#The Man with Glasses Who Increases Tax

[falseandrealultravival]

Fumio Kishida " The Man with Glasses Who Increases Tax": The Opposite - Emperor Nintoku (Essay)

Emperor Nintoku

Fumio Kishida

Whether he was a real person or not is up for debate, but Emperor Nintoku (the 16th emperor) is known as a monarch who was kind to his subjects, as his name (Jin: gentle) suggests. When he looked out of the palace, he saw no smoke coming from the kitchen and realized that his subjects were struggling to make ends meet, so he exempted them from taxes for three years and did not re-roof the palace.

Truly "Jin". However, in modern Japan, there is a man who is the exact opposite, "Non-Jin: Never gentle". He is Prime Minister Fumio Kishida. This guy taxes the people at every opportunity and boasts they can achieve a primary balance surplus of 800 billion yen in fiscal 2025. In other words, he has robbed the people of their money and transferred it to government offices. He has been nicknamed " The Man with Glasses Who Increases Tax". He gives away that hard-earned tax money to foreign countries such as Ukraine without consulting the people.

The voices of resentment from the Japanese people are gradually growing louder, and it has been almost a year since the cabinet's approval rating fell to 20%. However, Japanese politics is controlled by the corrupt Liberal Democratic Party, and its head, Fumio Kishida, has not resigned as prime minister and is clinging to his job.

It is especially noteworthy that he has done nothing in response to the major earthquake in the Noto region in early 2024, has not repaired the roads and water supply even six months after the earthquake, and has publicly declared that he will "abandon" this region, while at the same time saying that he will go ahead with the construction of the World Expo and international resort hotels in all the national parks. This man is a psychopath without a human heart. Far from being gentle, he is cruel.

Note: On August 14, 2024, Fumio Kishida announced that he would not run in the next LDP presidential election. This is a late decision.

Rei Morishita

2024.08.04

「増税メガネ」岸田文雄：逆―仁徳天皇（エッセイ）

実在の人かどうか、議論の余地はあるが、仁徳天皇（１６代）は、その名（仁: gentle）の通り、臣民に優しい君主として知られる。彼が宮殿から外を見たとき、炊事の煙が上がっておらず、臣民が生活に困窮していると見て取った彼は、その後３年間租税を免除し、宮殿の屋根も葺き替えなかった。

まさしく「仁」。だが現代日本には、その真逆を行く「不仁」の男がいる。岸田文雄内閣総理大臣だ。この野郎は、ことあるごとに国民に課税し、２０２５年度のプライマリーバランスを８０００億円の黒字にできると威張っている。つまり、国民から金を強奪し、役所に移転したことに他ならない。ついたあだ名が「増税メガネ」。その血税を、国民になんの相談もなくウクライナなどの外国にホイホイくれている。

日本国民の怨嗟の声も次第に大きくなっていて、内閣支持率が２０％に下落して１年になろうとしている。でも日本の政治は、腐敗した自由民主党が握っているので、その長の岸田文雄は、それでも総理を辞めず、職にしがみついている。

特筆すべきは、２０２４年初の能登地方の大地震に対して、何もせず、地震発生から半年経っても道路、水道を直さず、この地域を「見捨てる」と公言し、一方では万博、国立公園の国際リゾートホテル建設は進めると宣言している。この男は、人の心のないサイコパスである。彼は、仁：gentleどころか、残忍である。

注：２０２４年８月14日、岸田文雄は、次期自民党総裁選への不出馬を表明した。決断が遅い。

[littlesheeneffect]

She's My Husband (Part 8) ❤️

Miles Maitland x yn (AFAB Genderfluid)

I was quickly set on the couch, Miles instantaneouslu fauxly checking me over as the red head stood to straighten himself. Miles' eyes never left mine as he did, an odd pleadfull passion in them that I'd never seen before. One I could only closely place on... jealousy?

As soon as he stood straight, the Bobby's began speaking with him, reluctantly pulling him to sit at the coffee table. Thus giving the ambitious mustacheod man the perfect opportunity to sit opposite me, and begin entertaningly visiting.

As time carried on, Miles was quite distracted with us. Him and they weren't talking of anything of much importance- just salaries, taxes, and home life really.

My fellow did a great job of entertainment on my behalf however, funnily, it turned out his name was Ginger. "Now, watch closely dearest- the coin shall disappear" he grinned, as he pulled a large coin from his pocket.

Magic tricks were always a beloved past time, and I must confess- never had I seen anyone perform them better than Ginger that eve. He used the most common things about us and charmingly manipulated them to his desire. Cards were by my favorite. In all honestly, I found I was enjoying myself.

The night carried on till about a quarter past seven, Miles warming the police a bit with liberal glasses of brandy. They had grown a bit tipsy and began telling about all sorts of odd things.

Ginger had grown comfortable with speaking openly at that point, and began telling me of who he was in relation to the case. "Oh no, I have met Aggie and Nina many times. I basically know all about gang. Yes, in fact Nina truly considered me for suitor before closing that cheap Adam." "Cheap Adam?" I nearly exclaimed, almost forgetting my role. "Yes, no offense intended but he is quite the jobless hobo in my opinion," he told emotionless. "I'd think not sir- Adam is a very good man and loves Nina very much," I stated much more collected.

Ginger just hummed in reply, before studying my face for a moment.

I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, before he at long last muttered, "My- and to think you could possibly want to be a man." The blood drained from my face and I crashed into the realization that he truly knew who I was. The statement could've been a play, a fishing, or a an honest reaction to an abstract statement of Aggie's- yet, I felt the heat of my face increasing by the moment.

I quickly seen that he held the statement as true and continued on unaffected. "My dear, you only wish such things because you have never been truly treated as the lady you are." He grinned warmly at the end, and leaned in to stroke the side of my ever reddening cheek.

"Wh-whatever are you talking about?" I attemped to continue my role- a mix of raging anger and lustrious allure both threatening my continuance. He laughed lightly and retracted his hand. "You deserve a real gentleman y/n, this twinkle-toes Maitland boy won't be man enough for such lady as yourself. You need to feel like a woman, be treated so. You know that deep down, my lovey."

Though his advancing address was awfully attractive, I had never felt more infuriated and offended. For a moment, my act was gone.

"How dare you- and don't call me that," I exclaimed though the Bobby's were much too brand-ied to notice and continued talking to the ever bored Miles- who also didn't notice. "I'm sorry to razzle you my dear. I just couldn't help but tell you the truth of the matter," he cheekily smirked. I calmed myself a bit and said in reply, "The truth of the matter is I have a love and am quite comfortable with he & I the way we are- thank you very much."

He grinned and resumed his prior position, gracefully folding the cards between his hands impressively. "What is your role in this all?" I at last asked, though the question was quite dangerous in itself, I wantd to know.

He maintained his demeanor and stated, "Aggie signed me as her representative citizen to share the unfortunate news." I hummed in response, and looked about the room. Ginger then commenced to tell of one of his adventures during college to Africa, which to my frustrations- was very captivating.

Miles was beginning to grow quite restless as one of the cops dozed off loudly and the other went on about things. But at one point the Bobby took hold of his shoulder and began a statement that quickly captured Miles' attention.

"Laddie, the miss of yours..." he trailed off, causing Miles to gaze at me for a moment and back to the policeman interestedly. "... one like 'er only comes along once in yer life, boy. I see tha way you eye 'er. An' the way she looks to you. You love 'er, lad. And she thinks the moon o' you. Don't let that ever go. No ma'er want comes- an' let me tell you, after near thir'y years of bein' married, toubles are alway'a coming. But hold on to her lad, and she'll hold on ta you, and toge'er there ain't nothing that'll bring ya down. Not even death 'erself." Miles blinked and brokenly nodded.

"An, and" the Bobby added, "Bring her joy in the things that mat'er most lad. They aint jus' flowers, but holding 'er hand. Not jus' tha bed, but praying with 'er every chance ya get. Not jus' proper laughs, but huggin' 'er after tha bigges' argue'n you ever had in yer life. That's what gets ya through lad. Love'n no ma'er what."

With that he man stood and shook the other Bobby awake. Ginger started up and they bid us all a good evening as we walked them to the doorstep. "Ya mind what I said now laddie," the one Bobby turned to us, "Good nigh' miss." Ginger mischieveiously grinned a, "Till next time lovey," and they were gone.

Miles and I stood in the entrance in silent shock of it all for a moment.

"Well, am I exhausted!" I finally sighed. 'You don't say," he said almost question-like, as we finally tore our eyes from the door. "And my goodness dear, you should be an actor!" He exclaimed causing us to laugh as we both collapsed onto the couch into eachothers tured embrace.

...... To Be Continued.....

[casterlygldcs]

who: @jaehaerysiitargaryen when and where: set shortly following cedric and jae's interaction on the steps of the sept of baelor. jaehaerys returns from the sept to meet with tyland lannister, whose court remained in kings landing for this time - and who had not been seen within the sept of baelor, for one clear reason. the presence of a glass crown.

there came the sounding of bells that filled the skies of kings landing as the dragon king's procession returned to the heart of the red keep; filing through the winding lanes of kings landing back towards where the lions continued to await - for there was a reason the court of lions had not ventured to the sept of baelor, and it was less about the sept itself, but rather the individual who led the mass. the high septon continued holding association with multiple key members of the westerosi royals, most importantly being both jaehaerys targaryen and cedric tyrell; both kings understood that the influence of religion and politics should be kept separate from one another.

though tyland found himself wondering just how that would work when the high septon turned his attentions toward the inner workings of their own realms.

it appeared as though when one gave the son of a whore an inch of a stance, and he would only continue to take, and to take, and to take. and so the court of lions remained as the dragons and the roses, more like thorns, headed to the sept of baelor; he understood that the reach court had readjusted their travel plans, and needed to venture back to the reach sooner rather than later - citing something to do with matters of the summer isles. all had heard the rumours of the reach's aggression at sea, their privateering which was rumoured to kickstart the entire matter: there was no denying the fact the prince of fair isle would be far more versed in the matter than tyland himself in goings on at sea.

he would need to obtain the full picture now, whilst the man remained in the company of his people, and in his place: for he expected that upon returning to the west, the prince of fair isle would take his princess and return to fair isle. the fact continued to leave a bitter taste within the mouth of the lion king, and as he remained seated in a smaller gathering hall to the side of the main feasting hall of the red keep, surrounded by courtiers of the west; the hand of the king remained beside him, watching with eagle, hawk-like eyes as audience after audience was completed regarding petitions. taxes to be levied, taxes to be increased, taxes that needed to be paid.

reports of mass being conducted in the local villages according to the way of oldtown, rather than the way of lannisport. their own sept had made it abundantly clear how ritual and worship to take place, and as he looked toward the hand of the king, he knew it was his own to deal with. it was expected damage control, considering with great change there came the need for time - great change was not possible in the blink of an eye. old habits died slow, long, torturous deaths; and speaking of old habits, tyland lannister found himself noting the way in which the standard barers and stewards announced the presence of king jaehaerys of house targaryen.

tyland rose from his chair, bowing his head before the room was cleared; he had just come back from seeing both the high septon and cedric tyrell alike. a difficult man to persuade to work in their interests and their interests alone, and slippery - entirely slippery, needing to be watched. the crown suited jaehaerys, though he knew a fundamental reason why he thought so; how much had he sacrificed to see it so? how much blood had been spilled for it to be so? "your grace." tyland spoke as the last individual left the room; he had heard things. offerings of marriage to a dornish princess - he knew the doctrine of exceptionalism would prove to be na issue at hand.

for other queens meant other involvement: queens were not just themselves. they were their fathers, their brothers, their uncles, all the ambitions of the men who owned them in their lives - whose responsibility they were. "i found myself wondering what targaryen had now appeared, until i noted it were a rogare who seemed to make himself home in your halls." tyland noted, his tone almost cautionary as he spoke of the banker; he seemed a power hungry man, wishing to reinstate his position across the narrow sea considering all that had happened. and he were currently the enemy of the lands he sought to hold more influence over, once the final piece of his chess board had been polished. a queen.

"how goes the bastard of oldtown?" tyland asked, his tone entirely serious despite the clear taunt regarding the high septon. "he remains despite cedric tyrell returning?" the last the men had been in close proximity, the men of the west had orchestrated a butchery on the steps of oldtown's starry sept - a bloody it was. the septons who had escaped to the land of the starry, who were of westerland origin, had found some sanctuary within the starry before they met their timely ends, whilst in the embrace of the man they swore was the chosen representative for the voice of the gods on this mortal realm. all knew it was whoever the hightower had chosen usually, though this one - the wildcard, as tyland called him in mild humour to his own brother, had been an unexpected mistake.

[archangelsunited]

WIP Two Hours Late

tagged by @orfeoarte and @mareenavee Tagging everyone else for WIP Thursday! Because I am late and can't find my list.

Two weeks into his training, Ulfric stood in the Grey Quarter, and announced he would offer citizenship to anyone who completed Stormcloak training, and served for two months- or the end of the war, whichever came first.

            The day after, Tyre sits under the fur with an ax on oneside and a crossbow on the other. There are few dark elf recruits, who wish to be able to travel Skyrim without the tax. Several Argonians come up from the docks.

            There is also a Khajiit, called kitten. They called themselves Sarta. When they first entered the training field, Tyre had tried to dismiss them, but fifteen was just above the age to start as a journeyman. Ears back, head barely to Tyre’s chest, they gave a stuttering argument on why they should be allowed to join the troops.

            Tyre put them in front of the group, where he could keep a close eye on them. He had to stop twice, leading to general churlishness among the recruits. Once, he had to replace their two-handed iron sword with a smaller grip, and the second was to shout a Nord clear across the field.

            He had been having problems with Vulwolf Snow-Shod. The very best equipment, the very worst attitude. Snow-Shod had been with the Legionares, but had not been stationed near Tyre- nor had he been impressive enough for Tyre to have heard him.

            He was a passable hand with the glass sword strapped to his belt. The man tended to take hits with his armor, rather than dodge or block with his sword. It was a bad habit Tyre had been trying to break him of, sending him towards speed and endurance training. Armies ran on resources, and it didn’t matter how rich you were, when the resources were gone, they were gone. If Snow-Shod lost his armor, or it became unrepairable, there was always a chance there would be weaker armor or no armor at all.

            The man had started showing up to Tyre’s lessons drunk. Tyre took one look at the man, red- faced with red eyes, and sent him to the alchemist.

            Snow-Shod didn’t show up the second day.

            On the third day, he replaced drunkness with a paranoid contentiousness. He questioned Tyre’s every order, until Tyre had him running laps for every question he asked. The grumbling continued.

            Sarta’s position, right next to Snow-Shod, increased the grumbling. Tyre kept his temper until the session ended, but he was going to go to Galmar with complaints of an elder mistreating an apprentice. Tyre knew his complaint would be taken seriously, and to be mistreating an apprentice was as shameful as stealing coins from a beggars bowl. Apprentices of Ysgamor built Skyrim, and they would keep it long after Tyre and Snow-Shod were dead.

            Sarta, trembling from the workout, stumbled to the ground. Their tail curled around their torso as their knees drew up against a heaving chest. The cat made a wheezing sound and Tyre winced. He was about to get up and help, when Sarta stumbled to their feet. Legs unsteady, they fell right back into Snow-Shod’s back, grabbing the mail to regain balance.

            How Snow-Shod even felt the tug was beyond Tyre. But the man spun around and smacked the cat across the face. Sarta flew backwards, into one of the straw dummies.

            This is when Tyre stood.

            “You brazen sneak-thief.” Snow-Shod took two steps forward. His beard glowed white in the sun. His hand went to his sword.

            “Snow-Shod.” Tyre’s voice croaked in warning. He saw the man glance at him, nose wrinkled and mouth twisted. But his eyes swung back towards Sarta, a deliberate deaf-ear. Flora, one of the guardswomen, stepped forward as well.

            “I’m going to peel the skin from your carcass, cat.” Snow-Shod took another step. Unlike Snow-Shod, many of the other recruits were stepping back, eyes looking warily at Tyre.

            “I’m sorry. I just tripped.” Sarta’s voice came out at a squeak.

            “Snow-Shod, she is an apprentice. Step back.” Tyre’s voice became firmer. An ache, firey and wild, was coming from his chest. It charred the edges of his reason, until only rage remained.

            “I don’t take orders from a-”

            “You do take orders from him.” Galmar’s voice came from behind Tyre. He must have been coming to fetch him for supper.  “Back away from the apprentice.” Galmar walked up next to Tyre, and frowned at Sarta’s body, rolled into a ball.  The tail was starting to thrash back and forth.

            Galmar glanced at Tyre from the corner of his eye. “A bit small, isn’t it?”

            “They claim to be fifteen.” Tyre turned his head, slightly, but not enough to miss Snow-Shod attempt to kick the apprentice.

            The rage came back as quickly as it had been doused. Tyre threw his arms back, letting the fur fall away. He stepped forward with his left foot. His hands were talons, his teeth were razors.

            Fus.

[cleverhottubmiracle]

Tariffs. They started a revolution—the one involving King George III, John Hancock, and a duty on tea (ok, sure, there were other grievances). And though tossing all your South Korean glass skin serums into Boston Harbor might not work this time, emotions are likely to run high as the Trump administration follows through on its promises to increase tariffs on imports to the U.S. To date, a 10 percent tariff has been imposed on Chinese imports, and prices are likely to go up at a similar rate; tariffs on EU imports are expected to follow suit, and proposed tariffs on Mexican and Canadian products (25 percent for each country) have been put on a temporary hold as policy negotiations proceed. (China has announced retaliatory tariffs on US imports.) In late 2024, we dug into just how steeper taxes on beauty imports could impact the industry and our own shopping carts.In this story:AccordionItemContainerButtonWhat is a tariff?Tariffs are taxes paid to a government on goods imported from abroad. They’re not particularly novel in our country, even in recent history: In 2018 and 2019, Trump—who nicknamed himself “Tariff Man”—imposed tariffs on $380 billion worth of certain products and materials imported from a variety of countries, including many from China. During his 2024 campaign, Trump said he’d enact even higher tariffs on imported goods. He has suggested putting in place 10 to 20 percent tariffs on all imports, and 60 to 100 percent tariffs on imports from China. Though no one can say for sure what will ultimately come to pass during the rest of this administration, many of the numbers it has put forth are nearly 10 times more than the tariffs Trump enacted in his previous term, according to Wendy Edelberg, PhD, senior fellow in economic studies at The Brookings Institution.The general thinking behind tariffs, on both sides of the aisle, is that taxing foreign goods will boost the American economy by increasing domestic jobs and sales on domestic-made products. They can also be used as leverage in negotiations with other countries. Over the past four years, President Biden kept most of Trump’s tariffs in place, discontinued others, and created some of his own. The tariffs under the Biden administration, however, were much smaller than what Trump has been suggesting in recent months, says Edelberg, who notes that these could be the first average double-digit tariff rates for all imports since the 1940s.Why should you care about tariffs?Because a higher cost of goods can mean higher prices when you check out. Sellers have a few ways of responding to tax increases on imported products, says Edelberg. They can try to negotiate with the supplying foreign companies for lower costs, but that’s not likely to fly. They can elect to eat some or all of the extra costs in the interest of maintaining market share and consumer loyalty. Or they can pass the pain onto consumers. Looking forward to the potential tariffs coming in 2025, “the prediction is pretty unambiguous, and it’s that prices would go up,” says Philip Rothman, PhD, professor of economics at East Carolina University.Though a big motivation behind taxing imports is encouraging sales of American-manufactured goods, economists say tariffs don’t necessarily do that because when foreign-supplied products go up in price, American-made ones often follow suit. For instance, in his first term, Trump introduced a tariff on foreign-made washing machines, which increased their prices. It wasn’t long before domestic washing machines became more expensive, too. (If a foreign company can charge more, why can’t we?) Even though Trump didn’t enforce tariffs on dryers, perhaps you can guess what happened. “People think of washing machines and dryers as going together,” says Edelberg. “So when the dryers look cheap next to the washers, companies can get away with raising their prices too.”The U.S. imports trillions of dollars of goods each year—in 2023, nearly $4 trillion, according to the U.S. Bureau of Economic Analysis. Given the huge volume of imports from overseas, this means tariffs are likely to affect items we purchase every day, from clothes and groceries to car parts and medical supplies. And, yes, beauty and personal care products.How could new tariffs affect the beauty industry specifically?Depending on the origin country of the goods, Americans could pay up to a significant premium—from 10 to over 60 percent—on imported skin care, makeup, and other personal care items. If you’ve been buying a $60 moisturizer that’s imported from Europe, for example, it’s reasonable to speculate you’d pay $12 more, or $72, for that item under a 20 percent tariff. “Evidence suggests prices would likely go up by the amount of the tariff,” says Rothman.But just because a product is manufactured in the U.S. doesn’t mean it’s totally American-made and immune from tariffs. Many non-imported items use foreign “input,” economics-speak for things like ingredients and packaging. Betsey Stevenson, PhD, professor of public policy and economics at the University of Michigan says that even if a product is manufactured domestically, sellers may end up paying (and charging) more due to tariffs on other parts of the supply chain.In a TikTok video, cosmetic chemist Javon Ford said beauty companies who use patented ingredients manufactured abroad could be affected because they can’t buy that exact ingredient at a lower cost elsewhere. A concealer, for example, could use a material that’s made by a European company—under tariffs, their options would be to pay more for that ingredient, or to reformulate.“The prediction is pretty unambiguous, and it’s that prices would go up.”For the most part though, beauty brands are sourcing the ingredients for products sold in the U.S. from American suppliers, says independent cosmetic chemist Perry Romanowski. One exception are plant-based ingredients like coconut oil or palm oil—commonly used in foundation, concealer, lipstick, and more. Romanowski says products that contain those ingredients are more likely to see price spikes—the United States simply doesn’t grow that many coconut palms (which produce both oils). The same is true for products made with exotic ingredients, like a perfume with a note from vanilla only found in Madagascar. Source link

[norajworld]

Tariffs. They started a revolution—the one involving King George III, John Hancock, and a duty on tea (ok, sure, there were other grievances). And though tossing all your South Korean glass skin serums into Boston Harbor might not work this time, emotions are likely to run high as the Trump administration follows through on its promises to increase tariffs on imports to the U.S. To date, a 10 percent tariff has been imposed on Chinese imports, and prices are likely to go up at a similar rate; tariffs on EU imports are expected to follow suit, and proposed tariffs on Mexican and Canadian products (25 percent for each country) have been put on a temporary hold as policy negotiations proceed. (China has announced retaliatory tariffs on US imports.) In late 2024, we dug into just how steeper taxes on beauty imports could impact the industry and our own shopping carts.In this story:AccordionItemContainerButtonWhat is a tariff?Tariffs are taxes paid to a government on goods imported from abroad. They’re not particularly novel in our country, even in recent history: In 2018 and 2019, Trump—who nicknamed himself “Tariff Man”—imposed tariffs on $380 billion worth of certain products and materials imported from a variety of countries, including many from China. During his 2024 campaign, Trump said he’d enact even higher tariffs on imported goods. He has suggested putting in place 10 to 20 percent tariffs on all imports, and 60 to 100 percent tariffs on imports from China. Though no one can say for sure what will ultimately come to pass during the rest of this administration, many of the numbers it has put forth are nearly 10 times more than the tariffs Trump enacted in his previous term, according to Wendy Edelberg, PhD, senior fellow in economic studies at The Brookings Institution.The general thinking behind tariffs, on both sides of the aisle, is that taxing foreign goods will boost the American economy by increasing domestic jobs and sales on domestic-made products. They can also be used as leverage in negotiations with other countries. Over the past four years, President Biden kept most of Trump’s tariffs in place, discontinued others, and created some of his own. The tariffs under the Biden administration, however, were much smaller than what Trump has been suggesting in recent months, says Edelberg, who notes that these could be the first average double-digit tariff rates for all imports since the 1940s.Why should you care about tariffs?Because a higher cost of goods can mean higher prices when you check out. Sellers have a few ways of responding to tax increases on imported products, says Edelberg. They can try to negotiate with the supplying foreign companies for lower costs, but that’s not likely to fly. They can elect to eat some or all of the extra costs in the interest of maintaining market share and consumer loyalty. Or they can pass the pain onto consumers. Looking forward to the potential tariffs coming in 2025, “the prediction is pretty unambiguous, and it’s that prices would go up,” says Philip Rothman, PhD, professor of economics at East Carolina University.Though a big motivation behind taxing imports is encouraging sales of American-manufactured goods, economists say tariffs don’t necessarily do that because when foreign-supplied products go up in price, American-made ones often follow suit. For instance, in his first term, Trump introduced a tariff on foreign-made washing machines, which increased their prices. It wasn’t long before domestic washing machines became more expensive, too. (If a foreign company can charge more, why can’t we?) Even though Trump didn’t enforce tariffs on dryers, perhaps you can guess what happened. “People think of washing machines and dryers as going together,” says Edelberg. “So when the dryers look cheap next to the washers, companies can get away with raising their prices too.”The U.S. imports trillions of dollars of goods each year—in 2023, nearly $4 trillion, according to the U.S. Bureau of Economic Analysis. Given the huge volume of imports from overseas, this means tariffs are likely to affect items we purchase every day, from clothes and groceries to car parts and medical supplies. And, yes, beauty and personal care products.How could new tariffs affect the beauty industry specifically?Depending on the origin country of the goods, Americans could pay up to a significant premium—from 10 to over 60 percent—on imported skin care, makeup, and other personal care items. If you’ve been buying a $60 moisturizer that’s imported from Europe, for example, it’s reasonable to speculate you’d pay $12 more, or $72, for that item under a 20 percent tariff. “Evidence suggests prices would likely go up by the amount of the tariff,” says Rothman.But just because a product is manufactured in the U.S. doesn’t mean it’s totally American-made and immune from tariffs. Many non-imported items use foreign “input,” economics-speak for things like ingredients and packaging. Betsey Stevenson, PhD, professor of public policy and economics at the University of Michigan says that even if a product is manufactured domestically, sellers may end up paying (and charging) more due to tariffs on other parts of the supply chain.In a TikTok video, cosmetic chemist Javon Ford said beauty companies who use patented ingredients manufactured abroad could be affected because they can’t buy that exact ingredient at a lower cost elsewhere. A concealer, for example, could use a material that’s made by a European company—under tariffs, their options would be to pay more for that ingredient, or to reformulate.“The prediction is pretty unambiguous, and it’s that prices would go up.”For the most part though, beauty brands are sourcing the ingredients for products sold in the U.S. from American suppliers, says independent cosmetic chemist Perry Romanowski. One exception are plant-based ingredients like coconut oil or palm oil—commonly used in foundation, concealer, lipstick, and more. Romanowski says products that contain those ingredients are more likely to see price spikes—the United States simply doesn’t grow that many coconut palms (which produce both oils). The same is true for products made with exotic ingredients, like a perfume with a note from vanilla only found in Madagascar. Source link

[ellajme0]

Tariffs. They started a revolution—the one involving King George III, John Hancock, and a duty on tea (ok, sure, there were other grievances). And though tossing all your South Korean glass skin serums into Boston Harbor might not work this time, emotions are likely to run high as the Trump administration follows through on its promises to increase tariffs on imports to the U.S. To date, a 10 percent tariff has been imposed on Chinese imports, and prices are likely to go up at a similar rate; tariffs on EU imports are expected to follow suit, and proposed tariffs on Mexican and Canadian products (25 percent for each country) have been put on a temporary hold as policy negotiations proceed. (China has announced retaliatory tariffs on US imports.) In late 2024, we dug into just how steeper taxes on beauty imports could impact the industry and our own shopping carts.In this story:AccordionItemContainerButtonWhat is a tariff?Tariffs are taxes paid to a government on goods imported from abroad. They’re not particularly novel in our country, even in recent history: In 2018 and 2019, Trump—who nicknamed himself “Tariff Man”—imposed tariffs on $380 billion worth of certain products and materials imported from a variety of countries, including many from China. During his 2024 campaign, Trump said he’d enact even higher tariffs on imported goods. He has suggested putting in place 10 to 20 percent tariffs on all imports, and 60 to 100 percent tariffs on imports from China. Though no one can say for sure what will ultimately come to pass during the rest of this administration, many of the numbers it has put forth are nearly 10 times more than the tariffs Trump enacted in his previous term, according to Wendy Edelberg, PhD, senior fellow in economic studies at The Brookings Institution.The general thinking behind tariffs, on both sides of the aisle, is that taxing foreign goods will boost the American economy by increasing domestic jobs and sales on domestic-made products. They can also be used as leverage in negotiations with other countries. Over the past four years, President Biden kept most of Trump’s tariffs in place, discontinued others, and created some of his own. The tariffs under the Biden administration, however, were much smaller than what Trump has been suggesting in recent months, says Edelberg, who notes that these could be the first average double-digit tariff rates for all imports since the 1940s.Why should you care about tariffs?Because a higher cost of goods can mean higher prices when you check out. Sellers have a few ways of responding to tax increases on imported products, says Edelberg. They can try to negotiate with the supplying foreign companies for lower costs, but that’s not likely to fly. They can elect to eat some or all of the extra costs in the interest of maintaining market share and consumer loyalty. Or they can pass the pain onto consumers. Looking forward to the potential tariffs coming in 2025, “the prediction is pretty unambiguous, and it’s that prices would go up,” says Philip Rothman, PhD, professor of economics at East Carolina University.Though a big motivation behind taxing imports is encouraging sales of American-manufactured goods, economists say tariffs don’t necessarily do that because when foreign-supplied products go up in price, American-made ones often follow suit. For instance, in his first term, Trump introduced a tariff on foreign-made washing machines, which increased their prices. It wasn’t long before domestic washing machines became more expensive, too. (If a foreign company can charge more, why can’t we?) Even though Trump didn’t enforce tariffs on dryers, perhaps you can guess what happened. “People think of washing machines and dryers as going together,” says Edelberg. “So when the dryers look cheap next to the washers, companies can get away with raising their prices too.”The U.S. imports trillions of dollars of goods each year—in 2023, nearly $4 trillion, according to the U.S. Bureau of Economic Analysis. Given the huge volume of imports from overseas, this means tariffs are likely to affect items we purchase every day, from clothes and groceries to car parts and medical supplies. And, yes, beauty and personal care products.How could new tariffs affect the beauty industry specifically?Depending on the origin country of the goods, Americans could pay up to a significant premium—from 10 to over 60 percent—on imported skin care, makeup, and other personal care items. If you’ve been buying a $60 moisturizer that’s imported from Europe, for example, it’s reasonable to speculate you’d pay $12 more, or $72, for that item under a 20 percent tariff. “Evidence suggests prices would likely go up by the amount of the tariff,” says Rothman.But just because a product is manufactured in the U.S. doesn’t mean it’s totally American-made and immune from tariffs. Many non-imported items use foreign “input,” economics-speak for things like ingredients and packaging. Betsey Stevenson, PhD, professor of public policy and economics at the University of Michigan says that even if a product is manufactured domestically, sellers may end up paying (and charging) more due to tariffs on other parts of the supply chain.In a TikTok video, cosmetic chemist Javon Ford said beauty companies who use patented ingredients manufactured abroad could be affected because they can’t buy that exact ingredient at a lower cost elsewhere. A concealer, for example, could use a material that’s made by a European company—under tariffs, their options would be to pay more for that ingredient, or to reformulate.“The prediction is pretty unambiguous, and it’s that prices would go up.”For the most part though, beauty brands are sourcing the ingredients for products sold in the U.S. from American suppliers, says independent cosmetic chemist Perry Romanowski. One exception are plant-based ingredients like coconut oil or palm oil—commonly used in foundation, concealer, lipstick, and more. Romanowski says products that contain those ingredients are more likely to see price spikes—the United States simply doesn’t grow that many coconut palms (which produce both oils). The same is true for products made with exotic ingredients, like a perfume with a note from vanilla only found in Madagascar. Source link

[chilimili212]

Tariffs. They started a revolution—the one involving King George III, John Hancock, and a duty on tea (ok, sure, there were other grievances). And though tossing all your South Korean glass skin serums into Boston Harbor might not work this time, emotions are likely to run high as the Trump administration follows through on its promises to increase tariffs on imports to the U.S. To date, a 10 percent tariff has been imposed on Chinese imports, and prices are likely to go up at a similar rate; tariffs on EU imports are expected to follow suit, and proposed tariffs on Mexican and Canadian products (25 percent for each country) have been put on a temporary hold as policy negotiations proceed. (China has announced retaliatory tariffs on US imports.) In late 2024, we dug into just how steeper taxes on beauty imports could impact the industry and our own shopping carts.In this story:AccordionItemContainerButtonWhat is a tariff?Tariffs are taxes paid to a government on goods imported from abroad. They’re not particularly novel in our country, even in recent history: In 2018 and 2019, Trump—who nicknamed himself “Tariff Man”—imposed tariffs on $380 billion worth of certain products and materials imported from a variety of countries, including many from China. During his 2024 campaign, Trump said he’d enact even higher tariffs on imported goods. He has suggested putting in place 10 to 20 percent tariffs on all imports, and 60 to 100 percent tariffs on imports from China. Though no one can say for sure what will ultimately come to pass during the rest of this administration, many of the numbers it has put forth are nearly 10 times more than the tariffs Trump enacted in his previous term, according to Wendy Edelberg, PhD, senior fellow in economic studies at The Brookings Institution.The general thinking behind tariffs, on both sides of the aisle, is that taxing foreign goods will boost the American economy by increasing domestic jobs and sales on domestic-made products. They can also be used as leverage in negotiations with other countries. Over the past four years, President Biden kept most of Trump’s tariffs in place, discontinued others, and created some of his own. The tariffs under the Biden administration, however, were much smaller than what Trump has been suggesting in recent months, says Edelberg, who notes that these could be the first average double-digit tariff rates for all imports since the 1940s.Why should you care about tariffs?Because a higher cost of goods can mean higher prices when you check out. Sellers have a few ways of responding to tax increases on imported products, says Edelberg. They can try to negotiate with the supplying foreign companies for lower costs, but that’s not likely to fly. They can elect to eat some or all of the extra costs in the interest of maintaining market share and consumer loyalty. Or they can pass the pain onto consumers. Looking forward to the potential tariffs coming in 2025, “the prediction is pretty unambiguous, and it’s that prices would go up,” says Philip Rothman, PhD, professor of economics at East Carolina University.Though a big motivation behind taxing imports is encouraging sales of American-manufactured goods, economists say tariffs don’t necessarily do that because when foreign-supplied products go up in price, American-made ones often follow suit. For instance, in his first term, Trump introduced a tariff on foreign-made washing machines, which increased their prices. It wasn’t long before domestic washing machines became more expensive, too. (If a foreign company can charge more, why can’t we?) Even though Trump didn’t enforce tariffs on dryers, perhaps you can guess what happened. “People think of washing machines and dryers as going together,” says Edelberg. “So when the dryers look cheap next to the washers, companies can get away with raising their prices too.”The U.S. imports trillions of dollars of goods each year—in 2023, nearly $4 trillion, according to the U.S. Bureau of Economic Analysis. Given the huge volume of imports from overseas, this means tariffs are likely to affect items we purchase every day, from clothes and groceries to car parts and medical supplies. And, yes, beauty and personal care products.How could new tariffs affect the beauty industry specifically?Depending on the origin country of the goods, Americans could pay up to a significant premium—from 10 to over 60 percent—on imported skin care, makeup, and other personal care items. If you’ve been buying a $60 moisturizer that’s imported from Europe, for example, it’s reasonable to speculate you’d pay $12 more, or $72, for that item under a 20 percent tariff. “Evidence suggests prices would likely go up by the amount of the tariff,” says Rothman.But just because a product is manufactured in the U.S. doesn’t mean it’s totally American-made and immune from tariffs. Many non-imported items use foreign “input,” economics-speak for things like ingredients and packaging. Betsey Stevenson, PhD, professor of public policy and economics at the University of Michigan says that even if a product is manufactured domestically, sellers may end up paying (and charging) more due to tariffs on other parts of the supply chain.In a TikTok video, cosmetic chemist Javon Ford said beauty companies who use patented ingredients manufactured abroad could be affected because they can’t buy that exact ingredient at a lower cost elsewhere. A concealer, for example, could use a material that’s made by a European company—under tariffs, their options would be to pay more for that ingredient, or to reformulate.“The prediction is pretty unambiguous, and it’s that prices would go up.”For the most part though, beauty brands are sourcing the ingredients for products sold in the U.S. from American suppliers, says independent cosmetic chemist Perry Romanowski. One exception are plant-based ingredients like coconut oil or palm oil—commonly used in foundation, concealer, lipstick, and more. Romanowski says products that contain those ingredients are more likely to see price spikes—the United States simply doesn’t grow that many coconut palms (which produce both oils). The same is true for products made with exotic ingredients, like a perfume with a note from vanilla only found in Madagascar. Source link

[oliviajoyice21]

Tariffs. They started a revolution—the one involving King George III, John Hancock, and a duty on tea (ok, sure, there were other grievances). And though tossing all your South Korean glass skin serums into Boston Harbor might not work this time, emotions are likely to run high as the Trump administration follows through on its promises to increase tariffs on imports to the U.S. To date, a 10 percent tariff has been imposed on Chinese imports, and prices are likely to go up at a similar rate; tariffs on EU imports are expected to follow suit, and proposed tariffs on Mexican and Canadian products (25 percent for each country) have been put on a temporary hold as policy negotiations proceed. (China has announced retaliatory tariffs on US imports.) In late 2024, we dug into just how steeper taxes on beauty imports could impact the industry and our own shopping carts.In this story:AccordionItemContainerButtonWhat is a tariff?Tariffs are taxes paid to a government on goods imported from abroad. They’re not particularly novel in our country, even in recent history: In 2018 and 2019, Trump—who nicknamed himself “Tariff Man”—imposed tariffs on $380 billion worth of certain products and materials imported from a variety of countries, including many from China. During his 2024 campaign, Trump said he’d enact even higher tariffs on imported goods. He has suggested putting in place 10 to 20 percent tariffs on all imports, and 60 to 100 percent tariffs on imports from China. Though no one can say for sure what will ultimately come to pass during the rest of this administration, many of the numbers it has put forth are nearly 10 times more than the tariffs Trump enacted in his previous term, according to Wendy Edelberg, PhD, senior fellow in economic studies at The Brookings Institution.The general thinking behind tariffs, on both sides of the aisle, is that taxing foreign goods will boost the American economy by increasing domestic jobs and sales on domestic-made products. They can also be used as leverage in negotiations with other countries. Over the past four years, President Biden kept most of Trump’s tariffs in place, discontinued others, and created some of his own. The tariffs under the Biden administration, however, were much smaller than what Trump has been suggesting in recent months, says Edelberg, who notes that these could be the first average double-digit tariff rates for all imports since the 1940s.Why should you care about tariffs?Because a higher cost of goods can mean higher prices when you check out. Sellers have a few ways of responding to tax increases on imported products, says Edelberg. They can try to negotiate with the supplying foreign companies for lower costs, but that’s not likely to fly. They can elect to eat some or all of the extra costs in the interest of maintaining market share and consumer loyalty. Or they can pass the pain onto consumers. Looking forward to the potential tariffs coming in 2025, “the prediction is pretty unambiguous, and it’s that prices would go up,” says Philip Rothman, PhD, professor of economics at East Carolina University.Though a big motivation behind taxing imports is encouraging sales of American-manufactured goods, economists say tariffs don’t necessarily do that because when foreign-supplied products go up in price, American-made ones often follow suit. For instance, in his first term, Trump introduced a tariff on foreign-made washing machines, which increased their prices. It wasn’t long before domestic washing machines became more expensive, too. (If a foreign company can charge more, why can’t we?) Even though Trump didn’t enforce tariffs on dryers, perhaps you can guess what happened. “People think of washing machines and dryers as going together,” says Edelberg. “So when the dryers look cheap next to the washers, companies can get away with raising their prices too.”The U.S. imports trillions of dollars of goods each year—in 2023, nearly $4 trillion, according to the U.S. Bureau of Economic Analysis. Given the huge volume of imports from overseas, this means tariffs are likely to affect items we purchase every day, from clothes and groceries to car parts and medical supplies. And, yes, beauty and personal care products.How could new tariffs affect the beauty industry specifically?Depending on the origin country of the goods, Americans could pay up to a significant premium—from 10 to over 60 percent—on imported skin care, makeup, and other personal care items. If you’ve been buying a $60 moisturizer that’s imported from Europe, for example, it’s reasonable to speculate you’d pay $12 more, or $72, for that item under a 20 percent tariff. “Evidence suggests prices would likely go up by the amount of the tariff,” says Rothman.But just because a product is manufactured in the U.S. doesn’t mean it’s totally American-made and immune from tariffs. Many non-imported items use foreign “input,” economics-speak for things like ingredients and packaging. Betsey Stevenson, PhD, professor of public policy and economics at the University of Michigan says that even if a product is manufactured domestically, sellers may end up paying (and charging) more due to tariffs on other parts of the supply chain.In a TikTok video, cosmetic chemist Javon Ford said beauty companies who use patented ingredients manufactured abroad could be affected because they can’t buy that exact ingredient at a lower cost elsewhere. A concealer, for example, could use a material that’s made by a European company—under tariffs, their options would be to pay more for that ingredient, or to reformulate.“The prediction is pretty unambiguous, and it’s that prices would go up.”For the most part though, beauty brands are sourcing the ingredients for products sold in the U.S. from American suppliers, says independent cosmetic chemist Perry Romanowski. One exception are plant-based ingredients like coconut oil or palm oil—commonly used in foundation, concealer, lipstick, and more. Romanowski says products that contain those ingredients are more likely to see price spikes—the United States simply doesn’t grow that many coconut palms (which produce both oils). The same is true for products made with exotic ingredients, like a perfume with a note from vanilla only found in Madagascar. Source link

[gracemorgann]

Successful Career of Luxury Escorts: How to Become the Best in This Field

Being one of the luxury escorts on the market brings many benefits. You can earn a lot of money, which has not been around for a while. Numerous agencies hire and who can offer you the chance to have a truly successful career in such a field, where the monthly earnings are handsome. In addition, since an agency handles everything, you are not exposed to any danger. You can also hide your identity. You are encouraged to protect your privacy at all costs, and a contract supports this.

If it sounds great, it's time to start looking for jobs in this field. But, first of all, ask yourself if you are sure that you are ready to be an escort and compete with more experienced girls in this industry. The escorting industry has experienced a huge demand and growth in recent years, which has led many women to want to pursue a successful career in such a field. If you want to learn how to become a companion, you need information and advice about how to achieve a much-desired successful career.

Luxury Escorts Work Within a Contract

If you have signed a contract with an agency and will start working as a companion, you will need many things, such as elegant dresses that highlight your shapes and features. When you work as one of the luxury escorts, physical appearance is significant. That is the one who attracts members to your page, but not the one who will make them stay. In other words, it is the one who arouses interest. However, if this is not supported, it disappears, just like the man who will look for another companion to date or travel with.

That's why you need to know how to maintain the initial interest. A sexy, well-chosen dress that highlights your shape can significantly help. It allows your fantasies to emerge, creating anticipation and tension, the two components you need to captivate the man you date. That is why it is essential to choose these clothing items carefully so that they are as unique as possible and complement your body as well as possible. They will only increase the tension created and, at the same time, captivate the clients even more.

Heeled Shoes Offer a Sexy Appearance

It's no longer a secret that a well-chosen pair of heeled shoes adds a provocative air to any outfit. They elongate the leg beautifully, making it look more supple and attractive. That's why they are a must for all luxury escorts. Carefully integrated into the outfit, high-heeled shoes can bring that chic but sexy accent and spice up your entire appearance precisely as it should. Although it may seem obvious, the time you allocate to this job and your presence matters greatly. The more time you spend with your clients, the more the earnings grow significantly.

Also, it would help if you still had time to participate in all the agency's photo and video sessions and training sessions. Each one has its role and helps you in your endeavor to earn more money and become better known in this field. Therefore, your dedication and, implicitly, the time you allocate translate, over time, only into tangible benefits for you and your well-being. The escort industry has evolved significantly since its appearance, becoming an environment where luxury escorts can earn tremendous sums in exchange for their dates with their clients.

That is why this phenomenon gave birth to numerous questions and myths, and the job was put under the magnifying glass of skepticism. Many believe that escorting is an unregulated industry because of the negative news about agency owners who committed tax evasion or misbehaved towards their employees. However, that does not mean no agency works legally and offers its employees the best conditions. You must do your homework and be careful before choosing who you work with.

This Domain Has Been Legal for a Long Time

Luxury escorts would not exist if no serious and reliable agencies allowed women to pursue careers in this field. You have to search for that particular agency that has carried out its activity since the beginning, respecting all the rules in force and displaying a transparent and fair attitude towards its models. All have to work based on legal contracts, which they sign from the first day of activity, and each one receives a copy. All the money they earned must appear in the documents and be taxed as provided by law.

The main reason young women choose to work in this industry is money. Indeed, the earnings are very high if you are involved, serious, and hardworking. Those who want to learn everything about this field have a training period immediately after signing the contract. Thus, they assimilate the secrets of seduction from experienced people and manage relatively quickly to reach the much-desired gains. A reputable agency has the necessary skills and resources to grow top companions, but that means that you, too, as a companion, must do your job, attend all the training, and respect all the appointments.

Because agencies want their models to feel safe and focus on their activity, they will do their best to ensure their confidentiality. In principle, those who know everything about escorting also see that the clients from their local country will not be able to see them. In addition, when you start working in this field, you will not use your real name but a pseudonym, which none of our employees will reveal, so you can do it very quickly if you want to re-profile yourself in another field.

Your discretion is also needed if you want everything to remain confidential. Or you can choose, as dozens of luxury escorts have done, to be proud of their work and results, and you will certainly have a lot of satisfaction by making this choice. The important thing is that you decide! Unlike other fields, you have a flexible schedule in the entertainment industry. You can also set your work schedule to take care of personal aspects. You can work as you wish, but you must respect all your appointments and keep your clients loyal.

[darklinaforever]

1. I'm going to teach you a very simple thing. The law is the word of the king in the GRRM universe. If Viserys decreed that Rhaenyra was his heir, then she is his heir. No more no less.

2. You spoke of royal men, not of noble men. Otto is not a royal men. And sorry, but House Hightower is not as important compared to other houses in the GRRM universe / in the ASOIAF books... Is just the true. Sorry.

3. My mistake for Vaemond, I don't wear my glasses, having forgotten them at home and being elsewhere. And... where did I get this ? Well in the book. You know, where Aemond, after having massacred the entire Strong house, took Alys as a prize of war ? Which involves rape. And I won't even bother explaining further if you don't understand how Alys is most likely the victim of rape by Aemond...

4. I'm talking about the children of the Greens team. The usurpers, therefore members of the Greens team, not survived and had descendants. It's literally karmic punishment. While Rhaenyra's lineage continued. And, are you aware that the show is not the books and that Daenerys and Jon probably won't get the end of the show at all ? Like, Daenerys isn't going to turn crazy and evil in the GRRM books, that's pretty obvious. The Targaryens are not the big bad guys in the GRRM universe. On the contrary Daenerys and her dragons are what will help against the White Walkers. The threat is cold and ice. And what can defeat that is fire, represented by Daenerys and her dragons. If you are interested, you should check out the Phoenix Ashes YouTube channel. But I'm pretty sure you won't go see it at all.

5. BOTH sides committed equal atrocities ? Really ? The canon is not agreed with you...

6. I've already explained my point of view on the books and you obviously don't understand what the books are about.

7. No. The people don't call her Maegor with teats because she's horrible. I already said why they started calling it that. This nickname was given to Rhaenyra after she raised taxes because the Greens literally emptied the kingdom's coffers. Demonstrating that a female monarch is always judged more harshly than a man even if she is clearly not an equivalent in terms of cruelty. At no time can the increase in taxes, the original reasons for this nickname, put her on an equal footing with Maegor. So yes, it’s a form of misogyny.

8. If the Greens are not the antagonists /villains, why did they start the war for the sole purpose of obtaining power that was not theirs ? Why are they usurpers ? Why has Alicent, an adult woman, harassed Rhaenyra, a child, from the moment she was named heir ? Why is Aegon II a rapist ? Just like Aemond is a rapist, who has also committed countless massacres, being borderline described as a little demon from birth while the dance is mainly told by pro greens sources ? Why is Criston Cole a man without honor ? Why did each member of the Greens team die a horrible and / or pathetic death ? (while most of the members of the Black team have dignified and heroic deaths ?) Why was their entire lineage extinct ? (I remind you that Rhaenyra's lineage is not at all extinct, Daenerys, still alive, is her descendant, just like Jon) If they are not the bad guys, why do they generally not give a damn about people ? Why are they capable of committing the worst crime in Westeros ? Namely killing their own family members ? Why a huge list of war crimes ? The Greens are the antagonists of the Dragon Dance ! They literally started shit for no reason other than greed for power. Why couldn't the Greens be bad guys ? They have all the characteristics. And GRRM has already written plenty of villains. Stop with the myth that GRRM only writes nuanced characters. Your comprehension problems are really big...

I would also like to clarify a few things.

Even if Rhaenyra and Team Blacks don't specifically fight for feminism and women's rights, if Rhaenyra becomes queen it will set a precedent for the right of women to inherit the throne! Unlike Aegon who will not help this aspect in society. (needing to change)

Then, the Blacks team, although fighting for their team and Rhaenyra to have the throne, it is not just a question of power. It is also the fact of respecting the law / the word of the king, of honoring his promises and his oaths. Fighting for the honor and future of their house and their family. Also, a form of technical change.

The Greens' fight is due to the pure ambition of power, to steal what is not yours / to be a usurper, to go against the law / the will of the king, that oaths and promises do not worthless, fighting for archaic patriarchal traditions with keeping men first.

Not to mention the purity of blood with their aversion to children born out of wedlock while the Blacks team essentially has nothing to do with it... (As proven by the fact that Jacaerys is not at all mostly contested as heir... And then also the simple fact that there is no real proof on the paternity of the children and that only the Greens were interested in this to discredit Rhaenyra)

You do not agree ? Not my problem if you don't have reading comprehension.

Honestly, you're probably one of the worst people I've ever chatted with on tumblr. You are completely biased. And I've clearly had my fill of your nonsense. Oh and also : Frankly. You’re everything that’s wrong with society. You disgust me. You are stupid.

Being a female viewer and hating Criston Cole is deranged.

I have to get this off my chest. The blind hatred that Criston is receiving from women is insane and I’m going to explain why.

For context, I am talking about Show Criston, not Book Criston. Comparing two standalone versions of a story is silly.

I cannot wrap my head around the fact that so many women, who are the primary victims of utilitarian relationships, would ever come together and shit on Criston for enduring such a situation.

I’m sorry, but how many of you have been used by men? How many of you have been reduced to one night stands, situationships and placeholder wives? How many of you have been deemed “not good enough” to be an exclusive partner? I log into tiktok and I see NOTHING but stories of broken women who are just used for sex, money, care and whatnot by men, and then they are tossed away like worthless trash while said men continue their pursuit of the ideal woman. Being used by men just for sex and being denied the status of girlfriend, let alone wife, is probably one of the worst plagues women are experiencing in the western world because the MOMENT we were emancipated, men understood that they don’t owe us shit anymore and instead of treating us with respect, they decided to grab whatever they can and give nothing back. Do not tell me that there are women out there that are fine with this arrangement because the multiple “GWM while I tell you about the guy that was with me for 12 years and then married someone else” tell a different story, one of multiple women’s dignities being trampled by hungry men. My heart breaks for every woman (EVERY woman, cis, trans, EVERY woman) who has been called by a man she loves just for sex, for every woman whose man never wanted to be seen in public with her, for every woman who had to hear that her man is not ready for a relationship only to witness him getting engaged to another woman 2 weeks after. I hope you overcome this and become stronger and I am glad that we are finally supporting one another.

How can we then, the women who are helping other female victims rise up and speak out against this kind of abuse, push Criston down and tell him to suck it up and accept being Rhaenyra’s plaything? Have we no mercy? Are we so hungry for revenge against men that we’d want them to endure the same humiliation that we did, as if one fictional man’s suffering would bring us justice? Are we so jealous that Criston didn’t sit down and just take it like the rest of us, but instead spoke up and removed himself from that situation? Or are we so gullible that we accept what the screenwriters shove down our throats and unknowingly support the patriarchic view that if you’re being used by someone you should just accept it?

I can hear some of you arguing that “Oh, this is different because Rhaenyra is royalty!” as if being used and tossed by a powerful person somehow makes the situation any better? Would it be okay if a rich person wanted to constantly use you for sex while he keeps looking for a better woman to be by his side, just because he values his wealth and status more? Rhaenyra straight up sneered at the idea of a simple life with him. She straight up told him that HE is not worth as much as her crown. OUCH. Even though I can’t even begin to imagine the pain of being told you are not enough by your loved one, it was Rhaenyra’s right to choose what her priorities are, but WHY would he have to accept being her sidepiece? “These were different times”: does this make it any less devastating for the victim? And he was a victim because Rhaenyra still used Criston and misled him by constantly complaining about how she HATES her duties for YEARS and then luring him to break his oath. Do you think he would have still slept with her if he was aware that moments ago, Rhaenyra was begging on her knees to be fucked by Daemon and only turned to Criston because her first option was no longer available? Like, the man was contemplating having sex with her and resisted her for a good fucking while, so imagine how quickly he would have turned around and walked out that door if he had that information beforehand. You know why? Because he loved her. He loved her to the point that he broke his oath for her, the oath of a station he FOUGHT FOR IN A WAR. He shed blood and sweat and risked his life for the mere opportunity to gain that position. This was ALL he had, he came from NOTHING and he was still willing to toss it all away for Rhaenyra not once, but twice. It wasn’t just sex he wanted because we never see him have sex again after that. He became vulnerable and gave up everything that he was to be with Rhaenyra. He was willing to abandon his whole identity for her sake. Is this not what the ideal partner is? Ready to abandon everything for your shake? Everything he fought for, tooth and nail? Was he unreasonable in thinking that Rhaenyra was willing to do the same for him? Was he crazy to think that because he was ready to put everything he FOUGHT for aside for her shake, Rhaenyra would also put aside a duty she was handed and actively seem to hate for him too? Fuck no! After hearing her constant talk about how she hates her father, her duties, her refusal to wed other men, how she is trapped as a princess, how people have no idea how much it SUCKS being her, why would he not assume that she’d be willing to give it all up for him, as he’d do for her We never see Rhaenyra even TRY to be a ruler, just complain about it. Of course it would be a fucking shock to him hearing her say “Lol dude, I actually do kinda want this”.

Criston was actually the only person in the series that wanted Rhaenyra for her, not her money or crown. I’m not saying she had to follow him, it was her right to refuse him, but his willingness to lead a simple life with just her has got to mean something. And don’t give me that “he only wanted to redeem his honour by marrying her” crap, because first of all Criston nutted up and admitted everything to Alicent and was ready to face death without EVER blaming Rhaenyra for anything, and second of all, oh no, how dare a human being have ethical values and desire to live with dignity in society’s broad light rather than move in the shadows as the princess’s secret boytoy! Bad, bad Criston for feeling you have to atone for your sins. Maybe we as people have become so corrupt that we envy those who wish to walk a virtuous path in life. Or maybe y’all have become so fond of the unhinged unapologetic character trope because it feels “original” (even if it’s ridiculously overused nowadays) that you’ve actually forgotten what characters with good morals are. Like, picking your fave war criminal and rolling with them because you enjoy good drama, especially in a show that’s meant to provide entertainment, is one thing, but passionately stating that Criston had to submit to that humiliation is something else entirely.

Finally, let’s ditch the Criston being a misogynist bullshit because he had NO issue obeying Rhaenyra before their affair or Alicent. And he is ALWAYS true to himself and his values, because even after everything he endured, he did not use Alicent’s anger as an excuse to take revenge on Rhaenyra and harm her children. Criston never betrayed her, Rhaenyra used him and he walked away and he went towards the only person who seemed to spare him some sympathy and understand him and not condemn him for his crimes even if he hated himself, which is typical victim mentality. And don’t get me started on the Joffrey incident because y’all tore Cole to SHREDS for it. Joffrey had it fucking coming. You don’t go up to people’s faces, especially ones you don’t know, threaten them by telling them you know their secret, a secret that SHAMES them and burdens them to the point they’re ready to commit suicide, and all but directly call them a whore. What the fuck did he think was going to happen? They’d shake hands? Piss off. Let this be a lesson to anyone that doesn’t know how to keep their mouths shut and their noses out of other people’s business. Also, mocking his suicide attempt makes my stomach turn. Just take a moment to consider all the young women who just like him, reluctantly surrendered their virginities to men only to find out they were nothing but sex dolls in their eyes, all these girls whose trust led to their secret being spread and them getting ridiculed and slut shamed for it: how many girls have taken their own lives because they found living with such a burden unbearable?

For the love of everything you hold sacred, please wake up sisters. The narrative that you can be used by someone powerful and you have to accept it because that’s the way things are is a man’s construct. Do not let them fool you.

[giftofwonder]

Cirque de Yuuie - MHA Various x f!Reader

A/N: Hey guys! So this is going to be a multi-part series of one shots. Each part will be a different character. There might be smut, we’ll see what happens. This is the introduction to the plot and characters. Some characters might have multiple parts as well. Let me know if you want anyone specific and also if you’d like to be added to their tag list! Also, let me know what you think! Feedback is always appreciated.

Intro

Your eyes cracked open, taking in the deep midnight hues that were cast over your room. Pale moonlight bathed everything in a faint glow.

You shifted, rolling to look at the clock on your bedside table. You groaned, pushing yourself up to sit on the edge of your bed and turned toward your open window. You could hear the boisterous chatter from the streets below. A cool breeze swept in and danced along your heated skin, and you welcomed it with closed eyes and a soft sigh.

Each night you found yourself waking up restless and antsy, unsettled. You’d sit in the confines of your room, and then dress and make your way to the tavern across the road. Tonight was no different.

Your tired limbs trudged across the cobblestone, pushing through drunken bodies that reeked of liquor and sweat.

You grunted as you pushed open the heavy oak door, finding it just as congested as outside. Bodies littered the room heavily, the music and laughter so loud it left your ears ringing. You weaved through the empty spaces and took a seat on a stool by the bar.

“The usual?” You heard a voice called out.

You glanced up, locking eyes with the bar tender as you gave a faint smile and nod.

A glass was slid in your direction a few seconds later, and you wondered if he’d already had it ready for you. You figured that must be the case, it was routine at this point.

“No luck sleeping again, huh?” He said, leaning across the counter as you nursed your drink.

“Afraid not, seems like this is becoming my normal.” You gave a dry laugh, trying to offer up something lighthearted.

“Seems like it. Something troubling you?” His head cocked to the side.

“Just the usual, nothing too bad.” You said, shifting your glass around in your hand.

“Come on now, you waltz in here every night and drink, people with problems that aren’t too bad don’t find themselves perched on one of my stools this often.” He whispered, his gaze intense as he inched across the counter toward you. His hushed voice was lost in the roars of the crowd around you, but you could hear him clear as day.

He wasn’t wrong. You had to give him that. The cluster of people surrounding you dispersed as groups made their way to exit back to the street.

Mummers still resounded around the room, but in the now much quieter atmosphere, you felt yourself relaxing. You leaned forward, propping your elbows against the chipped counter and braced your cheek in your palm.

“I just feel...I don’t know...an overwhelming amount of disinterest in my life. I wake up, I work hard and long days, I come home, eat and bathe and sleep. It’s a never-ending cycle that I’m doomed to repeat each and every day. It all just feels so lackluster.” You said, your voice soft as your eyes gazed at nothing.

“Well, that is quite the conundrum. Might I ask, why don’t you just do something else?” He quipped back with a grin.

“If only it were that easy.” You sighed, eyes slowly drifting back to him.

“Isn’t it, though?” He asked, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

“Is it?” You asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Hear me out, I’m no stranger to a hard days work by any means, but I like what I do.” He shrugged.

“Making drinks?” You pressed.

“No, I watch people. Get to know them, help them sometimes. You work in a pub and you meet a lot of people, hear a lot of stories. People get a bit of alcohol in them and suddenly their lips become uncontrollably loose.” He chuckled.

“So you’re nosy, then?” You spat back, a smile turning the corners of your lips.

“I prefer curious, it sounds much more pleasant.” He offered.

He turned and grabbed an envelope from behind him and slid it across the counter to you. It was unmarked, other than the intricate wax seal holding it closed.

“What’s this?” You asked, taking it and inspecting the “CdY” ingrained in the seal.

“A chance to escape.” He shrugged, and then leaned back abruptly, hands grasping glassware and a towel to polish the crystals surface.

“What do I owe you?” You asked, standing and grabbing your coin purse.

“Nothing. This ones on me.” He waved his hand.

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it. By the way, what is your name?” You asked, tucking the envelope into your pocket.

“Shinso, now get out of here and go off to do whatever it is you do when you stumble out of here each night.” He called, waving his rag at you. You smiled at the mirth lighting his eyes, offering a wave as you turned and made your exit.

______________________________________

You plopped onto your small wicker chair, it’s grooves lining up with your back perfectly, molded to your body after the countless hours you had spent hunched over in this seat.

Calloused fingertips reached to caress a fine silk that you’d never be able to afford. You pulled it to you, laying it across the table ahead and dug the patterns for a dress from the chest beside you at your feet.

You were a seamstress, and a fairly popular one. Women and men from both high and low society sought you out to tailor and craft their garments.

You had stitched an amazing collection of clothing, from simple gowns to the most intricate of pieces. Your customers had often boasted about your work, that you were able to create anything.

Until recently, you had been doing fairly well for yourself. You had purchased a home of your own, a massive feat for an unwed woman, especially one in her early twenties.

In the last six months, that had changed though. There had been civil unrest, looting and fighting at the capital. The local government had pushed back, increasing taxes heavily. With that blow came another, a new tailoring business on the other side of town. It offered cheap labor, using children from the orphanage as virtually free hands. The turn around was quick, much faster than the length of time it took you to produce a garment. But the quality was terrible. They used cheap labor and cheaper materials.

The first time you had seen their work, you had laughed till tears brimmed your eyes. However, the quick production and cheap cost had ended up hitting you hard. While the wealthy had no issue having you fashion something for them, most everyone else had flocked to them. It wasn’t terribly hard to do a simple stitch. To take in a gown or a suit. Suddenly, you found yourself praying for work as the jobs got fewer and fewer.

Meanwhile the heightened taxes left your coin purse extremely light. You hadn’t struggled like this in a very long time.

You finished the silken garment, folding it delicately over your arm as you took it over to the rack to hang.

Once hung, you patted off your apron and felt the crinkling of the forgotten envelope tucked in your pocket. You pulled it out, fingers dipping into the paper to tear it open. The red of the invitation was so bright, a high quality velvet lined in gold trim. You then wondered the status of your friendly barkeep, but chalked it up to his large amount of connections. Surely, a drunken man could be persuaded into giving an invitation in exchange for a free round.

Your eyes scanned along the paper, reading the fancy script that outlined the details of the event. You scoffed as you made your way back to your chair, shaking your head as the invitation was tossed onto your table.

A few moments passed before you picked it back up and read over the card again.

______________________________________

Your heels clicked against the pavement as you approached the large gate before you. You were in a state of awe at the lights and music making the night feel alive.

You stopped at the ticket booth, met with a disgruntled employee who looked half asleep. His thick yellow quilt was pulled taunt around his body and his hollow eyes stared at you with something akin to annoyance.

“Welcome to “Cirque de Yuuie”, admission is ¥220.” His bored voice stated monotonously.

“Oh...I actually have an invitation.” You said, giving a weak smile.

He held your gaze for a moment before he quirked a brow, his eyes scanning over you before he gave a sigh and a shrug.

“Alright, give it here.” He held out his pale hand, and you gently placed the invite in his palm.

He quickly pressed a stamp to your hand and shooed you away, so you turned and entered in through the gate.

______________________________________

You had wandered around the grounds for a while, but saw no familiar faces. It was odd, not even children were present. The cost had been rather high to enter, perhaps it was an adults only event.

After you had completed your lap, you were not too far from the entrance to the large tent in the center of the area. Red and white fabrics were draped beautifully, tied off with an intricately woven gold banding.

As you went to step forward, a large wooden pole cut in front of you, you gasped, your head shooting up to find a cheerful looking clown above.

“Whoops! S’cues me miss! Almost stepped on ya there!” He laughed, his painted lips opening to reveal his bright smile.

“Oh, no I’m sorry! I was enthralled by everything and wasn’t paying attention.” You waved him off.

“Ah don’t worry about it, it’s a beautiful night, and the tent looks great! I’ve been distracted by it myself! The names Mirio, by the way.”

“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.”

He nodded and stepped to make his way off back into the crowd.

“HEY WAIT!” You heard a loud voice call out, and not a moment later, two more clowns turned the corner. One with green hair raced along side a blonde with large sunglasses and a lightening-shaped black streak in his hair. They were tailed by a very awkward and scared looking mime who ran behind them silently looking like he was going to be sick.

“Come on, Amajiki! Hurry up!” The blonde clown yelled behind him, causing the mime to flinch and pick up the pace. You laughed at their antics, they were definitely a good source of entertainment.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! THIS IS YOUR ANNOUNCER: PRESENT MIC, PLEASE GATHER TO THE MAIN TENT AS THE FESTIVITIES ARE ABOUT TO BEGIN.....YEAAAHHH!!!!” A loud voice blared through the speakers overhead.

You pushed through the gathering crowd, entering through the fabric doorway. The ceilings were vaulted, and you were amazed by how large it seemed inside.

Chatter broke out amongst those around you as you passed a sign that read “Yuuie’s Spectacular Freak Show!”

You followed the corridor, peering in the labeled rooms as you passed by.

“Strongest Men Alive! All Might and Red Riot!” Inside the room were two muscular men. The blonde man was tall, looming over the crowd as he smiled and flex. The redhead was laying on a bed of nails, and a crazed looking woman with pink hair walked across him while he looked on unfazed.

“One Body- Two Men! Twice!” A man sat, arguing with himself, the crowd would call out questions and he’d answer two opposing ways, often breaking out into an argument. The crowd giggled and taunted as he yelled seemingly to himself.

“The Vampire: Toga!” Your stomach twisted as you watch the girl give a cat-like grin and chug a vial of blood. Shackles held her to her spot but she called out to the audience, telling them to come closer and let her have a drink.

“Invisible Girl: Toru!” You blinked at the empty room, rolling your eyes as you pushed past to the next stall.

“Frog Woman: Tsuyu!” A girl in a green dress crouched in a pool, her long tongue falling from her mouth as her large hand gave a wave. You couldn’t help but notice her webbed fingers and the faint croaks.

“Worlds Largest Woman: Mt Lady!” An insanely large woman sat on her knees, smiling and chatting with the audience. She was beautiful, but had to be at least 9’ tall.

“World’s Largest Man: Fatgum!” A very large man sat in the center of the room smiling and waving as he let children drift into his stall and eat from the various sweets lining the table beside him. Though the adults around you spoke insults quietly, you couldn’t help but think the man looked very kind. You smiled softly at the sight of a child hugging him in thanks before returning to their mothers side.

“Bird-Man: Hawks!” A young man laughed loudly, his beautiful red wings flapping as he gave a slight show to those who watched. Many looked on in awe and wonder, and women swooned at his charm. His feathers seemed to almost sparkle and while you noticed something mischievous in his gaze, you were mesmerized nonetheless.

“Dabi the Dragon and the Indestructible Bakugou!” This room was larger, and smoke poured out. You were curious about this one, as there was no crowd gathered out front. You only saw one person, a rather attractive but angry looking man, growling as he noticed you. He rolled his eyes as he lit off explosives in his hands.

Your hands shot up to cover your eyes, before peering out to see the man looked fine, bored even.

“That was amazing!” You exclaimed.

“Course it was!” He sneered.

Suddenly, the curtain behind him rustled and another man emerged from the darkness. He was shirtless, his body scared in burns that wrapped around his torso, arms and face. His black hair spiked wildly, just like the blonde beside him. He smirked at you, sauntering toward you before lifting your chin with his index finger.

“Want me to put on a show for you, doll face?” He whispered. You nodded mutely, feeling much like the mime you had saw earlier that night. He chucked and stepped back. His hand grasped a bottle and he turned his back toward you, taking a large swig from the drink.

He abruptly turned back, and blue flames shot from his mouth and filled the room. You could immediately feel the immense heat and no longer wondered how his scars came to be.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm, giving a small cough before grinning at you.

“Well, what’d ya think, princess?”

“It was amazing! Does it hurt?” You asked.

“Hmm? Nah, not really. Just burns a little.” He snickered at his joke while Bakugou rolled his eyes in the background.

“I also do a bit of sword swallowing.” He added, stepping in close to you.

“Oh, yeah? That’s a neat talent to have.” You spat back awkwardly.

“I could teach you, after the show that is. I’ve got a good one for you to practice on.” His deep voice said in a hushed tone, hot breath hitting you as his hand gripped the crotch of his pants.

You stumbled back quickly, mumbling about needing to find a seat, and then ran off to the main room of the tent.

Your heart was pounding as you took an empty seat in the front row that had your invitation number on it.

The lights around you dimmed and the seats behind began filling quickly. People chatted amongst themselves until the music changed and the curtains at the far side of the tent were drawn.

A pale looking man with light blue hair and red eyes slowly walked out, taking center stage.

“Welcome. I’m so glad all of you came to join us for the show.” His hoarse voice spoke out loudly. His eyes dragged along the audience, taking in those around him.

“My name is Shigaraki and I’ll be your host tonight. You’ll see things that you never imagined, acts of wonder put on display before you. Prepare to be in awe and amazed.” He cheered, giving and eerie grin.

______________________________________

Halfway through the show, they called for an intermission. The lights brightened as people stood and flocked outside to grab drinks and food.

You stayed put, reflecting on the show so far. There had been an amazing act with tightrope walking, acrobats and aerial silks. They had been called “Children of the Sky” by those sat around you. Aoyama, Mina, Uraraka and Nejire were their names.

Then there had been the father and son act of fire performance. Enji and Shouto Todoroki. They danced with fire and spun batons and hoops that were blazing. Their act would have been more enjoyable if the father had been quiet, but instead every few moments he’d call out to his son correcting his posture and moves. Mid performance, Dabi had joined them on stage. His blue flames shining brightly in contrast. He had quickly noticed you and his eyes lit up as your stomach filled with dread.

He marched over, pulling you from your seat as gasps and whispers of his damaged skin rang through the crowd. He didn’t seem to notice. Or didn’t care. He had spun you around, dancing as his azure fire lit his arms. You were worried you’d be burned, but the fire never touched your skin. He brushed his arms with his hands, extinguishing the flame, as the music had haunted. You watched the smoke rise from his skin as you frowned, but he simply took your hand and pressed a chaste kiss to the back of it before walking away.

You heard a voice rasp out “fucking show off” before seeing the angry blonde, Bakugou, take off after him.

Now you sat, watching a small man with balls on his head. He wore a jesters outfit and juggled before those left seated in the crowd. Slowly he made his way to you.

“Hey, how do you know Dabi?” He asked bluntly, wonder in his eyes.

“Oh, I don’t. Not really. I saw him in the freak show. That’s all.” You said, uncomfortable with the small mans leering.

“You actually watched him?” He asked dumbfounded. “No wonder he’s all over you.”

“What do you mean?” You asked perplexed.

“Uh hello, he’s gross looking. Definitely not as attractive as someone like me.” He beamed at you. You stayed quiet, unsure of how to respond and afraid to break the poor guys dilution.

“Hey I also do puppet stuff, you wanna see?” He asked, tone chipper.

“Oh, no that’s okay-“

“Okay cool, watch this!” He cut you off, pulling a small puppet from his suit. He dropped it and it limply hit the ground, the string much too long for him. The puppet dragged around weirdly as the jester spoke in a high pitch, giving the wooden body a voice.

You blinked, watching the train wreck as the doll slid through the dirt, getting jerked around by the man before you. He picked up the puppet and threw it at you, it landing in your lap. Then he pulled the string and yanked it back to the ground. You abruptly stood and walked away, hearing him call after you, but you only quickened your pace.

Once outside in the fresh air, a loud bellowing laugh burst from your lips. That was the weirdest thing you’ve ever had to deal with and you had been holding in laughing in the strange boys face.

“Seems like you’re enjoying the show.” A voice cut in.

Your head quickly spun, meeting the red eyes of the ring leader.

“Yeah! It’s nice, you guys are doing an amazing job!” You scratched your neck, feeling the hairs on your arms standing at the sudden tension as the mans smile fell.

“You weren’t invited here.” He stated.

“I...well I was given an invitation.” You replied.

“It wasn’t yours though. It wasn’t meant for you.” He said, eyes blank as his head cocked to the side.

“No, it wasn’t. I don’t know who it belonged to. A bartender gave it to me.” You explained.

“Hmm, is that so? Well, do enjoy the show then. But do me a favor, sit in a different seat when you go back in.” He sneered, and then he was gone as quickly as he had appeared.

You headed back inside, choosing a different seat in the front row that had been unclaimed earlier.

The music roared again as the clowns, Midoriya, Kaminari and Mirio, put on a show. Kaminari was being shocked while Midoriya rode around on a unicycle. Mirio stayed on his stilts and walked around the stage dancing and doing tricks. The trio was truly fun to watch, and then the mime, Amajiki, was shoved forward. A spotlight hit him as he stood frozen in fear.

“Come on buddy, you can do it!” Mirio whispered loudly in support.

Amajiki took in a big breath and lifted his arms, hands shaking as he formed an invisible wall in front of himself when a box hit him in the head and a drunken man “booed”. Amajiki immediately rushed to the shadows, pressing his face into the wall of the tent as an air of dread surrounded him.

“Uhhh...look over here!” Midoriya yelled out, pulling the attention of the crowd as he gave a large shock to Kaminari. Kaminari then “beeped” and “booped” and drooled as he wobbled around. The audience cheered and laughed.

Finally it was time for the final act of the night, the mysterious and powerful Mr. Compress.

A spotlight roamed the stage, and in a cloud of smoke he appeared. He wore a mask, top hat and yellow overcoat. His cane tapped against the floor with each step he took.

“Tonight, I will make you question everything you know about the world. Everything you believe to be real!” He called, and the crowd went wild, hooting and hollering.

He started with a few jokes, one about how he wasn’t the type to pull a rabbit from his hat, but then his hat shifted and he took it off. He pulled out the first rabbit, and then another, and then two more. You laughed at his seeming confusion. Finally, he plopped his hat back on his head and called out Bakugou to the stage. Bakugou marched to him, stomping his feet and crossing his arms as he came to a stop beside the magician.

Mr. Compress draped a large piece of fabric over the man, and then quickly pulled the cloth back to reveal a confused looking Shouto.

“I was just over there.” Shouto said, pointing to the other side of the tent.

“Yes! And now you’re over here!” Compress smiled, giving a grand wave of his arm.

“Aren’t I the one doing the magic then?” Shouto said blandly while Compress laughed.

“Alright then, do another trick for us.” Mr. Compress said, his tone amused. Shouto stood there silently, expression blank.

“I’m-“

“YOUR FIRE! USE YOUR FIRE SHOUTO!” His father yelled from off stage. Shouto glanced behind him, annoyance radiating from him.

“No. Nevermind. Just put me back where i was.” He said to Compress. Not a second later, the cloth was thrown over him and pulled off to reveal what looked like 100 butterflies.

The crowed oohed and awed in response, and you felt your eyes widen in amazement as well. It was so quick, you were trying to understand the trick, but could hardly wrap your head around it. This guy was good.

He went through a few more tricks, each a little better than the last. Finally he called for a volunteer from the audience.

Many hands shot into the air, while yours meekly raised. You weren’t one who gravitated to the spotlight, in fact, you had no desire to go onto the stage and have everyone’s eyes on you. But, you had promised yourself you’d let go for tonight and do as the bartender recommended. Escape.

Perhaps he could sense your distress, or maybe it was just because you were the closest to him, but he slowly walked toward you and extended his hand.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d love it if you could assist me madam.”

You smiled, cursing inwardly at yourself, as you took his hand and let him pull you to your feet and lead you to the stage.

Red Riot ran over holding a heavy wooden chair, one you might find used as a throne.

Compress lifted the bottom of his mask and pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, much like Dabi did, before directing you to take a seat. You did as you were asked, feeling the heat of the light on you, thankful that it’s blinding light prevented you from being able to see the crowd.

Mr. Compress started his speech about defying nature, and the use of powerful magic.

“Do not look away for a second, it is imperative you see your reality bent before you. With the help of my beautiful assistant, I will show you that the limitations we set for ourselves are often just an illusion. Anything you can think of is possible!”

He turned toward you, pulling the yellow coat from his body and leaving himself in his black vest and pants, the orange shirt beneath now visible. He pushed up his sleeves and held his hands outstretched toward you. You felt the chair jerk and sucked in a breath. It lurched again, and soon you were floating above the ground. You kicked your feet and smiled, trying your hardest not to shift in the chair.

Then the lights flickered, and a spotlight fell from the ceiling, crashing into the empty seat that had been assigned to your invitation.

In the moment of chaos, the chair dropped harshly, cracking against the ground as the impact tossed you to the side. You grunted, the wind knocked from your lungs and your eyes unfocused after smacking your head in the fall.

Screams were heard as the crowd panicked and scattered, the roars of animals following after them.

A harsh tug lifted you back onto your feet, and in the darkness you could see nothing, but allowed the person to drag you from the tent as your head spun.

Your mind was trying to process as you were pulled into a trailer, and as your body met the cot inside, you fell unconscious.

[writewolf90]

Rivalshipping Week Day #5

Rivalshipping Week 2021: Comfort/Growth

 Anyone who knows me knows I’m a wallflower. Sure, I can beat someone easily in a card game and will tell anyone off when they hurt my friends. A lot more people are learning the latter as they get to know me. Tonight, has afforded me an opportunity to do neither of those things and I stand politely in the corner of the room sipping on my champagne, smiling as people pass me and wishing I could just go home to my son.

Seto’s launch events are coming more frequently as the company picks up steam in turning out new technology. Never one to do something halfway, he makes them red carpet events. Lights, photographers, local celebrities in their finest attire fill the room as waiters offer fancy foods to those milling about, chatting in their affluent circles. My fingers grip tighter around my champagne glass. My friends sometimes make it to these events, but not this time. I’m content to wait for my boyfriend to be rid of the press for a moment.

A waiter offers me some kind of meat with fig jelly or filling or something I know it had figs in it but I’m not paying much attention. I’m hungry and lonely. I chew on it absentmindedly as I look around the room.  

When I finally see Seto, I can’t help the large smile that immediately covers my face. He walks toward me with purpose and barely stops to let me greet him before he grabs my hand and pulls me toward the center of the room.

“Come on,” he says flatly. He’s not smiling, but it’s not an angry look either. 

“What’s wrong?” I ask, still feeling that something is off.

“I think we need to have a discussion.”

“About?” 

He bites his lip and stops in the middle of all the lights, the people, and the holograms that line the room. “The press wants…they want us to take pictures together.”

I groan. “I told you we needed to talk about how public this relationship would be. I asked you to-“

“I know,” he says, cutting me off. He runs a hand through his hair. 

“Well?” I ask. “What did you tell them?”

“I told them my personal life is my personal life and they already have the pictures of us posing together outside on the way in.” 

I sigh. “That’s good. But how long will it hold them off?”

“Not long.”

I exhale deeply. “I love you but…you have to remember I don’t come from this world.”

“I didn’t either!” he says with an exasperated tone. I finally get a good look at his eyes. They’re pained.

I sigh and stroke his cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to- I’m just sorry.” 

He sighs too. “I didn’t want to come tonight, either, you know. 

I tilt my head. “Why not?” 

His eyes meet mine again, and I see the anxiety creeping up in them. He never liked talking about how taxing his job was. He used to say it was a waste of time. He had no choice but to show up and put out all the fires at his job and help his company strive for perfection. He used to tell me that any bit of faltering would lead to ruin. One day of letting things slide would make him feel he could get away with half-assing it more often and then it becomes a bad habit that destroys everything. But as I spend more time with him, the more I see the cracks giving way to anxiety attacks and burnout. I hate seeing it happen but as long as I’m around to catch him before he falls too deep into it, I’m happy.

“Do you need to… I don’t know what we can do,” I say, wanting to take him away from all of this. I’d say that we should just leave, but as the man of the hour, that’s not the most plausible thing in the world right now.

He rubs the back of his neck. Is ee sweat starting to form along his hairline. He tugs at the colar of his dress shirt. My heart sinks. It’s the classic signs of one of his pending anxiety attacks. 

“I know you’re not ok here,” he mumbles.

“I’m holding my own,” I retort. I can’t have him worrying about me, igornig himself fand adding onto his anxiety.   

His breathing is increasing in speed and is shallow. I touch his arm gently. “Come with me to the bathroom.”

He smirks through his harsh breaths. “I know it’s my event, but you don’t need to do me any favors. I may be the VIP here but I’m trying to keep my ego a decent size for tonight.”

I purse my lips, fighting the urge to give into his attempt at humor. I flash him a look that I hope conveys that this is not the time for joking.

“Let’s just go,” I say firmly.

I guide him gently by the hand towards the restroom. When we enter, there are other people at the sinks in front of the mirror. They all look up to us in unison and I see their eyes widen. All of them scramble for the only way out together, leaving us alone.

I pay no mind to what just happened and order Seto to stand along the wall. I grab a paper towel or two, fidgeting as it takes a few seconds too long for the sensor to spit out only a couple inches of paper at a time. I’m killing trees, but I don’t care. I fold up the multiple pieces I managed to get out and run them under cold water from the sinks for a couple of seconds. Behind me, Seto’s panting echoes in the room, sending my heart into overdrive as I try my darndest to move as quickly as possible.

His eyes are closed when I turn back to him. I can tell he’s struggling to breathe. I’m willing to bet his vision had gone cloudy before he closed his eyes. I press the wetted paper towels to his forehead and hold it down.

“Open your eyes,” I whisper.

He groans but obliges me. I hold his face in mine with both hands, keeping the paper towels against his forehead with my thumb.

“Tell me what color I’m wearing,” I say firmly. 

He frowns. “What?”

“Tell me about my outfit. What do you like about it?

His eyes leave mine and they search my torso as his breaths continue to escape his mouth shallowly and loudly.

“It…” he pauses, trying and failing to catch his breath. 

“Seto? Seto stay with me!” I order. “Tell me about it.”

“It’s…” he manages in tween two more shallow breaths. “It’s a shade of blue that… it makes your eyes stand out.”

“Good,” I say, not smiling but feeling secretly flattered. “Tell me more. What else do you see?”

“You’re wearing a…Dark Magician Girl pin on your lavender tie.”

“That’s it,” I say soothingly.

I quietly take his hand again and press it to my chest. “Keep looking at my shirt. Can you breathe with me?”

He winces, as if it’s painful to try and slow his breathing. I wouldn’t doubt that it is to some capacity. This isn’t my first time talking him through an anxiety attack. At least this one was building slowly, and I was able to catch it early. He’s had many worse ones where his breathing was so labored, he screamed anytime he inhaled because of the pain. 

“You’re doing great,” I say as I feel him grip my shirt in a fist. 

“I’m…wrinkling it,” he observes next about my attire.

“Don’t worry about that,” I whisper. “Just tell me facts about it.” 

Seto squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, fighting to control his breathing. He reopens them and looks down again. 

“If…if I look closely, I can see stripes.” 

I nod. “Good. What about me? Anything else about what I’m wearing? I need you to make me a list.” 

He looks me up and down.

“You’re…you’re wearing black pants,” he whispers.

I nod. He’s catching onto our routine again. Listing things doesn’t always come naturally to him, but I’ve seen it work. It’s worked for me before big duels, too.

“Your right shoe is untied.”

Shit. I didn’t even notice that myself. 

“Your tie is powder blue”

I smile at him. 

“You’re wearing a belt I gave you for Christmas last year.”

“Great! You have one more thing.”

He looks me in the eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

I grin, holding back the urge to roll my eyes. 

“What about 4 things you can hear? Can you list those?”

“Your voice, the dripping faucet, the beats from the music outside, and that light above you is buzzing.” He lists them all of quickly, but not too much so. His breathing is slowing even though he’s still not getting as much air in with each breath yet as I would prefer.

“What about 3 things you can feel?”

“Your hand, your heartbeat, and the towel is warming up.”

I remove the paper towel from his forehead. I feel his cheek and listen to his breathing, which is nearly where I want it to be. I smile.

“How are you doing? Do we need to keep going?”

He takes a deep exhale through his nose. He shakes his head.

“Well,” he says quickly, “Maybe one more thing.”

“Anything,” I whisper, not removing my hand from his cheek.

“You didn’t get to ask me what’s one thing I can taste.”

I open my mouth to question him, but before I can, his mouth is on mine in a sweet yet passionate kiss. His lips are firm and I open mine to allow his tongue to explore and get the full experience he wanted. When we part, I’m the one panting this time.

“I taste you,” he whispers. “There. I’m all good now.”

I let my eyeroll show this time. “You’re the only person I know who can come out of an anxiety attack and immediately do something like that.”

He kisses the top of my head. “Thank you. Really.” 

I smile. “Anytime. Really.”

[liquidheartbeat]

She Didn’t Choose This Life: Flashback

Barry’s fork and knife clink loudly against his plate, as he scoots his chair backward, hands perched on his inflated abdomen. “God, I am stuffed,” he says, already regretting finishing off four T-bone steaks and all the rich, decadent sides that rounded off the meal. 

From across the table, the eyes of the woman responsible for his predicament widen, as she cuts into her barely-touched steak. “Oh, really?” Iris asks, chuckling.

“What?” Barry asks, tilting his body forward. 

“Well, we’ve been dating for almost a year and this is the first time I’ve ever seen you full. Like actually satiated.”

Barry chuckles as he nods, slight unease shooting through him. It’s a simple explanation, really, but he can’t tell her that being The Flash has increased his caloric requirements, because he hasn’t figured out how to tell her that he is the Flash.

And it’s not because he doesn’t want to, it’s because, everytime he scrounges up the courage, he finds out another unsavory secret about her lifestyle. 

When they first met, she’d introduced herself as an art buyer, but conveniently left out the part about also international money laundering. That discovery had come months later, in the dead of night, when she’d slipped out of the bedroom for a phone call with one of her partners but wasn't nearly as quiet as she’d thought.

Of course, that led him down a rabbit hole where he also found out about the tax fraud and other financial crimes that would put her away for life if she was ever caught. Crimes that, if committed by anyone else, he’d gladly help prosecute as a member of the police department. But she’s not anyone else, she’s Iris, the first woman he’s ever fallen completely, wholeheartedly in love with. 

And yes, her misdeeds probably should make him love her less, but his heart doesn’t abide by common sense. Even from across the table, as she hides a lifetime of secrets under her smile, he knows the same lips that lie to him about her whereabouts and the source of her wealth tell sweet truths to him in the middle of the night. About how much she loves him and needs him. 

The same hands that gleefully count dirty money, help massage away aches she doesn’t know the truth origins of at night. The same hands that consort with criminals bring his body to romantic peaks, over and over again. 

And the same eyes that stare into him before he leaves her apartment each morning, connect with his soul, and let him know her love is real. 

As real as his is. 

“Barr,” she says sweetly, as she dabs butter from the corner of her mouth. “Did you hear me?”

“Hmm?” He asks, snapped back to the present. 

“I said...I’m glad you enjoyed dinner, because it’ll probably be a few more months before I sweat out my hair to cook again,” she says as she stands to gather her half-empty plate and glass. 

Barry laughs, gathering his hands on the table as she walks over to the counter. “It’s a shame a cook as good as you hates it so much.”

Iris returns to the table, walking over to where he’s sat. “I don’t hate it, it’s just time consuming, and my jobs…”She pauses, playing off her flub with a smile, “I mean job ...is very demanding. Doesn’t leave much time to cook.”

Barry frowns, nodding slowly. Another lie, and an unnecessary one at that. But she doesn’t notice his disappointment as she gathers his empty plate and saucers. “If I wasn’t with you,” she continues as she walks his dishes to the sink,” I probably wouldn’t cook at all.”

His smile returns slowly -- a truth, however small, makes him feel special. “Oh, really?” 

“Pretty sure. But my man likes to eat,” she says with a smile as she turns towards him, “So I have to oblige him from time to time.”

“So you cook...just for me?”

“Duh.” As she nears him, she pushes her slightly frizzy hair behind her ears,.

“Well, what else are you willing to do just for me?” He asks, eyes sparkling with mischievous intent as she stands over him.

Iris rolls her eyes fondly. He’s so stinking cute, extra cute when he’s confident, but she doesn’t have time. Not tonight. 

After their dinner, she has another engagement with a potential business partner that could potentially double her income for the year. Of course, she can’t tell Barry that. He’s a sweet, by the book CSI, who definitely won’t take kindly to her extracurricular activities.  

Shaking her head fondly, she steps backward, but he catches her by the skin of her flowy cotton top and pulls her into his lap. “Barry,” she protests, but only for a moment because his hand shoots to the base of her head and guides her open mouth down towards him. 

For a skinny guy, he’s way stronger than his physical makeup should allow for. He effortlessly twists her legs around his waist, and pushes their bodies together. But she doesn’t question it. She embraces it, moaning harshly as he kneads her ass in his hands. 

They haven’t had sex in a few days, and not just because of her schedule. He works long -- sometimes odd -- hours. But she assumes it’s par for the course, for a CSI. And she’s this close to putting on a show for her kitchen appliances, especially as he slinks his fingers towards the seat of her cotton shorts, dipping one near her slit. But that little touch of pleasure snaps her back to reality. Dinner and a little makeout sesh is the only thing she can offer him tonight. 

“Barr,” she breathes, as she catches his hand. But he’s defiant as he curls his finger against her.“I can’t,” she whimpers. “Not tonight.”

“Why not?”

“I gotta...prepare for work tomorrow.”

He lets out a loud sigh, face wrinkling in dissatisfaction. It’s a look she's becoming increasingly familiar with, appearing any time she mentions work. 

It should strike her as odd, but doesn’t. “Oh, babe,” she says with a pout, as she runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t be mad, please.”

He sighs again. “I’m not mad. I’m…” Disappointed. Wish you would tell me the truth , “ he thinks, but he actually says: “Upset. You've been ‘working’ so much lately. And Friday nights are supposed to be our uninterrupted time.”

Iris pouts, hating when she disappoints him. Hating that she has to keep such a huge part of herself from him. Of all the men she’s ever dated, no one has ever made her feel as loved, as safe, as desirable as Barry Allen. 

And yet, she feels she doesn’t fully deserve the love he gives so easily. Love -- true love -- isn’t shrouded in secrecy and shadow lives. But what will he think of her if he finds out who she really is? 

Just cancelling an overnight date has him looking like she punctured his lungs, and she can barely stand it. Biting her lip, to quell the trembling, she brings her other hand up, and rests them on his shoulders. 

He’s so tight and fraught with tension, and her touch seems to intensify it. God, he’s really mad at her. She tilts her head, managing a soft smile as her hands move in tandem across his shoulder blade, increasing the pressure as she moves. His eyes flutter closed, defiantly, her hands attempting to squeeze the displeasure from his body. And then she leans down, pressing a soft kiss just underneath his earlobe. “I promise, I will make this up to you,” she says, softly, “Okay?”

She lifts her head up to meet his face, still rife with displeasure.

“When?”

“Tomorrow-- promise.” In actuality, she has another client meeting tomorrow, but it doesn’t have as much riding on it. And she can’t possibly stand to see Barry look at her like this twice in one week. So she’ll have to reschedule.

“Fine,” he agrees.

Iris smiles, and thumbs his chin, happy for the compromise. “Thank you, baby, for being so understanding. I’ll make it worth your while.”

"Any time with you is worth my while,” he says earnestly, his words nearly drawing tears to the surface of her eyes. 

But she sniffs, hoping to keep them at bay. She can’t close this deal if she’s an emotional mess. And then she smiles, offering him one last kiss for the night. 

Though the need in his return drags one kiss into four, five, and six kisses. At least until she manages to snap her neck backward and pry herself from his lap. 

As she stands, she fixes her clothes, which almost ended up in a pile on the floor. Her eyes catch the time on the clock and she realizes she has less than 25 minutes to get ready before her business meeting. 

“So,” she says, casually, “Do you want me to walk you down to the lobby?”

“No, that’s alright,” Barry says as he stands. “Unless you want me to beg you to change your mind in front of your neighbors.”

Iris laughs softly. “No, definitely not.”

Barry stills, taking in the sight of her. She projects an effortless beauty, even with no makeup, slightly frizzed hair and pajama shorts. He takes a step forward and leans down to kiss her on the cheek, knowing that if he aims for her lips, he might not be able to stop himself. 

And while he’s not happy she’s working on a Friday night, at least she’s cleared Saturday for them. She leans up into his kiss, softly palming his shoulders with her hands. When they part, she holds his gaze. 

Two beautiful, chestnut brown eyes looking up at him sweetly. “I love you,” she says softly. 

His response is effortless. “I love you too -- now, tomorrow. Forever and ever. 

She squeezes her hands together excitedly, and does a little sidestep. It’s an obvious attempt to make fun of his saccharine tone, but he doesn’t mind -- in fact, he welcomes it, shaking his head from side to side. 

“Anyway,” he says through a growing smile, “I’m going to head out, and let you handle your business.”

She nods. “Okay.”

“Just please... be careful. I don’t know what I’ll do if  something happens to you.”

His words are weighted with hard truths she doesn’t yet know he knows, yet his tone still uneases her. “What could possibly happen?” She asks, feigning obliviousness. “I have like the safest job in the world.”

He sighs, loud and hard, but goes forward with her charade anyway. “By the time you return from the museum, it’ll probably be really late. Dangerous. You have to be careful.”

“Oh,” she says, eyes widening. Of course, he thinks she’s going to the museum. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be careful.”

“You are going to the museum, right?”

She pauses, just long enough for him to prepare for the lie to come.

“Uhh...yeah.”

His brows furrow as he crosses his arms across his chest. “Are you sure?”

She forces out a laugh, hoping to quell his rising concern. Because if she doesn’t get him out of here now, her entire evening will fold. 

“Yeah. I’m sure.” She smiles fluttering her eyelashes “Come on, honey. I gotta get ready.”

He takes a moment to contemplate whether or not to call out her obvious lie, but ultimately decides against it. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

She smiles wider. “Bright and early,” she says, as she glances at the clock, growing wearier of his presence. 

“Yeah,” he deadpans, out of options. “Bright and early…”  

************************

  Five minutes later, Barry swivels absentmindedly in his office chair, chewing on the dead skin of his thumb. Caitlin, who’s been watching his skittish display, glances over to Cisco, who pretends he doesn't notice her pleading gaze. Eventually, he sighs and begrudgingly casts down the chain of sour straws he’s snacking on, and scoots forward. 

“Dude. Just go talk to your girlfriend," he replies, voice filled with disdain. 

Barry shoots him a warning glance, in no mood to deal with his best friend's judgement over his choice of partner.  “Don’t.”

“Fine.” Cisco throws his hands up. “Then do...that...all night. But I’m going home.”

Barry sighs. When it comes to his relationship, talking to Cisco is like talking to a brick wall. He turns to Caitlin, hoping his other best friend can offer some advice.” Caitlin stews in silence a moment, carefully gathering her words. The things Barry uncovered about Iris are damning, and a stark contrast to the straight-laced businesswoman persona she presents outwardly. But she’s also seen the way Iris looks at him, those rare moments they all hang out, like he hung the moon just for her with his bare hands. 

Yet, still, she has to ask:  “Do you think she could be seeing someone else?” Her words are careful, knowing how touchy of a subject this is.

Barry huffs. Almost offensively. “No.” At least he hopes. “But she’s definitely still lying about her plans for tonight. Probably another dirty deal she doesn’t want me finding out about.”

Unable to resist, Cisco presses a hand into his chest. “Iris West? A LIAR?” He gasps.  “You don’t say.”

Barry shoots up from his chair, a second away from lunging at Cisco but Caitlin blocks him with her body. “Cisco. Please,” she scolds him backwards, gently pushing Barry in the chest.

That seems to calm him, as he flops back into his seat with a sigh. But Cisco pushes forward.

“Cool it, Cait. Alright. I’m not the one who’s leading on our best friend -- she is.”

“She’s not leading me on!” Barry yells, scooting to the edge of the chair. “She’s just…”

“...Not just an art dealer,  apparently, not in good standing with the IRS -- or at least she won’t be--and in no danger of becoming a Girl Scout troop leader. Or a nun either,” Cisco retorts.

Barry shrugs, unphased by his recounting of events. “So she’s not perfect. But I have my own secrets. “

“Yeah. You’re the Flash, but, she's a criminal, who lies to you constantly. About what she does, where she goes. How many times, since you found out, have you had to save her from the trouble she’s gotten into?”

Barry sighs; he’s almost lost count of the number of times Flash has scooped Iris from the pits of danger, during a business deal gone bad. Shadowy figures, unrelated to her business dealings, looming in dark alleys after she’s left some abandoned building, scorned men whose pockets she’d bled dry, but who couldn't pursue legal action due to their own dirty dealings, who took things into their own hand. 

One by one, he’d laid out anyone who crossed her path and had the audacity to even breathe at her wrong, which all amounted to silent acknowledgement between her and Flash. Because she damn sure hadn’t told him -- Barry Allen -- about these chance meetings. 

Another reason he had to be cautious around her. She held her cards too close to her chest. 

Cisco takes in a sharp breath. “I just want better for you man. You deserve someone who doesn’t lie to you.”

Barry holds Cisco’s gaze. “She might be a liar, but when she tells me she loves me, it’s not a lie. And because of that, I can’t just throw away our relationship -- we can get past this. I know it.”

Cisco rolls his eyes and twirls his hair round and round his finger. “Whatever.”

Caitlin, who’s grown tired of Cisco’s negativity, faces him. “If you’re not going to offer Barry any understanding, you should probably excuse yourself.”

“Fine,” he says as he shoots up, “’I‘ll go.” But when Barry finds out something else about Iris that he can't handle, I can’t be the person he vents to anymore. ” He pauses and turns towards his friend, who’s struggling to bite his tongue. “It hurts to see you like this, man.”

With that, Cisco makes his exit, leaving just Barry and Caitlin in the room. Awkward silence fills the space he leaves, as those little stubborn nuggets of rationale, in between Cisco’s snark, tries to penetrate his brain. 

Slowly he looks up at Caitlin, a fervent lea in his eyes. “What do you think I should do?”

“I think you and Iris need to have a talk. A long talk, about what you know about her. How dangerous this game she’s playing is. But most importantly, what you need from her, going forward if you’re going to work, romantically. Which I imagine is total transparency.”

Barry nods slowly, taking in her advice. These are things he already knows he’ll eventually have to do, but he still still isn’t ready, He doesn’t know how Iris will take him knowing the truth about her, and he’s not ready to deal with any potential fallout.  “You're right,” he says, the only answer he can scrounge up. “I wish you weren't, but you are.”

Caitlin tilts her head sympathetically, unspoken words fighting to be free. 

“What?” “

  “You….also... need to tell her you’re the Flash. I know, you have reservations. But if you’re willing to stay with her, through all she’s doing, she deserves to know who you are as well.”

Barry sighs, letting his head fall into his hands. There’s a universe of lies between them, and he worries their relationship is too new to handle such added weight. But he can’t continue to live like this, and can’t let her continue to live like this. They’re either going to be together, without secrets, or...He pauses, unable to let the rest of the sentence form in his head, then shoots up. “Okay. I’m going,”  he says, finally. “I’m going to go talk to her.”

“Goo-,” Caitlin starts, but he’s gone in a flash of lightning, before she can finish her statement.

  ************************

Iris steps out of her bathroom, with barely a minute to spare before Randolf Helming, the owner of the Helming Hotel chain arrives. He’s looking to cut his tax bill in half, by funneling some of his cash into a few high end art pieces, and he thinks Iris can assist him. What he doesn’t know is that the pieces she’s going to sell him are forgeries that only 1/10 art experts can spot. So she’ll pocket his commission for her time and also the value of the real paintings she’ll sell again to an unsuspecting schulub, later in the year.

Probably to some secluded older gentlemen, who buys art for social prestige, thousands of miles away in Prague or Berlin.

A hefty journey to travel, but a necessary trip if she’s going to do better at covering her tracks. Over the past few months, some of her old dealings have started to catch up to her, and she’s had more than her fair share of brush ups. 

Oddly, though also fortunately, enough, she was saved each time by Central City’s guardian angel: The Flash. Though, at this point, it almost felt like he was her own personal angel, always seeming to be in the right place when she was in the wrong place.

She’d think it strange if not for the multitudes of people he saves everyday. 

As she makes her way into the living room, she takes one last look at her appearance in the big mirror hanging over her fireplace. Her previously frizzed hair has been tamed into a low pony-tail, and her face has been painted with a light dusting of makeup. But it’s her attire, a chic red, high-waisted skirt and black fitted blazer blazer that's sure to wow any potential business partner. 

A knock at the door pulls Iris away from her thoughts. She pulls at her skirt, not wanting to give Randolf the wrong idea -- she might be dressed to the nines, but this is not a romantic engagement; she has to work to do-- then waltzes over to the door. 

“Mr. Helming “ Iris says warmly, as she opens the door. “I’m glad you could make it.” 

The silver haired man, who hovers around around 5’10 and is dressed in a light gray suit, lets his eyes travel unabashedly down Iris’s body before he greets her. “It is my pleasure, Ms. West.”

He takes a huge step into the apartment, nearly brushing his body against hers. Uncomfortable with the closeness, Iris steps backward, letting out a nervous chuckle. She doesn’t usually entertain her clients -- legitimate or otherwise -- in her home, but she figures that someone as high profile as Mr. Helming has too much to lose to act out of turn.

Still, the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention as her attempt to create distance does nothing to soften his gaze. “Well,” she says, running her hand over her hair, “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

“Oh, yes,” he mimics, seemingly remembering the reason for his visit. “Business. Lets.”

Iris smiles politely and steps aside to give him ample room to enter further. He strides past her, and heads for the couch, taking in the sight of her place as he walks. “Wow. The art world has treated you quite, well, huh?”

Returning from closing the door, Iris walks over, proudly. “Yeah, I guess you can say that."

At the couch, Randolph takes a seat in the middle of her cream colored sofa, and spreads both arms across the back. Iris, who was gearing up to take a seat next to him, pivots and takes a seat in the black recliner sitting adjacent to the couch. 

He frowns and scoots his body towards the end nearest to the chair, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort.  

“So. I hear you’re trying to lessen your tax burden,” Iris says, diving straight into business."

“Yeah.” He crosses one leg over the other. “My hotels are doing well. But as it goes, I owe the government 10s of millions this year in taxes and so I need a tax write off. And a big one.”

Iris smiles. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. I just so happen to have a direct connection to the Murdock Estate, who handles affairs for the late oil painter, M.N. Murdoch. They’re looking to unload a couple of pieces for the right buyer.”

“And when you say right…”

“Well, aside from the assets to afford the seven figure price tag, they’re deadset on selling it to an astute businessman -- someone who understands the value of fine art.” But who can’t tell a forgery from a real pieces.

He nods, pleased with her response. “Well, let’s see these paintings.”

Iris pulls her phone from her pocket, and opens up the PGN files of the paintings, still on display at the Central City Art Museum and hands it over to Mr. Helming. He takes the phone, finger sliding haphazardly across the screen, sending him back to her home screen. 

“Oops,” he chuckles.  I clicked off of the screen. Can you fix it?”

“Of course.” Iris reaches for the phone. As he releases it, his fingers graze over hers, sending a wicked chill through her. 

His skin is somehow cool, yet sweaty at the same time. Iris draws her fingers in awkwardly as she retrieves the phone and reset the screen. From the corner of her eyes, she sees him wipe his palms on his pants leg. Her return is smoother; managing to hand over the phone without making skin to skin contact. 

Randolf takes a moment to look over the pieces, genuine contemplation painting his face. His concentration on the task at hand eases her growing anxiety a tad, though the silence that settles over the room still tickles her nerves.

She glances over to the table, where the unfinished bottle of wine she and Barry had for dinner sits, and her mouth nearly waters for a glass. But she doesn’t drink while doing business -- at least not this kind.

When she looks back over to Randolf, he’s done with her phone and also eyeing the wine. “I could go for a glass, myself,” he says over a prickly laugh. 

Iris opens her mouth to respond, then realizing no words are coming out, pushes out a choked response. “Right.  Of course. Is Merlot okay?”

He nods. “That’s just fine. Though, if you have something a little stronger, I wouldn't object.”

"No,” she says quickly. “Just the Merlot -- I’m not much of a drinker.” She stands and smoothes down her skirt, and walks across her living room, towards the kitchen. 

Iris had already cleaned up from dinner, so she goes to the cabinet to retrieve two wine glasses. Even though she doesn't drink on the job, she has to at least pretend to indulge him if she wants to close the deal. 

Glasses in hand, she turns for the island and lets out a loud shriek when she notices Randolf is standing just feet away, at the other side. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you walk over,” she quickly offers towards his slightly offended expression. 

“Oh.” He relaxes some. “I am quite light on my feet -- blame my wife.”

Iris quirks a curious brow. “Your wife?”

“Ballroom dancing,” he says, settling his weight over the island. “She makes us go once a week. On my one off day too.” 

She smiles politely. “That is very sweet. I’m sure you two have a lot of fun.” Feeling more comfortable at the mention of his wife, Iris walks past him towards the table where the wine is sitting. 

His shoes scuff her floor as he turns, a sound that easily penetrates her eardrums. Iris turns just in time to see his outstretched arm, reaching for her. She  pulls away right before he lands and steps backward. He presses forward, trapping her between him and the table. 

“What are you doing?” She asks, now on high alert. 

He sighs harshly, his body drooping from the aggravation as his face contorts into a frown. “Oh come on; surely, you know how this works, Iris.”

“How what works?”

“I could get art from any buyers in the city. Men much more accomplished than you. If I came to you, it’s because of an added incentive.”

“Which is?” 

“ You.” He tries to press his body into hers, but Iris pushes him in the chest. He stumbles, but only barely, as Iris rushes to the other side of the table, grabbing the half-empty bottle of wine as a weapon.  “Get out. NOW,” she commands voice loud and firm. 

Much firmer than her nerves on the inside. There’s no way she can overpower him, physically. And this high up, no one will hear her screams from her penthouse. 

“Or what?” He asks, casually rounding the table, completely unphased. 

“Or I will bash your fucking skull in.”

She raises the bottle higher, hoping to appear more threatening. He chuckles, nearly spits at her attempt. “Oh, you’re not going to hit me. Not if you want to keep doing business in this town. Remember, I have a lot of rich friends. One word from me, and you’re toast.”

“Excuse me?” She asks, overcome with offense at his audacity. 

 “You heard me!” Randolf yells as thrusts himself towards her, and tackles her to the ground.  

The bottle of wine falls from her hand, shattering into a million pieces on the floor around them. He tries to kiss her and Iris squirms underneath him, fighting to free from his grip, shards of glass digging into her exposed flesh. She yells, the stinging pain piercing all her nerves.

 “Shut up!” He yells, wedging his leg between hers as he plants a firm hand round her neck. 

Iris freezes, pinned in place, chest heaving up and down as his tar-black eyes singe a hole through her.

“There.” His smile is dark and haunting. “This isn’t so bad is it?” 

Unwilling to let the last sight of her be a disheveled, powerless woman, Iris spits clean on his face. His hand shoots to the spot in disbelief, face as red as the blood trickling from the wounds on her leg, “Oh, you’ve done it now!” He yells, drawing his hand backward.  Iris presses her eyes shut, preparing for the blow. But where she should feel stinging pain, possibly a broken nose, she only feels a gust of wind and the relief of Randolf’s body no longer being on top of hers. 

The crash that follows is deafening as the force propels Randolf into her walls. And that’s when she sees a red blur, wrapped up in blazing lightning, delivering the final blow that knocks Randolf clean out. 

His limp body falls to the floor, his skull cracking against the luxury vinyl tile that covers her kitchen floors. The masked hero, who she now registers as The Flash, comes into focus. She watches him watch look over Randolf's unmoving body, making no effort to check on him.

Iris uses her depleted strength to stumble upward, grunting as fresh shards of glass pierce her hands. She lets out a guttural cry, nearly tumbling over from the pain. 

From the shock. From the devastation. 

He runs over and catches her, letting her body crash into his soft, open arms. She can’t even scrounge up the energy to wonder how or why The Flash has yet again saved her from herself. She’s completely overwhelmed at the fact that this night couldn't have ended so much worse.

And then come the tears, a ravenous stream down her face. Iris presses her hand into face, to block the sight of her 

“Oh, God. Are you bleeding?” Asks the masked man in panicked frenzy, though his voice unmasks him immediately.

Slowly, Iris raises her head, every odd encounter with the Flash she’s had over the past few months settling into place like a finally-finished puzzle. All the she time she almost met her demise, but didn't. 

He looks at her, fear coursing, over the lingering anger in his eyes, but that voice is unmistakable. It’s the same voice that awkwardly asked her out nearly a year ago, and grew giddy when she agreed. The same voice that’s crooned sweet “I love you’s” in her ear since that first night he nervously admitted it, over frozen yogurt.

“B-” Her throat is dry and ragged. “Barry?” She pushes out. 

With a sigh, he tears his cowl off, revealing fully the face of the man she loves more than she knew was possible. His cheeks are bloodshot red, his eyes puffy, and glossy, a clear sign his own tears will soon spill forth. 

“Oh, Iris,” he groans, sweeping her up into his arms. 

Now knowing this masked hero is the man she loves, has been the man she loves, she melts further into his chest, every bit of hesitation to maintain an air of control falling away. She cries, shamelessly, unabashedly, into his chest as he rocks her. 

She has a thousand questions, and knows he does too, but she can’t scrounge up a single one, only caring that he’s here now. That he’s saved her. Again. 

As Iris goes silent, Barry’s mind races a thousand miles a minute. He’d taken Caitlin’s advice and headed here to talk to her about her lies, never imagining the scene he’d walk in on. He can’t think straight, can’t even worry about his former objective, he’s only grateful that he got here in time before…

“Fuck!” Yells. Iris jumps against his chest, but he’s unperturbed. “You could’ve. He could’ve…” He continues, trying to push past the ugliness these sentences conjures in his brain, but the defeated shame on her face stops him. 

He kisses her cheek, and stands, lifting her in his arms, bridal style, though the apartment is devoid of the the joy of a burgeoning marriage. The air is heavy, as heavy as both their hearts, as her body in his arms. Yet he soldiers on, through the resistance. When he arrives at her bedroom, he kicks the door open with one foot and carries her over to the bed, covered in the black, floral comforter he’d bought her as a gift early in their relationship. 

Before he knew of the lies and deceit.

As her raw skin makes contact with the bed, she hisses in discomfort. “I’m sorry!” he’s quick to say, swiping a comforting hand over her head. 

“It’s okay, Barr,” she croaks Her voice is thin, barely meeting the air. She's afraid to bring up the obvious, knowing now that the sweet, gentle man she’s been getting to know over the last year is The Flash. A masked hero, a force of nature, keeping the city from descending into anarchy. But she has to express her gratitude somehow. “Thank you.”

He swipes a gentle hand down the side of her face, lingering on her beauty, then leans down, planting a soft kiss on the side of her face. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says, as her straightens his posture. “Now, I’ll be back.” He turns away from her and heads to the bedroom door. 

Iris sits up on the bed. “Where are you going?” 

“To see if that asshole is still breathing. Hopefully, he’s not. But if he is, I have to drop him off at Iron Heights.”

His response is dry, matter-of-fact, and it sends a tingle down her spine. “But. You can’t. He’ll talk.”

“It’s okay.” Barry continues to walk away from her. “He didn’t see my face.”

“But. Still. I don’t think jail is the right path for him.”

She isn’t saying what she wants, and he knows it. But he’s too amped up to care. “So I’m supposed to let the man who almost raped my girlfriend go free?! Is that what you want?”

“No. I…”she sighs, long and hard. “I just…”

He turns, the painful implication settling inside of him. Even after all of this, she’s worried about her dirty business deals. “What? You’re worried that the police will find out what you’ve really been doing all this time? How can you afford to live like this?” He motions around the apartment. 

Iris gulps, the judgement in his tone hurting more than the gashes on her legs. 

“Well, newsflash: the police -- me, I -- know, and have known for months. And what you’re doing, honestly? You deserve to be in jail.”

“Well why didn’t you say anything?” She croaks. “Why haven’t you turned me in?”

He chuckles, offensively. “Because...I love you more than your mistakes. And I was trying to give you time to either stop this or be honest with me.” He shrugs, painfully. “Guess it’s too late for that.”

“Barr, I’m sorry. I--.” She sighs, letting her head fall forward in shame. “ I’m sorry.”

Barry sighs. “Yeah. Me too.” He casts one final look of disappointment over her, one that softens ever so slightly when she raises her head and he meets her sad, concerned eyes. “Look, we can talk about all of this later. All that matters right now is that you're safe."

Iris nods meekly.

"I’ll be back in a sec to help clean you up,” he says, before flashing away, leaving her alone in the room....

[writing-prompts-for-friends]

Questions to Help World Build

I’ve realized I have a big problem with my writing. I am awful at world-building. Like, I just start writing without thinking about the world. And since I write fantasy. Well. That’s pretty no bueno and leads to all kinds of problems down the road. So I did some brainstorming with my friends and we created a list of over 100 questions to help think about our stories’ worlds and make them more concrete. Thanks to everyone who chimed in and gave me a hand! 

A traditional Japanese clock, wadokei, that counted hours from 9 to 4, starting from sunrise, and then starting once again from sunset. (1-3 were not used for religious purposes.) They’re super interesting and confusing. You should definitely check them out.

Temporal

Is your story set in the past, present, or future?

Specifically, what year(s), month(s), day(s)?

Are days 24 hours? Or does time pass differently in this world?

How many months are there in a year? Is it a seven day weekday? Does the concept of weekends exist?

Have most existing societies developed a timekeeping device?

Is there a way to communicate across long distances?

The concept of time zones is still relatively new to our world. Prior to the late nineteenth century, timekeeping was a purely local phenomenon. Each town would set their clocks to noon when the sun reached its zenith each day. Do standardized time zones exist across the world?

Geographical

From a planet perspective, is it Earth? If it is not Earth, or an alternative version of Earth, what is it like? Is gravity the same? Does it have a moon or multiple moons? Can you see other planets? Is it closer or further from the sun? If so, what impact does that have on the climate and passage of time?

What town, state, region, country, continent, planet does this story take place in? What are its bordering/nearest neighbors? Draw a world map if you want.

What kind of land is it? Landlocked? Mountainous? Along the sea? Desert? Tundra? Tropical forest? Plains? Agricultural? Industrial?

What kind of plants and animals are common to the area? Are there any that do not exist in the real world?

What are the most common crops and livestock in various regions? What geographic features influence certain regions ability to grow/raise their crops and livestock (positively and negatively)? Are the regions diets strongly influenced by what they are able to grow themselves, or do other circumstances (like strong international trade) allow them to have more varied selections? How does religion influence what is considered ‘normal’ to eat?

What, if any, natural disasters are common to the region? Earthquakes, floods, tornadoes, monsoons, blizzards?

How many seasons does it have? Are any longer than others?

What is the typical weather like for those seasons?

Does the region have any unusual geographical features that set it apart? Perhaps there is some weird thing like Devil’s Tower just chilling out. Or hot springs because of volcanic activity?

Is it easy to travel from place to place within the area? Is it difficult to travel because of terrain/technology issues, or because travel is strictly regulated?

Main Locations: Cities

Many stories take place within one city. In Neil Gaiman’s Sandman, a character remarks, “So, if a city has a personality, maybe it also has a soul. Maybe it dreams.” What personality does this city have? What soul does it have? What does it dream of when it slumbers? If your story takes place within a settlement, town, or city, give these questions some thought.

Exactly where is it located within the lands you conjured up in the above Geography questions? Does it have a bay? A river? Does it butt up against mountains? Draw a map of the city.

How big is the city? Is it compact, or sprawling?

How old is the city?

What is the history of the city? How did it come to be? What tumults and triumphs has it seen?

What is the population? Is it currently increasing, decreasing, or remaining the same?

Does the town have any claim to fame? Any tourist attractions? What are they? What’s the story behind them?

If it’s a big enough city, how many and what kind of districts does it have? Residential, Commercial, Industrial, etc. Where are they?

Are there any areas that are deemed unsafe? If so, where are they and why are they unsafe?

Is there public transportation? What kind, bus, tram, train, subway, monorail? Is it good?

How do people get around this city if not by public transportation?

Are the roads narrow or wide? Crisscrossing in a methodical grid or higgledy-piggledy?

What are the buildings like? What materials are they made of? If they’re wooden, are they new wood, old wood? If they’re painted, what colors? If they’re stone, what stone? If they’re brick, is it new red brick or blackened, crumbling brick? If they’re glass and metal, are they sparkling with new hope or dull and jaded?

Are there many skyscrapers? Or are most buildings 1-3 stories tall? What does the skyline look like?

Are there many parks?

How is the city powered? Coal? Hydroelectric? Wind? Nuclear? Has it always been so?

What is the city’s main source of revenue? Agriculture? Tourism? Manufacturing? Mining? Something else? A combination? Dive deeper into this. If it’s agriculture, what do they grow? Tourism–what is famous? etc. This will help to determine what a lot of people do for a living.

What are the demographics? Ethnicity, age distribution, distribution of upper, middle, and lower class, etc.

How many schools are there? Universities? Are any of them good? Do they specialize in anything? Do schools even exist? Perhaps there are clans that teach their children everything they need, for example, or education isn’t viewed as important.

Are there any particular landmarks within the city that standout?

How many and what kind of restaurants are there?

Are there supermarkets, open air markets, or both?

Where do young people go to spend time? What about adults?

Do people there bustle or do they amble?

What are the nights like? Does the city grow quiet, or does it grow rowdy?

What does the city smell like?

If you had to give your town a color, one that represented its personality, what color would it be?

Main Locations: Houses (or buildings, but mainly houses)

There are many stories that have a house or headquarters or hospital or some sort of building as their main setting. These questions will mostly be geared towards helping you figure out a house, but you can apply these to other buildings too probably.

Exactly where is the house located within the city or outside the city? How does your character usually get there? Draw a map. 

What year was the house built?

Was this house built by the current family or their ancestors? Who else lived in the house before the current dwellers? What were they like? Did they leave their mark on the house somehow?

What style is the house? Bungalow? Cabin? A shed? A cave? (makes the following questions mostly useless if so lol)

How many stories is it?

What is it made of? Wood? Brick? What color is it?

Does it have a lot of windows?

Are the curtains usually open or drawn? Are thee curtains at all?

What does the front door look like? 

Is there a porch?

You enter the front door. Or maybe you don’t. Maybe you use the side door because the front door is for show or something. Anyways. You enter the house. What room do you step foot into?

Draw out the floor plans for each floor. How many rooms are there? Where are they? How big are they? How are they connected? What color are they? What style of decor?

Is there a basement? Is it used or is it just a home for spiders and darkness and unwanted things? How about an attic? Crawlspace?

How many bathrooms? 

Are there any rooms that only certain people are allowed to enter? If so, why? 

What is the flooring? Carpet? Wood? Tile? Linoleum? 

What does the house smell like?

Government/Military/Economy

In other words, “the boring stuff,” if you ask me. But this is a very important aspect of any world. 

What sort of government is in place? Democracy, oligarchy, etc? Is it a just or corrupt government?

How are goods exchanged? Bartering? Money? Coins and bills? Credit cards? A specific kind of sea shell? Lol

What are the police like? Strict? Lax? Is there a curfew?

Do taxes exist? If so, do the people feel as though they are heavily or unduly taxed?

Where is the intersection between theology and law? Is it common to have religious leaders in positions of power? Are laws based around religious ideology, or is there an effort to keep them separate?

Is there an organised structure devoted to halting criminal acts? Are they corrupt? Who runs the organisation? How does their reputation change based on demographic? What is the history of the organisation, and how does that history influence how it operates today?

Regarding potentially criminal acts, what is the elgality of prostitution, sex work, ect.?

What about drugs and other illicit substances? Alcohol, illicit drugs, recreational use. Legality, festivity, age limits, etc.

Underbelly. How prevalent is crime, what sort of crime (scaled from pickpocketing to human trafficking) is there? Are there areas that have bad reputations because of it?

Regarding war, are there currently conflicts in the world? Are they international or civil wars? How common is it to have an active war? What is the history of war? What does current warfare look like (Is it dudes in metal suits swinging swords? Have longbows been invented? Gunpowder? Tanks? Missiles?) Is military service mandatory or voluntary? How is the military seen? Is there a sense of patriotism for the military, or does the common man fear it?

Is there stigma around certain genders entering the military? Are come genders regarded as better recruits than others? Is it illegal for some genders to enter the military? Does a person's sexuality affect their ability to serve?

How has religion influenced war? Have there been holy wars in the past? Do any religious institutions hold their own military forces?

Cultural/Historical

I’ve put these together because events in history lead to cultural change. You can apply these questions not only to the world/country, but also the city or even the neighborhood, workplace, or school that your story takes place in.

What is the history of the region? Who was it settled by? Was another group of people displaced? After that, did any new cultures come in? Did they get along?

Were there ever any wars or serious conflicts in the region? What was the cause and what was the outcome of the war if there was one?

In our world, the internet, social media, and film/tv are massive cultural drivers. They determine the latest fashions, jokes, topics, and expressions. What are the big cultural drivers in your world? Books? Plays? Radio? Oral tradition?

Is it a collectivistic or individualistic society?

What languages are spoken by your characters? Is multilingualism common?

What sorts of cultures can be seen? Do any clash? Do any mesh?

What sort of foods are most common?

What superstitions do people hold? Is there a version of “knock on wood” or throwing salt over your shoulder after a funeral? What are the roots of these superstitions?

Are there religions? If so, what are they? Do any conflict with each other? Are zealots or extremists an issue?

Does slavery or indentured servitude exist?

Are there any class or caste systems? If so, what are they, and what does an average day look like for a member of each class/caste?

How does a person's appearance change from country to country? Do certain countries have very distinct fashions? If so, are the fashions influenced by religion, surrounding countries, the cultural majority or international trade partners?

How does a person's clothing relate to their social standing? Is it very easy to assume someone's roll by appearance alone? Are there punishments for dressing above or below your social standing?

Does the society place a great deal of importance on a person's presentation, or is the society more lenient on such things?

Is there an emphasis on conformity to a dress code, or is individuality encouraged? How strictly is clothing regulated by gender binary? Is it commonplace to see a man and a woman walking down the street in the same cut of clothes? Is there a social stigma when a person does not conform to the most common form of dress for their gender?

How are sexual rights viewed? Does the LGBTQ community have the same rights as people outside the community? How are sex acts between people of the same sex viewed? Is it legal? Taboo? Are there cultures that encourage those relationships in some circumstances (like how the romans were down with guys with guys in the military)?

Are there any groups of people that are victims of prejudice? If so, who are they, who holds these views against them, and what views specifically are they?

In regards to gender, do certain societies hold differing beliefs? Is there a commonly accepted number of gender identities or does it change regionally? Is the most common gender spectrum a binary, or do certain racial and cultural differences allow for a wider range to be seen as the baseline?

Are children raised by their biological parents or are children considered to be in the care of the wider community? Is it common/acceptable for extended family to raise children, such as parents needing to study, work, or serve time in the military? Is adoption a common thing in society? Is there a stigma around adoption/being adopted? Do cultural or religious views impact how adoption is seen by the wider community? What is adoption like for a single perspective parent? When adopting, is interracial adoption accepted/common, or is it seen in a negative light? Are some societies more open to adopting children outside of their own race?

How is sex and virginity viewed? Does religion influence it? What is the age of consent? What is appropriate on a first, second, third date? Is sex something that is talked about openly, or something taboo? Are you supposed to wait until marriage? Do couples stay monogamous while dating? Do some regions place higher importance on virginity than others? Do some place higher importance on one gender’s virginity than others?

How is marriage viewed? Are arranged marriages a big thing, or are people free to choose? Is monogamy common? How is a marriage symbolized? A wedding ring, or something different?

How is divorce viewed? What is the divorce rate? Can people remarry?

Magic and the Supernatural

If magic or spooky stuff doesn’t exist in your story, disregard this section.

Does magic exist? If so, who can use it? What are the limitations to their magic? What things are they capable of using their magic to do? What things are they incapable of doing?

Are there laws against what kind of magic can/cannot be used? What sort of laws? Who enforces them? What are the punishments for breaking said laws if they exist?

How does the existence of magic affect religion? Are there religious institutions that infuse magic into their worship? Are there religious sects that see magic as immoral and in direct opposition to their faith? Have there been conflicts in recent or ancient history between religion and the supernatural? Do some sects employ people to hunt and/or enforce law over the supernatural?

Assuming that magic does exist, is it taught? Are there different schools of magic? Is there a system of ranking for magic users based on their skill level?

Do non-magic users look towards magic users with respect or fear?

What role does magic play in this world? Has technology not advanced because magic solves many problems? Or has technology advanced and the use of some magics has become unnecessary?

Are there any mythological creatures/monsters, such as vampires, demons, skinwalkers, dragons, or other creatures of your own creation? Are they common? Do people believe in their existence? Do people worship them? Where can they be found? Do they interact with humans? Do humans fear them or try to put up with them as they do nature?

Do the dead continue to exist in some form, such as ghosts or zombies or the like? Can the dead be summoned or brought back to life?

Are there human/supernatural hybrids? Perhaps a half-demon half-human, for example? How are these people viewed by their peoples, and by society as a whole?

How has the supernatural influenced war? Do armies tend to have a mix of regular and supernatural soldiers/weapons? Have there been wars between the supernatural/magical and those without? How does magic influence a person standing in a mixed army? Is it more likely for a magical being to be promoted than a non-magical being? Conversely, are supernatural being forced into service and seen as pawns?

The End!

Please feel free to reblog and share, and add on any questions you think should be added!

[couchpotatoaniki]

The Queen’s Consort

You love him dearly, but a servant cannot marry their Queen. Luckily, you’re not one to give up so easily, despite what others might think.

Pairing: Servant!Namjoon x Queen!Reader Genre: Royal AU, ‘Secret’ lovers AU, fluff, slight angst Warnings: smoking, swearing, mentions of misogyny Loosely based off: I’m a bit of a history nerd, so this is a weird fantasy mash-up of the reigns of the English Tudor Queens, Mary I and Elizabeth I Word count: 4.5k+

Pungent smells of rose perfume and sweet vanilla filled the room, a cloud of cigar smoke mixing in occasionally as it lay in the atmosphere.

You exhaled after another puff, feeling the tension in your muscles ease with every deep breath. Namjoon drank the sight of you, eyes closed, head tilted back, light grey smoke escaping past your puckered lips.

No matter how many times he sees this, he thinks, he won’t ever get used to it. Normally seeing you in tight corsets, confining gowns, adorned in pretty, expensive things.

But this picture of you is the prettiest.

No fancy makeup, no fancy jewellery, no fancy dresses.

Just you, in a plain nightgown as you smoked a cigar that lay loosely between your fingers, the firelight flickering across your glowing skin (blemished from the years of stress and fighting, but gorgeous nonetheless), and occasionally taking sips from whatever alcohol was in your chalice.

Today was whiskey.

As inappropriate as it is, you never minded him seeing you this unguarded. It was your time to unwind, and Namjoon helped you do just that.

In this room of paintings, you two sat on velvety golden chairs in front of the roaring fireplace and let go of the day’s troubles.

The real world was just on the other side of the door, a twist of the brass doorknob and you two would revert back to a Queen and her servant.

But in here...

In here, in this sanctuary, you were you and Namjoon was Namjoon.

Staff and all those who worked within the palace grounds knew exactly what the two of you were. How much you two meant to each other.

Whispers went about but neither of you paid much heed, even if it caused more than its fair share of trouble at times.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Namjoon asked, noticing how your relaxed brow returned to it’s familiar scrunched-up look.

Chuckling, you kept your eyes closed as you exhaled once more. “You know very well I don’t need money.”

“Okay then,” he huffed, “a kiss for your thoughts?”

One eye opened at his proposition, brow above it quirking as you smirked. “Holding those lips hostage, now?”

A large hand enveloped one of yours, giving it a tight squeeze as he sported a lopsided grin of his own. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

You loved seeing him smile, trying to etch the curve of his lips, the dip of his cupid’s bow, the two tiny valleys of dimples.

Using the thumb if your other hand, which had placed the dying cigar on a nearby glass ashtray, you caressed the knuckles of Namjoon’s hand. “Nothing, my love. Just the same as last week.”

The muscular man leaned in closer, whispering faintly in your ear, “and remind me of what that would be...”

His breath smelled of the exotic fruits he just finished eating and all you wanted to do was see how many you could taste on his tongue.

“How much I love my country,” you teased with a sly look, something you loved to do, and you knew that he did too. Probably why his lips lingered over yours, barely brushing together, and before you could kiss him properly, Namjoon abruptly pulled away.

Sat back in his seat, the taller man chuckled at your rouge cheeks and furrowed brow. “I promised you a kiss, only if you told me what you were really thinking.”

As much as you cared him, what had been lingering in your mind was not something he should know yet. Not how stressed you were, not how your advisors had pressed for you to marry someone soon and sire an heir, now that you were of age.

While one faction--led by Seokjin and Jimin, the Secretary of State and Lord Treasurer respectively--had pushed for you to marry the sole Astopian Prince, Jungkook, another faction of advisors (led by Hoseok, the Captain of the Royal Guard, and Taehyung, the Lord Chamberlain) wanted you to marry a noble from the country you govern.

These were you’re most trusted and efficient advisors, but the headaches they have been giving you make you dread to think of how much worse it would be with others in their position instead of them.

Sure, you’ve met the Prince who hails from the Jeon dynasty that has ruled the Astopian Peninsula for many centuries. Conquering copious amounts of land despite not being coronated yet.  An over-talented man with an ego too big for you to handle.

Safe to say you weren’t a fan of the idea of being tied to the childish person.

And then the nobility...

All those beasts wanted were two things: the jewelled crown on your head and the golden throne you occupy.

It was one of the reasons why the advisors were so pushy lately--people wanted your strength and your nation, and with no direct legitimate heir, your position became more unstable.

It was shown when you had to squash rebellions to overthrow you with a distant cousin or half-sibling you had no idea existed until you heard of their claim to the throne.

Either Father sure was promiscuous or they did well to cover their lies.

But there was only one man right for you, and he was happily tasting the strawberries you had requested just for him. Servants couldn’t get the quantity or quality of food of your palette. Filled your heart to see him try all the things your taste buds had now grown used to.

“May I lay with you? Just for a little while?”

He didn’t ask why. He didn’t need to.

Not because you were his Queen, but because he understood you. Knew you had more weight on your shoulders than any other in the country.

So Namjoon did what he he could to ease the burden, letting you lay your head on his chest once you both moved to your bed. Calloused fingertips, rough from a hard day’s work, brushed between silky strands of hair that cascaded down.

“Namjoon…” You could feel his hum vibrating through his chest as he continued to run his finger through your locks, gently untangling them. “Would you marry me?”

If he was shocked from your sudden question, he did not show it.

In fact, he wasn’t surprised at all. Despite how well you were trying to keep it from him--he would have to commemorate you for your efforts--he was still a part of the servants workforce. And servants talk.

“If we could... then yes.” His lips pressed against your scalp for a sweet kiss, mumbling, “would marry you in a heartbeat.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I love you.”

“Sometimes love isn’t enough for a marriage to work.”

Namjoon knew what you meant. A classic example of this case would be your parents, the previous King and the late Queen. Your mother slandered for being unable to bare any healthy children save for you, the rest of them unable to live past five years of age.

Their marriage was one of love, you had heard, but after her complicated fertility issues and the pressure of a nation on their heads, things turned sour.

You saw how two loving parents become bitter and died cursing each other with their last breaths.

“You’re right... but we’ve been able to work together well before we fell in love. We’re familiar with each other, how the other works. Their needs and wants. I won’t let us end up as a heap of melted wax, our passion and care for each other burnt out. And I know for a fact you won’t either.”

You heard him through the rumbles in his chest, finding the warmth of both his body and his words comforting to you.

“Be mine and mine only,” you muttered as your lids grew heavy, shutting from exhaustion.

Noticing this immediately, Namjoon chuckled to himself.

“As if I was made for anyone else.”

“--and make sure to increase the taxes on the fishermen in certain areas of the coast as well as lessen them in others. I hear the marine life is becoming scarce these days along the eastern seaboard and to replenish it, we should encourage the fishermen to avoid those areas of concern.”

“Yes, your majesty. That sounds like an excellent solution,” Seokjin said, though not at all surprised you came up with it (even if it sounds simple when you say it out loud). To him--as well as the rest of your court--you did more than an exceptional job at governing your state.

You were the best monarch they had seen in a very long time.

Only, there was one issue, and you were well aware of it.

Breathing slowly, you looked at your council, dreading the words you were going to say next, because the touchy topic was going to be brought up sooner or later.

“Is there anything else on our agenda today?”

The Lord Chamberlain cleared his throat. “Other than the daily workload, there is only one matter left for discussion, your majesty.”

“And what would that be, Taehyung?” you sighed, slight hint of sarcasm laced in the tired tone you spoke in.

“Your marriage.” Seeing you roll you eyes only fired him up more. “You really need to decide! Do you want to completely secure your throne?”

“What about marriage is so important that my throne is insecure without it?” you burst out, not being able to hold in your frustration. “There have been Kings in the past who have lived their entire reign in peace without tying the knot with another, so why me?!”

“Because your a Queen, not a King!” Jimin yelled back, his old habits of arguing with you while you two were younger beginning to kick in. “We all know you’re more than capable of of ruling by yourself, but others still have their old-fashioned way of thinking! They believe that without a legitimate heir from you, your throne is theirs for the taking!”

Hoseok rested his hand on the red-faced man’s shoulder, pushing him back down in his seat from which he left as he argued with you. “What we’re trying to say, your majesty, is that the world’s attitudes are years behind ours. They’ll keep coming for your head if you don’t produce a legitimate heir, and the only way you can do that is if you marry.”

Grunting with frustration, you stormed out of the room, rushing to your bedchambers.

Felt lightheaded. From the advisors, from the world, for the corset restricting your breathing. Too many thoughts rushing through your head, you didn’t see Namjoon following behind you with concern hidden beneath a blank expression.

It was only until you stopped to open the door to your bedchambers did you realise he was right behind you. “Leave me to rest,” you spoke firmly, remembering to maintain the roles of servant and Queen even if you two were at the boundary of sanctuary.

Wanting to say more but being unable to have the freedom to say it while you both were in the doorway, Namjoon simply sighed and stood outside as you closed the door on his face.

Threw yourself on the bed, hoping for some miracle that will allow you to knock out there and then.

First, you needed to breathe. You needed air into your lungs to stop the dizziness.

“In... Out...” You hear someone speaking from your mind, louder, yet more soothing than the rest. Namjoon’s deep voice lulling you from a past memory.

“In... Out...” You followed as instructed, listening to his advise to settle your pounding heart.

“In... Out,” you repeated alongside his voice in your head, finding your beating organ relax bit by bit until it returned to normal.

Squeaking of the hinges had not brought you out of the trance you were in, but the dip in your bed under a person’s weight did.

“Don’t mind me,” Yoongi said as he lay beside you, his arms crossed behind his head, “your servant let me in.”

“Of course he did,” you smiled. Namjoon knew that if he was not allowed to comfort you, then someone else would have to in his stead--and there was no one better than the Foreign Secretary.

Yoongi--like some of your councillors--had grown up with you. He knew you like the back of his pale hand, and he was the only advisor you completely trusted.

Others had lost that level in pursuit of their own ambitions; he was the only one who fought against you appointing him for his role, wanting to stay in the shadows--something he had grown accustomed to.

Only when you explained that his real job would be your Spymaster did he agree. It was the shadows he was used to, and you weren’t going to fully rip him away from his comfort zone.

After a few minute of laying side by side in silence, you began to spill your thoughts.

“No one has any idea how painful this position is. Nor how bothersome getting the throne was in the first place. Now they want me to marry and relinquish my power after everything I had sacrificed to get and maintain it. Want nobles and Princes that would just overrule me and ruin this nation I brought back from the ashes like a phoenix.”

Attempting to gulp down the lump rising in your throat, you just couldn’t stop.

“After the shitshow my parents and my forefathers had turned this place into, I returned it to it’s rightful glory. It became a mythical beast because of my efforts, and now they demand I marry a man who would mistreat me and my people, as if we were mere deer or rabbits rather than powerful, fiery birds of the sun.”

Silent tears rolled down the sides of your face, the muffled drops on the sheet being the only sound indicating to your advisor that you were indeed crying since his eyes were closed.

“What do I do, Yoongi?” you begged in a small voice, not to an official of your court but your childhood friend. “How can I marry someone who cares more for power than they do for me? More than my people? How could I marry when the whole of my heart belongs to another?”

“Well, that’s easy,” he replied--already knowing exactly who you were talking about--not even opening his eyes as you turned you head to see him, awaiting his explanation. “Just marry the person your heart belongs to.”

Glaring at him, you spat, “if it was that easy, don’t you think I would have done it already?”

“Don’t lash out at me like you did to Taehyung and Jimin. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You’re my advisor and you fail to give me advise--”

“I just did--”

“Advise that I can use.”

Opening one eye, he looked at your annoyed face. “I told you before that I didn’t want to be an advisor.”

“Well I couldn’t just let you stay in the gardens your entire life. You need people skills, and to do that, you need to socialise with things that can actually speaks,” you threw your arms up, gesturing to nothing in particular just to emphasis your point, tears dried. “Besides, I prefer your company and council over the rest.”

Yoongi was not one for taking compliments--it was an unusual and unfamiliar task for him, especially if it didn’t come from you--so he stayed silent from the next few minutes.

“Who said it? That you can’t marry the person you love?”

You snorted at his stupid comment. “Everyone, Yoongi. Everyone.”

“Really?” He clicked his tongue. “That’s strange. I’ve never heard anyone say those words to you directly, and I’m the Spymaster.” He saw how you gnawed on your lip, eroding away the ruby lipstick until you finally got what he said.

Rapidly propping your body on your elbow, you snapped your face to look at him. “Are you suggesting I just marry who I want anyway?”

“Well, yeah, that is what I said at the start.”

Sent him a pointed look. “You know there’s gonna be a lot of opposition.”

“So? You’ll face opposition if you choose one faction over the other. You already face it daily anyway, so I don’t see the point in fretting over it. At least this way, you can live your life with the person you love the most.” 

For the first time during the entire conversation, Yoongi’s face softened as he sat up with you, taking your hands in his as a comforting gesture. They weren’t Namjoon’s hands--certainly weren’t as big or warm--but they did the trick.

“Listen, the only reason they’re pushing for a marriage with a nobleman or a foreign prince is because they want to milk this opportunity for all it can be. An advantageous marriage, that’s all they’re looking for.”

“But their main issue can simply be resolved with an heir.”

“Exactly. You can have a legitimate heir with the person you love, regardless of his status. All you have to do is marry him.”

Bursts of happiness bloomed in you, showing your smile and rosy cheeks, in your thumping heart and rushing blood. Unable to contain it, you pounced on your old friend. “God bless you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Don’t thank me,” he chuckled, with his own ruddy cheeks, “Besides, I never approved of those half-baked fools they offered to you. Especially Prince Jungkook.”

Releasing him from your tight hold, you looked at him fondly. “Would’ve been a pain in my ass if I really had married him.”

“Mine too,” he shuddered at the thought, “Rather have someone I know marry you than an arrogant stranger that I have to learn how to speak respectfully to.”

“You should be used to it!” You lightly hit his arm. “You’re the Foreign Secretary! It’s your job to talk to arrogant strangers.”

“And I dread every meeting,” he grimaced.

“...so it would be wise to change the systems in the areas that are being raided. For those most at risk, use all you can to protect our citizens. Place more guards and use stronger, more-resistant building materials for reconstruction, and also see if you can build an underground shelter for the people to take refuge in, stocked with supplies.”

“Wonderful, your majesty,” Seokjin said, scribbling down what you said in his little notebook. “We’ll begin that immediately.”

“Good,” you said, leaning back in your chair, which was significantly bigger and fancier than the others. “Is there,” you sighed, still not ready for the conversation to come. “Is there anything else on today’s agenda?”

“You know very well what we’re going to say, your majesty.” Your eyes landed on Jimin, who was much more calmer than last week.

“Yes, I know.” Briefly, your eyes shot to Yoongi, who was sat opposite to you on the large, round, spruce table. Puff of air pushed out of your lungs as you cracked your knuckles as a way to release the tension in your fingers. “How about this? State your cases; who you nominate to be my husband...”

Taehyung was smart, so he caught your hesitation. “But..?”

“But I have conditions of my own. Two, to be exact. Nothing exactly difficult.”

Hoseok scratched his head, feeling somewhat happy you’re not avoiding this topic as usual but also slightly suspicious.

“You main argument for me to get married is so I can have a legitimate heir, right?” Mumbles of agreement erupted around the room. “Good. So my first condition would be that whoever I marry won’t be King, they will be my consort.”

“But that’s unorthodox,” Seokjin piped in, more as if it was a passing thought than a counter-point.

“So would you rather me marry and then be overruled?” Your brow quirked, challenging them. Standing, you looked around, leaning your weight on the hands on the table.

“All of us here know that I am more than capable of ruling--you even said it yourself, Jimin. I know I can handle the weight of the country on my shoulders. Have been since I was 15, and I won’t allow some officious idiot ruin what I’ve build from the ground up.”

None of the advisors said another word on the matter since they knew you were right. Their Queen knew the country inside-out and having another person who had less experience or was not so familiar with the customs of the nation become more powerful was certainly a recipe for disaster.

“Very well,” Seokjin muttered. “Your second condition, your majesty?”

“This one may be a bit more challenging for you to follow, but it is just as important as the last.”

“And that is...?” Hoseok pried.

“After I choose, there will be no arguing. The monarch’s word is final and you should treat it as such. Once the decision is made, all of you--regardless of personal opinions--will have to greet the Consort with respect since they will become a part of the Royal Family.”

Carefully crafted words made the others oblivious to your plan. All but Yoongi.

“I think it’s safe to say that we all agree to your quite reasonable conditions, don’t we?” Taehyung looked around the room to see if anyone would object to his statement and, luckily, no one did.

Sitting back down on your seat with a silent groan, you waved your hand to signal the start of the debate. “Finish this matter by noon.”

With no further need for delay, the talks began. Seokjin, Jimin, and a few others opted for Prince Jungkook on the basis that he held power and knowledge, while trade and relations between the two countries would be much better.

An argument that you could handle without being married to him by simply being his friend and whatnot--but you of course kept this to yourself.

Various others began to offer you more local choices of husbands; lords, earls, dukes and the like. Hoseok and Taehyung both wished for the Duke of Lysia as he held a lot of support from the people, understanding of the country and culture and had retainers for your army should you need them.

It was as if they had forgotten you had no need for more love from your people since almost every single one already supported you. Also letting the fact that it would be treason if the Duke didn’t raise his retainers for your army upon your orders slip their minds.

But as the two sides died down, you looked at your Foreign Secretary. “You’ve been awfully quite, Min. Do you have someone’s name to put forth?”

“Yes, I do, your majesty,” he said quietly, appearing to be uninterested but you knew better.

Chuckling beneath your breath at his coldness, though never letting the smile become visible, you cocked a brow. “And who would that be?”

“Kim Namjoon. Your personal servant.”

“This is preposterous!” Jimin yelled, slamming his fist on the polished spruce.

You lifted your hand up to silence the Lord Treasurer, glaring eyes reminding him of your second condition before returning to question Yoongi. “On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that you both love each other.” He tilted his head to the side, yawning.

“Also on the grounds that he too is familiar with the royal customs and culture of this country, not to mention that he normally overhears what goes on in important meetings--excluding this one, of course. You confide in him and he has never broken your trust, despite how well he is within the servants--who often tend to chatter amongst themselves. He knows the ins and outs of the place and already unofficially aids you in decision-making.”

He licked his lips. “And, most importantly, he is fertile so you can sir a legitimate heir.”

“But what about his lack of power?” the Captain of the Royal Guard countered.

“He knows how to move with the people. The lad keeps his ear close to ground and is smarter than he looks. Besides, none of this matters since he’ll be a consort anyway, not a King.” Yoongi lazily shot back, killing Hoseok’s argument.

Silence grew over the room as each pair of eyes looked in your direction, already knowing the decision deep in their hearts. “A five minute recess is required.”

The advisors all stood as you did, only taking their seats again once you had left the room and the double oak doors shut behind you.

“How was the meeting, your majesty? Was awfully long this time. Any difficulties?” Namjoon enquired, not knowing what exactly went on.

Without answering him, you walked to a nearby empty room, with him trailing just behind. Turning on your heel, you held his arms, intensely looking in his eyes. “Did you mean it? When you said you would marry me if you could?”

Knowing that the two of you were hidden in a temporary haven, he gazed lovingly at you, caressing your cheek with his rough hands that only seemed to sooth you. “Of course I did, my love.”

“And if I could make that happen? Today? What would you say?”

As if he ate multiple salted crackers, Namjoon found his mouth dry up instantly. “What?”

Seeing his hesitation, you fought back the bad thoughts, the lump in your throat, the storm brewing in your stomach. “What would you say?” you pressed again, much harder than last time.

“I-I...I can’t.”

Tears tried to spring into your eyes, the sheer willpower you had to stop them from showing made your eyes burn. “Why?” Your tone turned stiff and stone-cold. He hated that--hearing you talk to him without emotion.

“Because it would mean I would have to become King. Although I want to lessen the burden you carry by your lonesome, I can’t take away the power you fought so hard to keep. Can’t be a ruler this nation and you deserve.”

Water began to spill as you closed your eyes, a sigh of relief escaping past your lips as your legs gave out under you. Luckily Namjoon was there to catch you. Lifted you from the ground and place you gently on a nearby chair. “You should really explain before you finish.”

His brows furrowed, kneeling down in front of you as he looked up to see your soft smile that had his heart beating just a fraction faster. “Should know better than to doubt my love for you at this point,” Namjoon whispered against the cold skin of your hands that he held in his own warmer ones.

Chortling lightly, you leaned to rest your forehead against his. “I really should, shouldn’t I?” Biting the lower flesh of your lip, you continued. “Would you reconsider if I said you’d only be my consort? Not a King?”

Could feel his lips stretch into a smile as it was still pressed against your knuckles. “If that’s the case, then definitely.”

“Good,” you grinned, standing up as you noticed the time on the clock. Wiping away the tears, you checked to see if you were decent in one of the mirrors.

Giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, you kissed his cheek. “Time to tell them my decision.”