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leah-lover · 9 months ago

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Second chances.

Alexia putellas x coach!reader.

Summary: new job, old friends , and memories your tried to forget. Will you be able to dodge the past as you navigate your new job?

“ More news arrived from the RFEF who have promised that they were going through a systematic change after the Luis Rubiales scandal. They have announced this morning the arrival of a new head coach to lead the women’s team in the upcoming euro cup which will be held in switzerland. The 33 years old coach came from the united states where she led her team to victory in the nwsl. Her name may sound familiar to you because she was a part of Vilda's coaching staff until she decided to step away for unknown reasons. Although she has never coached a national team before, the new RFEF president is confident she will heal wounds left by her predecessor mostré tomé and restore the team to its winning ways.” says the reporter on the TV. you were sitting on your couch listening to her talking about your new job with player’s files in your lap. The international break was in 7 days and you needed to get familiar with everyone and have a clear plan of your strategy.

Being back in Spain brought back so many memories. You haven't come back since everything went down and you quit your job. You swore you would never come back to work with the RFEF however seeing everything unfold in the news you knew that agreeing to come back was more of a necessity than a choice. You loved the girls very much and you knew that they deserved better than what they got and you were adamant on giving them the best. Moreover, the new president was a woman you knew and was friends with. You trusted her and agreed to give her a chance. Besides Barcelona was the best city in the world, you couldn't pass up the chance to come back home.

As soon as you accepted your position, you contacted old colleagues, ones that you knew you could trust, and combined them with some of the existing staff that you were 100 percent sure were a safe fit for the new environment you were hoping to achieve and formed your new staff and announced it to the media. The fans were shocked at the amount of changes you made and their comments were very supportive of your decision which gave you a boost of confidence.

All you were thinking about was this team. You held and attended meetings all day long. You practically lived on your desk but it was all worth it because it all led to this phone call you were pursuing since the day you got to barcelona. You waited in front of your laptop anxiously waiting for your star player to join the zoom call. Shortly after you see her face pop on your screen.

“ hola.” you say enthusiastically. “ hola.” she replies. She looked much older since the last time you saw her, which was 4 years ago.

“ Thanks for agreeing to this call. It truly means a lot.” you say playing with a pen in your hands.

“ yeah it wasn't easy but i thought why not hear you out.” she replied.

“ So I am gonna get right to it. I want you to be back in the national team. You are the best center back i know, i want you to be in the te am, and you deserve to have a place in this team.”

“ I see you haven't changed, you are still as honest as you were but I would have to decline.” responded mapi.

“ I am turning things around maria. You know me, you know my story, you know everything. This time is different. I came back to make things different. You watched everything happen in front of your eyes. Do you truly think I could make someone feel the way I felt back then?”

Mapi stayed quiet, she was perhaps thinking about that night you decided to leave everything behind. The night the idea of las 15 was created.

“ okay.” you hear her say. “ I will come to this camp.” you are overjoyed “ you wont regret it leon.”

Your happiness was cut short because you remembered that you had to do this 2 more times with pina and leila. After 2 very long phone calls you got them to trust you and to agree to the return to the national team. You then drafted the call up list and sent it to your assistant.

The days leading up to camp went by quickly as your plans of the first steps towards rebuilding were coming to fruition.

You were sitting in your office when you heard a knock on the door, it was your assistant coach informing you that the players began to arrive. A wave of nerves watched over you but that was to be expected. You were a part of this team before and you hoped they would welcome you back with open arms. You were wearing casual clothes so that you won't be seen as authoritarian. You settled for a white t-shirt, black pants and shoes, and you wore your hair down. Your objective was to appear normal and friendly to the members of the team you weren't familiar with. You headed straight for the conference room and waited for the first people to arrive. Shortly after that Irene walked through the door. You were instantly transported back to 4 years ago which is the last time you and the captain have spoken. You closed your eyes briefly to try and get the bad memories away and open a new chapter with the captain. You shook hands and exchanged pleasantries with her and the rest of the barca group but quickly moved on to the other members that had joined. After they were all settled in their chairs you noticed the absence of the person you were most afraid to see, alexia putellas. Before you accepted the job you wrote down a pros and cons list. The first reason you put on the pros was the paycheck and the glory. However for the cons the first thing you wrote down was alexia putellas’s name. Seconds after you thought about her she appeared. She was just as beautiful and charming as you remembered. She immediately came to you but without sharing eye contact with you. She went in to kiss your cheek as a way to say hello and you did too. She still smelled like before and her smell still had a magnetic power over you. She then took a seat next to Irene and you pulled yourself together again and started your presentation.

“ Hello everybody and welcome. You all heard of me, some of you even were a part of my team when I was working here which feels like a lifetime ago. But in that lifetime this team has risen from the underdog to the most favored and feared team in the world. I am here to continue that legacy and help the team strengthen its roster. But I am also here to create an environment, a culture, and a safe space for you all. You all are the best in Spain and you deserve to be treated like it. This culture I am trying to create involves no tolerance for homophobia, transphobia, racism, or sexism. I urge you to report any case of abuse or mistreatment from my staff or your teammates. I tried my best to employ people I trust and are advised to report anything that made you uncomfortable. So Without further or do let's talk strategy.”

You go over everything you expect from the team and how the strategy is going to change. You then instruct your team to go rest so that training may begin tomorrow at 9 am.

On their way out you called for the captain to have a word with them. Once the room is empty you quickly say ” so you heard everything i said, i just want to make sure that you two know that i mean Plus the captaincy is going to change. Obviously, you two are the captain and vice. You can come with me with any concern or question about anything.my door is always open. I am appointing jenni as the 3rd captain.”

“ That wouldn't go over well with the federation,” said irene.

“ Well, I don't care. They knew who they hired. Plus I don't play by their rules.” you respond. The captains share a satisfactory look with you although you haven't looked at either of their eyes, then leave.

Your transition to head coach seemed to be seamless. The players were responding to your advice and strategies. The media seemed to be happy with the changes you made and especially with the arrival of mapi leon. The vibe of the club overall was great, and you were getting comfortable in your new spot. However, it was all about to change at the pro match press conference. The conference itself went great. You and the vice captain answered all the questions given to you without any mishaps. But once the media left and you were left alone with alexia, you felt yourself suffocating so you quickly got up to leave.

“ You can't avoid me forever,” said Alexia calmly.

“ Who said anything about avoiding you? The conference is done, so I am leaving. If you want to talk to me about anything, my office door is always open.” you say with a cold tone not bothering to look at her.

“ You don't talk to me like you never do. Besides you won't even look at me." Alexia sounded sad. All you wanted was to take away all her pain but you couldn't.

“ I talk like this to everybody.” you hear her get up and see her in front of you. Not looking her in her eyes would prove her point, and doing it would rip you to shreds. You suck it up and look at her hazel captivating eyes. “ Happy now?” you respond. “ We can't continue like this, we have to talk about that night.”

“ alexia there is nothing to talk about. I forgot everything that happened ,I moved on. I am your coach right now. If you have a concern about anything football related, come to my office.” you were lying straight to her face. You didn't move on or forget what happened. You just hoped your tough girl act would hold with her.

Game Day was always fun for you but this time around it had a little nervousness attached to it since it was your introduction as the new coach. You started your day witha call from the RFEF board wishing you good luck and re-stating their confidence in you. You revised your strategy, confirmed you starting 11, and headed to the bus so that you would head to the stadium. You decided on a blue suit and let your hair down. You looked both masculine and feminine which summed up your personality perfectly.

Once you arrived at the stadium you gave the girls a motivational speech, headed to your seat in the sidelines and waited for the game to begin. You weren't a loud manager. You just sat there, observed the play and took notes. You trusted the girl’s judgment and gave them some autonomy when it came to the style of play which rewarded you with a goal in the 8th minute by aitana bonmati. The 1-0 unset turned into 6-0 by the 76th minute which made you proud of your debut. However it all turned into chaos when alexia putellas fell on the field. You panicked as the paramedics ran to her. You watched intensely as they examined her and waited for the signal that informed you that you needed a substitution which you got almost immediately. Your heart broke for the recently healed midfielder but you had other things in mind. You called for Teresa Abelleira and subbed her in. The game ended in a 7-0 win. You shook hands with everybody, did an interview but the thought of alexia didn't leave your mind. As soon as you were done you semi sprinted to the locker room. Once you got there you found irene.

“ Is it the acl again?” you ask worryingly.

“ No, it's just a muscle strain and her knee is acting up again.” you breathe for the first time in an hour.

“ This is happening because of you.” she says harshly.

“ Excuse me.” you couldnt believe what you heard.

“ You shouldn't have come back here. You taking this job was a mistake. You have opened up an old wound and this is just the beginning.”

“ I am going to have to stop you right here. First, I am your boss not your buddy from back in the day so you are going to have to take a step back and show some respect. Second, you have the nerve to talk to me about making mistakes knowing that you ruined my life not too long ago.

“ She didn't sleep last night. That's why she got injured today. I am worried about my friend.”

“ You should have thought about your friend 4 years ago.” you say as you enter the medic’s room leaving her behind.

You found alexia with tape on her knee and achilles. Her eyes were closed so she didn't see you come in and sit next to her.

“ I am willing to talk about that night this time only. Say everything you need but once I leave this room you are never going to bring it up again.”

The only way to make it out is through. You thought.

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changbunnies · 8 months ago

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Angel of Music (18+)

♡ Pairing: Phantom!Minho x Opera Singer Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: phantom of the opera inspired au, horror themes, dark romance, age gap, smut, dead dove? read the warnings carefully and come to ur own conclusion on what you're willing to read before engaging pls :'), the ending is also a lil dark, sorry!

♡ Word Count: 5.8k

♡ Summary: A phantom exists in the opera house– he controls every production from the shadows, lurks around every dark corner, always watching. In your dreams exists an angel– a guardian that sings to you, guides you, and comforts you. When The Phantom appears before you in your dressing room mirror, you begin to realize that he and your angel may be one in the same.

♡ General Warnings: slightly less extreme age gap than the source material that inspires this fic but it's still fairly large (reader is ~mid 20s and minho is ~40), briefly described attempted murder of minor characters, implications of stalking, hypnotism, hallucinations + doubts of reality, so much usage of the words "phantom" and "angel" it's not even funny, this fic is not an accurate representation of how hypnotism works irl but it's fiction so i'm taking liberties!

♡ Smut Warnings: dubcon (due to reader being hypnotized), additionally to not being in their proper state of mind, there are also moments in which reader does not feel to be in full control of their body, light dom/sub dynamics, soft pleasure dom!minho because i want more of him !!, mask kink (does it still count if the mask doesn't cover his whole face?? idk i hope so!), some biting, oral (f rec), overstim, multiple orgasms

♡ Notes: i've known for ages that i wanted to write a phantom!minho fic, and my kinktober series gave me the perfect reason to finally write it! also the fact that both my uploaded minho fics are age gap romances?? that was not intentional i swear lmao

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

All inhabitants of the opera house have been on edge these days– consequence of the new owners of the Opera Populaire, who decided to disregard all of The Phantom's demands.

The Phantom, as the name suggests, is a ghost story of sorts. According to your castmates, he has been here since long before you joined the Opera Populaire's trainees last year, but his activity has begun to increase since your arrival.

He controls all in the opera house, and his demands of the previous owner were always quite simple; perform what shows he instructs you to, follow his casting down to the letter, and keep the seats in Box Five free at all times. Evidentially, Box Five is his favorite place to watch the shows from– and sometimes, his dark silhouette can be spotted in the shadows of the booth, indiscernible but unmistakably there.

No one has ever truly seen The Phantom beyond a shadow, nor have they heard him speak. He communicates with notes, always left within feet of the recipient without anyone having seen him come or go. His notes will even appear in broad daylight, with not a single person having caught a glimpse of him despite all the eyes in the room.

Well, more accurately, no one has seen him apart from the Madame– an older woman who used to be a performer for the Opera Populaire herself, but has taken the role of choreographer since her retirement from the stage. In the 15 years it's been since The Phantom made his presence known to the opera house, she's the only one who's ever seen him, or heard his voice.

A brief encounter, she explained when asked about it– had barely seen him for more than a few passing moments. He spoke little, but the beauty of his voice was striking, completely unlike any other she’d ever heard. And all he asked of her, in that fleeting moment, was to remember that the Opera Populaire is his home– and as long as the inhabitants respect him, he'll respect them in turn.

The previous director, the Madame, and The Phantom all had a mutual understanding of what was to be done. As long as they listened to him, shows would go off without a hitch; but refuse, and there'd be dire consequences. As such, the Madame has been doing her best to express the importance of listening to The Phantom to the new owners.

The Monsieurs view it as no more than silly superstition– every opera house has their own beliefs and customs, things they consider good and bad luck before a show, things they view as omens of a show's future success. The Phantom is simply one of those things– and with a guiding hand, they can dispel such superstitions, show the cast and crew that there is no shadowy phantom to fear.

The first note left for the Monsieurs went disregarded– a barking laugh leaving the elder of the two before he tossed it in the bin. The instructions on the note were clear enough– you were to take the role of Eurydice in the opera house's production of Orpheus and Eurydice, and not Carlotta, as they originally casted.

You were just as baffled as everyone else to learn that The Phantom wanted you to take such an important role– you'd only been here a year, were still so new to your opera training. It's true enough that you have a good voice, and your dancing has improved with all your diligent practice, but you're still young, and the tragic role of Eurydice is not so easily performed.

Natural talent for bringing emotion to performance aside, you lack stage experience– experience that you can easily gain from background roles. To make you such a crucial stand-out role after only a year of training was simply unheard of– no opera house would do it!

This is to be your first production, your first time on stage in front of an audience; and so regardless of what The Phantom wants, Monsieur Reyer opted to keep you strictly in the supporting chorus roles, where you would go from shepherdess, to nymph, to spirit as the acts progressed. Not a glamorous, shining position in the cast by any means, but more than enough to help familiarize you with the reality of performing with hundreds of eyes watching.

It wouldn't take long for The Phantom to make his displeasure with the decision known. And what started off as just small accidents and stage mishaps quickly turned violent and dangerous as each week passed with you still not given the role that The Phantom felt you deserved to have.

The first violent turn came during rehearsals for Act 3, right in the middle of Eurydice's climactic aria, when the chandelier above the stage came crashing down. Carlotta was standing directly beneath it just before it fell, and it narrowly missed her– purely because she happened to take a few steps forward whilst singing.

“An unfortunate accident,” the Monsieurs said, “it had nothing to do with The Phantom!” But the veterans of the opera house knew better– and the conductor swore he saw a dark shadow on the scaffolds just before the chandelier fell; a shadow that could belong to none other than The Phantom.

Carlotta screamed as it crashed just mere inches away from her, right where she's just been standing, and cried as everyone rushed to her side to ensure that she was unharmed. Again, the Madame tried to persuade them to heed The Phantom before another such “accident” occurred.

"Good God in Heaven, you're all obsessed! These things just happen sometimes– there is no phantom!" Reyer cried in exasperation over everyone's insistence, still unwilling to give in to the idea that the opera house's ghost was real.

And tonight, just after rehearsals came to a close, another terrible stage accident occurred– this time happening to Monsieur Reyer himself. He was up on the scaffolding when it happened, making sure all the stagehands properly rigged the lights in preparation for tomorrow night's premiere of Orpheus and Eurydice.

He was bent down, inspecting the bulbs and wires, when a dark figure appeared behind him. The shadow wrapped a noose around his neck faster than anyone could even react, pushed him off the scaffolding before swiftly retreating back to the shadows.

Reyer almost didn't survive– he was lucky that the nearby stagehands were quick on their feet and in their wits, managing to grab his arms and pull him up while another cut the rope that served to hang the poor man. And as if the message from the accidents alone weren't clear enough, another note was left behind right in the middle of the stage.

It was astounding, really, that not a single person saw The Phantom leave the note behind– and while some could argue that it was because all eyes were on Reyer, or because the stage became chaos as they worked to save him, the Monsieurs realized that maybe they should start to believe that there really is a ghost inhabiting the Opera Populaire.

The moment the note was noticed, the Madame picked it up, and read it aloud for all to hear. "Again, I remind you that Y/N will play the role of Eurydice. As I instruct, Box Five shall remain open for my use. These seats will not be used by another. This is my final warning– disregard at your own risk."

Realizing they had no choice, lest they wish to continue putting themselves and other cast and crew in danger, the Monsieurs begrudgingly declared you the new Eurydice, right then and there.

Given that you're at every rehearsal, you know Eurydice's lines by heart, and are confident that you can sing them well– but still, you're nervous. It's your first production, the premiere is sold out, is set for tomorrow night, and suddenly you're in one of the most pivotal roles in the entire opera.

You don't even understand why The Phantom is so adamant about giving the role to you; what is it about you that he likes, what is it that he sees in you? You wish you could ask the Madame, but she met him so fleetingly, and so many years ago– she has no way of knowing The Phantom's heart beyond an educated guess.

Sitting before your dressing room mirror, you sigh, utterly exhausted– now that you're Eurydice, it was vital that you do a last minute costume fitting and makeup test. As such, you've been in the opera house hours past the time you'd normally be here. The moon hangs high in the sky now, you're sure; you wonder if you should just spend the night here, sleep in the dressing room instead of making a late trek home.

Regardless, you hope your angel comes to you tonight. You know no one would believe you if you told them, but you really do have a guardian angel; and in your dreams, he comes to you– always when you are most lost and in need of guidance. He's a gentle, calming presence; always comforts you, talks to you sweetly when you're filled with self doubt, sings to you in the most beautiful of voices.

You've never actually seen your angel clearly– only heard his voice calling your name and whispering, singing, in a way that could only be described as angelic in its serenity. In your dreams, he's nothing but a vague, blurry image– even at his most clear, you can't define any of his features.

Still, you think of him fondly– and you suspect that as an angel, you aren't meant to be able to fully perceive him. And your angel always, always, knows when you need him– you suspect that even now, he's waiting; waiting for the moment you fall asleep, so that he can come to your side.

You look at yourself, still dressed as Eurydice. A beautiful, off shoulder bateau gown in the prettiest, purest ivory. There's lace appliques throughout the gown, has a beautiful cinched bodice before the tulle skirt fluffs out. It's elegant, makes you feel like a bride waiting to walk down the aisle.

Your makeup shimmers– extra glitter applied on your eyelids to make sure the stage lights catch it. Your jewelry too, is extravagant– made to sparkle and shine every time a light shines on you, to twinkle with each subtle move you make. It's a shame you have to take it all off just to put it all back on tomorrow– but the effort to make sure everything fits you was necessary.

You reach your hands up to one of your ears, prepare to remove one of your dangling earrings when you hear a voice you know all too well call your name– your angel's voice.

You look around the room, bewildered, but see nothing and no one. And surely you were mistaken– you're still awake! Your angel only comes to you in dreams, and you haven't fallen asleep... right? You are still awake, aren't you?

Again, you hear his voice, another whisper of your name. You rise from your chair, look around the room once more– no one. You turn back to the dressing room mirror, and jump in surprise, realizing that the view reflected in it has changed. You no longer see yourself, or the reflection of the dressing room around you– instead, you see a man.

He looks just as the Madame described her memory of The Phantom– dark hair, and even darker eyes, with a white mask that covers the right half of his face. Not completely– just from his hairline, down to his pretty, plump lips. Every inch of his skin is covered, head to toe, all of his clothes pure black apart from the ornate red vest.

Sleek boots and dark trousers, a tall collar that obscures most of his neck, long sleeves that cover his arms, even gloves covering his hands. He wears a cape, long and as dark as the rest of his clothes, and it blows behind him as if there’s a breeze rolling through.

You’re confused, a little frightened, but you can’t tear your eyes away or will yourself to flee– and as the figure speaks your name, you gasp; he truly has the voice of your angel. But he’s The Phantom, isn’t he?

The blurry, vague scenery behind him begins to sharpen, coming more distinctly visible to your uncertain eyes. A dark corridor full of candelabra, glowing in dull yellows and shades of orange, held by incorporeal hands with no discernable origin.

What little of your dressing room you see in your peripheral shifts and warps as you stare at him, blur together into dark shadows as the table holding your hairbrush and makeup begin to fade and disappear, leaving the view through the mirror as the only thing you can see.

The figure– your angel, The Phantom?– holds his hand out to you through the mirror, as if the glass that should separate you no longer exists; perhaps it doesn't. Smoke– or maybe fog, mist? you can't be certain– pours into the room as you approach the mirror.

As if under a spell, you reach out to take his hand, thinking not of logic as you follow the beckoning call of your name. Your angel; you trust your angel. He smiles as you place your hand in his, and carefully, you step through the mirror, into the corridor.

Entranced, you stare at him; even with half a mask covering his face, he's utterly beautiful. He appears to be older than you, hints of fine lines beholden around his mouth and eyes, and even that adds to his mysterious charm. He holds your gaze as he takes a step back, a candelabra in his hand now, beckoning you to follow him down the corridor.

You squeeze his hand as you follow, and finally he turns around, walks with purpose as he guides you, glancing behind every so often to look at you in what you think to be adoration. You too, glance behind– and where the mirror once stood is now a desolate, barren wall.

You do not see any hint of your dressing room, or of the mirror you stepped through. And as you continue further down the corridor, the candelabra that were once behind you slowly begin to blink out and vanish from sight, leaving only pitch black darkness behind. A spiral staircase made of stone manifests, and you descend it, hand in hand with your angel.

You're so enchanted and bewildered, you can't seem to find your voice– all you can do is follow, let him guide you along to where it is he wants you to be. Even the staircase dissipates when you've finished descending, and for just a moment, you wonder– is any of this truly real?

Finally, you stand in the middle of a beautiful room, lit candles both resting in more candelabra and strewn about the floor, with dark, intricately woven tapestries hanging from the stone walls. There’s a grand piano, sleek black with gold accents, with even more candles resting atop it, as well as a sheet of music sitting pristine on the music desk, black ink seemingly freshly dried, just waiting to be played.

There are several mirrors, though only one remains uncovered– the rest are obscured by cloth, for reasons you do not know. There is a bed, in what you suppose would be called a “corner” in this otherwise circular space, inviting and plush in its appearance, with blankets colored a rich red. Naturally, candles surround the bed as well, covering it in a beautifully soft, yellow-orange glow.

“Where are we?” you finally find your voice to ask, and the man smiles as he beckons you to follow him towards his bed. “We are home,” he replies, and though it’s a strange answer, you feel you understand– yes, you are home. This is home.

You gaze at him curiously after you sit on the bed, just as comfortable as you expected it to be, and he mimics the way you’ve tilted your head at him. “You’re.. My angel, aren’t you? Or are you The Phantom?” you ask, and the man laughs ever so softly, melodious and beautiful.

“I am Minho,” he responds, as if that alone is a sufficient enough answer– in a way, you suppose it is. What else is there to know? He is Minho. That is enough.

“I have longed to touch you, to bring you here,” Minho whispers as he reaches one of his gloved hands to your face, strokes your cheek slowly, gently. The sensation, though simple, feels so tender– it sparks something inside you, fills you with a warmth you’ve never felt before. You close your eyes, bask in the comfort his touch provides you.

You feel his hand move, travel down until his fingers are under your chin. He tilts your head up, and you open your eyes to see him gazing down at you warmly. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers, speaking to you as gently as he always does. He’s said it before, in your dreams– that you are beautiful, talented, deserving of all you wish to have.

He never lets you linger on self-doubt, never allows you to think you are lesser than someone else, or undeserving of the opportunities you’ve been granted. Your angel knows you– you think he’s appearing to you now, like this, because he knows you are uncertain of playing Eurydice; he must think that he needs to remind you of just how special you are.

All of your doubts about tomorrow’s premiere– he will dispel them from your mind, as he always does. He kneels before you, gazing at you carefully as he inches closer to you, his hands softly rubbing over your shoulders and down your arms. His attentive stare as he caresses you makes you breathing quicken, your heart starting to pick up speed.

“Do you trust me?” Minho asks suddenly, and with not an ounce of hesitation, you nod. You’ve no reason not to trust him– in the year it's been since your angel first appeared to you, you’ve always trusted him. There is no one else that makes you feel so secure, so at peace, so.. Loved, cared for. Yes, your angel, Minho, loves you, cares for you like no other. You trust him.

“I wish to clear your mind of worry and doubt– to make you think only of me, and the music we can make together. I wish to touch you, to kiss you, to hold you," he says, and oh, he knows he shouldn’t be pouring his heart out like this, for it’s too soon, much too soon. But he’s been enamored with you since the first moment you stepped into the Opera Populaire, has been infatuated with you since first hearing the passion in your voice.

He can’t help it, it seems– now that he has you here, in his lair, his defenses falter, all of his desires pouring out of him. To have you here, and to touch you like this, even so simply– it’s everything he’s wanted. And instantly, unconsciously, you reach out to him. Your angel sees you, knows you– you wish to know him too, to understand him the way he does you.

Your mind is somehow as clear as it is hazy– clear, because you know what it is that you want. Regardless of who he is, what he is, you want Minho to have you. Anything he wants, you feel compelled to give, as if it’s all you know; and in this moment, perhaps it is. In the very back reaches of your addled mind, a reminder blares– The Phantom always gets what he wants.

And what he wants now, most of all, is you; and despite what logic may tell you to feel, you trust him to have you. He sees all that you feel in your expression alone, knows all that you think as if he’s seen into the depths of your mind. Even now, perhaps more than ever before, he sees you.

Sees all that you are, and all that you want– and a charming smile plays on his lips as you gaze at him with wanton desire to let him take you. To let him have, to give yourself over– you wish to offer yourself wholly to your angel’s desires.

Your eyes flutter closed as he kisses you, a soft press that you could almost call chaste, his hands slowly moving over your body, each soft touch lingering. You don’t feel his gloves anymore, you realize– did he take them off without you noticing? You suppose it doesn’t matter– his hands are warm, a bit rough and calloused against the soft skin of your arms, and you like it.

Even as his kisses become less chaste, deepen as his hands travel to your hips, they remain slow and purposeful. His hands eventually find the bottom of your dress, begin to lift it ever so slowly up your thighs– not to expose you, but so that he can slot himself between your legs. Somehow, innately, you understand this– and easily, you spread your legs for him, allowing him to find his place between them.

His arms wrap around you after, pulling you closer, pressing your body to his. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly by the time he pulls away, breathless as you look to him with eager, impassioned eyes– a gaze that heats his otherwise cold heart. You reach up, bring your hands to his face; he nearly flinches when you touch his mask, though he knows you mean no harm.

Minho feels himself ugly under his mask– too scarred and disfigured to be appealing to you in any regard; at least like this, with only the good parts of his face on display, you may find him handsome. Your touch is as soft as your gaze, and though perhaps you should, you make no move to remove his mask; you simply rub your thumb over the cold porcelain.

It’s a vulnerable thing, really– how softly you touch his ugliest spots. It doesn’t matter that you can’t see them from beneath his mask– the tender regard you seem to feel for him, even without having seen the scars that mar him, is more than enough. It’s ironic, in a way, that you seem to think he’s an angel; in reality, the only angel in this room is you.

“I want to please you, if you'll let me,” he breathes as his fingertips ghost over your thighs. It makes your breath hitch, blinking at him slowly as you process his intent. There is much your angel wants– but chasing the pleasure of his own flesh isn’t one of those things. He doesn’t need it to feel satisfied; your pleasure will more than suffice him.

His dark eyes bore into yours as he awaits your answer, can tell from his wanting gaze how serious he is about pleasing you, and it makes your cheeks slowly bloom with heat. And it’s not just what he wants– it’s what he needs, really; when you surrender yourself to him, he wants it to be for your pleasure, not his own.

“Oh, please– touch me,” you answer, plead– because something from deep inside you screams for it, wanting it beyond all comprehension. Your darkest, most innate desires manifest for him; desires that you didn’t even fully realize you had. They possess you, drive you to kiss him again, urgent and passionate.

Minho returns your kiss with equal fervor, lets his tongue slip past his lips to meet yours. They share a dance, swirl around each other until you’re breathless again; and then he’s guiding you back, urging you to lay down as he hovers over you. He pulls the skirt of your dress further up your body, until your thighs are entirely exposed and he can see your dampening panties.

He lowers himself to you, but doesn’t go immediately where you expect him too– he takes his time trailing wet, lingering kisses over your thighs instead. Your inner thighs are sensitive, ticklish, and you can’t help but squirm from each kiss he grants you.

You also can’t help but jolt each time the cool porcelain of his mask presses against the hot skin of your thigh, and again when he carefully sinks his teeth into your pliant flesh. He doesn't do it hard enough to hurt, or even fully leave indents of his teeth behind– just enough to leave you panting and squirmy; and he lets out a soft, airy laugh every time he succeeds in the endeavor.

Your bunched up skirt is so full that you can hardly even watch him work you up; but there are times, while kissing and biting over your trembling thighs, that he lifts his head just enough to let you catch his gaze. It makes your heart skip a beat, butterflies dancing in your stomach every time he locks eyes with you while kissing around where you need him most.

You reach a point where you’re no longer squirming because his attention tickles, but because you’re becoming desperate, impatient; and the way he stares at you as he does it all doesn't help in the slightest. “Minho, please,” you whine, shameless; and you can feel him smile against your skin before he lifts himself up from his place between your legs.

“Needy are we, angel?” he asks, grinning as you pout and nod. “Need you,” you mumble, but he hears you loud and clear; he’s attuned to you, your angel is. He lowers himself between your thighs once more, kisses your pussy over your panties– and it’s not quite what you need, but it’s enough to have you gasping and quivering.

Again, he takes his time, as if not a single ounce of urgency resides within him. And make no mistake, it does– but Minho knows how to restrain himself. He’s a stubborn man, that is certainly true, but he’s also perfectly in control of himself; for now, anyways.

And he likes the way you whine for him when you feel his tongue lick you up over the fabric of your panties. It’s not a full enough feeling for you, or a full enough taste of your pussy for him, but the desperate, whiny sounds it draws out of you are delicious enough to satisfy him.

Still, while he’s enjoying the way his soft kisses and kitten licks over your panties is making you writhe and cry for him, he also can’t deny how badly he wants to finally taste you directly on his tongue. He’s been patient enough, he thinks, and so have you– why not indulge just a little sooner than planned?

In contrast to how sweetly he’s treated you up to this point, he’s quick to tear your panties away from your body. The sound of the fabric ripping makes you gasp, and maybe later he’ll apologize– but for now, lapping his tongue between your folds is of more importance. You moan when his tongue finally meets your bare pussy, as does Minho– and despite the hunger that he feels, he continues to lick you over slowly.

The languid pace makes you crazy– you want more, so much more, but your angel has been waiting for this; he needs to take his time with you, needs to embed the taste of your dripping sex on his tongue, needs to make sure it’s something he’ll never be able to forget. And he isn’t trying to tease you by keeping the slow pace– well, maybe he is a little; he does enjoy it, after all– but he’s sincerely craved this for too long to let the moment quickly pass him by.

He brings his hands to your thighs, squeezing them in his hands and preventing you from closing them around his head. You’re sure it’s partly so he can keep you spread out for him, to keep enjoying the easy access to your pussy, but it’s also so that your trembling thighs don’t cause his mask to shift, and fall from his face.

You gasp when the cool, smooth and rigid porcelain covering the right side of his nose bumps your clit as he shoves his tongue into your hole. And while he isn’t purposely trying to get you to cum just yet, his slow but diligent ministrations are getting you there regardless– with his tongue dipping in and out of your heat, always pushing in as deep as he can make it go, and his mask-covered nose nudging your clit.

You let your head fall back against the bed, your every high pitched whimper and moan echoing off the stone walls surrounding you. You try to tell him you’re going to cum, but you fail miserably– all that leaves you is a quick succession of whines before your eyes are rolling, back bowing off the bed as release on his tongue. Minho moans with you, hums happily as he licks the mess from your pussy like the cat that got the cream.

He laves over your clit when he’s done licking up your cum– and it's sensitive, swollen from your orgasm; but that doesn’t stop him from swirling his tongue around it, and positively knocking the air from your lungs. The sensation is overwhelming, he knows it is even without you telling him, but it’s still so good that you don’t want to squirm away, or ask him to stop– or perhaps you can’t.

You get the distinct feeling that even if you tried, your limbs would resist, would fight to keep you in place– despite your best efforts, you would remain just as you are now. Spread open and trembling, exactly how Minho wants you. “You make the prettiest music, angel,” he separates from you long enough to speak, “want you to keep singing for me.”

And sing for him you do when he dives back in, flicks your clit with his tongue a few times before wrapping his lips around it, sucking it like a piece of hard candy. Your moans, the smacking sounds of his lips, the way he hums when he returns to your hole to collect the cream– it’s an orchestra, just for the two of you.

You cum again in record time, of course you do. Minho finds it cute, the way you incoherently babble away as you let go for him again. And he isn’t done just because you came again– no, he’s far from finished with your pussy. He doesn’t tire in the slightest, ceaseless in the way he lavishes with you his tongue and suckles with his pretty, perfect lips.

When you cum for the third time, you don’t even know if you truly ever stop cumming at all– the pleasure just keeps coming in waves, never fully receding before it builds again, washing over you like a tsunami before it all repeats. You writhe and twist, back repeatedly bowing off his bed before falling back, but your thighs stay spread for him, even when his hands stop holding them down.

His hands have found their way beneath you, cupping and squeezing your ass as he eats away. Your hips wriggle, and he helps grind you up against his face, moaning and humming all the while. It’s too much and not enough all at once; your body screams that it can’t take it, and yet your mind screams that it needs more, and God, you can’t think straight– but is there any point in this night that you were?

You’re hot and heaving, sweat dripping from your brow as you tremble and bend. Minho is hot too, of course– his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, his face red from his cheeks to his ears, and even down his neck. And were you not so far gone, you’d have noticed that his mask has shifted and fallen from his face.

It was because of you, too– when another high took you and tugged on his hair hard, crying as your hips jolted and bucked against his face. He should’ve swiftly put it back on, lest you see his scars, but he didn’t– he just shoved it aside, against his better judgment, so he could keep licking you up without interruption.

You feel positively delirious by the time he’s finished, eyes heavy and bleary, body utterly limp and boneless. He crawls his way up to you, and your gaze is unfocused, blurry; you can hardly distinguish his features anymore– similar to the way he always appeared in your dreams before now.

Regardless, you smile at him before you close your eyes; a weak, but content one that Minho finds oh so endearing. You’re beyond fatigued, but also feel an unmatched sense of elation as your angel strokes your head and whispers sweet nothings for you to fall asleep to. “You belong to me now,” you hear him say, just before you drift off– and you know it’s true.

You think, perhaps, you’ve always belonged to him. From the very first moment Minho saw you, he knew he was never going to let you go. And just as Orpheus had done for Eurydice, he’d gladly walk into the depths of Hades itself if that’s what it took to keep you by his side.

He gently caresses your cheek as you fall into a deeper sleep, presses a soft kiss to your lips and whispers a final soft utterance of love before he covers you with a blanket, and your mind goes completely dark for the night.

You wake the next day with a struggle– at least, you think it’s the next day; it’s too dark in the room you’re in to tell for certain. You reach out for Minho, but don’t feel him anywhere– and as you sit up, and your eyes adjust to the darkness, you realize that you are alone. Your brows furrow as you look around; you’re still in his room, but it doesn’t look quite the same.

There are no candles, not on the floor or in the candelabra that now lie empty. The tapestries adorning the walls are torn and dulled in color, the piano dusty and the gold decorating it chipped. The sheet of music that sits on the piano’s music desk, that last night looked so fresh and pristine, now appears weathered and yellowed.

As you grab the blanket to pull it off you, you realize it isn't a blanket at all that is covering you, but a cape– Minho’s cape. And on the bed, just an arm’s reach away from you lies a note– the same kind that The Phantom always leaves behind inside the Opera Populaire.

Your hand trembles as you pick it up, eyes straining to read it in the darkness. The message he leaves behind, when your eyes focus on the words well enough to read them, is quite simple. “To my beloved and beautiful Eurydice; welcome home.”

#skz x reader #lee know x reader #skz smut #lee know smut #skz fanfic #lee know fanfic #skz imagines #skz scenarios #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune #don't ask me how many times i listened to the poto soundtrack while writing and editing this #the answer is obscene (several hours)

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shmlnbstrcnd · 3 months ago

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Season 1 failed Vi too. Jinx was always the writers' priority.

The way Arcane (even in Season 1) didn't address Vi's trauma from being imprisoned in Torture Jail as a child, gets even more egregious when compared to how Jinx's trauma was handled. From the very beginning, it was clear that the writers cared far more about Jinx than Vi.

I'm gonna focus only on Season 1 and ignore Season 2 (which is a whole other can of worms), because I want to highlight that the problems with Vi's writing already existed since the first season. So many people who are critical of Vi's writing in Season 2 praise her writing in Season 1, so I want to push back on that. Because Season 1 already failed Vi. Season 2 just multiplied that by 100.

Now, what Jinx went through in s1e3 was horrific and definitely enough to break a child's sanity. No denying that. Add to that her entire childhood leading up to that point, as well as preexisting mental illness, and the mental state of Jinx that we saw in episodes 4-9 was 100% realistic and believable. Even though she was taken in by Silco, then raised with tons of affection and validation, none of that was enough to heal her trauma. Good writing, no notes. Then we have Vi. Vi also went through season 1 episode 3, and her side of things were, in my opinion, just as potentially sanity-breaking. Then, she was immediately kidnapped and thrown into Torture Jail. As a child. In this jail, she was taken in by no one. Given affection and validation by no one. She got brutally beaten so many times that the wardens lost count. She felt crippling grief and guilt and worry the whole time but had no one to confide her feelings with. She had nothing.

At the same time as all this, Jinx had affection. She had validation. She had someone to confide her feelings with. Someone who even related to her trauma and could empathize. If anyone had hurt a hair on Jinx's head, Silco would have had them skinned alive. Silco was also the richest man in Zaun and its crime leader, so Jinx essentially grew up as the closest thing Zaun has to a princess. A mafia princess with an overly doting dad/trauma buddy. Remember, despite all this comfort, Jinx was still realistically shown to be horribly mentally damaged, and her trauma explored deeply and extensively in the show.

But Vi, who had none of the comforts Jinx did during the same duration of years, and received all the physical and mental abuse that Jinx didn't, somehow came out of the timeskip considerably saner and more well-adjusted than Jinx. Not only that, she also came out of the timeskip more forgiving and charitable towards enforcers than she was before her torturous imprisonment. And significantly more forgiving and charitable towards enforcers than Jinx, despite Jinx being immune to any enforcer abuse during the timeskip thanks to Silco having Marcus by the balls.

..........

Do you see why this writing is completely unbelievable and illogical? The excuses people give for this are:

1) "Vi is just that tough. She is mentally stronger than Jinx so it takes more to break her."

... sorry, but no 15-year-old on earth is so mentally tough that years of prolonged physical torture, verbal abuse, minimal sunlight, poor nutrition, no love or support, zero positive relationships, no proper medical care, and no psychological or psychiatric intervention, doesn't destroy them. Find me an example of a kid in real life who went through the equivalent of that and came out mostly sane, quipping and immediately ready to flirt with the cops.

2) "But Vi's trauma was shown in Season 1! She hallucinates Powder in the slums and also has a few lines saying how much prison sucked".

The Powder hallucinations occured while she was stabbed and delirious from blood loss. In every other scene, she showed no signs of mental illness. Her one or two lines saying Prison Bad were just that. Throwaway lines. If you removed them, would you be able to guess that Vi suffered in prison as a child? The Vi who is flirting and rapidly falling in love with an enforcer? No, from her behavior, you'd have no idea what she went through. Compare this to Jinx: If you removed all the verbal lines talking about the events of s1e3, would you still be able to guess what Jinx went through? Yes. Because it is shown in her character through more than just throwaway lines. It is shown visually, mentally, behaviorally.

3) "Vi just got lucky in genetics. Schizophrenia is hereditary and Powder was the unlucky child."

But Jinx's hallucinations aren't the only way her trauma is shown. Her entire personality is a response to her trauma. Even while lucid, she behaves in such a way that it's unmistakable this girl went through something fucked up as a child. Vi doesn't necessarily have to hallucinate or speak to dolls in order to show her trauma. The show just didn't bother to show it in any way whatsoever.

4) "Vi was hyper focused on her goal of killing Silco, and was suppressing the prison trauma."

So that means it should have been shown in Season 2 right? After Silco died and the dust settled? Guess what. It wasn't. The hallucinations she had in s2e5? All about Caitlyn and her break-up. Nothing about prison, Jinx, Vander, Mylo, Claggor, Benzo, Ekko, nothing. But then again, even Jinx's trauma responses were erased in Season 2 so like I said, Season 2 is another can of worms.

5) "Caitlyn is just that wonderful and kind and perfect and sweet that only 3 days with her undid 7 years' impact of torturous jail time and prior 15 years of class oppression."

Lol. Lmao even. That's all I can say.

TLDR: Vi during the Season 1 timeskip arguably faced a shit ton more physical, emotional, and mental torture than Jinx did, and it's illogical writing that she wasn't equally or even more damaged than Jinx. Even taking into account factors like Jinx's pre-existing mental illness or Vi's super duper ultra internal strength, it's still not believable. The fact is, Jinx has always been the writers' favourite. They did not care about writing/developing Vi's character as much as Jinx's. Season 1 already showed this. Vi deserved better from the start.

#vi #arcane vi #arcane critical #arcane s2 #arcane criticism #arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane league of legends #arcane netflix #jinx #arcane jinx

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mariacallous · 3 months ago

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CONCORD, N.H. (AP) — Parker Tirrell, 16, enjoys her art classes, scrolling on TikTok and working at her new job at a pet store. But most of all, the transgender teen loves playing soccer.

Until last year, that wasn’t a problem.

“I was just living my life like any normal person,” said Tirrell, who has played since she was 4. “I was accepted. I had a nice, steady team that I played on all the time.”

Then came a cascade of obstacles, starting with a state ban on transgender girls in girls’ sports, and most recently President Donald Trump’s Feb. 5 executive order, “Keeping Men Out of Women’s Sports.”

Now, life is anything but normal. Tirrell, along with Iris Turmelle, 15, another transgender girl, are the first to challenge Trump’s order, six months after suing their own state over its ban and getting a court order allowing them to play.

“I just feel like I’m being singled out right now by lawmakers and Trump and just the whole legislative system for something that I can’t control,” Tirrell told The Associated Press in an interview. “It just doesn’t feel great. It’s not great. It feels like they just don’t want me to exist. But I’m not going to stop existing just because they don’t want me to.”

Transgender people represent a very small part of the nation’s youth population – about 1.4% of teens ages 13 to 17, about 300,000 people.

Turmelle, who likes trying different sports, described the past couple of years as stressful, difficult, annoying and overwhelming — “so many laws targeting you and your community for who you are and what you stand for and just your identity.”

One message she hopes to get across to others is “that we are human.”

“We don’t go to sleep in the day and go out at night and drink people’s blood. We don’t hate sunlight. We’re human, just like you.”

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historicity-was-already-taken · 9 months ago

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So, I saw you mention from the river to the sea being antisemitic. I’ve heard various people claim it had antisemitic origins but was never able to find reliable corroborating messages and was curious if u could elaborate on that more, if that’s why. The other argument I’ve heard is it being coded for “free from the jews” which. Yk. I definitely know there are some people who say it with that intent. But I am skeptical of insisting that implication is Always present to people who have found it a useful slogan to rally around on this issue without evidence backing up that intent in the original popularization of the slogan or that it has been widespread deliberately used with that meaning for a long time. Given your whole historian business I don’t doubt that you DO have solid reason for saying it’s antisemitic, I’d just love to hear the details.

I'm going to copy and paste what I wrote about this in an earlier post, because that's still my response:

"That phrase contains strongly genocidal undertones with regard to the Jewish population of Israel who were forced to settle there after being ethnically cleansed from their homes across Eurasia and North Africa over the course of the 20th century (many of whom were and continue to be treated like shit by that country's government and don't get me started on the Yishuv's treatment of Holocaust survivors).

More than half of the Jewish population of the world lives in Israel. As an American Jew and a Holocaust historian keenly aware of the circumstances regarding the postwar Jewish peopling of the modern State, I am deeply uncomfortable with seeing that phrase in my intellectual space. Free Palestine, yes; work towards equal rights for Arab and Palestinian citizens of Israel, yes; engage in active reparations for Palestinians who had their property actively stolen from them in 1948, yes; Truth and Reconciliation Commissions, yes; but not on the bodies of half of the 15 million Jews who remain on this planet."

There is no Collective Jewish Take on this, because Jews are not a hivemind. But it is my take, as a Jew, and as a Holocaust historian.

Jews across any political spectrum will be extremely sensitive to ANY language which reads to us incitement to ethnic cleansing, because we've been ethnically cleansed from all regions of Eurasia over the course of our ~3000 year history. A lot of Palestine activists don't want to engage with that and really resent being told that they need to. And like, I get it; I get their frustration, resentment, rage, and righteous indignation. But the Jewish pasts, and Jewish knowledge of our tenuous ongoing existence on this planet; those aren't going to go away just because it complicates rhetoric on the Israel/Palestinian Conflict.

People can keep using "from the river to the sea." You can keep using it. I'm not the Language Police. Some Jews here and elsewhere may feel comfortable using it and being in spaces where it's used. I'm not going to shit on those Jews or call them "Kapos" or "Self-hating" or "pick-mes." But I'm also not going to change my opinion or my analysis, or ever be comfortable with its use in my intellectual space.

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asofspades · 1 month ago

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Also, forgot to add this is the first post about Suo, but my loose thoughts about him possibly having to leave might be related to his "dream" which is literally the emancipation of slaves, nobody has something that elaborate, it's just, if you keep adding all the little things we know about Suo and link them to the topics of the story it kind of paints a very grim picture for him.

What do we know about Suo:

- His eye patch is said to be linked to a past incident, or so does Nirei say, he says there's an ancient Chinese dragon sealed there that sometimes wants to escape, idk about you guys, but this honestly made me thing he does have a traumatic eye injury, and saying the things about it trying to escape the seal might be a way to convey that it hurts sometimes without actually saying it, traumatic injuries like that are linked to future chronic pain in the area in flares. Hold on on the Chinese aspect of the thing for a moment because I'm going to talk about it later.

- People don't know shit about him before joining Furin, even though they do know he existed before that, they know he's an excellent fighter but not who he's fought against, which is weird. However Tsugeura seems to have personally met him before Furin and still he seems to know nothing about him.

- His middle school must have been in Makochi if they knew about him, or that's what I think is implied, however that's weird because it seems that nobody (Tsugeura excluded) had even met him in the street before.

- He mentions a master, but the way he does it makes me think he's not around anymore, not in a "they're dead" way,but more in a "haven't seen them in a while" way. Which to me means Suo's master must have deemed his training and formation done, but in order to get to that point by the time he's 15, or maybe 14, since his master being gone might predate his first year at Furin, he must've trained under him for a long while and very hard.

- Suo's file mentions "brothers" and the way it does so grouping them with his master makes me feel pretty sure about thinking these are not brothers by blood, but rather brothers because they trained under the same master. Keep this in mind please, also Suo admires them, which makes me think they must've been older. But much like his master I don't think they're around him anymore.

- Suo tends to wear collared shirts, never takes them off, not even at the beach from what the CD has let us know. That is a bit fishy and I have a couple theories about it but I'm keeping them for the China related section.

Okay, let me rant now about the prevalence of Chinese elements on Suo's character, I'm far from an expert in Chinese culture but I'm going to try:

- okay, I'm going to sound crazy, when Suo first introduces himself to Sakura, and technically to the audience, as Leonardo DiCaprio, Nirei corrects his name to Suo Hayato, and Suo's way of answering got me curious, "that's what they call me". And this sparked a lot of theories amongst people of him using a fake name so he wouldn't be recognised by other gangs or whatever but, please stay with me, I feel like this might be deeper than that.

Now you guys are definitely going to think I'm a lunatic, we know China has a big "child trafficking" issue, Suo seems to surround himself with elements of Chinese culture from his clothing to the meaning of his Japanese name, that's right, I do think Suo might have another name and that his Japanese one is not the original, why, well, he might've actually been Chinese and trafficked as a child, taken in my his master and his disciples, which would explain him referring to them as brothers, and also would mean that he speaks either Mandarin or Cantonese Chinese, since it is stated in his file that he speaks "another language" which honestly that was said in a way that told me "that other language he speaks is going to be relevant to his story", if it wasn't it would've been simply stated. Also, this would mean Suo had a Chinese name prior to this and it might've been changed for a Japanese one by his master to keep him safe. Option number 2, whoever Suo's family was in China they might've had issues with a criminal organisation and Suo just got taken in by his master and moved to Japan to keep him from danger, and that's why he's so paranoid about being found. I mean, this could've also very well just been his master being Chinese and him just taking inspiration and habits from him, or his parents being Chinese but they ended up in Japan somehow. But the way the thing about him knowing a second language was stated in his file makes me think the darker options are more feasible. Also, the whole emancipation of slaves thing, sound sketchy, you know.

Also, going back to the clothing, regardless of the route it takes above, it might be that Suo either has a mark from said human trafficking, has a mark from an organisation his parents belonged to (maybe this one is a bit of a stretch), has scars, maybe from old Chinese discipline methods that involve flagellation for imperfections (during training maybe or a family thing) or there's a background of abuse or maybe the incident that damaged his eye left scars in other places as well. There could be a lot of reasons why he refuses to take off his shirt and wears a high collar.

Anyways, that's it so far, whatever it is the mysterious ways we're given facts about Suo are really making me think we're getting a pretty intense backstory when his turn comes.

Okay, I think that's enough analysis for today.

#wind breaker #wind breaker analysis #suo hayato #suou hayato #suo hayato theories #wind breaker theories #suo hayato eyepatch #chinese suo hayato

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onedingo · 2 months ago

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Helinho Justiceiro, the guy who killed more than 60 people when he was around 17/19 years old

a report from Portugal about the brazilian serial killer. Hélio's speeches are in brazilian portuguese

At the end of the 1990s, in the northeast of Brazil, a region that has always faced the greatest social and economic difficulties, a great wave of violence marked the region, where the first local peripheries were formed. In these peripheries, poverty was extreme, and crimes such as robbery, murder, rape, theft and embezzlement were rife.

This was the situation in Camaragibe, a city just 15 kilometers from Recife, the capital of the state of Pernambuco, in northeastern Brazil. As a response to crime, since the state did nothing because the region was ignored by the federal government, several extermination groups emerged, which were factions of vigilantes who went after these criminals and "favelados" to kill them. And it was in this environment that Hélio José Muniz Filho, also known as Helinho, was living. He was born in 1977 and lived in one of these peripheries.

Hélio was a normal boy. He had no schooling, having studied up to the 5th grade of elementary school. He had worked in various jobs, such as security guard, mechanic, among other simple jobs. He had no involvement with drugs or crime and drank very little alcohol. According to him, when he was at home, he lived all "morgado" which means bored. So he spent most of his time away from home working, always at honest jobs.

In 1994, Hélio's outlook on life changed abruptly. He saw his brother-in-law murdered with 10 shots during a robbery, when thieves tried to steal the man's bicycle. This revolted him. He decided to leave the church he attended, moved away from his family and made a decision: "To kill greasy souls" (as he put it). He said, during his interrogations and interviews, that he only valued one type of criminal: bank robbers. According to them, only bank robbers were "good", because they stole from those who had money and from those who stole from the people. Apart from that, he showed great contempt, disgust and loathing for thieves and criminals who committed crimes against the people.

With his outlook on life now very clear, Helio decided to mix with other like-minded people, young people who were tired of being victims and seeing people being victimized by "rascal" thugs (in their words). So Helinho formed the group "The Avengers", where he became the leader. He knew the names of everyone he killed by heart, because they were all criminals.

According to him: "Fun for me only exists when I kill. I do charity for the population. After I murdered someone, I felt like drinking, playing and jumping"

In 1998, Helinho's mother began to find her son's behavior strange: he would leave the house and come back late, laugh at everything and even talk to himself. She decided to have him committed. During this period, Hélio's reputation was already spreading throughout the city, but he denied having committed any crimes and wanted to maintain a good appearance. He was admitted to a psychiatric hospital, but left shortly afterwards, denying having any psychological problems or emotional distress. In 1997 alone, Hélio had already killed more than 40 people, all bandits, "with a stamped license", as he put it. Hélio became a kind of local court. People no longer went to the police, they went to Hélio, and told him who had robbed them, or done other crimes, and he would track them down, go after them and kill them.

He preferred to shoot people in the head, but often the shot would hit them in the back while they were trying to escape. So most of his victims died with two shots: one in the back and one in the head. Hélio always went with a friend from his group, who liked to be there with the criminal, because they were all vigilantes.

Thinking back to the death of his brother-in-law, Helinho decided to go after the person who had killed him, because now he had the fame and power he needed to kill whoever he wanted.

So he went after a drug dealer who was involved and, narrated by himself, he said:

"I told him to ask God for forgiveness for the crime. When he started to pray, I shot him in the head"

Gradually, the criminal began to show another face: he started to execute drug dealers with several shots, in the middle of the street and in broad daylight. He prevented anyone from going to help, and just stood there watching his victim die little by little.

The only one of his victims who wasn't officially a thief or criminal was 13-year-old Fabiana. According to Hélio, in an interview, she was dating a drug dealer (of legal age) and she was telling everyone that Hélio was exterminating bandits, Fabiana said that the drug dealers wanted his (Hélio's) head and that they were going to finish him off. According to the boy, he replied that before he went, she (Fabiana) would go first.

Helinho went so far as to kill five people at once, as a kind of spree-killer. There are two versions of the story of Helinho's arrest. The first is that he murdered a thug who was a friend of a policeman and was involved with the corrupt police, and the other story is that the police stopped him driving an undocumented car and identified him as the criminal and he was arrested.

Helinho was sentenced and tried for 44 murders. He remembered the names of only 46 victims, but he claims to have killed 65. He said he had no regrets, and that if he could he would do it all over again. Legally, they only presented the name of Fabiana and another victim called Luiz Gonzaga. He went to prison and said: "In prison, my life is summed up in three options: they're going to kill me, I'm going to kill people, or I'm going to commit suicide. I'm thinking of suicide because there's no point in being around bandits with nothing to defend myself, if I'm going to die by the hands of others, I'd rather it be by my own hands"

Hélio was convicted and was serving his sentence when he was murdered by three other prisoners who were carrying a box cutter and stabbed him in the neck and arm.

#tccblr #tcc info #teeceecee #tcc brazil #tcc tumblr

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tgmsunmontue · 3 months ago

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Wild fields of forget-me-nots - 6/15

During the training for the mission Jake has an accident which results in him losing 10 years of memories.

A lot has happened in ten years. Bradley broke up with him. DADT was repealed. He got an air-to-air kill and a new callsign.

And he doesn't remember any of it.

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR PART FIVE

PART SIX

Bradley stands there, hands shaking a little and the glint of gold on his finger reminds him that Jake is inside and thinks that they’re married. Married. The rest of the world however knows very differently, although Coyote knows now. Knows that he’s still in love with Jake. Has always loved Jake and will likely always love him. Even when he’s allowed himself to stagnate in a pool of his own guilt and hopelessness.

“Keep your fucking money… just. I’m currently gutting the bathroom and living room. It’s… it’s a bit of a mess. Half of my shit is in storage. Maybe we –”

“Storage? Like… anything and everything precious?”

“Yeah. Why? I’ve been scraping the fucking popcorn ceiling…”

“So your pretend wedding photos and little non-existent knickknacks are all conveniently somewhere which is inconvenient to get to…? Put away safe and sound?”

Oh, Coyote is a fucking genius.

“You’re a genius.”

“Well, one of us has to be and it sure as hell ain’t you. Pulling your ass out of the fucking fire all over the show with this…”

“For Jake right?”

“Of course for fucking Jake. Definitely not for you. You’re still on your own when karma comes knocking… because while you can maybe use that as a semi-plausible cover story my money is on Jake figuring shit out. He’s not stupid.”

“No. I know he’s not. I’ll just… I can get some things… but…” Bradley starts, and his mind is racing. He has things of Jake’s, not ten years’ worth though. Even with the excuse of things being in storage there are going to be things that Jake might expect to see. To have.

“Well, I have his things with me from my place.”

“Okay… thanks? But… Why would he have been staying at your place?”

“You guys had a fight, he’s been staying with me…”

“What would we fight about?”

“You being an idiot…” Coyote mutters under his breath, but then his eyes go wide and he stares at him. “Actually. You not flying fast enough for this fucking mission. That… that’s something that Jake was muttering about, because you were playing it too safe. I think you’d actually argue over that.”

“Yeah. Shit. We did argue over that. You’re right.”

“I’m sorry. What was that.”

“You’re right. Don’t push it Machado…”

“Yeah, well, you need to survive this mission because if you go and fucking die I’m going to be the one left telling him that you’re not only not married, but he’s also not listed as your…” Coyote pauses then, rubs at his temples and blows out a breath. Stares up at the ceiling. “He’s still listed as your fucking next of kin isn’t he,” Coyote states, and his jaw is twitching and Bradley pulls a face, shrugs helplessly. “You never took him off? What the fuck Bradshaw…”

“Did you think that the rings were somehow a spur of the moment thought?”

“No! But you didn’t think to maybe save him the trauma of realizing you still loved him after you were dead?” Coyote hisses, and then he’s getting a punch to the arm, hard, clearly Coyote is pissed and he supposes he should be grateful it wasn’t his face. A blackeye would be a bit more difficult to explain to Jake.

“Well, it wasn’t going to be my problem. Because I’d have been fucking dead. He’s also the only one in my will if you want another excuse to punch me.”

“Of course he fucking is,” Coyote mutters, but he doesn’t punch him again, even if he maybe deserves it. “Come the fuck on, he’s probably pining for you already… I forgot how in love you two were.”

“Uh. Were we?”

Coyote spins back to face him then, eyes narrowed, his finger jabbing into Bradley’s chest.

“Yes you fucking were, and I thought you loved him as much as he loved you, but then you broke his heart. And now I find out that you never actually stopped loving him? That you caused all of this… this pain and hurt for fucking nothing?” Coyote spits and Bradley ducks his head, guilt welling up inside. “He’s in there, the happiest I’ve seen him in a long time, and it’s because you’re lying to him and are making me do it too…”

“And I get it. I do. Mostly. Sort of. But there’s a fucking power imbalance. You fucked up and have a second chance… If you don’t come clean to him you’re an even bigger asshole than I thought. And I already thought you were already a pretty massive asshole.”

“Can it wait until after the mission?”

“Why the fuck should it wait?”

“Because… because if he reacts badly then I’m not going to care about surviving the mission,” Bradley says, voice barely above a whisper, jaw clenched tight.

“Oh you fucking asshole. Fine. Fine. Just… fucking get your ass in there and lie through your teeth I guess.”

… … …

“What were you two talking about?”

“Bradshaw here was groveling for forgiveness. You don’t remember the fight, but I do. So. Now I’m letting you go, uh, home, uh, because I’ve decided to accept his apology. But he’s on thin fucking ice, aren’t you Bradshaw?”

“The thinnest…” Bradley agrees and he rubs at his arm and Coyote grins at him, and he supposes it’s meant to look friendly, except he can sense the edge to it.

“Must have been quite the fight…” Jake says, looking between them, but he’s grinning. “Glad to know you’ve got my back bro.”

“Always.”

“The house is kind of a bombsite though. I’ve been… I mean, we’ve been… stripping off the wallpaper and scraping the popcorn ceiling.”

“Oh my god… maybe I should just stay here. What is done?”

“The master bedroom and ensuite, the kitchen… and the dining room. Sort of.”

Oh.

Oh fuck.

They’ll be sharing a bedroom.

A bed.

There isn’t even a fucking sofa he can crash on with the excuse of Jake needing to rest and heal. It’s actually in storage. Fuck. It’s karma alright, and it’s the size of a carrier instead of a bus.

… … …

Later that afternoon, after he’s rushed around madly, had Coyote occupy Jake, put some things away and pulled other things out he returns to the hospital to collect Jake, Coyote sitting there with him and he can’t believe it’s not even been twenty-four hours. He’s got to get back to the grueling training tomorrow and once again face Mav. He gets a slap to the arm from Coyote, right over the spot where he’d punched him earlier and it stings. He takes it as the warning it’s intended as, guides Jake to his Bronco and then drives them to his place. Their place. Home.

“So… this is…uh. Us.”

“Looks different.”

He tries to see the house through Jake’s eyes. There’s a new roof, and he got all the windows replaced, but he kept the color the same. Changed the front door; something without yellow stained glass in it, but he’s not sure if it actually looks all that different. The inside is definitely where the most changes have happened.

“It has been ten years…” Bradley says, and the words slip out before he even thinks, because of course it’s been ten years since Jake was here last. But Jake doesn’t know that, clearly thinks Bradley is referencing his memory loss. He unlocks the front door and encourages Jake inside, lets Jake take in the plastic covering the wooden floors.

“We’ve really only done this much on it?” Jake asks, looking around and clearly judging the lack of progress. He has to bite back that he’s only one person and his deployments have meant periodic times at best. Some days he didn’t even know why he cared about working on it. He had anyway though, forcing himself to continue doing little bit.

“We’ve had other priorities,” Bradley offers, and he doesn’t realize quite how that sounds until Jake is throwing his head back and laughing briefly, bright and sharp before he’s wincing in pain. It can’t be too bad though, as he reaches for Bradley’s ass and pinches it and he jumps, surprised.

“I bet we did…”

PART SEVEN

#Wild fields of forget-me-nots #Hangster #top gun maverick #Top Gun Maverick AU #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin

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mirai-e-jump · 14 days ago

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TV Life, 6/13/2025 Issue ft. Fuyuno Mio & Shoji Kohei (translations below)

Publication: May 28, 2025

OneLog! Vol.6 (Fuyuno Mio)

Out of the recent broadcasts, episode 11 was the one that left the greatest impression on me. This is the one with the scene of Hoeru, who declares to Rikuo, "I'll show you my own style of tag," and doesn't run away during the tag battle, but waits for Onigokko No One, who's the tagger. When he was touched, he became the tagger, but him taking on this state in order to fight aggressively surprised me, as I thought, "This is the way you're fighting?!" Even when Hoeru was previously confronted by Treasure Hunt No One, he also declared, "I'll take it from the guy who has it…that's also a proper treasure hunt!," where after the battle, he took the treasure that the No One had acquired…a surprising idea like that led to his win in the end. I think that way of thinking is very much in line with Hoeru.

Also, going back alittle further, Hoeru's brother Kuon (Karuma) showing up in episode 8 was memorable. For me personally, I've been a fan of Karuma since I was in my first year of high school and have an incredible amount of respect for him, so my feelings overlapped with how Hoeru adored Kuon when he told him, "Nii-chan is always Number One," and I was able to empathize with him while performing.

And then, when we were filming the scene where Hoeru's being brainwashed by Kuon and Engages, the wind was so strong that I could barely stand, but as I listened to Kuon's words, my dark feelings steadily began to build up, and I was able to act naturally. I was also drawn in by Karuma's performance

Hoeru somehow managed to rid himself of Kuon's darkness, and is determined to walk down his own path, although there is a possibility of that determination being crushed once again…I think that how Hoeru faces himself when that happens will be a future highlight. And from here, developments will unfold in an even more intense manner. But first, I'd like you to watch episode 15 carefully. I have no doubt that there'll be some surprising developments waiting for you!

Q: If you could gain only one special ability like the Gozyugers, it would be…?

A: It'd be nice to have the "ability to read people's minds" that Sumino has. I'm not very good at picking up on what others are thinking when we're communicating, so I wish I could read their minds. While it also makes me kinda scared, my curiosity is stronger (laughs).

Number One Shot!!: For filming of episode 14, the location was incredibly cold, so we all gathered around a space heater to warm up during our free time. It was at this location that Kanda-san's cool and fired up Engage was born. When I think about it, I really respect him. _

GavvPare! Vol.19 (Shoji Kohei)

Just the other day, "Kamen Rider Gavv's Okashina Okashi na Tea Party" took place. For me personally, I'm glad that I was able to spend such a wonderful time with all the actors and staff, and everyone who came to see us, and I hope that everyone also enjoyed their precious time during Golden Week. The farewell party was a great opportunity for us to see so many children's faces up close. Each and every one of them wore Gavv toys, and their faces were full of excitement, which once again made me feel that I was working a very wonderful job.

Now then, as of late, Lakia's slowly becoming able to speak his mind. Personally, I don't think there's any specific time as to when this started happening. It can be assumed that their lives exist outside of the drama that's been depicted so far, and when time passes, it's only natural that their relationships slowly change during it. When it comes to the "delicate genre of emotion," I have no choice but to act without knowing what the next script will hold, so I do it with a feeling similar to, "I don't know what it is, but it's something…" I'd be happy to leave this up to everyone's interpretations on how they'd like to take it.

Also, I felt that the scene in episode 36, where Shouma talks about the meaning of his existence, was a very difficult one. It's because the power of his words were incredibly strong. I'm certain that he often checked with the Director and the situation on set to determine the best way to do it, but I think it's only because Chinen's been facing Shouma up to now that he was able to make that scene possible.

New visuals were also unveiled, revealing that a new form for Vram will appear. While you should also look forward to seeing what kind of power it'll bring, I hope that you'll make sure to watch where Lakia's revenge will lead him, and how he'll "part ways" with his younger brother, who's been residing in his heart for a long time. As we head towards the end of the show, the story will gain momentum and become more poppin and vivid, while also being full of bitter developments. I think you'll enjoy the story more deeply if you can take another look at the objective and whereabouts of each and every character involved.

Q: What XX thing can you talk about now?

A: I can't remember which one it was, but we were filming a rather serious scene, and I forgot to wear my earrings, so we had to reshoot about two different shots. Everyone, I'm so sorry.

Off Shot: Behind the scenes at the Golden Week event. Lots of people came to see it and we had a fun time with our guests. It was a moment that once again made me realize the scale of Gavv's production. It'd make me happy if the children who came to it went home happy.

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indecisiveavocado · 5 months ago

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Urban warfare and Gaza's Death Toll

Summary: If anything, the death toll in Gaza exonerates Israel of a charge of genocide--it's lower than expected as compared to two other cities, adjusting for population density. Of course, it doesn't, since that's not how genocide works, but also that argument is false in two ways!

EDIT, April 15, 2025: Since apparently some people who are...used to bad arguments have found this post, my claims are limited to this: 1) The death toll in Gaza, once you account for the density of the population, seems to be about typical or below average and 2) A high death toll is not sufficient, or necessary, for genocide.

I am aware that my approach of taking a limited number of questions (in this case two), answering them, and then letting them mostly stand on their own without jumping from there to a broad, sweeping, claim is unusual, and, if you are used to that, you may read some sweeping subtext into my post of "all Gazans should die" or "what is happening in Gaza is awesome", which do not exist (because they are horrible things to say about any group and any war).

I don't do that here. In this post I address two (2) questions: 1) Is a high death toll, on its own, evidence of genocide, and vice versa? (which I added more because it felt dishonest to not clarify that) and 2) Is the death toll in Gaza unusually high for urban warfare? I have made other, more sweeping, claims before, but not here.

I'm aware the methodology is, to say the least, imperfect, and I welcome other potential sources of data, further comparison, et cetera. I'm working with the data I have, though, and that's limited.

If you disagree with my conclusions, you're welcome to dig into the data, either the sources I've given or other reliable ones, and find out for yourself! If you do so, or know of someone else who's done so, please tell me; I'd love to hear about it and be able to see someone else's conclusions.

Now, with that said, the post:

I've been wondering for a long time if there is any way to analyze if what is going on in Gaza is urban warfare or genocide.

Urban warfare, for those who don't know (and you really should if you've been talking about Gaza) is a term for war fought in urban areas with a lot of people. It's an important distinction to make, because somewhat by necessity, urban warfare will have more civilian casualties than non-urban warfare (assuming equal levels of malice). Imagine fighting a war in New York City or London and the sheer numbers of people who'd die even if both sides were upstanding and trying their very best to minimize civilian casualties (which, of course, is almost never true) and you get the idea.

Let's check this against Khartoum and Mariupol. I would argue Khartoum is a better comparator, being much more climactically similar, but to each their own. Also, Mariupol is a genocide while Khartoum is, as far as I am aware, not.

Khartoum

According to Wikipedia, in 2018, Khartoum state had a population density of around 935 people per square mile. Over 19 months, 60,000 people died. This means that if we go by the Khartoum estimate, when there are ~1,000 people per square mile, 3,100 people die every month.

That's a lot!

Gaza has 14,000 people per square mile and the fighting has been going on for 15 months. By this quick estimate, then, I project that 651,000 people will have died.

But, you might object, that's unfair. Sudan grows quickly. And they were unstable before anyhow, which probably causes a lot of excess deaths. (Gaza was too, but nevermind that.)

Fair enough! Let's say we pretend Khartoum's population density is five times higher than it otherwise would be. That gives us a figure of 130,200 people.

(It's worth noting that there is a genocide going on in Sudan, but not, as far as I know, near Khartoum.)

So our urban warfare projection for Gaza ranges from the generous 130,200 people dead to 651,000 people dead, which is probably on the upper end.

Unfortunately, studies on Gaza's death toll recently that take into account non-immediate factors (as the Sudan study did) aren't common; the one I found analyzed data up until June, 8 months' worth of data. This means our data would yield 69,440 to 347,200 deaths during that period.

Instead, the study--the highest I could find, mind you--said 186,000, on the lower end of that range. So if we go by this estimate, Gaza is actually potentially on the lower end of urban warfare deaths.

Mariupol

Pre-war, Mariupol had, if you look at Wikipedia, around 1,750 people per square mile. That's a lot!

According to Human Rights Watch, there were 8000 "excess deaths" (as measured by burials in five cemeteries) in the first year of war, giving a predicted rate of 6000 deaths per 8-month period without adjusting for population density, and 48,000 once you do. However, this is a figure that doesn't take into account other deaths and is a very conservative estimate, so a much more appropriate figure would be the at-the-time official one of 37,396 (see the link for 186,000) which also counts, e.g., Hamas soldiers. Again, the death toll is lower than projected.

Caveats

Of course, there are many caveats. First of all, my rudimentary assumption that deaths scale linearly with population density is almost certainly wrong. Second of all, the motives and precise circumstances of each of those is different.

Third of all, this does not exonerate Israel from a charge of genocide, and if I had found Gaza did have a huge number of deaths adjusting for population density, that would not convict it. Genocide requires intent, and an unusually high death toll is not enough to prove intent. (This is fairly easy to show by resort to extremes. If the Vatican descends into a war and 10 people wind up dead on side A, with 100 people and 1 on side B, with 900, 10 percent of side A has died, a literal decimation, but that does not a genocide make. If we go by absolute numbers, we are left to conclude that nothing in, say, Bhutan would count, but everything in China--again, absurd.)

However, this argument has been brought up enough that I wanted to do a more complete analysis.

I'd also like to highlight that, although my time was divided, this took me maybe an hour or two to write up, tops. That's not a lot. And I didn't have any special data or anything. Someone less perfectionist than I could probably have done a reasonable debunking in ~30 minutes, or even 15.

#jumblr #jewblr #jewish #judaism #jewish tumblr #israel #death toll does not a genocide make #gaza #urban warfare #khartoum #mariupol #genocide #is what's happening in gaza a genocide? maybe. (no. it's not. words have meaning.)#but the death toll = genocide argument or implication is wrong on so many different levels it's really telling it keeps getting used #because it implies that's one of the best arguments they have--#one that's factually incorrect #and also even if it was correct would still not show much of anything

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dontmixpaintinyourcoffee · 11 months ago

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I came in making some REAL confident statements about the Lodger designs and these guys are just proving me so wrong lmao. I still love them though

I still stand by some of my points about the goggles and gloves? In that it makes the Lodgers uniquely science-y. I also still think that the various states of protective wear tells you something about how each of the Lodgers works. But I don't think it's as important as I had previously thought. Still, in the interest of overanalyzing for fun and because this is just how my brain works, on with the show! I have to remind myself that I'm doing this for fun and because I love this comic and art, not because I'm any sort of expert in design philosophy. Which to be clear, I am extremely not. I'm just a massive nerd. I'm overthinking this

Having gotten farther into the cast, I'm noticing three rough categories that you can put the Lodgers into:

Goggles/Gloves. At least partially geared up for their work.

Aprons! They maybe don't have any specialized equipment on them at the moment, but they do have some coverage.

None of the above! Helsby, Bryson, Flowers, and Luckett apply here. Helsby and Bryson make sense, their work doesn't happen within the Society itself, so they don't need to have any of their gear on them, if it's attached to their person at all. Bryson also has the consideration of being a parody of a pre-existing person, and you don't really want to change up the iconic look too much at risk of losing the joke. Luckett is kind of the same way I think, in that he's a homeopathic scientist. Literally the point is to use as little as possible. Though he should probably invest in some fireproof duds. Not entirely sure about an in-universe reason for Flowers, I think just putting in more detail would've made her feel overstuffed and busy. Sometimes you just gotta go with what looks best on the page!

I keep giving the female Lodgers really fun dynamic poses and then remembering that I have to cover it with their massive skirts lmao

I don't think Luckett is as irresponsible as him flicking fire into who-knows-where implies but I thought the pose was cute, alright? Also the thumbs up is definitely in response to someone asking what he was doing. He did not hear the question, his ears are still ringing. This will continue for at least the next 15 minutes.

Between the umbrella and the rosy cheeks and the candy I feel like Doddle is what would happen if Mary Poppins took over for Willy Wonka. Step 1 is implementing a billion child safety measures and making this madhouse OSHA compliant. But like, in a fun way

#coffeepaintart #the glass scientists #tgs #tgs lodgers #circus of hubris ridden victorian british men

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scarlettoceaneyes · 5 months ago

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Hii ! Can u do embry x reader where she’s new in town and is js staying for school and embry imprints?? But there’s a problem! Once schools done she has to go back home! How will they manage??

Sure! Love me some Embry 😍😍 this kinda ended up being long- hope you don’t mind??

Starfish

The sun was setting and the tide just reached its lowest. You walked barefoot in the late Spring warmth looking at the tide pools and for any seashells that might have floated up. Seeing tide pools full of marine life would be more suitable for your newest project. You were accepted 4 years ago into the marine biology program at your university that boosted a satellite center on the coast of La Push. For your senior protect, you would be staying with a local family and working with the tribe. The goal was to find and record data on their coast of the reservation. The boring part was the why- funding and paperwork for the state, etc., but the fun part was the actual research. What caused different levels of salinity, temperature, tides day to day versus other pacific coast, types of animals and how this changes through the day,as well as the major impact on the tribe.

Your family were the Clearwater family as Sue was on the council, therefore your parter and sponsor for the project. Mostly to keep you away from vampires or wolves, she also knew the land where you needed to be, as well to pretend other areas do not exist.

Eventually, you found out. It was funny and embarrassing the story how you two met. You were staying in Seth’s room for the couple of weeks you were there before your project completion and therefore your graduation and off to look through all the new job opportunities. Seth stayed at the Black house couch surfing or at Emily’s place in a spare room.

Well, it’s your third day at your new home and in La Push. Embry looking for something he loaned Seth that he wanted back. You recall it was some video game, but you were a little distracted by the fact he walked in on you changing…thankfully you were covered quickly and he ran out back into the woods once you screamed. He felt guilty and waiting around like 15 minutes to come back and knock on the front door apologizing. He saw your eyes and there it was- love at first site. You were soulmates. You thought that was simply fairytale material. When you relayed that thought, he took that as his reason to call you his princess. You took the whole wolf thing okay, but you didn’t truly warm up until your last couple of days in La Push.

Sue had to work on tribal projects so Embry was deemed your partner and guide for your final work day. Later this evening, Emily was throwing you a party to celebrate your graduation and to wish you luck in your career. Embry was torn-he wanted you to stay with him, but it’s only been two weeks and you had a life without him waiting for you. Two weeks was not enough time to admit all the feeling he had because he felt like he trapped you. He tore your future away and put you in danger now. He ruined your life. The thoughts spiraled all the morning as you two walked hand in hand. Sharp rocks were under you as you climbed the cliffs and he wanted you to be careful while respecting your independence.

You noticed he was down so you asked him to be honest. He basically threw up everything he was thinking in word vomit. He couldn’t hide it when his imprint asked for honesty. He didn’t even know if you understood just how deep the imprint went. He didn’t want you feeling pain or getting sick with the distance. You lived in Montana, but closer to the east state line. He knew your job opportunities included California, Portland, Atlanta, Florida, and even the Caribbean. He couldn’t leave his pack, but he didn’t think you knew the severity of all this.

Processing all the weight he let go, you were able to start to see the life as an imprint. Honestly, you had been thinking about ways to stay, even considering a job under the tribal land conservation department of the state. It was a job with wonderful pay, benefits, and it had no end in sight to the conservation efforts. Meaning- you do a great job and you will hold the position. The surprise was going to be told tomorrow as only Emily knew to help surprise him. You were not going to lie as you were nervous that he wouldn’t want you to stay. Maybe he didn’t feel the closeness you did or how every time he moved you felt it? All you know is there is pain when he leaves to go patrol or when you have to travel with Sue out of the reservation for research. You knew you loved him from the first day and you thought you were crazy. It did make it easier yet stranger when none of the pack seemed bothered by the quick pace. It just worked. You wanted forever, but were not sure if you were really just a short term fwb to him? Your heart had been broken before so you were always analyzing trying to save yourself from hurt. So you told him all that just like he did to you. You left out the surprise job acceptance for the party still.

He kissed you. You felt the same and kissed back. It felt perfect and right. You finished your research and emailed the final document, while walking out of the woods with a feeling of accomplishment. Finally a graduated woman that you worked so hard for! You screamed and clap while jumping in the air as Embry laughed and pulled you in kissing your forehead. “I’m so proud of you princess.” Looking into your eyes and then suggestively at your lips, you let him congratulate you without words and only a kiss as you were still in a public setting.

After a shower and change of clothes, you wait for Embry to come pick you up again for the big surprise party.

Arriving at Emily’s, Embry comes around to yourself to help you out of the truck. Giving you a big hug and spin you knew he was likely stalling. You didn’t mind. He put you down and backed you up to the truck, kissing you soft and slow, finally pulling back to repeat for the millionth time “congratulations baby”. You giggle and thank him. You know he’s excited so you don’t mind the constant phrase being given. Besides he has a sexy voice calling you baby and you wanted to savor it just incase you staying to work here was not appealing to him.

Asking if you are ready, you nod as he takes your hand to go inside. Opening the door screams of congratulations are heard as well as cheers and claps. You blush hard as the huge group of people here to celebrate you was overwhelming. You thank everyone and the party gets started. Music, food, and drinks go around. Emily brings you a cake and before cutting it everyone says words if they wish. Sue thanked you for all you did, as you did to her for her home and friendship. The guys shared funny stories and the other council members appreciated your work. Finally you go to cut the cake and suddenly got hit something making an unexpected bang noise with the knife. Emily baked a sealed container into this cake for Embry to open as her accepted job. As he read the results he was nervous, as you were as well for different reasons. He pulled out the answer to be “La Push”. Everyone was confused and you explained. Embry didn’t say anything as he was still confused but the others smiled knowing you were happy and wouldn’t leave. The party continued a while longer and wrapped up. Finally you head home to pack. Embry drives you and you ask “were you disappointed?” Embry doesn’t realize he never said anything. “No Y/N, I wasn’t. I was confused as to what job you have and curious to why you are staying. Guilt that you feel you have to and also angry that i stole you from living your dreams due to close proximity necessities. I guess I’m saying, I feel guilt because I ruined your life. But I can’t be sorry for loving you because I can’t help that. And I wouldn’t want to”

Tears were falling. You hugged him and started laughing. You explained that you both worried about the same thing but are dancing around the reality that you fell in love and life changed. You wouldn’t change it. So you went home to pack your apartment and move back to La Push in your new home. The position came with lodging and you appreciated the privacy over neighbors. Embry and you dated. You stayed where he was because you landed your dream job. No limits, your ideas and rules, and one very hot wolf bringing you lunch everyday.

The starfish always amaze you with their beauty as you study them more. Embry calls to you as he quickly runs to grab your arm leading you off the rocky tide pools. “38 weeks pregnant and you are literally climbing rocks? You are on work leave right now princess please relax.” You just smile as he knew you would never pass them without looking. Turning to watch your oldest boy play with the pack on the beach, you thought about how your middle boy was such an easy pregnancy. This one was medically complicated. Embry says there will be more as he saw your family in the vision during imprinting. He hasn’t let you down this far, only healed you and loved you.

Stealing a kiss from you and expecting more later, he lays his ear on your belly to talk to his little girl. His princess just like her mom.

#twilight #request #wolf pack #embry call #twilight fanfiction #twilight wolfpack #embry call x reader

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