis of jy's and reader's characters in this au. this story is likely going to come in 3-4 parts, and each part will be around this length, if not longer, so please be patient with me. thank you for your support, and i will take a shot after i post this.

part i - part ii

LIGHTNING IS electrical discharge that occurs between charges within a thunderstorm cloud or between the cloud and the ground. Thunder is the sound that lightning produces, and depending on the length of silence between seeing a spark and hearing its subsequent boom, you can estimate how far away a strike was from you.

While thunderstorms are not something to worry about, it is necessary to take precautions. As such, safety protocols for when you are outdoors are as follows: seek shelter as soon as possible, such as a car or a building, but if not available, find an open space away from bodies of water and stick as low to the ground without lying down.

You will know if where you are located is in grave danger of a lightning strike if you can see and feel the hairs on your body stick up. Get as far away as possible as soon as you recognize the signs.

–

"Child, haven't your folks ever taught you to not follow strangers?"

There are two people in front of you: a man dressed head to toe in black and a child with dirty blonde hair carrying his backpack on the front. You can't identify the man, thanks to his baseball cap, tinted sunglasses, and mask, and if you weren't trying to intervene in the situation as you are right now, you'd scoff at how stupid the kid is. Speaking of the latter, he looks like an elementary schooler, probably attending the academy two blocks south from here. From what you can recall, the academy is prestigious in the prefecture, so you also pity him because, out of all of the school children who are walking home at the moment, he was picked.

The kidnapper (there's no doubt about that) snarls, and you're grateful he's wearing his mask or else he probably would've spit in your face. "Hey, I'm not a stranger. You know me, right?"

He stretches an arm out to the boy, as if beckoning the two of them to hold hands. It might just be a passionate gesture instead, but you couldn't care less about the difference, so you lean your weight onto one leg and wait for the younger one's reaction.

To your dismay, the kid nods. However, at the same time, his grip on his backpack tightens, pale knuckles and joints pulling taut and red, and as children are, untrained in deception and falsehood, a grimace spreads across his round cheeks.

You glance around. There are a few guardians looking your way, and most of the unaccompanied children have scuttled away at this point. If you don't finish and leave soon, you might be mistaken as an accomplice.

Squatting down, you lower yourself so that you're face to face with the elementary schooler. Someone, a long time ago, said that was the best way to communicate with children without instilling fear or intimidation. With a jut of your chin, in the direction of the kidnapper, you ask, "How do you know this bastard?"

"B-bastard?! You –"

The boy doesn't bat an eye at your crude choice of insult. "He's been following me around after school for the past week."

Clearly, aside from being a kidnapper, this guy also sucks ass at his job.

You decide to not say that thought out loud and proceed asking the boy questions. "So it's your first time speaking to him?"

"Yeah." The child nods, body and backpack jostling in unison. You've always thought those randoserus were too massive.

"Verdict's out, then," you say, holding your forearms up as if in surrender. Then, with a deep sigh, you stand back up and shoot the kidnapper a confrontational glare.

Without a word, the man lurches for the young boy, but having foretold his rashness and stupidity, with a quick duck, a jab of your elbow against his solar plexus, and a swift uppercut to the underside of his jaw, you disable the man's balance enough for him to fall over. Then, with a tug of your phone to release it from your back pocket, you activate an SOS alert.

"Child," you say, not even a beat later, as if nothing had happened, "I've notified the police. Next time, tell someone, before it's too late."

However, instead of relief, which you expected, the child visibly jumps at the word "police," eyes bursting wide open, mouth parting for rapid, shallow inhales, hands tomato red. He's panicking, way more than at any moment throughout his interaction with his almost-kidnapper. You wonder if it's just a delayed response to a traumatic event, but before you can even attempt to calm the kid down, he grabs you by your pants, and with a force that only energetic, tireless children have, he drags you down the block and around the corner.

"What the actual fuck – Stop fucking dragging me – Are you –"

You almost fall over when the kid suddenly lets go, friction and momentum ploughing into one another at your center of balance, and by the time you collect yourself, you've realized he's brought you to a parked car. It reminds you of the man from earlier – dressed and designed to conceal what's inside. The boy has left you to wrap himself around the leg of a man in a pressed suit, who's also wearing sunglasses. You're starting to wonder if you've accidentally stumbled onto a movie set or, worse, isekai-ed into some shitty Western Men in Black alternate universe without having been run over by a truck.

Anywho, you'd like to go home, so you need to extricate yourself from this situation as soon as possible.

Arms out by your side, hands and fingers spread out to show that you're not holding anything, you clear your throat to speak. "Hi, I, uh, helped that child escape from a suspicious person. I also called the police, but, well, um…" You sense two more individuals come up behind you. "It seems like the authorities won't be necessary anymore."

The man that the kid's clinging onto bends down. "Young Master, is that true?"

The boy nods, fiercely rubbing his flushed face into the crisp fabric of who you intuit is his primary bodyguard.

"I see."

With a flick of the primary bodyguard's wrist, the two behind you walk over and open the doors to the back row of the car. It seems like you've done a sufficient job to not be suspected, so with an informal bow, you excuse yourself and begin to turn around to navigate your way back.

“Could you wait for a moment?”

For a minute, the primary bodyguard turns around to face away from you, and from his hand that hovers over his right ear, he's mumbling into his earpiece, likely inquiring for further instructions from his employer or whoever's in charge. After a few minutes, he turns back around, and without making eye contact, you can sense his line of sight trained on the back of your head. In the meantime, you hear the kid shuffle into his seat, a door shutting behind him.

That means the other door remains open. Even with the engine grumbling, the body of the car thrumming for velocity and acceleration, it's clear they're not going to leave without you.

But you have no intention to comply. You fold your arms over your chest, and the space between your eyebrows divots into a frown. You spin back around and, in a firm tone, though without sounding too demanding, you state, "I’m on shift right now. I need to get back to my workplace."

The primary bodyguard doesn’t budge. "The Young Master would like you to accompany him home."

Your face wrinkles even more. The situation's becoming unnecessarily complex, and if you let them sway you now, there's bound to be more problems that'll occur later down the line that will complicate your life in irreversible ways.

You weren't expecting to save a kid that had adults at his beck and call, and even so, there's no reason for them to invite you over. Their stubbornness is problematic, and you want nothing to do with it.

"I really need to head back now. I'm not sure if your Young Master would like a stranger to accompany him, after all that has happened as of late."

The primary bodyguard fishes for something in the inner pocket of his blazer. You watch as he pulls out a pin resting in the curve of his palm, no larger than the pad of your thumb, flashing onyx and gold whenever it catches the trickles of sunlight that manage to seep through the wall of white concertinaed fencing and trimmed leafy hedges lining the road.

You bite down on your bottom lip, hard enough to pierce through the uppermost layer of skin. You didn't save a kid from an esteemed household; you saved the next head of a yakuza gang.

Just my fucking luck.

You curse yourself for your impolite behavior, even if it was deserved. At this point, you have no other choice than to comply because you wouldn’t survive a brawl with three trained bodyguards.

I’ll leave as quickly as I can and never bother with them again. 

With uneasy steps, you approach the car and slide into the seat next to the young boy. The primary bodyguard also joins, sitting in the front passenger seat.

The kid's strapped into his seat, still hugging his backpack close to his chest. Now you understand why that is the case. From this close of a distance, you can see the thick lining of the backpack more clearly, and the color is more matte compared to the usual shine of a typical randoseru. This boy knows there are numerous targets on his head, and he's making full use of the bag's bulletproof casing, designed to defend him during violent encounters.

"You're coming with?" he asks, voice more placid than before. In fact, you'd even go as far as to say that he's demonstrating interest in a stranger like yourself, but if you were to utter that observation aloud, you'd probably be dead.

"Yeah," you breathe, holding back any snark, and stare out the window, elaborating no further.

Promptly, the car peels away and rolls onto the main road.

The drive doesn't take long. The neighborhood is large, a residential area that spans the cleared side of a sloping mountain, and you watch as the car weaves through local streets before curving onto a private path that leads upwards. You've always been aware that there are filthy rich families settled in this part of town, but you never knew one of these properties belonged to a gang. 

Actually, it's more like you had hoped a gang wouldn’t have settled in this city at all. There's that statistic you heard way back in middle school – that, on average, one in seven people are sociopaths –, and from your experience, the sentiment's partially realistic. In any case, the yakuza are more present in normal society than you'd believe.

On that note, not all yakuza gangs are bad. Just like how not every person's born a genius and not every business can succeed, not every band of yakuzas can scale up to become massive syndicates. For that matter, some gangs don't even start off with that goal in mind, and prefer to play vigilante in protecting and guarding their territory. But you can't speak much to these "nicer" groups since you've never mingled with them before.

Regardless, it seems all yakuzas have the same taste in traditional Japanese architecture: aged hinoki and red pine, raked rock gardens of sandy white, ponds with speckled koi fish. The car pulls onto the property through automatic wooden gates and parks on the vast driveway.

You take a deep breath. For the most part, you remember your way back. You can’t help but feel grateful that you know this town so well – worst comes to worst, you can run home through various shortcuts and alleyways.

The driver speaks up, and it’s a little jarring, given that no one had spoken throughout the entire drive. "We have arrived, Young Master. Please let us help you out."

But the boy doesn't wait, already unbuckling his seatbelt and wiggling the handle of the door until his pops open. You, on the other hand, don't move, as you haven't been instructed to do anything yet. You watch as the kid pushes himself out of the car, stumbling over his feet when he initially lands on the concrete, and dashes into the estate as soon as he rights himself, the thumping of the heavy-duty backpack against his chest echoing even when you can't see him anymore. Without a moment to spare, the primary bodyguard paces after him.

"You," the driver grunts, as if you're a chore, "follow me."

As you step out of the car, you note a door to the side that leads out to the main road.

There are men everywhere. They stand uniform along the engawa, and all within your vicinity stare hawkishly at you. Most are in what seems to be the standard suit attire, but there are also those who are less prim and have opted for untucked white shirts and dirty sneakers. But the few deviants don't matter – it's clear this group works like an armed force, militaristic in aura, efficient in behavior, and no doubt merciless in combat. So far, you’ve walked past over a dozen, so it’s best that you don’t engage in any reckless fighting.

Almost instinctively, your nose scrunches in disdain. This atmosphere brings back a flood of unpleasant childhood memories, mainly of where you grew up and the people who raised you. It can't be helped, you suppose, with how eerily familiar everything is, and your expression subsequently smooths out back into one of caution and wariness.

You replace the flashbacks with inane observations, like the driver's habit of pulling his lighter out of his pocket before stowing it away again, almost like he's paranoid it'll be pickpocketed, an area of the mansion that's walled off for renovation, the distant honks of a train chugging by. Objectively, it's a neat and established place, and that makes this syndicate all the more terrifying. Yakuzas are only as rich as the number of lives they take. 

You're brought to a grand washitsu, but you don't sit, as there's no one else in the room yet. There are four doors to this room, one at each corner, but they’re all guarded from the outside as well, so you can’t escape. At this rate, you’re going to have to wait for an opening, and that’s entirely out of your control.

Strangely, there's no interior decor, aside from a long floor table and some cushions for seating positioned in the center of the room. You're not sure who you're going to meet, so you brace yourself for the worst.

Someone approaches the guard who led you here. There's a quick exchange of nods in greeting, along with brief whispers, before the former takes his leave immediately. You don't have time to surmise their conversation because the driver tells you.

"Our oyabun will be late. Take a seat first."

You have to pinch the inside of your wrist to prevent yourself from openly rolling your eyes and releasing a strangled groan.

Their boss?! Just! My! Fucking! Luck!

You do as you're told. As you tuck your calves underneath your thighs, the driver-guard shuffles some of the tea ware on the table around and pours your porcelain cup three-quarters full with floral tea. On the outside, the cups are glazed an indigo blue, overlaid with splatters of white and streaks of gray, and the interior is a muted navy, making the tea that reflects transparent chartreuse in open light appear murky and inky inside the cup. The drink itself is hot, tendrils of steam wafting into the air and moistening your fingertips that hover around the rim of the teacup, but you're not a connoisseur by any means, so you can't tell what kind it is by fragrance only. Not that you would drink it to find out, you think, because who the hell would be stupid enough to consume something that's prepared by strangers?

However, your unwillingness to consume the tea must be concealed. Otherwise, these people would take it as a sign of hostility, and then they'd have one more reason to treat you with distrust and suspicion. In times like these, you've learned, you just have to take it in stride.

You roll back your shoulders, stretching out and temporarily easing the knots and strain that are ingrained in your deltoids and trapezius. Then, picking your cup up with one hand wrapped around the side and the other plating the base, you hold the tea up to your nose and breathe the aroma in. It's a soothing scent, one that complements breezy spring afternoons that carry hints of summertime.

Summer… You pause, another flicker of a memory rousing your mind. It will be that time of the year again. You shrug the thought off, though, and go back to enjoying the humid sensation of the steam collecting droplets on the tip of your nose and the familiar, pervading scent of white flowers (is it jasmine? rose? maybe camellia?).

Just as you're tipping back your head, ready to fake a sip of your drink, you hear the collective shuffling of men standing upright, tensing into stillness. At first, you think it's to appear proper and cohesive, but with one look at those nearest to you, you notice their nervous grimaces. You consider the possibility that you're projecting and overanalyzing – Maybe that's how they all look when they're serious –, but again, your trained observations beg to differ. All of them are nervous, arguably intimidated by their approaching boss, and it's like they want to disappear. Even if they're holding you captive, you feel a little sympathy for these subordinates, and you prepare yourself as well.

From around a bend, you hear distant conversation. You can't make anything out, aside from a pitched, affirmative "Yessir!", but there's no time for you to guess because, abruptly, all four doors to the washitsu slide open, the sound of wood zipping against thick rug reverberating through the air and floor. A strong gust from outside spins through the room, which, combined with everything else, startles you. As a result, some of your drink sloshes out and burns your hand. You bite your tongue and place the teacup down onto the table, before turning your head around back and forth to see where the boss could be.

You continue to look around, but after a few circles, you give up, opting to still yourself and look ahead. I have to stay composed, you think. You don't hear any incoming footsteps either, so the oyabun’s probably making a stop elsewhere in the estate first.

Unfortunately, despite your rationale, you can see your quivering hands as they rest on the table. But they feel numb, as if your blood has stopped circulating through the joints and muscle and flesh there, and you take in a shuddering breath, the fresh current of spring air cool and minty against your teeth. You begin to work your hands, hoping light movement will assuage your anxiety.

You also figure that you should finally drink your tea. You take a few more moments to yourself before you reach for your cup.

But you never manage to touch the cup. Because, in a blink of an eye, across from you, sitting with one knee propped up to support an arm, a relaxed posture that either suggests a lack of interest or confidence in his ability or both, is the oyabun of this yakuza gang.

It’s by no means a new sensation, but the last time you felt this way was several summers ago, and it overpowers you instantaneously.

There's a dryness in your throat that no water can satiate, a neverending drop in the pit of your stomach, and a heaviness in your legs that chains you to your seat. And for once, your thoughts are gathered. But they're unanimous and concentrated on a singular definite, horrifying truth, one that weak prey are intimately familiar with when faced with an overpowered predator: you're on the brink of death.

It feels as if your death is guaranteed, and even if it isn’t, it's futile to bet on a yakuza's fickle emotions. Anything you do or say, or the lack thereof, can set them off. This is another lesson you’ve learned, over and over and over.

The oyabun's playful chuckle shakes you out of your shell shock, but it magnifies the fear that controls your entire body.

"Be at ease. You are not in danger."

You're not surprised that he responds so aptly, as if he can read your mind. This man is accustomed to killing, and is well-acquainted with the ghastly, terrified faces of individuals who are aware that they're about to meet their end. And judging by the way he entered this room without even alerting you, if he wanted to, he would’ve finished you before your mind could’ve even begun to process your death.

Even if following his instructions could save your life, you're not exactly sure you can "be at ease." Barely a nod, you dip your chin and avert your eyes, instinctively submitting to his presence.

He laughs again as he pours some tea into his cup. "Well, I understand that that is difficult to do. I know how dangerous it is to lower your guard in unfamiliar territory."

You hear the chalky slide of glazed porcelain against porcelain, followed by his satisfied hum as he takes a sip.

"Do you enjoy tea?" he asks.

Every nerve in your body is screaming at you because surely you're going to lose your life over an untouched cup of tea.

Please – I need my hands to move! 

You gulp, though there's no saliva for you to swallow and your throat stings with the contraction, as if you are sick with a cold, as if there are deep cracks and lacerations left behind by the dryness plaguing the length of your esophagus.

"Y-yes…" It's a half-assed response at best. Not that you're lying, but uttering even a single word is difficult for you at the moment. The placement of your tongue, the aperture of your lips, the opening and closing of your mouth have all become unfamiliar, your ability to speak stolen by the spring breeze and the personification of death it has brought along.

"Feel free to help yourself. I am quite a fan of it myself, and throughout all my years here, I have been delighted to enjoy a variety of high-grade teas."

He's foreign?

It's unspeakable for a foreigner, of all people, to be in command of a domestic criminal organization. In fact, due to national pride, foreign members struggle to receive even typical hierarchical promotions in order to give Japanese members priority. The only time you heard of a foreigner coming into power was when you were incredibly young, and everyone was stunned to hear of an ex-Chinese Triad member joining the kanbu of a Japanese syndicate.

You wonder where this person is from, but of course, there's no way you could pry information out of your soon-to-be-murderer. Regardless, your number one priority is to get the fuck out of this place.

"I-I see…" With shaking hands, you manage to pick up your teacup and drink, drink, drink until you've consumed everything, even the last dregs of petal and stem residue. Out of the corner of your eye, you see that he's observing you with an unperturbed smile.

When your cup is placed back onto its matching saucer, which takes an erroneous amount of focus and effort on your end, the oyabun continues talking. "I understand you may be quite confused as to why you are here."

He bows, and you lower yourself as well.

"My men and I want to extend our deepest gratitude to you for saving Yanqing."

"Please," you wheeze, voice wobbling, brain barely capable of a coherent thought, "there is no need. I-I am sure somebody else would ha-have helped."

The yakuza boss, now almost wearing a pained expression, shakes his head. "We cannot always rely on others to save our people. We will pay closer attention to ensure that Yanqing is safe in the future. You will be rewarded handsomely for your kindness."

"N-no, I don't want anything in return."

How do I get out, how do I get out, how –

The boss hums again. This time, it sounds more neutral, lacking the pleasantness from the first time around. It's still rich, a gentle rumbling from deep within his chest, but it's neither reproachful nor approving, and you fear that this impersonal response is leading to a third undesirable outcome.

"Mm, are you sure?" he asks, pressing his cheek deeper into his upturned palm. You didn’t notice earlier, but now, you can't help noting the peculiar silver of his hair and the placement of a mole underneath the outer corner of his left eye. Speaking of which, his eyes aren't even open, but you're sure that he can already see far deep inside of you without even trying. This man has so many unusual characteristics, yet at the same time, either because you're losing it or defenseless or both, they blend together into something familiar.

Truly, it's as if all the fight in you, the resilience and attitude you had earlier when dealing with his subordinates, is rapidly escaping you. Or, it might be more fitting to say that the man in front of you is silencing those parts of you, slowly extinguishing all semblance of hope, leaving you bare and vulnerable and wholly at his mercy. Even your voice of reason has vanished, becoming mute because you don't know what to do in this kind of situation.

"Yes," but it sounds more like a question. You're not sure if you should agree or disagree, acquiesce or refrain, take or pass on his offering. You stand by what you said, but you'd change your answer in a flash if that'd mean saving your life, and after all that you've been through, you need to live.

For once, the oyabun doesn't say anything in turn. Instead, as he straightens out his back and sits upright, several of his men scramble away, leaving only two who stay rooted to their position, likely executives of this gang's kanbu. The doors to the watsushi are not blocked anymore, but as long as you’re in the boss’ vicinity, there is no actual opening that you can take advantage of.

You’ve been ignoring this thought, but with every passing second, it becomes more and more impossible to deny – you’re stuck. Not only did you go into enemy territory on your own with no backup plan, but you also walked straight into the lion’s den. And the lion is simply taunting you, playing with you until he gets bored, after which he’ll promptly dispose of you.  

How can I stay alive?

He pours himself another cup as he says, "My apologies, I should have sent them away earlier. I hope you can speak more openly now."

Truthfully, you wish you could ask for permission to leave, but at this point, given how long this conversation has been going on for, you've lost your chance. Inwardly, you bemoan your foolishness and regret not having played the role of a terrorized normal citizen. That way, they probably would've released you to save the hassle of having to deal with a hysterical layperson. Then again, maybe they would’ve killed you on the spot. Regardless, the reality is that your leave will have to wait until the boss decides to let you go, if he wants to at all.

You manage to stammer, "Uh, no worries. Thanks…"

As you trail the end of your sentence, you realize you haven't been addressing him. There's no need for you to call him "boss" as you're not in his gang, and there's no way you can ask for his name either. You ponder, searching for a term that suggests formality and detachment.

In the meantime, it's silent in the watsushi. If he was any less intimidating, you'd think this scene – an objectively attractive man wearing a loose white kimono, his silver hair tied into a ponytail with a striking red cord, sitting motionless and quiet against a backdrop of uniform shoji screens – would seem serene.

Regardless, for better or for worse, it seems your bearings are returning, body and mind growing accustomed to the pressure in the room, so you're more capable of rational thought. Yet again, you urge yourself to keep it together.

It looks like the oyabun has no intention of re-initiating the conversation, so you figure he's gauging your next steps.

Sucking in a deep breath, you speak in your most polite tone. You still have no idea as to how you’re going to survive, but it wouldn’t hurt to buy as much time as you can and pay your respects. "Sir, I appreciate your generosity, and I've given it some thought. I'd be grateful to try any teas that are in season, if you happen to have any on hand."

For the first time, his eyes flutter open, and it feels like you've been struck by a bolt of lightning. Smelted gold, as thick and molten as the ichor of Greek immortals, far more dazzling than beams of sun. Your first thought is one of awe – how is it possible for a human to be capable of such unassailable power and beauty? Your second is one that’s far more bone chilling, an icy jet of adrenaline pumped straight into your veins.

For he is the foreigner in the rumors from your childhood, a cold-blooded man who single-handedly beheaded three dozen associates with ease to earn his role as an executive in his gang. Even if you had never witnessed the slaughtering firsthand, like a deafening clap of thunder that can travel as far as ten to twelve miles away, deep in your rattling skull, you realize that this man kills both with and without purpose. This is no longer about predictability, as there is nothing emotional or practical about this man. Brutality and carnage are intrinsic to his nature, and his carnal desires must be satisfied for his own needs.

You've gotten carried away once more. In fact, the moment your self-assurance came back, you unintentionally downplayed the gravity of your situation. Just because he hasn't done anything yet doesn't mean he won't do anything.

Yet, in spite of your insolence, it seems the oyabun is merciful. He dismisses you with an unreadable stare, along with an understanding hum from his still-smiling lips. One of the two men leaves before returning with a wrapped box that, from the cover reads, is from Hokkaido and contains sachets of plum and cherry green tea. You don’t even remember how you gathered the strength to stand, but you do, and through an alternating series of walkways and right-degree turns, you are brought to the entrance of the estate. Like a habit, like the manners that were beaten into your hands, feet, and back when you were young, you bow at the hips, hold it for three prolonged seconds, and, before you can bid the guards farewell, you sprint down the road that you came up from who knows how long ago.

You run, run, and run, pumping your lungs and legs until they feel as if they are about to rip off, and even then, you push them harder, all the way until you reach the door of your apartment. Relieved to find your keys lodged in your back pocket like they always are, you wrench them out and, after many failed attempts, open the lock to stagger into the entrance of your studio.

You collapse onto the floor. A shoe rack shakes as a corner of it bumps against your elbow as you face plant onto the hardwood floor. 

It’s all unbelievable. Your encounter with the ex-Triad member of your childhood nightmares, the long sprint home, the fact that you actually made it out alive and are back home – the past few hours seem surreal. It still feels like you need to keep running away, like they’ll find and catch you if you stop moving.

But you can’t muster any more strength. Your whole body feels sore and on fire, like you've doused yourself with gasoline and self-immolated, like there's electricity coursing through your heart, leaving first-degree burns in its wake.

But you don't believe this pain's solely the result of your mad dash home. Yet there was no static, no crackling sounds, not even a single hair raised.

Lightning can still strike, even if there are no preceding signs.

–

Like all weather events, it takes time for a thunderstorm to develop, and it dispels as soon as it can no longer rage on. Thunderstorms specifically go through four phases: growth, development, electrification, and dissipation.

Growth and development, together known as the developing or building stage, begin when warm, moist air rises in an updraft, and at a certain altitude, combines to form a large cumulus cloud. If the warm air inside the cloud is at a higher temperature than that of the exterior, condensation takes place and droplets form, but rain does not fall.

At this stage, the cumulus is only four to seven kilometres in height and five to eight in length on average, so to any onlooker, it has yet to look like a storm cloud.

–

Your phone buzzes as soon as you drop down onto the couch. While the restaurant owner takes her usual lunch hour nap, you choose to decompress in the backroom that looks more like a senior citizen's living room, no thanks to its old 2000s TV with grainy display, bulkish frames, and broken speakers, an unplugged kotatsu, and a large shelf full of dust-covered books and miscellaneous figurines from grandchildren located a bullet train away in Tokyo. After rubbing your eyes with the heels of your palms, you check to find a text message notification from your closest friend.

Hana: wanna call

You: aren't u at work

Hana: fck work

She picks up on the first ring of your video call.

"Don't tell me you're in the fucking bathroom again," you groan as you lean further into the deflated back of the couch.

Hana scowls and flips you off. "You know this is the only place at work I can call you from without getting caught."

"Well, you've been caught once before –"

"Only because that blind ass bat decided to use this toilet for, like, the first time ever. Never again since."

You shrug. Your friend's always been spitfire incarnate, tongue a cutting thing, glares yet sharper. You suppose it's her expertise, aggravating others with only her presence. She's also incredibly impatient, and when you don't give her a vocal response, she snaps.

"Say something! I'm getting in trouble because of you!"

You stifle a honk of a laugh by clearing your throat instead. "My most beloved goddess, Hana the Terminator, thank you for bestowing me your time and grace."

"I’m not that unforgiving – you've been watching too many movies again," she spits, along with a slap to her forehead.

Despite all her controversial traits, though, she's your most trusted confidant – the only remnant from your past that you keep in touch with.

Hana quirks her eyebrow, to urge you to speak your mind because she already knows something's plaguing you. After all these years, you're convinced she can read minds.

You sigh. "Hana."

Paying no mind, she presses onward. "What happened? Did a customer throw their plate at you again?"

"No, work's fine."

Her eyes narrow. "Alright. Is it something we can't talk about?"

When you ran away, you made Hana promise that the two of you would never talk about anything of the past or your childhood again. After all, you escaped with the intent to leave everything you knew behind, and one necessary step was to never think about it all anymore. And she's made good on that promise this whole time, so it’s hypocritical that you’re breaking it.

You look away from the screen and mumble, "I know I said I never wanted to talk about it again, but… I was wondering if I could ask you a question."

She snorts. "Sure."

Your eyes flicker back to the screen, and you see that Hana's switched off her camera, most likely so that she can hold the call to her ear and lower the volume to prevent any eavesdropping.

"I think this happened when we were nine? Ten? It definitely happened when we were in the middle of that turf war, and then we suddenly got news that all these guys in the other prefecture got fucking oblitered by an ex-Triad member. Do you remember?"

You hear her suck in a breath through gritted teeth. "Fucking course. Shit – why are you asking about this?"

Hana's harsh whisper sounds… thin, like a leaf shaking in autumn, its stem clinging onto a branch right before it's about to snap and float to the ground, only to be trodden over and torn apart into several pieces, never whole again. After having met the person yourself, you understand why even a mere mention of him can send anyone spiraling.

Ignoring her question, you press, "What was his name?"

It's almost comedic how audible her gulp is – guttural, like she's about to vomit into the toilet bowl that she's sitting on. "Jing Yuan."

"What group –"

Suddenly, there's background noise that interrupts you. There's the clicking of heels, knocks against a bathroom stall, some garbled words made worse by a bad signal.

"Shit," Hana hisses. "That bat's back again – whatever you do, stay away from that motherfucker, alright? I love you."

And the call ends. You didn't even get a chance to parrot "love you" back, but it can't be helped, you think. You’ll call again next month, and there’s no doubt she'll drill you on your questions and the intent behind them. Anyway, for now, your focus is to ensure that your peaceful life won't be disturbed again. Even without Hana's warning, you've already experienced enough to know that you never want to cross paths with Jing Yuan ever again.

Nighttime falls before you know it. After the lunch break, you and the restaurant owner spent the late afternoon prepping for the dinner rush, and ever since the only other apprentice quit three weeks ago, the two of you have been busier than before.

It's not uncommon for young people to go without a college degree, as the national law only requires at minimum a middle school diploma, so when you left home on an arbitrary Tuesday night in the middle of your first year in high school, the only way to support yourself was to get a job. You had enough of an allowance to hop on a random train to a more remote town, and once you arrived here, you rotated between jobs as a cashier at a convenience store, a dishwasher and waitress at multiple diners and izakayas, as well as a librarian. Now that you're in your 20s, you've settled down in this restaurant as an apprentice, and eventually, when the owner decides to step down, you'll take over.

This place has grown on you, and you'd really like to stay.

There are no angry customers or broken dishes throughout the evening, and aside from a few hiccups with the cash register, you get off work without a hitch. On a good day like today, you can leave by 10PM.

Your place is just a five-minute walk away, and upon you return, you're greeted by a dark room that contains nothing except for a kitchen, a mattress, a computer charging in the corner, and a tall stack of borrowed books you plan to finish over the upcoming weekend.

There's also that box of Hokkaido tea sachets that's resting on your kitchen countertop. For some reason, in the month since you received it, you haven't been able to throw it away. You've already discarded the wrapping paper, and the box doesn't look like it's been tampered with. In fact, it looks new, as if Jing Yuan himself received it as a respectable present of sorts, but you never know what it could contain, and you don't intend to find out.

You're just relieved that you haven't been bothered by Jing Yuan or his gang since your encounter. Initially, you were paranoid, so disturbed and worried that they'd come after you to the point that you called in sick and didn't leave your room for a whole week. Then, you had no choice but to do your best to resume work and other parts of your usual routine, but you refused to make any deliveries (and still do, too). After all, the whole reason why you were in the neighborhood where you met Yanqing was because you were on your way back from dropping off an order, and you never want to go back there ever again.

It's a shame, you think, still staring at the large printed words on the cover of the box. I might have to leave this place soon.

–

Weekends are more relaxed because the restaurant’s only open for lunch. The owner reserves her weekend evenings to spend time with her son and granddaughter, and you're not skilled enough to run the establishment on your own yet.

You're awoken by the sound of your doorbell buzzing. Disoriented, you sit up with a jolt, the room spinning a little as you strain to clear your head. It rings again. With a shout – "One moment, please!" –, you roll out of your covers and hobble towards the front door.

From your peephole, you see that a deliveryman is waiting outside your front door with a package in his arms. It's a dark cardboard box with logos dotting the exterior in diagonals, but you don't recognize the design nor are there other legible clues for you to discern.

"Ma'am, I need you to sign this slip," the deliveryman announces.

You furrow your bows and, through your half-conscious daze, struggle to recount if you've ordered anything as of late. Try as you might, nothing comes to mind. You see the worker glancing at his wristwatch, and you feel bad for keeping him waiting. Fueled by guilt, you end up opening the door and signing the slip.

It could be the owner, you think. Sometimes, she likes to send you things without notice, so you figure it might be another load of cherries or a few hand-me-down shirts from her daughter-in-law who she's convinced is around your height. Anyway, with an impatient nod and a snatch of the sheet in your hand, the deliveryman leaves you alone to haul the package back into your apartment.

You heave it over and drop it next to your mattress for a closer inspection. You're almost tempted to look over it later and resume your post-shift nap, but common sense wins, and you need to confirm the nature of this mystery delivery. The packaging label tells you the sender seems to be a store located in Kyoto. More specifically, as you search them up on your phone, it's a pottery shop. By now, it's clear this package isn't something you had bought for yourself, and you doubt it's from the restaurant owner either. For a second, you consider the possibility that the deliveryman made a mistake, misread your apartment number or something, but another glance at the packaging label and your name is legibly printed on it.

You click onto the shop website where you learn that customers can go in to make their own creations, as well as purchase already-made goods, which you check out next. The catalog is a few pages long, but the products are all of the same thing: tea sets.

Struck with a chilling sense of fear and despair, you jump in your skin and choke out a horrified gasp.

How is that possible?

With wide eyes, your neck snaps to the side, towards the kitchen, at the box sitting on the countertop. You're on your feet within a second, and stride over to it. Without a single ounce of care or consideration, you rip the box open, shredding the cover into two uneven halves, and your eyes bore so deeply into the four columns of tea sachets that your vision begins darkening. But still, nothing seems out of place. You then dump all of the tea sachets into the sink, wondering if there's anything hidden beneath them. Yet again, nothing appears, so there's either nothing or a device so small that you can't discern it simply by looking.

Leaving the mess in your kitchen, you stalk back to the delivery you just received, and with sheer brute force that you can only summon when enraged, your nails tear through the packing tape and rip open the flaps of the package. You toss out the top layer of bubble wrap to unveil a white box with a translucent top that has an envelope taped onto it. 

At first glance, it seems like an obligatory thank you card that small businesses usually send with every purchase. However, the printed silver cursive reads: "A special gift to a special someone!"

It's tough choosing between laughing in disbelief and yelling disgusted expletives, so you opt to remain silent, a blankness that can mean nothing and everything all at once. You tear off the card and flip it over to find a longer message.

To a dear friend. I hope this present suits your taste, and may we find another time to converse over tea again.

The building stage of a thunderstorm can take as short as an hour. In other words, it's possible for a clear, sunny day to suddenly become overcast, an impending storm ready to unleash, no longer an impossibility beyond the horizon.

Just like how you were able to turn yourself around in one night, it is equally feasible for your current life to be disrupted, uprooted, and made into a hell, all within an afternoon.

–

In the development stage, the air within the stormcloud and between the earth has an insulatory property to combat the mess of swirling particles of both positive and negative charges. The magnetism between the opposite charges is not great enough to cause electrical discharge, so like river water flowing between pieces of driftwood that dream of the whole they've broken off from, the air keeps the particles separate enough to further delay the inevitable sparks and flashes of electricity, of the cloud's heated turmoil.

–

Jing Yuan can be an incredibly talkative person, you learn. From your last meeting, he seemed like someone who wouldn't mind awkward silence, but as you kneel across from him on the other side of the same low-rise table in the same watsushi, with your hands clasped together in your lap, you listen as he explains Yanqing's situation.

His eyes are closed again.

"We managed to apprehend the man. He was a mediocre hitman desperate to pay off a debt he owed to his landlord, so he was by no means difficult to track or dispose of. I apologize, again, for the trouble Yanqing had caused you. I have reminded him to tell us when he is in danger."

Because of how terrified you were before, you couldn't pay much attention to Jing Yuan, other than the grossly intimidating aura he encased the whole estate and everything within it. It's not like you're not scared of him this time, but it's clear that he has no intention of killing you. This, you know for sure, is not based on urges as flimsy as idealized delusion or optimistic preconception, but rather by the fact that Jing Yuan has, like the volume of a speaker, lowered his display of domineering might and is making space for actual conversation.

Listening, you nod once.

He continues, "Yanqing is still exceedingly young, so he may not know what is best for him. He has acute instincts that can alert him of danger, but I am afraid he lacks experience in properly responding and protecting himself."

His voice is smooth, thoughtful, like that of a quiet, concerned father. But there's also an edge of dissatisfaction – a warning, but to whom, you're not sure. Still, it comes off as generally easygoing and warm, a savoring of warm brandy on a full belly, and if you were daringly reckless, you would've suggested he switch careers to become an audiobook narrator instead. In the context of the yakuza world, though, you have no doubt that this soothing, borderline seductive tone of his has drawn out countless dangerous secrets and several pieces of classified information from lustful tongues and fatigued minds. You wonder, then, what he wants from you.

It looks like it's your turn to finally say something. After all, since your arrival 15 minutes ago, you haven't uttered a single word.

"I'm sure he's learning, Sir. He's in good hands."

Not that any of these people are good.

"We will see. He did mention that you advised him to speak up as well, so I figured there was no need for me to repeat myself too many times."

"Ah," your voice cracks as you lower your head, "I overstepped."

"No, it is quite alright. I am not his actual father, so I appreciate help from others. It is important for him to learn from as many adults as he can, from their successes, as well as their silly wiles."

You feel a lurch within your upper body, the familiar emetic sensation from a month ago hitting you again. While you're not an immediate threat, it seems he still has his reservations.

"Anyway," the oyabun transitions, "I wanted to ask. How do you like the gift I mailed to you? I hope the whole set came intact."

Frankly, you haven't spared the tea set another glance. All of your thoughts were ensnared by the laminated note card, and you still can't believe he went so far as to find your address.

The need to escape rests heavily on your mind, but the matter is no longer as simple as leaving the estate. Since he knows where you live, the only option that remains is for you to move away, and it’s not as spontaneously easy to run away as it once was when you were a teenager. You have to communicate and apologize to the restaurant owner, clean out your apartment, and find a new place to start anew – all of which require at least a few hours.

I’ll leave tomorrow night. I just need to play along and not get killed today. By tomorrow night, I’ll be safe.

The thought placates you sufficiently, and you redirect your full attention to Jing Yuan.

With a palm over your heart, you say, "They're beautiful, though I haven't had the chance to use them. Thank you so much for the generous gift."

He chuckles, though they sound more like a lion's heavy purrs. It's a rich sound, as obscene and dense as melted dark chocolate. "No rush, you received it just yesterday. I know they may appear simple, but mashikos are made with stark red clay from the town they are named after and are appreciated for their captivating minimalism. I hope you can find daily use in them."

You nod once more, fully knowing they'll never be touched – just like the torrent of questions swirling around and around in your head.

Jing Yuan speaks, as if aware of the conclusion you've come to. "Initially, I was hesitant in sending you the gift. But I am glad I chose to. While I do not mean to indebt you to us, I was wondering if I could discuss a matter… with you.”

With feigned stoicism, the kind that only years of practice can produce, you acquiesce, "Sure, but I do not know if I can be of much help."

You watch as he picks up a thin folder that’s laid on the ground to his right and sets it on top of the center of the table. He then opens it to reveal a neat pile of glossy photographs bound together by a paper clip.

"I am curious to know if you recognize anything in these photographs," he instructs as he lays four out in a row. "It can be any of the individuals or objects in the background. Anything that can tell you of the general setting."

Your ears begin to drum loudly as your head pounds and pounds with intensifying force and rhythm. It hurts so much that you can't resist the need to wince as beads of sweat form at your temples. It's as if you're the main character of a movie who's suffering from amnesia, and you're experiencing a brief moment of recollection, stabbing prickles of familiarity and bright flashes of images that slip away almost immediately. Except your flashbacks don't slip away. They linger and haunt, meandering and taunting you when you try to make them disappear. Even after all these years, all these kilometers of distance, the regret and guilt hit you with the same brutality, a bone-crushing punch in the stomach that wrecks your organs and renders you helpless and panicked.

Not now, you think, but your internal pleas are futile. You’re utterly helpless, and escape is no longer a priority, the possibility of succeeding having long been impossible.

The first photo, starting from the right, is a scenic snapshot of a hillside overpass. In late elementary school, you frequented this place every night with Hana and her older brother, Haru, demanding that you be brought here to see the sun set before you retreated home for the day.

How does he know?

The second is blurrier, the flash of the camera mostly blinding everything but the edges out. There are several flags with store signs waving out front, and if you're reading them correctly, some of the names are restaurants in the downtown area of your hometown. You never went downtown often as there were always way too many people, but you know all the store owners feared your family.

How does he know?!

You don't recognize the third, which shows a four-story office building.

The fourth, however, causes you to still. Anyone looking at the image would, too, with the amount of blood and specks of flesh smeared against the wall, the emptied shells of bullets lying on the floor, and, in the center of it all, a man's face that’s half-bruised, a disturbing palette of waste green, toxic purple, and old yellow.

But your blood runs cold primarily for another reason. The other half of the man's face is less damaged, features more intact and, therefore, recognizable. You don't know him, per se, in that he doesn't jog any sense of familiarity, doesn't trigger an "aha!" moments where a lightbulb goes off and a new memory plays in your mind's theatre. You can't put a name to his face or pick him out among the crowds in your memories. 

What you do recognize is the pin hanging loosely from the lapel of his torn blazer. Despite the camera flash, its reflection is dim, no thanks to the dried blood smeared entirely over it. Though it doesn't matter. Even if that pin was caked in layers of mud or glazed over with pitch black paint to create an opacity so deep it absorbs all light, you're sure you'd still be able to see the pen strokes, the exact points at which they overlap and interstice to form the kanji character that you abandoned at age 20.

HOW DOES HE KNOW WHO I AM.

If you could, you'd snatch the photo to see this man – who is closer than a stranger but too distant to be family – and sob out at once. Your hands would be shaking, one might even come up to cover your gaping mouth, and you'd continue to struggle to see the image clearly enough through your flooding tears.

It takes you a few seconds to realize that your reactions are not figments of your imagination. This battered mess of a man, albeit only a photograph of his aftermath, is pinched between your shaking fingers, your fingerprint smeared against the edges, and painful whimpers escape from under your breath. You don't want to think about how much you're crying.

There are a few moments of heavy silence before Jing Yuan's voice pierces through your grief. "I see you are aware."

Your eyes flicker to him. There's no smile stretching his lips, but he doesn't look like he pities or sympathizes with you. He's just waiting until you are capable of conversation again. You're sure that, internally, he's pleased, at the very least, that you’re finally playing his game.

You should be angry. Furious, even. Of course, you can't rage or else you'll get killed, but still, flames of wrath should be searing the back of your throat and pulsing through your arms, licking at your stone-cold feet to just fucking wake up and Run! – to Jing Yuan, to your apartment, to somewhere far, far away.

But there are no fires. There is no hint of rage. Instead, you ring hollow, outplayed and defeated in a game you never asked to be born into.

With a tumor in your throat, you croak, "How did you find out?"

"I did not."

His answer surprises you, but it withers away into indifference nonetheless. Though, maybe you're misunderstanding him, the oyabun sounds oddly candid.

"In China," he continues, "the people largely believe in this concept called yuan fen. I believe it is called en in Japan, which is very similar to the symbol of yuan. I am not as spiritualistic as I used to be, but I believe, in certain matters, that fate can be a source of interference. And in this case, this relationship between you" – his voice drops and thins out, louder than a whisper, dimmer than his usual speech – "and me may be a result of fate's fickle tricks. It is a result of our yuan fen that we have connected as such."

Your head drops. The photo's crumpled from your unrelenting hold, so you set it on the table to prevent further damage. You've already caused so much harm, not just within this tatami room, so if you can spare anyone any more pain, you'd like to refrain from humiliating yourself further. All you can do is wait for this motherfucker to tell you what's to come next.

"Though, at present, I am sure my words are meaningless and serve barely any comfort," Jing Yuan says.

When you don't respond, he hums. It's a thoughtful rumble, as he ruminates on how he should proceed.

You save him the effort and, through drying, cracked tears, croak, "I grew up in this town. If it is information or connections you want, I can try to help, but just know that I have not been back there in years."

Even though you're no longer looking at him, you can hear the smile – unperturbed, sickeningly mild – on his face. "That sounds like the perfect arrangement."

With a brush of his ponytail behind his shoulder, a subordinate paces over and stands at attention. You wonder how wilted you must look to the guards surrounding your perimeter, how lifeless and placid and bleak you've become within minutes, even if none of them have known you for more than a day.

The oyabun instructs, "Prepare a room for our guest. We will be relying on her, so treat her well. Tell Yanqing, too, that he should be mindful not to disturb her."

Unfazed, you raise your hand, which causes Jing Yuan to turn his attention back to you.

"Yes?"

"How long will I be staying here for?" you ask.

"We would like to move on from this matter within a week. Will that be a problem for you?"

There are no promises of leaving you alone afterwards or compensating you or, at minimum, apologizing for the mental anguish he's inflicted on you from everything that's transpired. Those promises would be empty anyway, but that's not the point. Jing Yuan is demanding because he intends to be. He’s consciously taking full advantage of the fact that you can't refuse even the most outrageous of his requests, while going so far as to sugarcoat his exploitation with a charming voice and an irritating smirk when he doesn't need to. Every single action is premeditated to help you realize how powerless you are.

But you already know. You've always been too weak. You've never let yourself forget.

You shake your head. "Not at all."

One by one, his subordinates take off, until only the two of you remain. You find that a little odd, as to dismiss all of his men means he is exposing himself to being ambushed, but you shrug, figuring that Jing Yuan is more than capable of defending himself. It wouldn't surprise you if he's able to catch a flying bullet and tear apart limbs with his bare hands.

"One last question," Jing Yuan states.

You peer up at him, to find that he has stood up and is rounding around to your side of the table. Naturally, your body tenses up, muscles and joints locking up, and you follow his frame with rapt dread as he makes his way to you.

He sits down right beside you, and with a downward tilt of his chin, opens his eyes to gaze at you. He has only just decided that you are worth being seen, being perceived, and you wish you could spit in his face.

Instead, you bite down on your lower lip with gritted teeth and a jaw so tense it shakes with strain. And when you watch his hand come up to trace the hollows of your cheek, you have to pierce your nails into your palms to prevent the screams bubbling up your throat. Even worse, when he leans closer, enough for his slow, tempered exhales to tickle your forehead, you freeze, body paralyzed from the lightning of his eyes.

"In order for this arrangement to work," Jing Yuan mutters, though with the way he's speaking into your ears, it sounds like a ravenous purr, "we need to be transparent with each other, yes?"

Out of sheer instinct, your hands fly up, about to push the man away. But simultaneously, you have no urge to touch the man, or have him touch you, so they simply pause midair.

Another rumble of amusement resounds from his chest and reverberates through your ears. You can feel his fingers cascade down the side of your face before his hand wraps around to settle at the base of your neck, with his thumb propped underneath your jaw to lift your head up. You want to tear yourself from his hold, but the unwavering steadiness in his hand – not a single tremble, surgical in precision – and the unfamiliar warm touch warn you not to, beckoning you to savor the murky sensations instead.

You're cheek to cheek, so close that you can catch the scent of something green, and musky, then metallic. And, like the final gust of chilling wind right before a storm unleashes, he breathes, deafening and hushed all at once, "Can you promise me your utmost honesty and sincerity?"

There's no air in your lungs. He already knows your answer.

[bbddbopp]

Why Some of You Aren't Seeing Results.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈୨

There is a pattern in the manifestation and subliminal community (mentioning subliminals here since I'm part of that community, and it usually is the gateway that people go through before diving in deep into the manifestation community): people tend to jump from one trending technique or subliminal to another, hoping for quick results, sometimes within days, hours, or even minutes. While exploring different methods and experimenting with new subliminals is perfectly fine – and can even be fun – there’s a difference between casually trying new things and constantly hopping from one to another out of fear and desperation because you haven't seen results after just a few days. If you’re doing this, I can assure you: no matter how many methods you try, you won’t get your desired results.

You tried every methods or techniques that have been brought up to your attention, and whenever someone said "Oh, here's the ACTUAL way to manifest and THIS is the way to get your results instantly" you instantly switched up and pick up another new method to try.

What needs to change is not the methods, what needs to change is YOU.

What does it tells you when you see someone bouncing between methods, blaming the technique or the subliminal for their lack of results?

It tells you that the person lack commitment — the inability to stick with one method and see it through. It tells you that they don’t trust their own power to manifest, so they keep searching for someone else’s approach, hoping it will work for them. It tells you that they lack trust in their own abilities, leading them to rely on "gimmicks" to see if they can get results. It tells you that the person lack accoutability to actually see the core issue of it all which is them using these techniques and subliminals as a crutch - They blame the methods when their manifestations don’t materialize, not realizing that manifestation always works. The only reason it’s not working is because they don’t truly believe it will.

You go on a binge, searching for the next video on manifestation, searching on the next 'perfect' techniques, searching on the next 'magic' subliminals. You told yourself "Well, a lot of people got results from this. And I've been trying this other method for a week and it's not working so let's try this one." You never took responsibility on your lack of commitment because it is so much easier to blame it on the external factors rather than looking inwards.

You might tell yourself that you’re just gathering more information or learning more about the process, but deep down, you know you’re not in a constant state of learning — you’re in a constant state of insecurity. You think you haven’t found the right technique yet, so you keep searching for it. You feel like you don’t know enough, so you search for more. It’s always about “more, more, more” and never about realizing that you already know enough. You understand the law of assumption and how manifestation works. Yet, when you don’t see results after just a few days or a week, you start to doubt the law or the methods, thinking they must be wrong.

But here’s the thing — it’s not the law or the methods that are wrong. What’s wrong is the insecurity that keeps you from trusting your own power. You search for external explanations, not realizing that your own lack of belief and trust in yourself; is what holding you back.

How long are you going to keep jumping from one technique to the next and giving up after only a few days? You've already tried the inconsistent approach, and it hasn’t worked, has it? Isn’t it time to try something different? Isn’t it time to stop relying on external solutions and start taking responsibility for your own manifestations? It’s time to get disciplined, to commit to one method, and to trust that it will work for you. Aren’t you tired of going in circles, falling into the same toxic cycle over and over again?

It’s time to try something different. Try being consistent. Try trusting the process. Try trusting yourself.

The magic isn’t in the method — it’s in you.

When you finally stop searching for the next best thing and start believing that you already have everything you need, your manifestations will begin to flow. You've got what it takes — now it's time to trust that and take the next step forward.

¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ 🦋 ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹ ¹¹¹¹

[mimble-sparklepudding]

Ship and OC Relationship Creative Process Ask List.

I am still pondering how best to approach some sort of "ship" for one of my OCs, but it's proving to be quite the challenge to wrap my head around. So what better way to learn more about how other people approach the topics of sex and relationships with their characters than to put together a little Ask List. Not just focussed on ships between OCs and canon characters, but also open to relationships between your OCs - or your OC and someone else's OC (or OCs, as we are all very polyamory inclusive around here).

Did you create your OC with a plan to ship them with a specific character or another OC? Or was their relationship something that evolved all by itself?

How important is your OCs relationship(s) to their story? Would it still make sense without it? Or is their connection to this other character integral to their development?

Were there any barriers to you establishing your OCs relationship? Perhaps social or cultural stigma? Or a concern that "ships" with that character were already overdone? Or simply a fear of being seen as "cringe"? If so then how did you overcome this?

How graphic or explicit are your explorations of sexual interactions involving your OC? Do you happily name body parts and actions? Or do you prefer to leave the mechanical details to the imagination?

If your OC's relationship involves a gender or orientation different to your own then how confident did you feel about exploring or writing this? If your OC and the character(s) with whom they are in a relationship are the same as you in terms of gender/orientation then was this a conscious decision?

How easy do you find it to write (or otherwise portray) non-sexual affection between characters? This might include terms of endearment, "pet-names", descriptions of cuddling or stroking the other's head in their lap etc.

How important is other people's investment in (or enthusiasm for) your character's relationship? Was this a consideration when you were planning it? Have you ever changed a character's relationship(s) due to other people's response to it?

To what degree do you use your OC as a means to explore your own romantic proclivities (or shortcomings)? Is your OC a self-insert and the relationship a form of wish-fulfilment and/or an means to explore certain fantasies? Or do you enjoy exploring something completely different to your own experiences and preferences?

How confident are you in writing about or otherwise portraying kissing between characters? Did this take practice? How much detail is enough? How much is too much?

Is it important to include tension or outright areas of conflict in a relationship? If so then how do you explore these? Or does this not appeal to you?

Does it matter to you how many other people also ship their OC with a particular character? Would this make it more likely that you will compare your material to theirs? Or does this not enter into your thinking?

How much does your OC's background and origin affect their approach to relationships? Are there specific insecurities or preferences that lead on from their past?

How easy do you find it to write romantic (or sexual) dialogue for your OC? If they are in a relationship with a canon character then how difficult is it to keep these interactions faithful to their established character and communication style?

How do you feel about answering questions about your characters sexual/romantic activities or preferences in character?

Did you build up to your OC being in their relationship? Or did you put them into it quite quickly and then filled in the background in retrospect.

Is there a relationship between characters in another setting that particularly inspired you? What is it about this portrayal that you enjoy?

Does it matter whether other people consider your OC sexually attractive? Did this inform your thinking when you were creating them? Also was it important that you put them in a relationship with a character who is generally considered "attractive"?

Do you have specific music that makes you think about your OCs relationship?

Do you have a sense of how your OCs relationship will evolve in the future? Or is it quite a fixed in terms of dynamics and story?

Is it easy to write or otherwise portray other characters (or OCs) reactions to your OCs relationship? Are these interactions important to your characters story? For example, is the relationship one that can be publically acknowledged?

How important is it that your OCs relationship is "realistic" for the setting in terms of the characters values and attitudes? Or are you happy to explore psychological or sexual issues that might more reflect contemporary concerns?

Do you consider your OC to be sexually attractive? Or pretty/handsome? Would you still be able to write about their relationship if you didn't?

What is something you feel you have improved at in terms of portraying sexual or romantic relationships?

How do you feel about people producing fanart of your character's relationship or ship? If this were NSFW would you want to be asked first?

Other than your own characters' relationships, can you give an example of someone who is particularly good at writing or otherwise portraying romantic and/or sexual relationships? What is it about their work that really stands out for you?

Have you given much consideration to specific "kinks" or sexual likes and dislikes for your character? If so then is this something you feel comfortable talking about or describing?

Is there a particular "trope" for relationships that you especially enjoy - e.g. enemies to lovers etc - and is this something that you set out intending to explore?

Is there something you historically felt (or still feel) awkard about describing in terms of your character's relationships? Whether sexual acts, bodyparts, pillow talk, romantic declarations or using the "L word". How did you overcome this (if you ever have)?

What makes a scene or situation "romantic" in your opinion? Is this something you find easy to portray?

What advice do you have for someone considering creating a ship for their character? Or for someone unsure about writing relationships and/or sexual scenarios?

When portraying romantic or sexual scenarios involving your OC, do you aim to inspire a particular response in the reader or viewer? Whether a warm fuzzy feeling, or getting really quite turned on (or possibly both)?

If you ship your OC with a particular canon character, then what was it about that character that drew you to them? Is it that you have a certain "type" when it comes to shipping? Or did you surprise yourself with who you felt drawn towards? If your OC is in a relationship with another OC then did you change any aspects of either of their backstories or personalities to make this work?

To what degree is your OC a self-insert, particularly in terms of their relationship? Do you sometimes use your character's relationship to explore your own feelings about a canon character or another OC?

How confident are you in writing angst or portraying conflict or tension within a relationship? Or is this something you avoid? If so is this because it doesn't much interest you? Or because you're unsure how to approach it?

Is there a way in which your portrayal of your character's relationship subverts the reader or viewer's expectations? Was this deliberate?

How do you ensure that the dialogue (or other portrayal) of a canon character is true to their personality and (more importantly) way of speaking? Do you spend time studying their "official" dialogue in order to get it sounding authentic? Or did it just come naturally?

What is something you try to avoid - or think everyone should try to avoid - when portraying sex and/or relationships with their characters?

What is your favourite depiction of romance (or sex if you prefer) that you have produced? Or if you haven't produced one yet, then what is your favourite example from another creator?

What, if any, is your biggest source of fear or anxiety when it comes to writing or otherwise portraying romantic or sexual scenarios?

What is something that your friends or mutuals could do to support and encourage you when it comes to your creativity around your OCs relationship(s)?

[baldudiable]

Some insights

While Libra is said to want to attain harmony, sometimes it is gained by striking back at those who hurt them, consequently restoring the balance.

Pisces Suns often act as mirrors, reflecting the behavior of the person they are facing. If someone is distant and guarded towards them, pisces withdraw. If they are shown kindness and generosity, it is returned. pisces is ruled by neptune, the great dissolver of boundaries. the sun represents what you embody, and because of this, a pisces sun's behavior is often influenced by their environment. Their mutable quality adds to their changeable nature. Even if pisces is kind and honest at heart, they can sometimes pretend to be uncaring or cold when facing someone embodying that attitude. It's a way for them to protect themselves from hurt. They are often misunderstood because of their ability to shapeshift.

Gemini Suns have the same chameleon-like abilities. However, theirs serve a different purpose. While Pisces suns adapt to protect themselves, Geminis do so in order to gain knowledge or understanding. With this sign being mercury-ruled, it’s important for them to learn from other people. Adapting the same behavior or interests as another allows them to create the conditions necessary to form a connection, where they can gain new information and learn new ways of doing things.

Mutable signs (Gemini, Virgo, Sagittarius, and Pisces) all can play roles to perfection. The mutable modality, which represents how you express energy, gives a formless and adaptable quality to the sun, making these natives highly versatile and able to shape themselves however they want. They can become masters at a job or skill that doesn’t truly resonate with their goals or values simply because it is asked of them. While cardinal and fixed signs are more natural when it comes to embodying specific qualities, mutable signs often observe, learn, and integrate them. The downside to this modality is that it can lead one to forget who they are at their core, consequently abandoning their actual aspirations.

Fixed signs (Taurus, Leo, Scorpio, and Aquarius) are drawn to one another like moths to a flame. These signs often end up in tight relationships, whether romantic or not. They might seem different on the surface, but they have a lot in common; they are all equally committed to themselves, their goals, crafts, or relationships. What they see in another fixed sign is a loyal and dependable person who will stick with them through thick and thin. However, their belonging to the same modality can provoke clashes in their union. Fixed signs all have issues surrounding control, trust, and stubbornness. They can have a hard time letting someone else take the lead, often fighting to get the upper hand in the relationship and forgetting that they should be equals.

The Ascendant is said to represent the way you are perceived by others, but also the lens through which you see the world. If you see the world in a specific way, you are bound to attract situations that match the way you think. Take Leo Rising, for example. This placement is known for being creative and for wanting to win people’s admiration. Many of them end up pursuing creative paths that allow them to step into the spotlight, receiving approval for something they created. Capricorn Rising, known for having a lot of responsibilities placed on them from an early age, is often given very demanding jobs in adulthood that far exceed their capacities. They generally excel in their careers because they thrive under pressure. another example is Taurus Rising, well known for their desire for luxury and pleasure. These natives often become wealthy in order to fulfill their need for indulgence.

Communication is harder when someone’s Mercury clashes with yours in a square or opposition. Mercury is about the exchange and expression of thought. A square aspect is formed when two placements belonging to the same modality are in contact. An opposition is formed when the other’s placement is directly opposite yours. Basically, it becomes difficult for you to get your point across to the other person. You may have trouble understanding what they are saying. Perhaps your beliefs or ways of expressing yourselves are different, preventing you from opening up and creating closeness. Or maybe you just aren’t interested. Whatever the case, exchanging ideas with that person feels challenging, even if you are a natural communicator who manages to make conversation with anyone.

Since Venus is about beauty and one’s sense of self-worth, and Virgo is about correcting imperfections, Virgo Venus can often lead those who struggle with insecurities to resort to extreme practices to "fix" the body parts they don’t like. Virgo, being mutable, makes these natives prone to altering their appearances in order to fit an ideal.

[yamumsyadadd]

the forgotten girl (5)

posted this originally on my old account. will be posting twice weekly :)

Alexia Putellas Segura. The one that got away? She was my first. First kiss, first person I had sex with, first person I was in love with. Maybe in a different universe things could work out. What’s the saying, right person wrong time? That seemed to be the case with us Every time. I loved her, she wasn’t ready for that. She loved me, I had just gotten together with Emily. 

There was a moment when things would’ve happened, after Emily died and before I went MIA. But after that first night I couldn’t. I didn’t want to hurt her, to break her heart. So I left, breaking her heart anyway. Now she is with Olga and things are going great with them, right? The what ifs always playing on my mind. 

•————————————————————-----------------------———•

I was glad to have Ariel, my social media manager. I didn’t have to deal with the comments or the tweets, I could live in my peaceful bubble and not have to worry about anything. The news of Sam Kerr tearing her ACL ripped through the football community, the Matilda’s were out a striker. There were two possibilities, Michelle Heyman who is retired or me. The girl who hasn’t played an international game since the 2019 World Cup, the same person who left the team high and dry for the 2020 Olympics. 

The tillies were coming off a successful World Cup, secretly I’d watched every game, cheering them on from the safety of my own living room. When Jona had informed me that Tony had rang and asked for my number I was shocked, surely he’d call up Michelle before he rang me. She deserved it, I’m sure there were lots of younger players that deserved it too. But alas, it was me he rang. Just as training ended and we’d made our way back to the locker rooms. 

“Hello?” Confused by the unknown caller, forgetting the conversation with Jona. 

“Amelia? It’s Tony Gustavsson.” 

“Oh shit. Yeah hi Tony. How are you?” 

“I’m good Amelia, listen, I know you’ve heard the news about Sam, we are in an Olympic year and now without a striker. I know you’re just coming back and you haven’t played an international game in a few years, but if you’re willing I would love for you to join us this international break.” 

“What? What about Michelle or one of the younger girls? I’m sure there’s someone more suited to this.” 

“There is no one else I would rather. You’re the person we need. The missing piece to this team. The girls look up to you, they listen to you. We need you, I need you. Take some time and think about it, we have a few days before the foster needs to be released. Call me in two days ok?” 

“Yeah yeah okay. I can do that. Thanks Tony.” 

Disbelief. Was I excited for this opportunity? Sure. Did i deserve it? Probably not. 

“Who was that?” Keira’s voice broke me from my thoughts. 

“Uh it was tony. The Matilda’s head coach. He wants me?” 

“Holy shit that’s amazing! Milly that’s so good! Congratulations!” The high fives poured in from everyone, expect one person, Alexia. 

If it was so good, why didn’t it feel it? The first thing I did when I got back to the apartment was make a pros and cons list. 

Pros:

It’s the olympics 

Cons:

It’s the Olympics 

Media

The team? 

Football 

I was stuck in my own head until a knock rippled through the apartment. Apprehensively I opened the door to Alexia standing there. She walked straight on through as if she’d been here before.  

“What are you doing here? How’d you get my address?” 

“Hi to you too. I’m good thanks how are you? 

“Yeah yeah answer my questions?”

“I heard the phone call in the locker room and how you looked stressed. So I thought I’d come and be a good friend.” 

“And you got my address from?” 

“Jona. You should add that you can see me and Jenni.”

“Huh?”

“Your list” she points. “We will probably be there.” 

Silence. Unsure what to even say in this situation. Alexia was still standing, looking around. There wasn’t much to look at. I had bought a couple of plants but other than that, it was just furniture. 

“Have you lived here long?” 

“3 and a half years. Why?”

“Oh. It’s… empty?” 

“It’s easier this way.” 

“So when you want to run away again, there’s nothing you need to take? Clothes and furniture can be replaced right.” 

“That’s not fair Alexia.” 

“No what’s not fair is you leaving in the middle of the night! You disappeared Amelia!“

“Seriously? We are doing this now? Fine. Yes I did leave, yes I disappeared, yes I fucked you and told you everything you wanted to hear. But I couldn’t stay. Not after everything. You deserved better Alexia.” 

“I didn’t want anyone else but you! I loved you and you just left.” 

“You should go.”

“Mil”

“No. Go home to your girlfriend Alexia.” 

After she left I got up to write another con on this list:

Potentially seeing Alexia 

Maybe in another life time things would be different. 

The next week is rough. The tension between Alexia and I is very clear to the team, not to Olga though. She reached out inviting me to dinner with her and some girls from Manuelas. It was a nice night overall, it definitely felt weird being friendly with Olga. It was hard to separate the Olga from Manuelas and Alexia’s girlfriend Olga. 

the morning of my first game arrived, I had barely slept because of the nerves. I wasn’t starting, however Jona said he’d bring me on in the second half. The thought of playing again was extremely overwhelming. My body went into autopilot, doing my old day time routine: making breakfast and coffee, brushing my teeth, changing my sheets, laying out my clothes and then going for a swim. 

The ocean was calming and refreshing. It reminded me of home. The one place I could go and enjoy myself when I was living in foster homes. I taught myself to surf after watching some people do it, it took a lot of trial and error but in the end I was successful. As I came out of the water, I noticed a familiar pale, ginger sitting on my towel. 

“It’s nice. You should go in.”

“Don’t be stupid Milly. I would never get in there in the winter.”

Keira was a constant. No matter what happened or what teams we played for, she was always there. She’d drop everything to come help and wasn’t afraid to tell me I was being a dickhead. I wasn’t expecting what she was going to say. 

“You being here is hard for her. Being so close and her not being able to be with you. It’s a lot, I know you did what you thought was best but you broke her heart and she’s been different since.” 

Alexia. It always comes back to her. 

“I couldn’t let her love me Kei. It was too much.” 

“But she loved you anyway. Pretty sure she always has and always will. She was mad for the first few weeks, then really worried, then sad. Every Sunday she would message Leah and ask if she’s heard from you, and every Sunday it was the same answer.” 

“We should go. Got a game and all.” 

[idkanymoreokay]

I have so many thoughts on the friendship between Flynn and Cassandra, I could write a million essays on it. But something that has really jumped out to me during my current rewatch is the way these two just easily understand each other without even trying.

They talk without having to verbally communicate most of what they're saying. They don't even seem to be aware of the fact everyone else in the room is looking at them in confusion because they can't hear the unspoken parts of the conversation.

They bounce ideas off each other so easily, instantly pick up on each other's trains of thought, and practically finish the other's sentences or ideas.

These two neurodivergent geeks, who never had anyone in their life truly grasp what goes on inside their head, suddenly found someone who knows and it's like they instantly latched onto that connection.

Cassandra also has her very close friendship with the other LITs, and Flynn has his relationship with Eve, but it's their friendship with each other that lets them both explore and indulge the parts of themself that other people just don't understand.

Cassandra is definitely the one out of the LITs that is most like Flynn, both in her skills as a Librarian and also in her personality and how her lightning speed thoughts tend to get translated into her words and interactions with others. (Which is a whole other topic I'd love to dive into another day.) But, yeah, it makes so much sense why they have no trouble at all understanding each other.

(Edit: Nope, that was supposed to be the end of the post but I have too many thoughts that need to be shouted into the void. Their friendship is very important to me. So...)

Jumping back to the very beginning - During the first two episodes, Flynn is perpetually annoyed by Ezekiel and just kinda ignores Stone. But Cassandra… He's absolutely fascinated by her from the moment they first meet. He takes a minute out of their incredibly urgent life-and-death mission to discuss her being a synesthete and geek out a little over the fact she has an eidetic memory like him. And Cassandra's immediate reaction of "Yes, wow" is like she can't believe someone is capable of immediately understanding what's going on inside her head and is 100% okay with that and not at all bothered by her being "different".

And then they get to Stonehenge:

And I think this is the moment Flynn really starts to appreciate how brilliant Cassandra is, and how very much like him she is. Flynn is a fairly competitive person with a genius brain like no other, but he doesn't get upset or offended when she takes over the calculations, and even carries them out faster than he could have. If anything, he looks genuinely impressed. He instantly understands what information she needs and readily gives it to her so they can continue solving the puzzle. They immediately settle into this easy back and forth, this rapid exchange of information and clues as they work at putting together the pieces. He's able to talk to her in a way he can't talk to anyone else. It's probably been a long time (if ever) since he's interacted with someone who can keep up with him.

Even after Cassandra has betrayed Flynn -- causing him to lose his home, the only family he had left, his best friend, and potentially his life -- he instantly accepts her back on the team and even sticks up for her when the others object. At this point, she hasn't apologized, shown any indication of remorse, or had a chance to make amends. And it doesn't matter to him. "She had her reasons" - and that's enough for him. He lets her out of the cell and immediately wants to hear her plan for stopping the Brotherhood.

And I think this is the moment when Cassandra -- similar to Flynn's realization at Stonehenge -- suddenly realizes that someone else can grasp her thought process. That someone understands the way her brain works. That someone is capable of following her trains of thought and not getting lost in the ordered chaos of her mind.

Just look at her smile!! She is trying to get across what she wants to say, and she's so used to having to break things down for others and still not being understood, and here's someone who instantly picks up what she's trying to convey. Look how utterly happy and excited she is when he gets it.

I love how much they appreciate each other's genius. I love how they can communicate on a different level. I love how much they genuinely care about each other.

And I absolutely love that it's through Flynn that Cassandra manages to have her moment for redemption, because he's already clearly demonstrated that he's the one member of the group she doesn't have to prove herself to.

I just... 😭😭😭

I love that Flynn has zero people skills and a very weak grasp on the concept of friendship and yet he meets this brilliant, weird, amazing young person and pretty much instantly connects with her. Because, like her, he also spent most of his life invisible and now someone actually understands him and is already so important to him, even if it's a while yet before he'll really fully understand the concept of friendship.

I love that Cassandra has spent most of her life feeling unseen and never truly accepted by the people around her. And then she meets someone who immediately sees her and understands how her mind works and appreciates and trusts her, and who introduces her to this life of mystery and magic where she can use her talents to save the world… and she already knows that he's important to her even if she doesn't realize just how much her life is going to change because of him.

There's SO MUCH more I could say about their friendship, but I should probably channel some of it into an actual blog post at some point. For now, here's some cute moments I grabbed while getting the screenshots for this post: