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amaranthineghost · 1 month

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I'LL LET YOU GO IF THAT'S WHAT YOU WANT ( lando norris. )

lando norris x reader

a little over half a year later when the season ended, they haven't found their way back. At least not on purpose, but the universe knows better than them

authors note: I was thinking of making a happy ending, but not everything always ends up that way </3 after this, I'll work on two max imagines and then I'll see what I can do while I'm on spring break

part 1 found here

IT’S BEEN EIGHT MONTHS since she last spoke to him.

two hundred forty-three days since she last saw that sad look on his face in the rear-view mirror as she drove away from the past she half-wished was her future.

five thousand eight hundred thirty-two hours since she last felt his touch, his arms consoling and unwilling to let her go and yet she still left.

three hundred forty-nine thousand, nine hundred and twenty seconds since the peak of his performance at the beginning of the season. now she watched as he tried and failed to be what he once was. maybe not a winner, or a champion, but he’d had her, which was practically equal.

but now he had lost her.

now she watched as the season came to an end. poor performance after poor performance after poor performance where not all races ended in crossing the finish line.

she never stopped watching, yet she could never reach out, and neither would he. he was always going to be ready to accept her back into his life, yet he knew she needed time.

but she didn't know if she could do it again, though at the same time she kept eyeing his life in envy because part of her wished she could live the way he could without being bothered by the media. part of her was jealous he could live his entire life in front of a camera and be so nonchalant about it.

scrolling through his socials, they still followed each other and it caught people's attention. she read through countless tweets, theories and rumors of their relationship still carrying on behind the cameras, and though she partly wished it to be true, she hated that it wasn't. the fans still wished, and she would too.

the random appearances in the paddock had come to an end, unfortunate for the fans who loved whenever she’d show up in support of her boyfriend, turned ex.

because now all she did was stay within the confines of her apartment building, shielded from the possibility of running into lando. she couldn’t handle bumping into him when she still felt as fragile as glass. she felt like she would shatter if she saw him again, no matter how much she wanted him back.

but living in monaco means you're bound to run into someone from his circle of life.

it felt bittersweet because she wanted him back so badly, to have him hold her in his arms and tell her they’d make it work. but it’d never happened, and truthfully, she hoped it never would. because she knew that if she saw him, she wouldn’t go running back into his arms as if making it work again was the easiest option. because really, if she saw him, she would run, not towards him but away, and she dreaded the fact that he would let her.

he’d watch the love of his life run from him rather than to him and be totally fine with it. because he knew that when the time was right, she would find him again, or he would find her, and only then she wouldn’t run from him.

but he feared for the day that he would realize that she was never coming back to him. he feared for the day where he would realize he shouldn't have let her go.

and he hopes for the day, though it may never come, where she does find the right time to come back to him. he prays for the day where he would make the right choice he should've made the first time.

because in the infinite universes that are said to exist, even if she never returns in nearly every one, he hopes to live the one where she would.

but he knows that if there's a universe where she comes back, even after his idiocy of letting her go to begin with, there's also one where this could've been avoided all together. a universe where he didn't have to watch her pack her bags while shuddering with sobs.

a universe where he wouldn't have to go without her for eight months, where his performance improved when she attended grand prixs.

the one he'd rather live with her than without.

it was unsure when they would ever see each other again. they'd gone this long without seeing the other, who's to say they ever would?

it was chilly in the streets of monaco, contrast to the usually warm, sunny climate the area was known for. she wore a thick coat while she walked down the sidewalk, past the seasonal market with nothing more than her phone, wallet and tote bag.

she needed to get out, to think. she couldn't stand being trapped in the box of her apartment surrounded by nothing but reminders of him. not that it was a bad thing.

she couldn't take another second overanalyzing the helmet he had left for her. she knew it was part of his plan to have her back. to make her want more helmets dedicated to her, which he continued to do despite her not being with him. she'd be lying if she said his plan was failing.

the hoodie, probably tied into the same plan, covered in his damn cologne he knew she couldn't get enough of. it had faded over time, becoming replaced with the smell of her instead. she didn't know what to think of it.

she considered purchasing that same cologne again, drowning the fabric in its fragrance. it wouldn't be the same.

she felt like she could breathe easier with the winter air rather than the stale air of her apartment. sure, she could've stepped onto the balcony, but it was always nice to find a way out of her apartment complex.

hands stuffed in her pockets, she wandered around aimlessly at the shops that lined the streets and stalls set up to buy from.

riddled with things that caught her eye, she couldn't help but stop at nearly every stall. it took an incredible amount of self control to not buy everything she wanted. she didn't have lando by her side to buy everything.

this was her life now. she had a job that she could do from home and it paid her rent. it was enough to live off of while she completed her last years of school before she started a career for herself. tiny little trinkets seemed good in the moment, but she knew long-term that it’d eventually hurt her financially, and besides she didn’t have that much space in her apartment.

she didn’t know how much time had passed. everything was a blur as she mindlessly walked on. she hadn’t noticed when she bumped her shoulder into somebody’s chest, and she had immediately begun to apologize.

“i’m so sorry, i wasn’t looking where i was—lando?” she recognized the curly-haired guy in front of her as she stood there frozen.

“hey, long time no see,” he spoke slowly and warily, looking her up and down at the changes of her appearances that occurred over the last eight months.

“uh—what are you doing here?” she questioned, stuttering over her words just slightly as she looked at him tensely.

lando looked around with a brow raised, hands in his pockets while he answered, “uh, i live here?”

she nodded, “right.”

the air was awkward as they stood in a tense silence. people ushered around them, occasionally bumping into them. they hadn’t known what to say to each other because they weren’t expecting this impromptu meeting.

“how’ve you been?” he broke the silence.

she nodded again, “fine, and you? i saw that your season wasn’t too good.”

he grimaced softly at her words, “yeah,” he scratched the back of his neck, “just some technical issues.”

“right.”

the silence was back and more deafening than the first time, standing awkwardly looking at each other didn’t help.

again, he was the one to break it, “could i buy you a drink?”

“isn’t it a bit early for alcohol?” she questioned, looking at the brightness of the sky before her gaze settled back down at him with a weird look.

he scoffed, “i mean the coffee shop down the street,” his voice was a half chuckle as he began walking, leaving her to follow.

“well, you’re unpredictable these days,” she fell into step with him as they walked side by side in silence.

it took all of two minutes for them to arrive at the coffee shop lando had mentioned. they could smell the aroma from a ways away, the door left open to let in the cool breeze.

the shop was warm and cozy, most tables were occupied except for a few scattered around. she reached for her wallet to buy herself a coffee, but he quickly shut it down.

“it's my treat,” was all he said before he walked up to the counter with his card in hand to order as she took the two seater by the window, setting her bag down on the ground. she watched the world from where she sat, the people walking by.

groups of friends, pairs that weren’t quite at the stage of being a couple, or the single person walking by every so often. all without crossing paths. it seemed crazy to her how so much could change because of a stranger on the street.

looking back to where lando stood ordering, she wondered what her life would’ve been if they hadn’t met. they wouldn’t have traveled the world, stayed out late on rooftops, or partied in clubs despite her hesitancy. he wouldn’t have dedicated nearly his whole career to her because she was forever a piece of him.

she realized how much she had meant when she saw just how much of her he still kept. he wore shirts with printed pink bows, the one gold bracelet he wore among the silver and fan bracelets given to him by her and he never took it off. the way he styled his hair in the way she taught him, the matching rings they still wore, the references of her personality on his helmet for every race rather than a specific track, her name on his car.

her name on his car.

her name printed in pretty cursive across the top of his steering wheel and the halo for him to see.

he still managed to include her in his life despite her absence because he considered her his lucky charm. having reminders of her anywhere he could would always manage to boost his spirits, but only her presence would boost his performance.

the chair across from her pulled out with an uncomfortable scrape of the legs against the floor. she grimaced slightly, but it quickly disappeared when she refocused on the hand that slid a mug filled with hot coffee to her.

clearly they were going to be here a while, judging from the mug and not a to-go cup. she watched the steam swirl into the air as she softly blew on it while lando sat across from her with his beverage of choice. she also noticed the chocolate-chip cookie in a paper bag he held.

he remembered her love of sweets. she took a sip of her coffee. he remembered her order to the finest detail. he still remembered.

“thanks,” she spoke quietly before taking another small sip of the hot beverage. it slightly burned her tongue and throat as she drank, but she didn’t care to notice.

she was sitting across from lando norris, the one person she had been hoping to avoid this whole time, and now she’s sat with him at a coffee shop they used to frequent when they were dating.

“you’re welcome,” he muttered, his saddened eyes unmoving from her face, watching every expression of hers unfold. “so, how have you been?”

“you’ve already asked that,” she stated simply.

“i mean,” he started, leaning forward with his arms crossed against the table, “how have you really been? i don’t believe for a second that you’ve been fine when i‘m barely holdin’ it together.”

she sighed, taking another sip and grimacing at the burn, “it’s been difficult, but i know it was for the best that we broke up.”

he nodded in response, his fingers circling the rim of his mug as he stared into it.

she spoke up again, saying the words he dreaded to hear, “and i think it should stay that way.”

his shoulders visibly dropped and he bit his cheek before he looked back at her with colorless eyes, “but—” he began when she hastily cut him off.

“i need you to let me go,” her voice cracked as she spoke and tears filled her eyes as she avoided his gaze, “you have to let me let you go, lan.”

“please, don’t make me do this,” he begged, leaning forward again with a look that could make her change her mind in a second.

“please, don’t make this harder than it already is,” she shook her head as the tears began to fall, “in another universe, it might’ve been me and you, maybe the circumstances would've been in our favor, but not in this one.”

“it’s just right person, wrong life.”

“i’ll find you in our next lifetime then,” he promises, his eyes brimming with tears. he tried his best to hold back, for her, “i promise.” he tried to remain strong, for her.

“I know you will.” she said simply, smiling through her tears as she pursed her lips, sniffling as she played with her fingers. “y’know, i'll always be your number one supporter, lan. i'll still cheer for you, just from behind a screen. in that other life, i would come to your races.”

“but even in this one, i'll still celebrate your first win, your first championship. i'll vote you for driver of the day, even if you’re dead last.”

he chuckled sadly at the last part, the corner of his mouth twitching with a smile, “how will i know for sure you didn’t get bored of watching me race?” his hand reached across the table, his tan slightly faded and his rings cold.

she rolled her eyes softly, “you’ll know. i promise.” she laid her hand on his, the last somewhat intimate touch they’ll ever have with each other because after he watched her stand, pocketing the cookie he bought. he watched her through the window as she walked into the crowd as if their paths never met.

he watched with tears in his eyes, silently crying as he watched the love of his other life turn her back on him forever. he let her.

because if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was letting her go.

part of her wanted him to chase after her, wipe her mascara-stained tears just like that regretful day in their old apartment because part of her still wanted him in her life. she wished she could still go back sometimes.

he wished she would just come back. he wanted to experience life with her, he wanted to win with her, be a champion with her.

but he lived in the wrong universe, and he was unsure if he'd ever see her in this life again, in the way he wanted. they would bump shoulders on the street, looking longingly for just a second as they ushered by in a hurry. not looking back, but never forgetting how much they had meant to each other for the time they were together.

how crossing paths, even for what seemed like the shortest time to them, changed the trajectory of their lives forever. they would subconsciously look for qualities of each other in the people they moved onto. telling stories to their kids and grandkids about the other in regretful tones because they wished it was the kids they had together that they could tell the story of their relationship to.

because now they were just strangers, she was just a name he would forever keep on his car, and he was just an old lover turned stranger she would send flowers to after every podium and win until he would retire.

—

taglist (found here): @slut4lrh @taylorslovesswifties13 @leclercdream

proofread by @foreveralbon <333

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obaewankenobis · 5 months

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born to die ; finnick odair

pairing: finnick odair/reader (afab but i don't think i use pronouns? also no use of y/n)

word count: 6.8k

part 2: find here!

summary: having just finished your victory tour, you, the winner from district 4, are forced to confront the reality of winning the games. luckily, you know someone who's done this before — finnick odair.

warnings: mentions of violence, death, nightmares, blood, sex trafficking, i mean... it is the hunger games so read at your own risk! mutual pining, slowish burn, unprotected sex ( wrap it before u tap it ), p in v sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, idk it's not that bad. minors dni!

a/n: sorry to everyone who followed me for my star wars content... anyways here is my first finnick fic cause my friend made me watch the hunger games a month ago so here i am. i was super interested in the cashmere/glimmer theory so i kinda used it here. i have a prequel and a part 2 planned so lmk if you want that <3

There were things nobody ever told you about winning the games, things you wished you would’ve known before you tried so hard. Before you’d clawed your way up a cliff of desperate survival and emerged on top. Before you’d killed people — other children — to be able to stand here now. Your father, a former Victor himself, hadn’t told you about this side of things before he died. With a pang, you realized how badly you wanted him beside you, and how impossible that was. How you were now confined in shoes so tall you thought you might wobble over, in a dress so thin you were beginning to shiver, and a hairstyle that pulled uncomfortably at your roots. It all tied in for a look that was clearly meant to have all eyes on you. It was your victory party, you tried to reason as you slipped into the dress and noticed just how much of you would be on display. They wanted all eyes to be on you. It was okay.

You just wanted to feel beautiful again, to not be plagued with the feeling of revulsion when you looked at yourself in the mirror. The outfit wasn’t the problem, it was perhaps the most stunning thing you’d ever worn: a loose dress with billowing sleeves that fell off your shoulders and opened around the stomach, the silky material melting from transparency to a solid, pale purple around the parts that clung to your breasts and hips. The opalescent color, meant to mimic the expensive pearls commonly found in District 4, shimmered in the moonlight, threatening to turn even the solid parts translucent and expose every part of you to the Capitol.

Not that they’d mind, you thought, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth that threatened to rise to the surface, breaking through a perfectly painted smile and tugging your blush lips into a frown. You couldn’t help but feel that was the point, with all the oogling that no one was trying to hide. And that feeling… that is what kept you from feeling anything but beautiful. You felt used, and exposed, but not beautiful.

A hand on your arm startled you out of your bitter thoughts, your skin immediately crawling with disgust as your gaze traveled to the face connected to the hand still placed possessively on you. While not particularly ugly, the man in front of you was pushing fifty, and the lewdness dripping from his gaze as he leered at you, an eighteen year old girl…

“There you are,” his lips curled into an unpleasant smile; he was close enough you could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath, almost overpowered by the sheer amount of cologne that clung to him. “I must say, my sponsorship has paid off… handsomely. I mean, look at you! Such a stunning addition to the Capitol, I just cannot wait for you to become—”

“Excuse me,” a new voice — a familiar voice — cut through. “I think your wife is looking for you, Quillon.”

Of course he knew this man, he seemed to know everyone. And of course the man — Quillon — listened, his eyes widening as he immediately removed his hand from you, leaving an unpleasant dampness from his sweaty palms. He backed away until he had disappeared into the crowd and it was just you and him.

Him. Finnick Odair, Capitol Darling, youngest Victor of the 65th Hunger Games, the most insufferable and obnoxious boy you’d ever had the displeasure of encountering. You were sure he’d never liked you from the beginning; you’d tried to introduce yourself to him at fourteen when you accompanied your father to the Capitol to train the new tributes, only to be brushed off without a second glance.

That dislike had only seemed to grow when you had been Reaped the year your father had been killed (the rumors of the siblings and children of Victors being chosen so often finally making sense to you), and Finnick Odair, master of the Games, expert of the field, had all but ignored you.

“You!” All of the rage you’d pent up about his mentoring skills — or lackthereof — were coming out in full force, though even you were surprised by the venom in your words. With a jab of a finger in his chest, you finally began to let it all out. He seemed to have sensed that you would come at him swinging, grabbing your wrist and dragging you to a quieter corner of the party, beneath a small pergola weighted with vines that crept up the sides and wove inbetween the planks on top.

“Look, I know you must be upset — ” No. You wouldn’t let him talk, not before you had the chance to give him a piece of your mind. You took a step closer, until your nose was brushing against his, and tried to keep your voice as level as you could.

“Nice of you to finally fucking show up, Odair. Didn’t think you’d see me again, huh? Not after you all but fucking abandoned me during training week. I mean, I know we never really got along, but seriously? Is that why you left me with Mags and I never saw you past the first day? You hoped you’d train Kier—” the breath caught in your throat as you finally uttered the name of your fellow District tribute for the first time since… well, that wasn’t important. “—and then I would be out of your hair, is that it?”

Finnick, however, took this as an opportunity to spit his own words out, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard as he looked down at you. “I was trying to help you.” He was so close you could feel his breath fanning your lips, almost making you want to close your eyes.

“Help me?” A laugh escaped your lips, one that could’ve almost been seen as genuine because of the honest disbelief that coated it. “You think I’d be better off dead?”

He didn’t respond. Couldn’t even look you in the eyes, choosing instead to fixate on a tiny rose growing from within the depths of the ivy layers. That was basically a confirmation of what you’d just said, but for some reason he couldn’t even admit it to your face.

You weren’t sure why, but hot, angry tears were beginning to form in your eyes; you tried frantically to force them down. He couldn’t know how much he’d hurt you with his indifference. “You were supposed to be there for me, you were supposed to teach me how to survive, and you fucking left me to die!”

Had you done something? You replayed all of your interactions with him, coming up short with a conversation that would make him hate you so much he wanted you to die. Sure, you’d been a bit annoying when you’d trailed behind your father, and maybe you had been a little relentless to pursue his attention when he moved next door to you in Victor’s Village, but this? The way he couldn’t even answer you? The way he was just standing there, his gaze in some far off place? It made you angrier. How dare he be so indifferent, how dare he act as if he was doing you a favor?

There was a moment of hesitation before Finnick sighed. “It’s not like that. I was trying to protect you. Look— has Snow talked to you yet?”

This left you truly at a loss for words. “Snow?” You words were less harsh and more curious. “Why would Snow want to talk to me? You know what — don’t try to spin it on him, this is about us! About you—” You stabbed at his chest again, and this time he let you. “—about you abandoning me in that arena, when it was your job to fight for me! To keep me alive!”

“There’s a lot you don’t understand right now,” he began again, hesitantly reaching out to grasp the hand that had struck against his chest, and that was the final straw snapping; you were done.

With a scowl and a tug of your hand, you yanked it free of his grasp and whirled around, the flow of the dress whipping around from the sudden gust of wind. “Whatever, Odair. I’m done. If you can’t even admit what you did was wrong, then… then just leave me the fuck alone from now on.” You didn’t bother to look back, missing the way his jaw hung open and his entire face crumbled. If only you had any idea.

You found out soon enough.

“You’re quite popular now, if you didn’t know that already. Although you’re quite perceptive, I can’t imagine you don’t.” Though he sealed the compliment with a smile, it did little to soothe the unease stirring within your belly.

“Yes, Sir. I’ve noticed. Is that a bad thing?” You hated how weak you sounded, your voice faltering slightly at the end of your sentences, hanging uncomfortably in the air and weighed down with uncertainty.

“I knew you were a smart one,” he finally tucked the envelope in his hands into his pocket, his undivided attention now on you. “You see, with how desirable you are… there are certain expectations that come with that. We wouldn’t want the Capitol to be unsatisfied, now would we?”

When did attention turn into desire? When were there suddenly expectations, and why was it suddenly your responsibility to keep people satisfied?

“I’m not sure what you mean, sir.” A hollow, empty statement, but a genuine one.

“Well,” it seemed Snow was particularly delighted by your response, as if it allowed him to explain something that pleased him greatly. “Victors have their place in Panem, just as all the Districts do. What would Panem be without Eleven’s grain, or Five’s power?”

Realizing it was not a rhetorical question, that he really wanted you to answer, you stumbled through a response. “Well, I— I suppose it would topple the whole structure. We… we can’t survive without eachother.”

“You’d be correct. The same thing applies to the Capitol. Without everyone doing what’s required of them, the Games fail to run smoothly. With no… incentives, shall we say, people… sponsors… become uninterested. There are things you, as a Victor and a mentor, need to do to ensure that interest remains. Do you understand me now, my dear?”

You did, oh how you did. And that was the worst part.

That was how you got here on the rooftop of the Victor’s apartment complex, wrapping a thin robe around the once pretty, now torn chemise that did little to hide your body. You barely survived the first night, there was no way you could spend the rest of your life doing this. No amount of hot showers and scrubbing your skin raw until it bled could free you from feeling so dirty. Tears glistened on your cheeks, highlighting your face in the pale dawn light and exposing your true emotions to anyone who could see you. Luckily — or perhaps unluckily — you were all alone in the Capitol, your family safe and sound because of what you’d agreed to, but so far away.

With slow movements, you hoisted yourself onto the ledge of the roof, telling yourself you wanted to get a better glimpse of the city skyline as the sun crept higher into the sky, not wanting to admit the real reason why, even to yourself. The wind whipped all around you, tearing the robe from your body and splaying your hair in different directions, but you felt as close as you could to freedom. If you just— took another step, or stumbled forward and fell, maybe you would truly be free in the entire sense of the word.

“There’s a forcefield. They wouldn’t let you get away that easily,” the all too familiar voice of Finnick Odair startled you out of your thoughts.

“Did you know?” You had to ask, but couldn’t bring yourself to turn your head and look back at his features, because you would surely crumble if you saw the look on his face.

To his credit, Finnick didn’t bother to sugarcoat it. “Yeah, of course I knew. That’s why…”

“That’s why you wouldn’t train me. You wanted me to die, so I wouldn’t end up like this—” you whirled around sharply to stare straight into his eyes for confirmation as you guessed what you were going to say next. “—like you. Because he makes you do this too, doesn’t he?”

Finnick was never an easy person to read, always hiding behind dimples that indented in his cheeks when he flashed one of his dizzying smirks. But now? You felt like you were staring at a statue, his gaze unable to leave yours but also unable to say anything in return.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, allowing the cold caress of the breeze to take hold of you. If only you could fall back, if only…

“I tried to protect you,” his voice cracked, finally pushing something past his lips and drawing you away from the dangerous thoughts fighting in your mind. “Don’t you see it now? It would’ve been better if you’d died in the arena, you wouldn’t have to do this,” he spat out the word like it was hot tea burning his tongue, but you noticed the crack of defeat in his voice. The way his shoulders slumped, the way his sea green eyes were fixed on his shoes. “And I… I wouldn’t have to see you like this.”

You did see it now; there was a fate worse than death. “I should’ve listened to you, Finnick.” His first name felt foreign on your tongue, as if you were speaking an intimate language only known to the both of you. “I— I’m sorry. I had no idea, I…”

He let your apology hang heavy in the air, flicking his eyes over your shoulder to the waking Captiol, evident by the honks of car horns and the chatter of thousands turning into a dull buzz.

You couldn’t stand silence, it reminded you too much of what followed your father’s execution, what followed when your name was called from the Reaping Bowl. So with a huff, you jumped down from the ledge and hoped he wouldn’t notice your disgruntled appearance.

Not that you cared what he thought of you. But one look from him and you were a goner; your lips began to quiver and you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Finnick, I… I don’t know how to do this,” a choked sob escaped you, and then it was all over and you were crying, shaking violently as you tried and failed to regain your composure. That seemed to snap him out of the haze he’d been in, his eyes flickering over and fixating on your figure, deep frown lines etching themselves on his face in a worried expression. “I don’t know if I can—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he didn’t hesitate to surge forward as you began to sway, the lack of sleep from the night before becoming evident in the dark circles beneath your bleary eyes, cracks in your skin holding onto tears that had long since been shed. He placed a careful hand near the small of your back, hovering over your skin before you fell back into it, like he was uncertain if you would be okay with touch. It reminded you of two nights ago, where he’d been so close to you but still kept his distance, not wanting to invade your space. His reluctance to touch you without your explicit permission made sense now, it all did.

“I just— I don’t—” Your body convulsed with gutteral sobs that sliced his heart in two, his fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you into his chest, allowing fresh tears to stain in the wool of his white sweater. “I don’t…” you tried again, wanting to continue despite the hiccups, “I just don’t… don’t… know what to do.”

You could feel his lips moving against your hair from where they rested on top of your head as he answered. “You don’t have to do anything. Not right now, at least.”

Time passing was the last thing on your mind as you remained in his embrace, soaking up everything about him, relishing in the comfort his closeness brought to you. How when your mind began to wander, the rhythmic pattern of his heartbeat brought you back so you could listen with your ear against his chest. How when your body expelled the last of its shudders and gasps from your breakdown, you could feel his arms flexing, squeezing you a little tighter. How when you pulled back from his embrace, he traced the red indent on your cheek, left from one of the buttons on his sweater.

“When was the last time you slept, sweetheart?” Finnick asked in a tone so gentle it brought fresh tears to your eyes; perhaps it was the sleep deprivation this time.

“I— I can’t go to sleep,” you began to panic again, digging your fingernails into his clothed arms. “I just close my eyes and I keep reliving it over and over again, I can’t do it again, I can’t—”

“I get it,” he stopped your rambling with a simple sentence, and you finally felt like you didn’t have to explain, he just understood. “Just… come with me, okay? You can trust me.”

Wordlessly you nodded, allowing him to guide you gently through the long corridors of the various penthouses until you arrived to one that had been occupied by none other than yourself. No, I can’t sleep, you wanted to shout at him, but remained silent. Trust him.

You allowed him to go through the motions of a bedtime routine, paying no attention to the fact that it was probably breakfast time. Pulling back one side of the blanket, he patted the uncovered space, motioning you to come lay down beside where he sat.

“Finnick, I can’t…” I can’t sleep.

He shook his head, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Just trust me, okay? Come and lay down, you don’t even have to sleep.”

Reluctantly, you threw the robe off of you and on to a chair, trying very hard to ignore the fact that the nightgown underneath did little to hide your body, reaching just past the tops of your thighs and exposing most of your legs. But Finnick didn’t even seem to notice, watching just your face as you settled into bed beside him, laying stiffly on your back until he motioned for you to roll over on your side, facing away from him.

“What are you—” you were shushed yet again and tried to comply, feeling a bit odd facing away from him when he was supposed to be distracting you.

You suppressed a shiver as his finger came into contact with your back, the thin silk of the nightgown doing little as a barrier and feeling more of a second skin. He began to trace a pattern— wait, were those letters?

“Finnick, what are you doing?” You forced back the beginnings of a smile, the first time you’d genuinely wanted to in what seemed like forever.

“Just relax, okay? Sometimes it’s okay to just… let yourself be distracted,” his voice trailed off, differing from the confidence you were used to, replaced by something much more vulnerable. “What am I drawing now?”

“I…” you frowned in concentration, trying to piece together the light strokes of his finger just barely gliding over you. “The sea, no! Waves?”

“Woah, that was fast. Didn’t know I was such an amazing artist, but it doesn’t surprise me—” The teasing tone had returned to his voice, no doubt an effort to continue to distract her

“Can you just continue drawing?” You rolled your eyes knowing he couldn’t see, but there was a slight humor to your voice that let him know it was working, that he was distracting you. His fingers continued their roaming, dancing so delicately and so dangerously close to your bare shoulder.

Finnick traced a moon, a star, and even a fish before he switched over to words, indenting each letter in your back with featherlight strokes of his fingers.

At first it was people, places. Your name. His name. District 4. District 1. Then it transitioned to phrases, which proved to be much more difficult. ‘You should sleep’—

“—Hey! I thought this was supposed to just be a distraction,” your words were finished with a heavy yawn that caused a chuckle to vibrate within his chest, and a feeling of warmth spread through you like wildfire. You couldn’t help it, in a moment you had flipped over onto your other side, wanting to see him. You could hear him, small chuckles passing from his lips and the slight rustle of the sheets beneath his body; you could smell him, a comforting, clean scent that instantly relaxed you, but nothing compared to actually being able to see him in all his glory.

You studied the high of his cheekbones, the straight edge of his nose, the golden glow of his skin that matched his bronzy hair dishevled from its place against your headboard. You studied the way his hair curled around his ears, the way you could faintly see the indents in his cheeks from where his dimples would appear if he were to smile, how the white of his two front teeth would poke out from his lips if he flashed you a smirk. They were full and pink, and, with a pang of jealousy that rocked your entire body, you wondered how many Capitol women had been blessed with feeling his lips on theirs — then swallowed that thought down with a shudder of disgust. He hadn’t wanted them, any of them, it was all a facade made up from by the Capitol, and you needed to realize that.

And while hearing him, and smelling him, and even seeing him was great, all you wanted to do was touch him. Not like that; no, you just wanted his arms around you again like they had been on the rooftop, shielding you from the cruelty of the world and finally allowing your body to feel safe enough to sleep. You wanted to reach out and trace the sharpness of his jawline, trail your fingers down to explore the planes of his chest, draw letters and shapes and meaningless patterns over his shirt like he’d just done to you. He watched you through sea green eyes that were glassy with sleep or emotion, which one you couldn’t say. His breaths came out short and shallow, hitting your face as you stared right back. You wondered if he could feel your breath fanning his face, or the warmth radiating from your body as you could from his.

He was close, so, so close, like that night you’d first seen him in the Captiol. You were wanting, just about begging for him to say something, something that would snap you out of whatever trance you were in.

It wasn’t fair that he could be so close, mere inches away on the bed, but be so unreachable.

But, as Snow had so graciously reminded you, fairness was a luxury you were not blessed with. So with great effort you tucked one arm under your pillow, using the other to pull the covers over you. Much to your relief, Finnick made no attempt to leave, saving you the embarassment of asking him to stay.

“Finnick?” You asked after several moments in a hushed whisper, not wanting to wake him. You felt guilty enough to have kept him up until mid morning.

“Mmmm?” Was the response, thick with sleep.

“Thanks for staying with me.” You fell asleep before you could hear his response.

Blood. Red and warm and sticky.

Heat. Blistering your skin and parching your throat.

A knife. Glinting in the sun, slicing straight through skin and muscle and bone.

A scream. Bloodcurdling and drawn out and all too familiar.

A scream escaped your lips, mimicking the one in your dream to an uncanny degree until you realized it was your scream. The sheets were tangled around your limbs, suffocating you and rendering you paralyzed as you fought with them, sweat drenching your forehead and leaving your hairline damp as you struggled for what felt like hours, though it was probably only a moment or two before your disorientation faded and you realized you weren’t back in the arena. Two hands were on your shoulders, strong and grounding, and you realized someone had been calling your name.

“You’re okay. You’re safe, it’s just— it’s just me,” Finnick’s voice was soothing to your ears, a calming melody against the screams and sounds of sliced flesh that were assaulting your mind.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, chest heaving as you sucked in as much air as possible, needing desperately to occupy your mind with something else, anything else. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up—”

“It’s okay,” he cut you off; his hands moved up from your shoulders to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks and you realized you’d been crying. “I get it, you don’t… you don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

His arms wrapped around your body until you had been tucked into his side, your head resting in the crook where his neck met his shoulder, and allowed steadying inhales and exhales to relax you as he resumed tracing patterns on your back. You cried, for everything you’d lost in those games, mourning the person you were before, and he just stayed there, cradling you against him, wanting nothing more than to take your pain on as his own.

“I— I— I just— I can’t—” you hiccuped, fresh tears spilling from your eyes as memories from your Games kept crashing down, how your District partner had protected you and you’d killed him—

“Please, what do you need?” Finnick squeezed his hands a bit tighter around you, trying desperately to bring you back to today. “Just tell me, and I can get it for you— liquor, morphling, anything, just—”

“Finnick,” you croaked out, hating how your voice sounded so weak, so broken. “Can you just…” your eyes flickered down to his lips, and despite every cell in your body screaming at you not to ask: “Kiss me.”

His eyes widened like it was the last thing he expected you to say, “I— okay— are you sure?”

You answered his question by surging forward and capturing his lips with your own, telling yourself it wasn’t his lips that you craved, but that you just needed something to get you through the night. He reciprocated immediately, matching your desperation with his own, like the two of you were trading blows as he pulled you fully under him, settling himself between your legs. You felt the hardness in his pants and couldn’t help but roll your hips up to meet it, pressing your own desire up against his. That — the feeling of his cock straining through the material of his sweatpants — made everything a little too real, and you suddenly found yourself needing to justify your actions. Why you felt this way was a mystery, perhaps you were protecting yourself, scared he wouldn’t feel the same if you were honest, but you truly had no idea, it just slipped out.

“I just… can’t think about it anymore,” you panted out. He didn’t have to know that you’d been pining after him since you were sixteen, didn’t need to know you hid your wanting behind sharp jabs and petty slights. “I don’t want you to think— this doesn’t have to mean anything, okay?”

Maybe you were imagining it, but Finnick’s eyes flickered with something you’d never seen before, clenching his jaw for a moment. “Okay.” He didn’t sound okay. “This means… whatever you want it to mean,” his voice was husky with a mix of something that sounded a little like… well you weren’t really sure, and you soon forgot to ask him as he stole your lips in another kiss.

You swore you would never get used to the feeling of Finnick’s lips on your own, even if you kissed him every day for a thousand lifetimes. Because each time his lips met yours, the world as you knew it was set ablaze with the same fuel that set your whole body on fire. You could never get enough of him, the way his lips were so soft and gentle, the way his breath mingled with and matched your own until it was like you were breathing as one. The way his tongue slid into your mouth but didn’t invade it while his hands roamed your body, squeezing the flesh around your hips, your sides, not being able to keep them contained to one place.

They finally settled on the sides of your thighs, squeezing around the area where your nightgown stopped, fading into a lacy trim and then disappearing completely. With tentative hands, he gripped the bottom of your nightgown and slowly began to hike it up your body. You helped him slide it up your legs, your stomach, your head, until it was completely discarded and you were left in nothing but underwear, having not worn a bra to sleep and leaving your chest completely exposed. Before you even had the chance to cover yourself, he was pressed up against you and his lips were on your neck, nipping at the sensitive spots under your ear and near the base of your throat, soothing the sting of his teeth with the swirl of his tongue.

This continued for a bit without any talking or shifting around, until you decided you weren’t content with being the only one practically naked, and reached for the hem of his shirt. He got the hint pretty quickly, leaning back and sitting on the backs of his thighs before tugging the shirt over his head. His biceps flexed in the process as he revealed a body sculpted and shaped into what you could only describe as perfect, not a single flaw to be seen.

Sitting above you, your legs spread around him and almost completely bare before him, this was the first time he was truly able to take in all of you, his green eyes nearly black with how wide his pupils had been blown out. His cheeks were so flushed they nearly matched the red of his lips, swollen from the constant attack of your own.

“You’re so beautiful,” Finnick whispered, so quietly you thought you imagined it. He didn’t leave much time for the compliment to settle in before he was back on you again.

His lips trailed down your neck, sucking and licking a path of hot, open mouthed kisses down past the valley of your breasts, down your stomach and not leaving an inch of skin untouched. You let out a little whine at the loss of contact when he suddenly pulled away, stopping his kisses just by your hip bone. You opened your eyes to see him searching them for any trace of unwillingness, finding none.

You nodded, desperate to have his mouth on you, and involuntarily shivered as a finger hooked around your panties and rolled them down your legs. You couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed as he was met with how eager you were for him, evident by the growing wetness between your thighs, and instinctively pressed your legs together to shield yourself from his prying gaze, despite being completely bare before him.

“You don’t have to hide, it’s just me,” he said as gently as possible, gripping your thighs and slowly spreading them apart, “Are you really sure about all of this? I don’t want you to think that’s why I stayed.”

God he was so good, you realized with an ache that rocked your body, shooting straight to your heart as you stared at him, met with only sincerity that made you want to cry again, because you could never truly have all of him.

He was doing this as a favor, as a distraction, not because he had any real feelings. But you were so desperate for him you’d take what you could get, which was why you nodded fervently and said, “Please, Finnick, I’m sure, I need you, just… touch me.” And as soon as the last words slipped past your lips, his mouth was on you, and you knew in that moment you were utterly fucked.

Finnick, on the other hand, knew he there was no coming back the moment he came into contact with your clit and tasted you with his tongue. He wanted you, all of you, and chanelled that into the expert motions of his tongue as he dove it deeper in you, continuing at an agonizing pace until you were trembling, practically begging for release. Your fingers raked through his hair, tugging him closer to you, his groans vibrating against your folds whenever you pulled a little hard.

And then, he stopped altogether, and you let out a frustrated groan at the loss of contact, but he was quick to make his way up your body again, peppering kisses along the way before swallowing your whine with another kiss, your mouth opening to let his tongue inside and tasting yourself on him. He broke away for a moment, just in time for you to cry out his name.

“Finn—” you barely had time to whimper again before he suddenly sunk a finger in and kissed you at the same time. His mouth never left yours as he continued, his tongue sliding along the seam of your lips as you parted them with a gasp. And he swallowed that with the kiss, too, like he was hungry for every part of you that he could get.

Desire ignited every part of his body, reflected in the way he began to pump his finger in and out before adding another, wanting you to be ready enough for his cock that he so desperately wanted to sink into you.

But Finnick had waited so long for this moment, he didn’t want to ruin it by moving too fast. No, he needed to relish in every moan elicited from your lips, every clench of you around his fingers. He needed to memorize every dip and valley of your body, kiss every square inch, memorize the taste and feel of you, in case he never got the chance to again.

He broke away his lips from yours and reattached them to your neck as his thumb began to trace a pattern against your clit. His pace quickened as your moans grew louder and more frequent. Your walls squeezed his fingers tighter, until you were practically undone, as he reveled in the sting in his roots and on his back as as you pulled his hair even tighter and your fingernails dug little crescent moons into his otherwise perfect skin.

“I’m gonna—” You were cut off as he sent you over the edge with the slight curl of his finger, pure bliss blinding every other sense until all you could think of was Finnick. It took you a moment to come down from your high, realizing it did little to satiate you because you still wanted him, all of him.

You reached for his bare torso, feeling each of his abs flex individually as you trailed your hands down his stomach. You stopped just above the waistband of his pants, not only wanting to feel him, but wanting to hear him say he wanted it just as badly as you did; but it seemed he was thinking the same thing and beat you to it, shucking off his sweats and boxers until he was also bare before you.

“Tell me you want me,” his chest heaved with each word, demanding you say just what you wanted to hear from him, tearing your attention away from everything else. “Need to hear you say it.”

“Want you so bad,” your voice was barely above a whisper. “Please, I need you inside me. Right now, just… please.” If you could get drunk off of the word please leaving your mouth you’d be wasted by now, almost wanting to laugh with how often you’d said the word.

“Whatever you want,” the way he said that made your spine tingle, the purr in his voice causing you to border on ferality.

This caused you to laugh and hook your arms around his neck, pulling him closer with the intention of kissing the smirk right off his mouth until you felt the tip of his cock brush against your entrance, making this feel a little to real once again.

“You sure?” He halted your movements, both hands resting on either side of your head as he remained hovering above you, repeating his question from earlier.

The vigor in your nod caused him to throw his head back with laughter, though not before you asked for confirmation of his own.

Mimicking your move from earlier he answered with a kiss, this one so sweet and quick it was more of a peck. Before he had time to overthink, he was inside you in a swift motion, a moan tearing from your throat as he paused, waiting for you to adjust to the sheer size of him. Your fingernails dug into his arms as he held still, waiting for you to give him the go ahead before he started moving.

“Just— move, please—” that was all it took before his hips snapped against yours and he was inside you fully, biting back a groan to match yours as you clenched around him.

After a while of slow strokes, you were starting to grow inpatient with how gentle he was being. Not because you didn’t like it, but because then you had the chance to slow down and remember it was actually Finnick, and not some nameless man you wouldn’t remember in the morning. He seemed to pick up on your growing disinterest quickly enough, and began quickening his pace until you were crying out. His thrusts soon became wild and erratic, signaling he was just as close to finishing as you were.

“It’s okay,” he crooned, his lips brushing your ear as his hand reached down to circle your clit once again. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

You weren’t sure whether it was his command, or the pet name, way his lips felt against your ear, or even his thumb pressing against your clit, but you came hard and fast, your body spasming and clenching around his cock until he followed soon after. He collapsed on top of you, his chest shining with sweat as he continued to press kisses on you shoulder, up your neck, behind your ear. The weight of Finnick pinning you to the mattress was oddly comforting, grounding you and effectively keeping you from wandering back to thoughts of your Games. The distraction had worked, you realized as he eventually rolled off of you and up into a sitting position.

You wondered tiredly where he was going, but he had left and returned before you could even ask where. A damp towel in one hand, he cleaned you up with gentle movements, slowing when you gasped from sensitivity and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead while whispering sweet words of encouragement in your ear. The whole interaction was so domestic you actually felt nauseous as you remembered this was just a one time thing, and you’d never experience any of this again. This was just a favor done by someone who wasn’t even really your friend — a familiar stranger who knew more about you than most.

Finnick oh so desperately wanted to know what you were thinking. He would ask, but the look in your eyes kept his mouth shut as he fell on the mattress beside you. He itched to pull you close to him, to be able to fall asleep with the security of you in his arms, but couldn’t bring himself to make any first moves. Had he not slept here before you two had just fucked, he’d be questioning whether or not he should remain or go back to his room.

If only he knew you were craving his touch just as much as he was craving yours. So the two of you fell asleep shoulder to shoulder, with so many words left unspoken.

And when you woke up the next morning, you tried not to let your heart sink completely into your chest as you reached over and felt nothing. He was gone.

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair smut #the hunger games #thg #finnick imagine #the hunger games smut #the hunger games fanfiction #finnick odair angst #finnick x reader #finnick odair fluff

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illicitghoul · 6 days

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you’re instagram if you were in the BAU (p2)

prt 2 that nobody asked for 🥱 (this is so fun)

part 1 (linked below)

————————————————————————————

yourusername

liked by jen.jj45 and 46 others

yourusername JJ LOVE CLUB (i am also in jj love club but they all voted me to take the photo 💔)

pennycia and you did a great job 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

yourusername i love you pen 💌

pennycia I LOVE YOU MOST Y/N

derek.m0rg4n @spencer.re1d i love you

spencer.re1d Stop lying for social media clout

derek.m0rg4n fuck you AND your fuck ass haircut

prentiss.em LMFAO

prentiss.em we are such cuties some ppl wish they were us 🥱

yourusername @prentiss.em real asf

yourusername

liked by elliegreenaway & others

yourusername me and spence were conjoined jellyfish in another life

spencer.re1d Can we be anglerfish

yourusername no? wtf is wrong with you

spencer.re1d 🥱🥱🥱🥱BORING

r0ssi81 that is a very interesting photo

yourusername YOU KNOW HOW TO COMMENT?

r0ssi81 you’re pushing it girl genius

yourusername you’re pushing something…

r0ssi81 when i find out how to block someone you are gone y/n

prentiss.em this is quite cute y/l/n 😭

yourusername you’re quite cute 🤫

prentiss.em send me toe pictures 😂😂😂😂

yourusername NO EMILY!!!!!!!!! (ill email them)

yourusername

liked by spencer.re1d and 51 others

yourusername my cute glowing girlfriend (idk who that random man is 🤷‍♀️ kinda scary)

prentiss.em yeah that is really weird 🥱 anyway i love u wifey mwah mwah

yourusername ugh ily lets go frolic in a field or smth

spencer.re1d Yeah that is really scary - be careful guys

spencer.re1d OH MY I LOOK LIKE A GHOST 😁😁

jen.jj45 it’s like i can still hear his voice…

yourusername :( i miss his cute smile

prentiss.em 🎉

spencer.re1d @prentiss.em You aren’t funny

pennycia 😭😭😭😭

prentiss.em ok comedy police spencer reid????

jen.jj45 shes like an angel !!!!!!

prentiss.em I LOVE YOU JENNIFER 🙁🙁

yourusername

liked by aaron.hotchner and 37 others

yourusername i said serve and they devoured

spencer.re1d Slay !

prentiss.em y/n meant to say i devoured and you kind of chewed…

spencer.re1d Can you stop harassing me?

prentiss.em i kiss your girlfriend on days that end in y

yourusername TRUTH 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

pennycia what cuties!!! seeing their smiles makes me so happy!!!!!!

spencer.re1d You’re my best friend

derek.m0rg4n everytime you speak it breaks my heart

jen.jj45 HAHAAH WHAT

pennycia CRYING

yourusername

liked by elliegreenaway and 43 others

yourusername my bag broke before i left spences 🙁

spencer.re1d Sigh…. the theory for a broken bag means you have to stay where it broke 🤷‍♂️ i dont know i just heard that

derek.m0rg4n my bag broke in your heart… why won’t you let me stay

yourusername you ate with that one derek

yourusername broke bag mountain

elliegreenaway @yourusername LMFAO

pennycia i’ll fix it for you!!! come over girlie!!!

yourusername omw!!!!!

yourusername

liked by derek.m0rg4n and 49 others

yourusername day out with my four wives

pen : fanny pack with snacks and a book

jj : losing her mind (too warm)

em : complaining 🥱

me : having a good time :)

aaron.hotchner I hope you all worn sunscreen

yourusername yes 🫡

prentiss.em 🥱

pennycia i had a great day!!! (i read 3 pages)

jen.jj45 i am LOSING it the HEAT i am gonna COMBUST

derek.m0rg4n @spencer.re1d @aaron.hotchner @r0ssi81 could be us

r0ssi81 I am busy for the foreseeable future

dreak.m0rgan @spencer.re1d @aaron.hotcher

at least rossi replied…

#criminal minds #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #aaron hotchner #david rossi #emily prentiss #derek morgan

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riririnnnn · 2 months

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These Itoshi brothers are going to be my end one day.

Every time I'm like, "Yay, I made a sensible theory. I'll stick to it now," these two always whack me out of nowhere. It's like they love to go, "🗣️📢 HELL NAH❗HE-HE-HELL NAH❗"

Anyway, so I was re-reading Rin's part in the LN, and I realised something:

So, after Sae left for Spain, there was a visible decline in the performance of both Rin and their Soccer Youth Club. Rin says it's because he could see the goal path and stuffs, BUT his teammates couldn't and the only person who could match his vision was, of course, Sae.

That's why Rin had to change his playstyle to match that of the Team's. He began passing instead of waiting for a pass and all. Things starts to get better, and the whole team starts to get their glory days back.

There was a line in the LN which goes something like, "The teammates thought they were playing good, but they were actually just playing in strings of Rin's. Rin was controlling everything."

He then goes, "This is tough and Nii-chan was doing this all along? Nii-chan was holding back. That's why he chose to go to Spain, so he can play the way he wants."

See.

THIS

is exactly where my brain started to churn.

So, Sae was in that soccer club since way long, and he was legit considered as the pillar of it or something. However, all these years, he was, in fact, holding back himself and when he got to go to Spain, he thought like, "Yes! Finally! I can show the world what I got," but sadly, he found out he just wasn't it.

Maybe it could be because he played UNLIKE his real self for so long that he forgot himself.

He just wasn't that good as he thought he was. He found out that he was the Frog in the well.

HOWEVER.

He still had Rin back home, and he trusted him because he knew about his younger brother's true potential or impulses.

So time passed and the day of the U-15 Championship Finals came.

Reminder: Sae was scouted by Real Madrid/Re Al when he won in the U-15 Championship alongside Rin. That's why it was really important for Rin to win that Final match too.

What I said above was a fact Sae, probably, knew too. That's why he came a whole day AHEAD of his schedule to watch the younger Itoshi play with his own eyes (Rin had pointed out that Sae was supposed to come a day after).

But, surprisingly, what Sae saw was what he feared— he saw Rin play the way he himself used to. He was probably like, "I sacrificed everything for you and you became exactly what I sacrificed myself for you to NOT be."

Reminder: Rin gets into his real flow state/becomes berserk during the LAST three minutes of the whole game.

Which gives us two possibilities:

Firstly, Sae just gets up and leave without seeing Rin's berserk mode. After which he comes back to confront him once the match is over.

Secondly, Sae stayed the whole match and saw Rin's berserk mode and was somewhat relieved to know that the younger Itoshi hadn't completely lost his true self. After which the confrontation proceeds.

I don't want to say much about their reunion in this post, but I do want to add another perspective to why Sae challenged Rin for a 1V1:

Sae, probably, had thought that, "I couldn't beat the world and if you can't even beat me, then you are nothing in this world."

That's it, I guess.

I really wish for a Itoshi brothers spin-off because it's hinted that they had a big shared room, so I really want to see how everything is like after Sae returns from Spain.

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock theory #bllk theory #itoshi rin #itoshi sae #雪 ranting

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demonslayedher · 5 months

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Just thinking about how Chachamaru is a male calico, at least according the Taisho Secret right before chapter 195 that calls him manly. It really doesn't surprise me that he's male, because so many references to calicos I've seen in manga, mascots, and temple architecture specify that the featured calico is male.

This is because they are rare, and therefore considered lucky.

The figure that gets thrown around the internet is that supposedly only 1 in every 3000 calicos is male. (I'll bet the people who did the often quoted study at U. of Minn. College of Vet Med would love to tell you how it's more complicated than that.) This has long made male calicos popular not only in Japan, but in other countries as well. The thing is, though, the male calico might not always be so lucky.

To be very brief about why calicos (and some other multicolored cats) are almost always female, this is because, put very simply, one X chromosome gives us the black splotches, and one X chromosome gives us the orange splotches. That might leave you wondering where the white patches come from, and this is the part where I say that genetics is never simple and you should have fun reading about it. The important takeaway here is that in order to show this color pattern, a cat needs two X chromosomes, one from its mother and one from its father.

Typically, a male cat has an X chromosome (from its female mother, who only has two X chromosomes) and a Y chromosome (from its father, who had both an X and a Y), but because the calico coating can only occur with two X chromosomes, this male cat somehow got an X, a Y, and... hmm, another X somewhere.

So not a typical XY male, not a typical XX calico... this sterile XXY male calico has an extra chromosome, and mutations often are not ideal for the health of the animal with the extra chromosome. This particular condition is Klinefelter’s Syndrome, which can lead to a male calico having cognitive and behavior issues, weaker bones, increased risk of diabetes due to higher body fat, and perhaps a shorter lifespan.

Now, none of the fictitious lucky cats I've seen have ever been portrayed as anything less than smart and pleasant, though a lot of the maneki-neko are pretty round. For everything Chachamaru is tasked with, I have to assume he's above-average when it comes to intelligence, reasonably healthy enough to handle long-distance travel, and for a cat, he's extremely, extremely cooperative. For the record, the same Taisho Secret (as well as Yushiro's statement in Chapter 194) makes it clear that for most of canon Chachamaru was a regular cat, for he was not made into a demon until right before the final showdown with Muzan. Even with her hands full making the medicine for Muzan, she still put a lot of effort into changing Chachamaru so that Yushiro wouldn't be lonely. It's ironic that Chachamaru winds up immortal, rather than doomed to a potentially shorter lifespan due to his mark...ings. In the first place, was Tamayo perhaps moved with pity for a sickly kitten and nursed him to the health he's in now?

Or did she always keep her eye out for a male calico, wanting to put some faith in them being good luck?

Also, what sticks out to me in this Taisho Secret is that Chachamaru, not having a language in which he could communicate with Tamayo, had no choice in becoming a demon. Tamayo felt sorry about that. The word bubble over manly little Chachamaru says, with bravado, "Fine by me, if that's what the woman I'm smitten with wishes." If Chachamaru truly is that smitten with her, that perhaps accounts for what an unusually cooperative cat he is. But it also reminds me of a fan theory that I saw once (and found worthy of weight) which said that perhaps Tamayo's blood technique has an effect like makes others smitten with her, and Yushiro might had been under its influence, however strongly or subtly. If such a thing were the case, it might or might not had been something Tamayo was conscious of. If she was conscious of having some effect like that, she probably felt awful about it but found it a necessary precaution to keep any demon she made under control. If she wasn't conscious of such a thing, that means she might had subconsciously developed it out of loneliness, and had been trying to keep company at her side.

#kny fandom theories and meta #kny nerdery #chachamaru #tamayo

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leclsrc · 6 months

Note

hi auds!! it's my birthday today ;) i never send reqs i know you get a whole ton of them but if you ever got around to this- i think the f1 fic world has a very worrying lack of aus. so could i get a band!charles au drabble where he writes a song about reader and she hears it on the radio? any song you like. reader could be driver or something or connected to f1 if thats cool !!! thank you sm!! i love you

knee socks – cl16

There’s a certain inevitability that comes with having sex with a misaligned, conceited lead guitarist of a band. You aren’t aware of this fact until it hits you in-between your brows with the force of an 18-wheeler truck, at 8AM, through the radio in your car.

genre: drabble... lots of smutty allusions

auds here... happy birthday anon, one month and then some later! to be completely honest i almost deleted this... but through some twist of fate, it was the only thing i could bully into completion lol (aside frm long form fics that i'm still working on) this is 1000% for u and i hope u accept it as a belated bday gift :) i agree btw! id love to see more au fics but it is still nice reading the canon compliant type ones hahah. also the song in this and its and title is of course from this

It was surprising enough to hear an announcement of a new single by The Incident, one that seemingly sprouted out of nowhere, sans promotion. The morning BBC show clobbered the song with theories before finally letting the drawled-out, sticky guitar filter through and into your car. That in itself was odd, sure. Maybe shocking a little. But you leaned into the leather seat and remained quiet.

When you were fifteen, you were convinced the lyrics to Hall & Oates’ “Rich Girl” pinned up perfectly to your (insufferable) personality of the time. Raised in a big family and working in a career of refined prestige, your budding skill and already-cemented name in the modeling industry were just two small indicators of your parents’ massive wealth. Of course, neither Hall nor Oates were actually sitting and writing songs and singing about you—you just found it made sense in one way or another.

That was three years before you met Charles three years ago, at a pub in Soho. His band had only just spilled out of the confines of Soundcloud and seedy managers; they’d broken five million monthly listeners and the throng of people were there to watch them live. You were at the pub for a pint with another friend and left him with your number, a slip of paper tinged with beer; he fished out the nearest surface you could write on from a nearby bowl. Do I Wanna Know? it read in rushed cursive. It was a song request that went unfulfilled.

Rumors flew in your circle. Your father soured at the idea of you seeing somebody he wasn’t actively doing business with, but he failed to realize how limited your dating pool would be if you followed his wishes. Your interactions with the Formula One men he sponsored or worked with, however few and far between, were rancid and impolite. The drivers wore expensive brands, ones that didn’t even fall familiar on people’s ears, but refused to tip beyond three pounds. It came as both a shock and no surprise that the nouveau rich rock singer treated you with more decency than any of them did.

He was shy about it first, knowing how filthy rich you were. He made jokes about how his flat could fit in your kitchen twice over. He spoke what little French he remembered from childhood to impress you, paid for takeout, wore Lacoste when he came over to drink—then fuck—because it was, at the time, the most decent brand he owned. It’d been January when he came over, caught a sight of you at the foyer with all your expensive coats hung up. Your tongue was blue with a lozenge. It was the only thing he could look at while fucking you.

He wore a light blue variant once, fit and snug on him. You wrestled it off him in-between hot, sweet kisses, kept it on your bed so it’d be the first thing you tugged on in the morning before a shoot for a brand you can no longer place.

The last time you saw him he’d shown you lyrics, sang them aloud, drummed the beat he thought of on the skin of your thigh. His accent disappeared into rasp and notes. You told him to perform it live and he fucked you splayed up against your door, bent over your counter, then with your knees pressed to your chest on your white sheets, warm from the laundry. S’good for me, aren’t you, princess? All for me. My filthy girl.

Two hours later: I’m going on tour, sweetheart, he’d said while he cleaned you up.

’Til? Or… like, for long? Naked, you wrapped your blanket around your frame.

Ah, oui. For a while.

You failed to answer amicably, your eyebrows twisting. You didn’t think to tell me? Just up and leave then? No number, no text, no announcement, just— You exhaled tightly. You knew he didn’t owe you anything of the sort; the sex, you guessed, the company had been so good you’d deluded yourself into thinking so.

Kitten—

Don’t call me that, you huffed, angrier now. Petulant. You got up and crowded him ’til you got to the door. Get the fuck out.

You watched him leave, brown leather jacket and black tee disappearing into London, and wrenched memories of him from the depths of your brain, the two years of your back and forth rendezvous. You wondered why you didn’t get a song in that time, after his ascent to fame, after the release of other hit singles inspired by his bandmates’ gossip rags and measly shags.

So a year later, when the memories have just begun to purge themselves—when the lyrics, which already have sent a swoop through your stomach, progress into the line When you walked around your house wearin' my sky blue Lacoste… and your knee socks, you effectively choke on your a.m. cappucino. It’s like “Rich Girl” all over again, but this is overt, it’s targeted. Like whoever wrote it must’ve known you’d be listening right now, en route to a shoot at eight in the morning.

“All good, miss?” Ed, your chauffeur, meets your eyes in the rearview, concerned.

“Perf—” your voice cracks. “Perfect.”

You screw your eyes shut and try to collect yourself, zeroing in on the lyrics that’d been foggy before.

Curing his January blues—the month you two started sleeping together.The fact that he’d had your number, a famous stranger, before you had his. Every beat, every word, every deep-voiced lyric traces back to you (unless, of course, he’s busying himself shagging any other girl in London on rainy Tuesdays and letting her wear his now-old polos. The thought sends a pang of jealousy through you.)

But you know better. You know you’re the only one.

Because your phone’s the only one buzzing late into the damp night—when the zeroes line up on the clock by your bed, the one he fixed up for you—with a number you’ve removed the name of, blocked at some point, but can still memorize in his absence.

Maybe tonight you’ll pick up.

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader #anonymous

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oftidheard · 5 months

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I’m so glad someone is writing for tbosas, I’ve been dying for fics since I read the book, I loved ur sejanus x mentor!reader and was wondering if u could do reaper ash x mentor!reader who has the same views of the games as sejanus :) thanks

aw thank you so much!! ♡ the main focus of this is reader's struggle with facing that they need to fight against the capitol and not just quietly disapprove of the games. implied unrequited feelings

🏳 doesn't matter if it's all okay ㅤ⠀reaper ash x reader ㅤ⠀↳ 2.1k ↳ angst ↳ gender neutral

your gaze darts across your surroundings; eyes raking over the rusting cages and overgrown weeds seeping into the path, slowly claiming the once pristine zoo for their own uncontrollable reign.

the weeds and veins don't scare you; if you stare at them long enough you can pretend you're walking through a beautiful lively forest, on the way to a carefree picnic with the boy you...

you can pretend you're going to spend a day wasted laying in the sun, with the boy you care about.

these daydreams are dangerous, but they're more favourable than remembering the true situation you're trapped in. you'll choose the wildflowers peaking through the cracks over the rough concrete and cold metal of the enclosures every time.

you try not to look at all the abandoned cages as you sneak through the zoo, but every now and then you catch sight of a pedestal that details what once had been a home for meerkats or some bird you don't recognise — and your footsteps stutter at the thought that these same under-furnished and unkempt prisons are what dozens of children have been living in for the past week.

you wish you could physically rein in your mind — wish you could stop it from wandering and growing helplessly miserable — and get it to focus on keeping your footfalls light, on not getting caught.

but every few steps your legs shake, and you fear you might slip on the gravel if your thoughts keep getting away from the problem at hand.

your eyes are constantly scanning the darkness that envelopes the zoo you've grown so used to visiting in the light — if it hadn't been for your familiarity with the layout, the locked gates right at the beginning would have spelt the end of a very short-lived plan. but having been here daily for the past week, and holding onto foggy memories from your childhood of running of to hide in small nooks and crannies; you found a way through a maintenance gate that had been neglected.

now, the path you trek isn't the same well-used one everyone's been using to make their way to the tributes, but rather one that trails around the edge of the zoo; which will — hopefully — mean you're avoiding the main path the peacekeepers will be using.

you've only caught sight of two peacekeepers stationed at the front gate, and another across the other side of a cage you'd hidden behind — who if you had to guess, had been ending their shift and leaving.

your whole plan relies on the fact that there won't be any peacekeepers stationed at the actual cage, that the people in charge will think that if the tributes were going to cause trouble they would've done it before the eve of the games, so tonight they don't have to worry. you worry though, about this flimsy theory, and the fact that if this falls through your plan b is less than trustworthy — relying on your charm and persuasion to get out of trouble with overtired and irate peacekeepers doesn't excite you.

so your head snaps behind you at every rustle of leaves and you shiver whenever the wing changes, but never once does it cross your mind that you could turn back — you can't, and you wouldn't want to anyway. the paper bag of supplies weighs heavy in your hand, and disregarding all your — admittedly naive self-indulgent — feelings, you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you left reaper starving and his district partner dying with not even an attempt at helping the night before you'll never be able to be near him again.

the path nears its end, and the cages that were hiding you are starting to grow sparce, with larger gaps between each of them. you carefully reach the final cage before the path leads out into the open and turns to the monkey cage.

your whole body feels stiff with fear of getting caught, as you peak your head around the corner agonisingly slowly. you almost sigh in relief when you find not a single peacekeeper in sight, loosening your tense shoulders as you approach far less rigidly.

after being out here for a bit your eyes have adjusted as much as they can to the lack of light, but you still have to strain to try to make out the figures of the tributes strewn about the enclosure in varying levels of sleep, through the darkness.

you try to keep quiet — even worried about breathing too loud — as you walk right up to the barrier. your hand reaches to wrap around a bar in front of you, steadying your weight on it as your lean as close as you can until your forehead hits the cold metal.

some tributes are sleeping huddled together in groups of three or four — alliances they plan to carry into the arena, you're sure — while others are curled in on themselves alone and as far away from others as possible. you search for the pair beneath the tree they've claimed as their spot since the first day; and you don't know whether the hitch of your breath is from your skittishness at any sudden movement, or from the fact that when reaper raises his head to see you, his expression isn't unreadably stiff like it has been for days, and instead holds something you hope is softer.

you're too on edge to whisper-shout out for him, so you try to signal that the package in your hand is for him.

after a moment, he looks down to where dill is resting against his side wearily. you don't know what he's internally debating — whether it be his trust of you, or the worry of waking his friend, or even just his own tiredness — but it comes to and end when dill raises her head and notices you.

ever since you've been bringing food and water for reaper, dill has seemed more receptive to your offerings than he has — so when her eyes meet yours only for her to turn to reaper with a look you can't see in the dim light, it seems she's convinced him of something, and he carefully rises.

his approach is light-footed as he navigates the crowded enclosure, making sure not to disturb anyone or risk a stray peacekeeper catching him moving in the moonlight.

when he reaches you it doesn't escape your mind that instead of the proximity in the past day you'd grown used to him being comfortable with, he's returned to keeping a good distance away from the bars, and you. you miss the closeness, but you also know you're here in the middle of the night as someone who could end any tribute's life and then could be gone faster than a peacekeeper could run here; the night-time scares you, you don't blame reaper for feeling the same.

your hand reluctantly retracts from the bar — as if, stupidly, you feel it's the only thing tying the two of you together — to lift several items out of the paper bag in your other hand. reaper has an apprehensive glint in his eyes, but doesn't step further away.

you hold up a wheel of cheese that fills your palm and a box of biscuits big first, only slipping your hand through the bars marginally as to not appear like a threat trying to grab for him.

"i brought food," you whisper, "that's— that's not all of it."

he slowly takes the food from your hand, and you repeat the process when you pass him a pear and a banana.

"my parents wouldn't— they didn't let me bring any more," you mutter ashamedly, having planned to bring an entire warm meal for reaper and dill, when your father had caught you and reprimanded you for feeding people from the districts the capitol's food. this hadn't stopped you, only making you note you had to be more stealthy when slipping the fruit from the kitchen counter — but it had filled you with a dread you're now learning never goes away in a world like this.

next, is a tall plastic bottle that had been ice-cold when you'd grabbed it, but having hidden it behind your back between sweating hands, the frost on the sides has started to melt and drip down.

when reaper takes the bottle, you swear you imagine the split second where his fingers brush yours. but when you duck your head to calm yourself down and raise it once more only to find reaper's head slightly tilted and his eyes glinting with an odd look; you wonder if it wasn't just your imagination.

you shake your head, and busy yourself with reaching into the bag again for the second last item you'd brought.

it's a smaller box than which held the biscuits, and is a bright yellow with fancy lettering. it rattles gently as you pick it up, and you recognise that this unfamiliar item among the regular food and water is something reaper isn't quick to trust.

you reach your hand through the bars, but not far enough to imply you're forcing him to take it.

"it's, um— it's not cough medicine but it— i got really sick last year. i was coughing up blood and could barely breath; this is the medicine my parents gave me."

he doesn't reply, and you try to explain that you're just trying to help.

"they're for dill, i— i don't know much about sickness, but it could help her."

for the first time tonight, reaper replies — with a careful quietness that tries to evade dill's ears incase she's listening — "she's dying."

you nod — deep down you knew this — but the capitol's indifferent politeness runs even deeper, in ways that make words jump to your tongue out of instinct; in ways that stop you from ever having genuine conversations with people you care about.

you take a shaky breath, "i'm certain these will make it hurt less, i promise."

you can't read reaper's expression, but after a pause of silence and what you think is him examining you to see if you're telling the truth — he takes the box in hand. you don't know if he trusts it — or you — enough to give it to dill, but you know it means something that he went as far as to accept it.

now that he's taken what appears to be the last of what you'd bought, and you still remain stood there, reaper watches you. he's not sure what you're doing, until you lift the sleeve of your coat and slide a bracelet off your wrist.

you notice the way his jaw stiffens — under the impression you're gifting him something uselessly expensive to make yourself feel better, or expecting it to somehow give him an advantage in the arena — and you're quick to turn the beads in your fingers and stutter, "it's not worth anything."

"um, not to anyone but me, really. it's like a uh— a lucky charm," you turn it around in your hand anxiously, "it really works, or... i guess it just feels like it does? but i uh—…"

you timidly pass your arm between the bars again, the bracelet dangling from the tips of your fingers with a quiet jingle of brightly coloured beads clicking against each other.

reaper's eyes rest on you again, a gaze you can't bring yourself to meet in case it's as — justifiably — cold as it was the first time you met. but unseen to you, he looks at you in a way of almost understanding.

he does not trust you, he does not trust anyone in the capitol. but one thing he does now find he trusts, is that you are not breaking laws late at night for prize money — something you'd also sworn to him during your earliest meetings — but because you have a heart that beats for the people you should hate. he trusts, that undeniably, there is a rebellious fire inside of you.

reaper slips his fingers forwards and back to his side just as quick as he takes the bracelet.

"you have to do something," he says when you meet his eyes.

amongst the pile of your worries, a fear had lodged itself since the moment the mentoring program was announced. you'd feared ever since the beginning, that the tribute you would be assigned to wouldn't think you truly wanted to help them outside of duty or ulterior motive.

that fear doubled tenfold when you met reaper, and you’d hoped upon hope that he would recognise your genuine intentions.

you know now, he sees it. and he speaks on the thing that has laid beneath all of that which you could never bring yourself to address.

the little kid who would feel an inherent wrongness inside them at every mention of the hunger games ever since their inception still now sits behind your eyes; and they yell at you that reaper is right.

a spark flickers in the place where your fear once rested, "i know," you breathe. fire catches.

#reaper ash x reader #reaper x reader #tbosas x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games x you #the hunger games x y/n #thg x reader #tbosbas x reader #❤︎ — the mockingjay sings

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ftmtftm · 5 months

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something i wanted to ask, genuinely, is if you think the labels transmisogyny/misandry and the way theyre used can really be helpful

i personally think they can be but with how so many ppl try to frame it as "exclusive" forms of oppression just doesnt help at all. yes, transmisogyny does mainly happen to trans women/fems, but a lot of ppl refuse to believe it could also happen to trans men/mascs. and i believe it can go the same way with transmisandry as ive seen multiple ppl describe wut it is and see how it could be applied to trans women/fems. and that doesnt even acknowledge intersex ppl, whether theyre trans or not. i feel like labeling it in specific ways to say "this is an intersection of oppression" without going "this is an exclusive experience" is beneficial to all sides, but ppl try to gatekeep with labels like "tma" and "tme" and so on. its like saying a gay guy cant call themself a dyke bc "youre not a lesbian and therefore u cant reclaim that slur" even if theyve been called a dyke before. it really just feels like the labels of transmisogyny and transmisandry is used as a way to fuel the fires of oppression olympics by saying that "if ur a trans man u experience less oppression than a trans woman." and it seems to be mainly fueled by the idea of "woman (oppressed) + trans (oppressed) = really oppressed" whereas "man (not oppressed) + trans (oppressed) = not as oppressed" when its nothing like that.

its also incredibly hard to find Any information about transmisandry. i always see "trans men just have it/pass easier" and even other transphobic statements of how going on T makes trans men more aggressive and assertive. i feel like tumblr has been the only place ive seen any genuine discussion about transmisandry and even then its not great or very informative.

i believe that both transmisandry and transmisogyny should be acknowledged as real forms of oppression rather than being used as a way to oppress ppl further.

i dont wish to cause an argument as these r just my thoughts and i genuinely want to hear yours on it too

So the TL;DR my opinion sort of boils down to "Yes, I think they can be incredibly useful terms when used with intention and clarity of purpose" but there's a lot of nuance to that opinion. Basically though - I mostly agree with you on a conceptual level anon. I just wanted to write an essay.

(and also I don't fully address some things in this ask because frankly I'm burnt out and don't want to talk about them at the moment and I made this blog to talk about my special interests anyway. Sue me ‪¯\_(ツ)_/¯‬)

Something I've been noticing in my reading of Intersectional/trans-inclusive Feminist literature, combined with my engagement with trans activism, over the last few years is: We're all very, very afraid of talking about sexism right now and it absolutely makes sense why.

It makes sense because the conversation has been ground to dirt by TERFs constantly yelling about "sex-based oppression" as a means to be transmisogynist and degrade the womanhood of trans women. However the response to this has been deeply flawed in my opinion.

Instead of actually addressing sexism as it's own distinct form of oppression under an Intersectional lense, we've simply made a hard left into only discussing gender informed oppression and only legitimizing gender informed oppression in the form of misogyny. It's a very uninformed response in my opinion actually - but that also makes sense because it's currently very hard to be informed on general feminist theory and politics at the moment because Radical Feminism is a fucking plague.

In reality though, sexism and misogyny are two different forms of oppression that often overlap because gender and sex are different classes of identity that often overlap.

This degradation of language - both from TERFs conflating sex and gender and from Intersectionals/progressives separating the two so hard they don't even acknowledge sex - is what I think is part of the cause of this problem that is leaving trans men / trans mascs with a massive hole in our ability to discuss our experiences. And not just trans men either!!! It's also nonbinary and intersex people as well who are harmed by this void.

So that begs the question: How do we actually talk about sexism in an Intersectional Feminist, trans inclusive, capacity that combats Radical Feminist rhetoric on sexism?

And the answer? Is carefully, consciously, and in a manner that is aware of several different experiences within the nebulous concept of female identity.

I will actually be using the word "female" as a term a decent amount throughout this post. For the sake of this discussion I am defining "female" as anyone anyone who presently identifies as female due to their assigned sex as well as anyone who is socially treated/viewed as female due to their gender, legal, and/or medical statuses. In this post "female" is an umbrella term that includes cis women, trans men, trans women, nonbinary people, and intersex people who feel that definition applies to them in relation to their sex.

Because the fact of the matter is that Patriarchy and our society at large hate women and they hate people who are assigned female and they hate people who are female and those are distinct categories of people with a lot of overlap and a lot of differences.

Female identity is like venn diagram of sex informed experiences that cis women, trans women, trans men, nonbinary people, and intersex people all have a place in for various different reasons. It's a diverse category of experiences and this should be a touchstone for solidarity, not division in my opinion. The experiences and needs of one group don't inherently negate the experiences and needs of another similar group, even if they conflict, you know?

It's a concept I've actually adopted from disability activists, who often talk about the ways in which disability activism often has to address conflicting needs because sometimes some disabled people's needs are in direct conflict with each other!! Conflicting needs are not something unique to disability activism though.

Most groups and classes people have conflicting needs within themselves and I think there's a lot to be learned in gendered activism from disability activists in this regard. I think often in activist discussions a lot of people stop when situations stop impacting them directly instead of trying to find commonality and empathy with similar experiences. It's easy to have knee jerk reactions, it's harder to pause and contemplate.

So, let's actually contemplate transmisogyny and transandrophobia/transmisandry as terms for a moment.

Transmisogyny was coined as a term by Julia Serano in 2007 in her book The Whipping Girl and I do think it's incredibly useful for describing the ways in which transphobia (the broader oppression of trans individuals) intersects with misogyny (the broader oppression of women) in specific ways wrapped up into a specific term.

I've engaged in a lot of criticism of The Whipping Girl because, well, I think for just about every excellent idea Serano posits about the trans feminine experience she undercuts it with White Feminist rhetoric and simple "cis men and women are opposites therefore trans men and women are opposites" type rhetoric that harms her arguments more than helps them. HOWEVER! Serano herself even articulates that misogyny and transphobia may intersect in ways that impact nonbinary and trans masculine individuals differently from trans feminine individuals, and that additional language may be required to fill that gap in The Whipping Girl!!

So now there's a bit of a linguistically philosophical discussion to be had here on the function of language and what language we can actually use to fill the hole trans men experience with our language - which is also where we dive back into talking about concepts like conflicting needs and sexism.

When creating terminology (or jargon), one must take into account several things like clarity and context, which is why personally - I do not like the term "transmisandry" at all. I use it as a tag because I know some people prefer it as a term and I'd like my posts to reach that audience as well. Generally speaking though - I think any inclusion of "misandry" as a term will always be a nonstarter in most discussions on gender. It's much too loaded of a word because of it's association with the misogynistic actions of MRAs among several other semantic reasons.

An argument could, I think, be made for a term like "transsexism" which would describe the intersection of transphobia (the broader oppression of trans individuals) and sexism (the broader oppression of female individuals) but I think that is still too broad if we want to talk about trans masculine experiences specifically. (Though I do still think it may have contextual use as a term quite frankly - that's just beyond the scope of this post).

So? Then we come to transandrophobia and a conversation on misogynistic, sexist responses to masculinity in people society forcibly identified as "female women" under patriarchy.

I want to state that off the bat that I take a lot of issue with the way people dismiss trans men's experiences as just "general transphobia" or "default transphobia" because... Why are you automatically treating a man's experiences as the universal default? Especially when there are things based on the intersection of his manhood and marginalization that he experiences that women of the same marginalization don't?

I have this issue with most other conversations about the intersection of marginalized identity and manhood honestly. It actually really reeks of unconscious misogynist bias to me. But I digress, that's not the subject of this post.

I think a lot about Brandon Teena and the motivations for his murder. I think a lot about Lou Sullivan's diary entries about his loneliness and isolation with regard to being around trans women and lesbians - as well as his history fighting for his right to medical transition. I think about P. Carl's musings about the ways in which his entire community abandoned him once he came out as a trans man as opposed to a lesbian woman. I think about Irreversible Damage by Abigal Shrier and the way she manipulated - if I'm remembering correctly - YouTuber, Chase Ross into misleading interviews that skewed his words and stories to attempt to "prove" her points about how "our girls" are being manipulated into transgenderism via social contagion spread through platforms like YouTube.

I think about the ways in which trans mascs - particularly those on HRT - actively avoid medical care because of the deeply gendered nature of gynecological care and also because we are treated like medical freaks and abominations when we do try to seek that care. I think about the ways our bodies are inherently, deeply impacted by the overturning of Roe V. Wade and how our decisions to not carry children via abortion or hysterectomy - or our desire to carry children - are met with the phenomenon of medical misogyny like any other woman or female individual but in a way that also explicitly intersects with our transness.

I think about the ways in which Patriarchal society sees my "female" body in direct opposition to my identity as a "man" and how that is something that needs to be "corrected" back into "female womanhood" via rape and assault. I think about my own corrective assault a lot. I think about how the 2015 National Trans Survey actually found higher self reported instances with sexual assault in trans men than in trans women. I think about how I personally see that as a touchstone of solidarity with my lesbian siblings and especially with my other butch siblings who also have their expressions of masculinity treated as deviancy that deserves corrective action.

I apologize for diverting into less of an academic musing into prose and also for diverging from the subject of this ask directly into a much larger essay - but I am simply so tired of trying to say that I and other trans masculine people are people worthy of having our own language for our own experiences instead of just being dismissed as a privileged class - quite literally on the basis of our own oppression.

Especially when people use the words of someone like Julia Serano to say we don't deserve that language when she herself posited that maybe we should have it. Especially when Kimberlé Crenshaw - the woman who created the theory of Intersectionality that Serano is attempting to engage with in The Whipping Girl - has stated that one of the goals of Intersectionality is to create language for and give voice to marginalized identities that otherwise are not given language and voice.

So - What do you call it when trans masculine people are explicitly targeted on the basis of their trans masculinity? What do you call that intersection of sexism, misogyny, and transphobia that misgenders and attacks trans masculinity explicitly? Because that isn't "general transphobia" - that is transphobia motivated by a Patriarchal desire for control over the broader "female identity" that society is seeing as "too masculine".

It's trans-andro-phobia. Transphobia targeted at a particular group of trans individuals on the basis of their masculinity in a way that intersects with a sexist, misogynist, Patriarchal desire to control perceived/forced female identity and the subsequent interpersonal and social ramifications that come alongside that systemic abuse.

Focus, intention, and clarity of purpose.

---

I do want to add that there is absolutely something to be said about the fact that these conversations are all extremely White at the moment.

Radical Feminism is a deeply White (and White Supremacist) movement. Conversations on Trans Feminist theory in general are still deeply White as well. Julia Serano is very much a White Trans Feminist, and as such most responses to her work by other White trans people tend to be, well, very White.

I myself am even contributing to the prevalence of Whiteness in the conversation because even though I am Ashkenazi I am also still White. I might be informed by and am actively using concepts formed by Black Women and Ethnic Minority Women as the basis of my own theories, but that doesn't erase the context of my own race in this conversation either.

I really do not want that to be lost upon people, especially other White people. A racialized context matters in this conversation because Race and Gender really cannot be fully separated from each other in conversations about power and systemic oppression.

Bonus TL;DR - Read The Will to Change and Feminism is for Everybody by bell hooks. Read Audre Lorde. Read Kimberlé Crenshaw. Read Leslie Feinberg and Judith Butler. Read María Lugones. Learn the concepts they are presenting and then also learn how to apply those concepts in a consciousness and self aware manner.

#this isn't perfectly everything i wanted to articulate but i'm tired of this sitting in my drafts #especially when i'm getting really burnt out on offering this kind of essay for free with my main responses to them being sui bait anons #or parasocial bullshit #transmisandry #anti transmasculinity #transandrophobia #transmisogyny #intersectional feminism #feminism #anon #long post /#asks

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thelunarfairy · 7 months

Text

Okay, let's talk about something random

Omg, it's so embarrassing >.<

So, it's been a while since I created this account and I've already gained some followers, thank you all for that :3 (it means you like the crazy things I post)

So I wanted to talk a little about myself (even though I think no one cares XD)

Ok, I'm going to be serious now XDDD

I created this account because I really like JSHK and I wanted to talk about some crazy ideas or theories about the series and I felt welcomed here ^u^

I want you to know that a lot of things I post are just some crazy ideas that I occasionally have and that it's okay if you disagree, be kind S2 or if you agree I'll be happy if you want to talk to me about it :3

In fact, I hope you feel free to talk to me if you want, whether with an Ask or a message, I love talking about JSHK, if you also love and like crazy theories you can come talk to me if you want.

Don't take the things I say here too seriously, about the theories specifically, I may change my mind in the future or it's just crazy in my head, the most important thing for me is not to be right, but to have fun!

I'm trying to unravel the story in the most entertaining way I can, so it's okay with me if I'm wrong about the things I post (because no one other than Aidairo knows what's actually going to happen) XDD

Anyway, that's it.

Some other information that I don't know if you're interested in but I'll leave it here.

I am a girl

I'm Brazilian, I'd like to make that clear because if there are any Brazilians who also want to talk to me, feel free! (Sou brasileira, gostaria de deixar isso claro porque se tiver algum brasileiro que também queira falar comigo sinta-se a vontade!)

I speak English and Portuguese

I post randomly, but I usually post a lot because I tend to create theories and crazy ideas out of completely nothing.

Anyway, that's all, if you've read this far, thank you very much for giving me your attention :3

Bye bye~

Index

THEORIES:

Amane's Darkness

Could it be that in the time of Amane

Amane's past

The house and the fire

Hanako-kun's Big Puzzle

Predictions of the tragedy

These hands…

The Cursed Seal

ANALYZES:

The monster inside Hanako

One of the mysteries of the Yugi twins

Hands on the walls

The irony of life and Hanako's karma

The forecast

Did you notice?

When you remember that at some point, Hanako will have to say goodbye to Tsukasa again…

Amane's disease

"Red Thread of Fate"

Okay, let's talk about Mitsuba

Amane's possessiveness and insecurity

Natsuhiko and the mysterious door

The relationship between Tsukasa, Yashiro and Amane

Tsukasa's relationship with the red house

Yugi Tsukasa's mother

Sixth sense or predestined death?

Oh my, Yashiro is interested in a lot of boys

Yashiro and Tsukasa's Relationship

YUGI TWINS

The melancholy love of the Yugi twins

Did Tsukasa do this?

Hanako's mental age

I wish I could hear his voice

FINDINGS:

Hanako's boundary

Tsukasa's toys

ASKS:

About Yorishiro 1

Spelling errors and pronouns

Twin stars 1 || Twin stars 2

Tsukasa’s emotions 1 || Tsukasa's emotions 2

Tsukasa's parents

Sumire

Tsukasa's kiss

Hanako's feeling seeing tsukasa for the first time

Nene-chan and I are the same!

Could Hanako have done something to stop Tsukasa's kiss with Nene?

The mysterious hand 1 || The mysterious hand 2

Tsukasa image analysis

Tsukasa's behavior

Who do you think is gonna confess first? Hanako or nene?

Hanako's duty

HANENE:

A post about Hanene

Yashiro's wish and Hanako's self-control

Hanako's cute side

Nene ankles

She was exposed

Does Amane remember?

Hanako and Yashiro's tragic love

Reblog

Hanako-kun's jealous punishment

Hanako's look of desire and love

I still want to see this date, right Aidairo?

The insecurity

Hanene reblog

It was the first time a girl said she liked me, it made me happy…

The active Hanako and the passive Amane

Hanene reblog 2

The moment when Hanako fell in love with Yashiro

Details

But what about Amane and Yashiro's date?

Zombie Hanako and his wish

I know what you did here huh, Aidairo

Hanene reblog 3

This scene

RANDOM:

The invisible ghost

Yashiro Nene priorities

Natsuhiko's love potion

A compilation of jealous Hanako-kun

Tsunene reblog

Tsukasa reblog

Hanako reblog

Yugi twins

Okay, it's cute but

Just a compilation of random Hanene moments

Kou reblog

Just a compilation of random photos of Tsukasa

Just Tsukasa and Mitsuba being happy friends

Amane's Possessiveness reblog

Just a bunch of random photos of two idiots (Kou and Mitsuba)

Just Hanako-kun blushing or embarrassed

Nene and Aoi

A funny detail about the hamsters' space wars

Backstage 1

A tiny Tsukasa trying to put a birthday hat on top of his hat

Just a little ghost and an exorcist boy being best friends

Strangely similar….

"We're the same"

Karma

Hanako and Tsuchigomori

Just Tsukasa having his patience tested

I've been thinking (Tsukasa and Hanako)

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bubuslutty · 1 year

Text

Day 3: Cat Crisis

this is part 3, all parts

pairing: demon/angel!fem reader x 141

word count: 2.5k

tags: a bit of lusting cuz my boys r hot, naughty moments but nothing nsfw, proofread by me so sorry for any mistakes

warnings: smoking

summary: Kuromi gets stuck on a tree, Angel almost has a heart attack and she finally meets Simon, properly.

a/n: this is just fun and silly really. I hope u enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it 💖 ALSO!! VERY IMPORTANT!! I can't seem to be able to tag some of you, even if the username is correct, so please check your settings.

Angel has to admit, she likes this assignment quite a lot. It was fun, living in a nice house in a quiet neighbourhood, with interesting and fascinating neighbours. At least, the ones that live to her left because her neighbours to her right are an old couple who barely make any noise, you'd think nobody even lives in their house.

That trip to Tesco was more fun than she expected. Turns out that Johnny was funnier than she imagined, nothing in his file could have prepared her for Soap's colourful character and hilarious jokes. And Kyle was as charming and intelligent and quick to joke as she'd imagined.

And Price was calm and collected, making sure that the two men didn't get in trouble in the store. But it didn't make hanging out with him any less fun, oh he was plenty fun, Angel knows it, and can practically taste it. It's just going to take a bit of work to make him open up. Angel can't wait to start working with him.

About the actual shopping, the men proved themselves useful and very helpful. Angel was grateful for this because buying food and cooking was a bit of a hassle and she gets overwhelmed with the stupid amount of choices for the same fucking thing. They recommended certain snacks, drinks, food combos, and things easy and quick to cook, and even helped her pick out the freshest fruits and vegetables. Eating was hard, Angel has no idea how humans do it every day.

When they paid for everything, Angel was pleased and surprised when Price went ahead and grabbed her shopping for her without saying anything. She told him he didn't have to, that she could carry her things by herself with no problem, but he claimed it was the least a gentleman could do.

No matter what Angel told him, he refused to give them to her until they reached the car and he told her to dig inside his pocket to unlock the car and open the trunk. "Your Captain is so stubborn," Angel complained to the other two men, with a pout on her face.

"Tell me about it." Gaz sighed, making her giggle in disbelief.

Now she was happily suckling on an orange-flavoured popsicle, sitting on her dining table, facing the garden's opened door. She was enjoying the sunlight and breeze on her skin when a very loud scream startled her. Angel nearly dropped her popsicle when her eyes zeroed on the big tree at the back of her garden, and Kuromi right at the top, screaming for help.

Angel gasped in horror, throwing her unfinished popsicle in the trash and running outside her garden, barefoot. Angel has no idea if her cat has the same sort of abilities as she does. She is immortal, that she’s sure of, but whether Kuromi can get hurt or not is a mystery to Angel. And she doesn't feel like testing that theory today at all.

"Kuromi! How did you get up there?!" Angel was actually panicking, as she looked at the many branches the tree had and just how high her stupid cat decided to climb. How the hell is she supposed to get her cat down without using her powers to do something so ridiculous that the Wish Office will phone her, and ask if she's out of her mind?

"Kuromi, you stupid fucking idiot, you'll die!" Angel was now on the verge of tears. She loved her stupid cat to death, and would rather die instead of watching her kitty get hurt. Angel approached the tree, squinting her eyes and looking up at the branches and thick leaves, seeing if she could climb up.

Angel was so preoccupied with trying to figure out how to save her cat, that she didn't notice Ghost smoking while leaning against the door that separates their kitchen and garden. He had a plain grey zip-up hoodie, a pair of loose black sweats and his skull mask on, hunched up on his nose bridge, keeping his lower face out so he could easily smoke.

He silently watched Angel argue with her cat. He knows a bit about his neighbour from Soap and Gaz, and he has to admit, not only she's pretty but intelligent. Even though his guys seemed to like her, Ghost doesn't easily trust people and she's no exception. He kept watching her struggle, on the verge of tears, until he decided to put his cigarette out.

Ghost silently walked down their garden while lowering his mask back down. It was so stupid how low the fence was. It just reached his waist and it would be so easy for him to jump into her garden. And that's exactly what he did, jumping over the fence with one hand on it for support.

Angel slightly jumped when he stood next to her. She didn't hear him come over, and she just stared up at the man with panicked eyes. She knew he was Simon, the pretty blue eyes were the same along with the pale eyelashes.

Simon was not even looking at her, he was looking up at the tree where Kuromi was. Angel took the opportunity to really look at him. He was absolutely fucking huge, for no reason at all. And he had sleeve tattoos on his veiny arms, Angel thanked fate that Simon decided to roll up his sleeves because his tattoos are beautiful. And what's even prettier, is the skin of his neck and collarbone. He wasn't wearing anything underneath the zip-up hoodie and Angel felt her mouth water.

Simon finally looked down at her, and Angel immediately opened her mouth to speak, "Do you think you can help me get Kuromi down, please?"

Simon gazed down at her hopeful eyes, and simply nodded, "Stand back."

Angel nodded, "Thank you so much!"

She stepped away and watched the man get closer to the tree. "Be careful!" Angel said, her hands clasped against her chest, watching Simon work his way up the tree quickly.

"Kuromi, you hurt him and I'll fist-fight you!" Angel shouted at her cat, who hissed back down at her owner.

Simon couldn't help but chuckle at the woman's antics and when he knew if he climbed any higher, no branch would support his weight, he broke one with his bare hand and used it as a makeshift ladder for the cat. He stretched his body as much as he could, "Come on, kitty, get over here." Simon crooned.

To his utter surprise, the cat listened and started slowly scooting over towards him on a shaky branch. Kuromi successfully reached Simon's branch and held onto it very tightly and Simon gently lowered the cat down towards him. As soon as she was easily reachable, he grabbed the cat by the scruff of her neck and hugged her to his chest with one hand.

"Alright, now how can I get down with you?..." Simon mumbled and hummed when he got an idea. He hugged the cat with one arm and used the other to zip off his hoodie, using his thick thighs for support so he wouldn't fall.

Angel watched with awe how Simon managed to completely take off his zip-up hoodie, leaving his glorious amazing upper half naked, and bundled up Kuromi in the hoodie. Simon glanced down at Angel and smirked under his mask, "Catch!"

Angel literally screamed and he laughed, almost tearing up. "You dickhead!" Angel shouted, ripping grass from the ground out of anger and throwing it towards his direction.

Simon made a makeshift fanny pack using the hoodie's sleeves, securing Kuromi against his chest while he carefully climbed down. When he wasn't too far from the ground, he decided to jump off and roll to safety, with the cat still clutched against his chest.

Angel almost fainted and immediately ran to Simon as he stood up, dusting off his knees. "My baby!" She cried, grabbing her cat from the hoodie and kissing the kitty over and over on her small face.

Simon watched the woman with amusement as she checked over her cat and finally looked at Simon, her cat still in his arms. "Thank you so much for saving the life of my dumbass cat. But if you scare me like that again, I will make you regret it." She said, pressing a finger to Simon's naked chest.

He glanced down at her finger and met her eyes cooly, "You're welcome."

"You actually scared me so much, probably even more than Kuromi did!" Angel sighed, nuzzling her face in her cat's fur. Now Simon actually feels a bit guilty for scaring her and scratched the back of his neck.

"Do you want a cup of coffee?" He offered.

Angel lifted her head, surprised, "Cup of coffee?"

"To apologise."

Angel blinked at the man and cracked a small smile, "I think I'd like that."

Simon gave her an awkward nod and jumped over the fence and turned to her, hoodie held in his hand. "Come on."

Angel looked at the fence and then at her cat still in her arms, "Uhm, okay, hold Kuromi for me."

She walked closer to the fence, holding Kuromi so Simon could grab her. But Simon dodged the cat and held her by the armpits, just like she was holding her cat and easily lifted her over the fence. Angel squealed and wrapped her legs around his waist and wrapped one arm around his neck while the other was holding Kuromi against her chest.

Simon froze, his hands hovering over her back.

"What are you guys doing?"

Angel and Simon whipped their heads towards the voice and saw Soap holding a basket full of clean laundry, ready to hang it outside to dry while Gaz held a smaller basket of colourful pegs.

"Uhm, nothing!" Angel let out a nervous laugh and jumped off Simon, rushing inside their home with her cat in her arms.

Soap and Gaz glanced at each other and then back at Simon, "Why are you shirtless?" Gaz asked.

"Had to use my hoodie for the cat." Was Simon's dry answer and he walked inside, leaving Soap and Gaz with even more questions.

He found Angel awkwardly standing in the middle of their kitchen, and noticed that she was barefoot. "Wait here." He said and left the kitchen.

Angel took the opportunity to look around the kitchen. It was tidy and didn't have any plants or any sort of decoration. The fridge did have some menus and coupon codes for Domino's on it. However, next to the kettle, there was an impressive coffee machine, the sort that's expensive with many settings, fancy buttons and cool gadgets.

Angel barely drinks coffee, almost never, but now she was excited to see Simon work the cool machine.

She heard footsteps and turned around. Ghost was back and dressed in a t-shirt now, he also had a pair of slippers in his hands. "Wear these." He placed the pair next to her feet and Angel did as he said, heart fluttering in her chest, how silly.

"What would you like?" He asked, turning around and washing his hands in the sink.

"What?" Angel said, staring at his ass, completely distracted.

"Coffee. What sort of coffee would you like?" He turned back around, just as Angel ripped her eyes from his ass.

"Uhm," Angel gulped, she had no idea if he caught her staring or not but she wanted to scream either way. "I don't drink coffee that much, so make me something sweet, please."

Ghost stared at her silently, which made Angel nervous. Did she say something weird?

"What's wrong?"

Simon shrugged, "Nothing." and went straight to work, preparing mugs and pressing this button and that button on the coffee machine.

Both Angel and Kuromi were intensely staring at the beeping sleek machine and Simon smiled when he noticed. "What does Kuromi mean?"

"The name itself or who is she named after?" Angel ripped her eyes away from the coffee machine and looked over at Simon.

"Both."

Angel smiled, "Well, according to Google, Kuromi in Japanese means 'black beauty', but I've named her after a cartoon character whose name is Kuromi. Actually, Let me show you."

Simon glanced at the woman as she dug her hand in her pocket and retrieved her phone, opening google."That's Kuromi," Angel said, making Simon lean closer so he can see better.

"What type of creature is that?" Simon asked, squinting his eyes and trying to guess what type of animal the character was.

"It's actually a white bunny wearing a black jester hat! See! It even has a little pink skull! And instead of having a fluffy tail, she has a devil's tail, isn't she cute?" Angel said, Simon looked at her then back down at the cat in his arms.

"But your cat isn't a rabbit." Simon said.

"I know! But look! She's white with black ears! And a black tail! And she's mischievous just like Kuromi! And I gave her a pink collar with a pink skull!" Angel said, practically vibrating next to Simon, eyes big and literally glowing.

Simon tilted his head down and lifted the kitty's chin up, seeing the shiny skull dangling off the collar. He turned the skull over, reading Angel's full name and phone number.

"I can see the similarities." Simon hummed, giving the cat scratches, making her purr.

"There's another similarity, actually." Angel grinned.

"Really?" Simon said, still scratching the cat.

"Between Kuromi and you!" Angel said, and Simon lifted his head, meeting her eyes, he raised a brow, prompting her to spit it out.

"The skulls, silly!" Angel giggled.

Oh, yeah. The skulls.

Simon unconsciously reached for his mask but stopped his hand before it caressed the hand painted skull. The machine beeped and Simon removed the mug from under the machine, opening the cupboards to get sugar.

"Can we join you for a cup of coffee?" Soap suddenly asked, entering the kitchen, followed by Gaz.

"Of course, this is your house." Angel smiled and Gaz immediately ran to the cat in her arms, cooing and petting the little thing.

"And you have to tell us how you ended up on him while he was shirtless, which he wasn't, earlier in the day." Soap said while getting snacks.

"Okay, and did you know that your friend Simon is actually an evil little shit?" Angel said, as if it was the most shocking thing ever while she sat down at the table next to Gaz, who was holding her cat in his arms.

"Ghost, call me Ghost." Simon quickly corrected her.

"Ghost actually scared the shit out of me, I thought I was going to die!" Angel continued without missing a beat.

"You thought you were going to die? What the hell happened while I was in the shower?" Price said, walking inside the kitchen, wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of shorts, hair still wet.

"Oh my days, John, sit down and let me tell you what he did!" Angel groaned, patting the other seat next to her.

"Well, alright then." John shrugged and sat down.

Simon sighed, placing her mug down and getting more mugs out to make coffee for everyone, "Fucking hell…"

tag list (pls ask to be added or removed): @obiwankenobis-lap @goapgrim @smalldemonlover @loveyhoneydovey @cutiecusp @pinkwigonmytv @mandythemint @itsberrydreemurstuff @tapioca-marzipan @fruitymoonbeams-blog @poohkie90 @chaoticevilbakugo @anubis-reed @thefairybird @skytacvia @marytvirgin @cynicalmnm @maechanexe @t0jis-worm @1800imgay @4ndjelij4 @multitargaryen @lilpothoscuttings @mysticalpandabear

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