but they still want each other's company; skipping rope or not

Karamel Fanfic #37

Title: Hero

Prompt: Mon-El sacrifices everything to save Winn’s life.

Word Count: 5148

Also posted on AO3

Notes: Since most of you will probably want to kill me by the end of the one-shot, I just wanna say that I’m really, truly sorry about this. I know I write a lot of Karamel angst, what with Second Chance and all, but this time it was NOT my fault. This was requested by @somos-poeiraestelar​, so if you’re looking for anyone to blame, y'all can blame her. (I love you sweetie, but this was dam painful.)

(And you can probably blame me too, since I’m totally guilty of enjoying writing this.)

Still, I hope you enjoy this :)

Tagging: @notonthisplan8 @karas-comets @thoughtsfromaclutteredbrain @emarasmoak @green-arrows-of-karamel cause you seemed to be VERY excited about the teaser and were so not suffering at all, so I thought you might be interested :) Who said I wasn’t a nice girl?

Originally posted by sweet-karamel

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Drift Away

Pairing: Jihancheol (Joshua-centric)
Rating: Rated E for Everyone ?? it’s pretty ok i think
a/n: So, I came up with this theory based on the Mansae choreo and expanded bc I felt a lot of angst stemming from my heightened level of bitterness for Cheolsoo and then this happened (also ty @cheolhaos for listening to me complain about this forever and giving me the title)

Jisoo’s not sure where his place is anymore. Not when he’s an outsider watching Seungcheol and Jeonghan’s friendship. Not when he’s an outsider observing their influence and importance within Seventeen. Not when he’s an outsider who is meant to be on the inside as well.

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Happy Belated Birthday @shouto! Sorry this took so long!!;;

Flower Shop Next To Tattoo Parlor AU is still one of my favorite tododeku AUs, and i know it’s been like 7 months since we collaborated on it, but i wanted to surprise you with it haha

also here is written piece bc i never know when to stop


He had just finished his shift, removing his apron, bandana, and other belongings and placing them into his messenger bag. He left the staff room in the back of the flower shop with a wave “goodbye” to his fellow employee, Momo, as he exited from the front enterance.

Shouto never really had any particular interest in flowers. He just needed money, really. Thankfully the job paid pretty well for doing nothing but plant maintenance and wrapping bouquets for customers, and he got to work with his closest friend who helped him get the job in the first place. Despite those perks, it was always a slow day and he always found himself dozing off when there was nothing to do. But he doesn’t plan to quit, not with the tattoo parlor next door.

Or the very attractive tattoo artist that works there.

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Every Few Weeks - Ianthony

Rated: PG-13

Main Pairing: Ianthony

Other pairings: Iancorn, Jovencorn

A/N: Holy crap, I use the word crap in this story way too many times. So here is the companion fic to Crushed I just posted about. You can read either one first (but preferably read both to get the full story). Enjoy!

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Fic: something like a miracle

Date night gets derailed by a series of unfortunate events, but Kurt has a few tricks up his sleeve to steer the evening back on course.  NC-17, ~6,000 words.  [AO3]

Written for the klainebingo prompt sharing clothes (although it took a sharp turn toward clothed sex as well, WHOOPS).

They’ve been planning this date night for days now: dinner at that Peruvian place they’ve been meaning to try, then splurging on a movie before coming back to spend the night together at the loft.  Not the most imaginative date in the world, but the thought of it has sustained Kurt through a dull, grinding week.  Any evening out with Blaine is always at least a little magical, and really, Kurt just wants to spend time with him.

While Blaine moving out was definitely a good and mature decision, Kurt wasn’t prepared for how much he would miss him once he was no longer underfoot every minute of the day.  It’s certainly much healthier to long for Blaine’s company than to resent it, of course, but it’s not much fun, either.  The past couple weeks have been particularly hard.  Between Blaine’s sessions with June and Kurt’s shifts at Vogue and the diner, they haven’t been seeing much of each other outside of class, so Kurt is pretty thrilled at the prospect of having Blaine all to himself for a whole night.

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Vulgar. (Pirate!Calum). (From Angst List).

Requested: by a wonderful Anon.

Request: V- Calum.

Sloshing water slapped the helm of the ship, the ruckus of feet above you on the deck was obvious as you tried to sleep.

That was hard enough already with the ropes binding your wrists but honestly, it had been weeks and you were used to it.

The door to where you were being held suddenly burst open and you were startled by the appearance of a man you had yet to meet in the doorway.

“You were more important than the lot of us thought.” He grumbled, his demeanor and his crest were the sure signs he was the captain of this ship.

“Excuse me?” Your voice cracked, your lip had split already from the lack of water and you were weak from the lack of sustenance. It showed when you tried to sit but fell back against the rough wooden floor.

“Have they not been-” He didn’t need you for the answer of that question, he could see it. He uncapped a bottle swinging at his hip and came towards you. You shuffled, the attempt scraping the ropes and binds against your chaffed skin.

“Hey, stop. I’m not going to fucking do anything to you, princess.” He snarled, irritated and antisocial made the guy a wonderful companion. “Just trying to help you and you refuse due to what? You’re a woman, let me take care of you.” You let him help you so you were sitting up and you took the offered drink before responding.

“Vulgar and misogynistic, aren’t you the full package?” He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him and you were surprised he had understood. Pirates were notoriously uneducated and you had the best possible teachers.

“Well, you don’t shy away do you princess?” You winced as you attempted to get comfortable with the wood digging into you through your ripped dress and he had a knife before you knew what was happening.

“Please, I have not done-” He paused, your begging confusing the man before he realized you indeed were tied up and he was coming at you with a knife.

“No, I’m just cutting off the ropes. Yes?” He made eye contact and the softness that swirled behind lifeless and dark eyes made you trust him for some reason. He slide the blade under the ropes and sliced quickly. You watched the binds fall as much as you watched his arms tighten with each cut.
You rubbed at your wrists, your eyes adverting once he had finished.

“Thank you.” You were polite as always. Your parents expected nothing less.

“‘Course.” It was silent, breathing and the waves against the boat were all you could hear before the running of feet started again and a cannon shot went off.

“My fathers fleet found us.” You stated rather than asked and he nodded. “You are down here so if they get on board, they will have to fight you to get me.” He nodded again.

“And you asked for gold to get me back and my father refused because his kingdom has always out-ranked his family.” You finished, drawing your knees to you, resting your head on them as you looked over at him.

“You’re a smart one.”

Silence had returned but not for long.

“You aren’t scared of me?” You shook your head, shutting your eyes.

“No. I’m not.”

“Why?”

“Because,” You made eye contact, “If you were going to have you way with me or kill me, you would have done it and you need me if you want your treasure.” He agreed with you there.

“Are you married?” You scoffed.

“You know the answer to that, do you not?” It was the stupidest rule your father had ever made but it was followed by all.

“Ah, right. 'A married woman taken by the pirates is now soiled and a shame to any family, she is now useless.’”

“Of no use.” You corrected but that was the rule to a T. “Are you married?”

He gave you a look but answered you nonetheless.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Why are you so curious? You do know who I am, correct?” His defensive side took over but it didn’t deter you.

“You are the captain of this ship. And I am making conversation because I have been here for a week or so and I am bored.” He snorted.

“You are my captive and you complain of boredom?”

“Are you trying to change the subject, Captain?” When he looked at you this time there was fondness and a bit of amusement on his face, it suited him.

“No.”

And maybe you should not have been as interested in this man as you were but you were stuck with him for an unforseeable amount of time. Maybe if you were nice to him, he would let you look at the water. You had always been fascinated with it and the idea of traveling, or rather the freedom that it offered.

“You are from my kingdom, are you not? We speak the same, you are quite well learned as well.” He stared at you, concerned with the way he so wanted to tell you his whole life story.

“Yes.”

“What made you become this?” You made a motion to his attire and he masked his face.

“That is not any of your business. Now be quiet. We are not friends.” You were silent, you were not an idiot. He was a pirate and if you pushed too hard, he could still do terrible and unwanted things to you. You were silent, watching him as he had taken post at the door and had one hand on his sword. He stayed that way, unmoving and stoic until someone had knocked on the door with a light rythym. He wrenched open the door, his body still tense for the attack that could be on the other side if it was a ploy. But it was a woman, her body lithe and malnurished for someone so pregnant. She did not look unhealthy but she needed better care.

“Clear.” She had an accent, you had never heard it but you liked it.

“Get food.” He spoke slowly and used his hands to show what he meant. He was kind to her it seemed as she nodded and he patted her on the shoulder, motioning for her to take her leave. She smiled at him, waddling to get you something to eat hopefully.

“She will be back. Name is Delia. She does not speak English that well but she will help you with changing and getting something to eat.” He didn’t spare a look to you but you had to ask.

“What’s your name?” He paused, his head turning but he didn’t look at you.

“Why?”

“I want to know who to ask for if I desire to see you again.” His heart skipped and no. That could not happen but he knew if you asked for him he would quite possibly visit. He mulled it over, knowing that once you knew what his name was you would never desire for his company.

“Calum Hood.”

You blood turned to ice, your veins freezing over and you couldn’t breath. You were not taken for the gold alone, you knew that much.

Calum had betrayed his kingdom, or so your father said. One of the best officers that had ever joined the naval fleet, he turned one day to the life of crime. He was wanted and you didn’t want to think about what would happen if they caught him.

Calum Hood was using you to bargain for his freedom.

You didn’t know how long you waited for Delia to come back, you don’t remember eating what she brought. You did know that you had to get out of here.

Because you were sure of the only truth in this game.

Calum didn’t know how much your father didn’t care about you and hated him.

You were the dispensable pawn and you stood with a target on your back in the middle of the clearing.

You were not the play that Calum wanted to be making and he had not the slightest idea of what was to come.

Alright, so this is weird but the word vulgar always makes me think pirate for some reason so I hope you liked it! Much Love. :)

-TheHuntersHuntress xx

Request here. Masterlist.

Reflections on the Million Man March

I told myself that I would allow myself to rest before processing the events of the day. My mind, however, has different plans. The complex amalgamation of feelings and emotions in my mind, heart, and soul won’t allow for rest at the moment. My time at Capitol Hill today for the Million Man March was a hard yet necessary experience as it confirmed the need for continued work in the Black community in regard to addressing the complexity of Blackness, intersections of identities and oppressions, and the rough terrain of solidarity with other racial/ethnic groups in the fight against white supremacy.

I have to be completely honest. Days before the march, I was unsure if I would even go. As a Black woman, a second-generation African immigrant woman, a transnational African feminist engaged in social justice work within higher education, I wasn’t sure if the Million Man March would have space for conversation around my multiple identities or the multiple identities of Black folks that falls outside of what has been normalized and centralized in American culture. I’m talking about Black folks who are atheist, Black folks who are agnostic, queer Black folks, Trans Black folks, Black immigrants, Blacks folks who actively engage in conversation on the intersections of race, class, gender, sexuality, sexual identity, religion, language, documentation status, etc. I had encountered men and women who were members of the Nation of Islam previously and noted ideological and philosophical differences kept me distant from certain spaces and conversations that catered to the Nation (out of respect for difference in understandings and prioritization of the issues facing the Black community in the United States). After speaking to a number of sisterfriends and brothers, I decided to make my way to Capitol Hill, acknowledging the problematic views of NOI leadership on the LGBTQ community as well as deeply embedded misogyny (as is apparent when engaging in conversation about gender roles, reproductive rights, etc.) but also acknowledging that we are all in process in our understandings of multiple issues as well as our unlearning of oppressive systems of thoughts. I’ve always said that my main goal in life is to do as much for my people as possible. To me, that includes having hard conversations with my people about our own prejudices, assumptions, generalizations, and misunderstandings. As hard as it can be to engage in these conversations and present unpopular thoughts and opinions, I think it is necessary if we are to move forward in this liberation movement.  

As I walked towards the Capitol building in the company of loved ones, the beauty of my people overwhelmed me. So many Black people of all shades, shapes, and sizes. Different accents flowed out of full lips. Flags were carried with pride. Folks wore sweaters bearing the names of their universities, sororities, fraternities, and organizations. Beautiful Black babies and children were everywhere (my ovaries were out of control y’all lol). Beautiful couples holding each other and embracing while listening to the words of the numerous speakers. The NOI and FOI were out in full effect, dressed impeccably and with a pride that brought smiles to my face throughout the day. Native Americans, Latin@s, Asians, Arabs, and white folks were sprinkled throughout the crowd in solidarity with our cry for Justice or Else. Visually, it was beautiful to see so many Black people together in love, laughter, and liberation. But I had to think about how our LGBTQ brothers and sisters would not have been openly embraced for showing that their Black love matters. It hurt me to think of the deeply embedded homophobia and transphobia that plagues our community.

In an effort to build solidarity, representatives from the Native American, Latin@, and Arab communities were given time to speak to the audience about the issues negatively impacting their communities and the parallels and intersections with the Black struggle in America. The time allotted to the Native American constituency, however, was insufficient in my opinion. Considering the urgent issues facing their community and respecting the fact that this land is their land, our Native American family needed more time to speak. (Side Note: I have to give Minister Louis Farrakhan his due respect for calling that out as he took on the stage and gave his address) A Palestinian-American woman, following Rev. Jeremiah Wright’s historical and contemporary contextualization of the liberation struggle in Palestine, also needed much more time. She was fierce, calling out the hypocrisy of the United States government in its assistance and alliance with the Israeli government. She also called into question the progress of our movements, as we seem to always find our way back to the Mall with a new slogan to address the same issues. I commend the planning committee and the NOI for taking the initiative to build with other people and communities of color, though representation from the Black immigrant community (with the exception of the NOI representatives from the Dominican Republic and Haiti) and the Asian community were absent from the day’s agenda and proceedings. However, give time where time is needed and deserved. The Native American and Arab constituency should have been given much more time to continue dropping knowledge and truth. (y’all could have done better and y’all get major side-eye from me for that. Shout out to the Native American elder that called bullshit and continued speaking despite getting time checks).

I have so much running through my mind but I think the most unsettling and most unpleasant time of the day was during Minister Farrakhan’s speech. Highly anticipated, the crowd stood to attention when he came on stage and began to speak. For sure, Minister Farrakhan is a charismatic speaker. However, his opinions of women’s reproductive rights and his misogyny pushed me over the edge and pushed me to leave the rally early. I want to make a note that Minister Farrakhan’s views on abortion seem to resonate with a good number of Black folks (Black men in particular) regardless of religion or age. Hearing him go on for 15, 20 minutes about what he feels a woman should “value and honor” her womb reminded me of the numerous arguments I’ve had with brothers (Hoteps in particular).

It confuses the hell out of me.

  • Why do you think I’m obligated to discuss with you the choices I make with my body, especially my vagina?
  • Why do folks think that Black women are out here skipping and jumping rope as they make the choice to have an abortion? Are folks really that simple minded?
  • Why is it that a woman’s worth and value are equated with her ability to have and raise children?
  • Who are you to even attempt to determine my worthiness on the basis of my fertility? Are you serious?

We have got to do better. Women have abortions for a variety of reasons and are not obligated to justify their reasoning to anyone. Minster Farrakhan, you still struggle in calling us women as opposed to females. You will never know the struggle of a Black woman especially in regard to reproductive rights. The fact that you so openly shared the story of your mother’s abortion narrative made me sick. We understand that you are an 83-year-old Black man; however that is merely context, not an excuse for such haphazard and objectifying means of pushing your male privilege and pro-life agenda in a space that should have focused on understanding the multiple struggles for justice we face as Black people. Blackness is complex. Blackness embodies numerous social, cultural, and political identities. We must remember that, center that, respect that, honor that, and push ourselves to keep doing internal work in order to move forward collectively.

I have so many thoughts swimming through my mind following the rally but not enough time to touch on them all. I am glad that I took the time to be among my people and take in our beautiful complexity. If anything, this day has encouraged me to keep having hard conversations with people and continue on in my own internal work. We are all in process. We are all learning and unlearning. I was thankful to have been in the company of folks I care for deeply as we took in the good, bad, and ugly of the day. I am hoping that we, the younger generation, are able to keep on fighting but recognizing the shortcomings of the movements before us. Intersections must be addressed and at the forefront y’all. We wouldn’t be doing ourselves any good if we chose to ignore the multiple identities within our Black family.

Much work to be done y’all.