#and then turn around and say that slavery was okay in some forms because that was just normal for the time/not 'as bad' as it would get

[thedissonantverses]

Dragon Age as an Introduction to Post-Modernism(Part 1)

“The center cannot hold.” This is one of my favorite quotes in the English language. You’d think I’d have first heard it one of my many literature classes but no, I first saw it in Stephen King’s The Stand, which if you haven’t read it is a buck-wild coked out good vs evil narrative where the Antichrist uses the U.S. Military to destroy the world.

Anyhow, the full poem is by William Butler Yeats and goes like this:

“Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it

Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again; but now I know

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?”

Now dear reader, I don't know about you, but when I read that I am strongly reminded of:

"And so the Golden City is Blackened

With each step you take into my Hall.

Marvel at perfection for it is fleeting.

For you have brought sin into Heaven.

And Doom upon all the World. "

Before we go any further, we need to define Post-Modernism as a school of thought. But first, we start with Modernism because it is easier to define the former against its predecessor. In a lot of ways, Modernism was driven by schools of thought like the Enlightenment. There's the idea that there is some kind of utopia humanity is striving for. If you were a say, white, upper-class man in the 1880's who sees more democracies forming, more advances in science and technology, less restrictive rule of the church, it was easy to think that humanity was going to achieve some great final universal destination. Humanity is ultimately good and eventually everything will be okay.

Then WWI happened. Yeats’ poem above? The historical context surrounding it is the utter, devastating ruin that was WWI. A war often overshadowed by the sheer, unapologetic evil of WWII, but WWI was the first time in history humanity saw what horror technology, biological warfare, and mechanical ingenuity can unleash. Nine million military dead, 23 million wounded, and 8 million civilians dead. Try to wrap your head around those numbers. How do you cope with the knowledge that humanity is even capable of that kind of unmitigated destruction. That we can rip entire countries to shreds and not even blink. At the same time, the Spanish Influenza killed, by the lower estimates, 50 million people. The human brain physically cannot comprehend what those numbers look like. An entire generation was just gone. I cannot emphasize enough what this phase of history did to humanity on a large scale, psychologically and physically. All of the worst things we are capable of a species, we did and then some.

Which is how we get to Post-Modernism. Rather than aiming for some universal ideal, we are aiming to understand. The center cannot hold because there is no center and never was. There is no universal morality. Get comfortable with cognitive dissonance and unreality. Get comfortable with the idea that two things can and must be true at once.

Just to make it perfectly clear, Post-Modernism is not a centrist philosophy. There are very hard lines in the sand when it comes to things like slavery, genocide, colonialism, eugenics, centrism, fascism. We do not tolerate such things on this blog. Okay? Okay. One of the reasons I'm writing this is because I truly think the death of media literacy is contributing to the rise of fascism we're seeing world-wide. Forgetting, ignoring, and white-washing history is not the goal.

Another large takeaway from Post-Modernism is that if you read a war story and came away feeling inspired, it's probably a bad story. I strongly recommend Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five or Tim O'Brian's The Things They Carried if you want good books to explore this particular topic further. War is horror. It is the Void, the emptiness you stare into that stares back. It takes everything from you, including yourself. Trying to make sense of something so senseless is a Sisyphean task I, and many other have spent our whole lives chasing. One of the reasons I'm so fascinated by history was when I learned about the Holocaust and just could not understand.

Until I did.

As for how all of this applies to Dragon Age, what I want to spend the next four parts exploring how these ideas of unreliable narration, existential horror, history being written by the victors, and that one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter are the whole point. I want to take a look at each game individually through my favorite literary school of thought. Hope to see you on the next part, where I shall tackle Origins first.

[slocumjoe]

I always thought it was weird that Hancock's drug addiction (or at least dependency) was never addressed.

And honestly I just look to fanon to finish Danse's character arc and I forget that isnt canon

Although why do you say that Cait's backstory was fetishized? And why was Nick Valentine's quest messed up?

YOU FOOL, YOU'VE OPENED A DOOR YOU CANNOT CLOSE

I GUESS IT'S TIME FOR...

THE CAIT BREAKDOWN

(TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR S/A, ADDICTION, AND ABUSE)

Firstly, some ground rules. This is directed at a Certain Kind of Contrarian, the kind of person who thinks characters are free-thinking entities with free will, who seemingly thinks they pop up fully formed out of the ground with no liberties taken by a writer. I need to preface this because these people always show up when discussing these kinds of characters.

We need to look at Cait in a Doyist lens. She is not a real person. Everything she does and went through was decided by her creators. It is a waste of time to justify something by saying well, this happens in real life, people go through this, people do this, because those actions and people are real. Cait is based in reality, but she herself is a puppet being pulled around with other puppets.

It can be viable to consider Cait in a Watsonian lens, but ultimately, we won't get anywhere picking her apart like that. Doing so would be taking her at face value, when Cait has a lot more going on behind the curtains. The Person and the Character Cait is, they're very different. One is a Person, the other is what decides that Person's personality, history, everything. Character comes first. You cannot defend Character by pointing at Person and saying that the Person exists in a world where anything is possible. Character comes first. Yes, Person exists, but Character defines it, and with Cait, we are discussing her Character.

We need to talk about the decisions made about Cait's Character, 'cause oh boy, ol' Beth really made some, didn't they?

FUCK UP 1: BETHESDA DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO HANDLE ADDICTION

Cait's Psycho use starts after killing her parents, and at some point, she becomes addicted. Later, as it starts negatively affecting her, even causing her cough up blood, she no longer views it as worth the high. Why did Cait start using, though?

Well, look at everything she had gone through. We'll get to how poorly her backstory itself is handled, and how lackadaisically Bethesda throws various traumas at her with all the grace and care of a small child throwing rocks at cars on the highway, but for now, we're focusing on the Psycho use.

Cait uses to cope with her trauma, that much is obvious. That's usually why characters and IRL people turn to substances. The issue here is how Bethesda treats both the use, and the...fuck, is it fair to call that fucking chair recovery?

The chair. That Fucking Chair.

I wanted an option to say nope, we're not doing this to you, we're leaving. But...no. The actual solution to Cait's 20+ years of trauma was to lock her in an interrogation chair and have her tortured for a few minutes.

Okay. Let's discuss this.

Cait used Psycho seemingly as a way to both punish herself and never think about the shit she went through. Psycho makes the user aggressive, so it stands to reason, also cruel and capable of using that aggression. Perhaps Psycho influenced her feelings at any moment, allowing her to not care about killing her parents, or about her slavery. Either way, Cait is already being hurt, and it very much is self-harm.

So, the solution, the thing to help Cait, get her on the first step to recovery from both her trauma and her addiction, is to hurt her. Punish her. It very much reads like punishment, you are locked into a chair. She sits there whimpering in pain. Now, this makes sense for Vault Tec and their experiment with this vault.

But...as the end of Cait's arc?

We're getting into some potentially controversial territory, but...it's proven, time and time again, that compassion and sufficient resources are the best, and pretty much the only, way for an addict to recover. It isn't enough to just stop using, get off it. You have to address the circumstances that lead to the addiction. Yes, some people will choose not to stop using, they'll choose to remain addicted and never attempt to get help for their issues. But that doesn't mean the ones who want to shouldn't get the opportunity. And those opportunities need to be compassionate.

A TORTURE CHAIR IS NOT COMPASSIONATE.

It reads as a scare tactic. Don't do drugs, kiddies, or else you'll get so bad, you'll have to be locked into a chair and get tubes and needles attached to you, and be tortured for a few minutes. Jesus H Christ.

You know what makes this even worse? The blatant condemnation and mockery of actual recovery. The AA meeting in the overseer's room, in that vault? Bethesda makes a joke of it! Cait calls it bullshit! Motherfucker, AA meetings are one of, if not the, most effective ways to keep someone off a substance! It gives people a community, an echo chamber reminding them how bad their circumstances were and how much better they are without their substance. AA meetings are crucial for addicts, and Bethesda mocks it, criticizes it as stupid, and then portrays torture as the solution. They do this with their addicted character. You are supposed hear Cait call it stupid, ineffective, a waste of time. That is so fucking irresponsible.

Here's the obvious answer as to how Cait's addiction should have been handled; Cait herself either mentions wanting to come off it, or the Sole Survivor intervenes and suggests she stop using. From there, the Sole Survivor acts as a sponsor, or just a friend keeping an eye on her. Y'know, how substance recovery actually works?

Yes, it's not that easy IRL, and it doesn't have to be in game, she can relapse, even. But whatever happens, you cannot address a trauma-based drug addiction with more trauma being the cure. Holy shit, dude.

FUCK UP 2: BETHESDA STUCK EVERY TRAUMA TAIL ON THIS DONKEY

Cait's backstory is bloated with every kind of trauma, and it reads as very...last minute?

Actually look at it. She was grotesquely abused for 18 years, sold into slavery for a few more years, killed her parents, got a drug addiction, and then basically enslaved in a fighting pit for a few more years as a means of a suicide attempt, and then she gets traumatized when she gets clean because, again, that chair literally tortures her.

Starting at the beginning...why did her parents wait until she was 18 to sell her? Would the slavers not take kids? Did her parents not want her being raped underage, for some reason? Why 18, specifically?

Because Bethesda are cowards, and I mean that. They wanted all the abuse and trauma for Cait they could get, but...child rape? That was a little far for them.

Rule 1 of writing dark shit: If you, at any point, feel like you've gone too far, back the fuck up. Don't start walking left instead of forward. Bethesda wanted her nightmare upbringing, but child rape bothered them. So, they just had her sold at 18, but that's incredibly contrived. Hey, Beth? If it bothered you, you shouldn't have gone near it. Skirting the topic is a cowardly writer's way out. Shit or get off the pot.

Now, you can write a character with this much trauma. You just have to actually handle it.

Cait should be way more unhinged. You should be able to look at her, speak to her once, and figure out oh, this woman has been through hell. Instead, Cait is surprisingly well-adjusted. She's a little rude and doesn't care much for good-guy morality.

Here's where those Contrarians come in, saying "People don't have to act like their trauma!" They don't. But those are real people. Cait was made, and she was made with a normal personality and a horrifically detailed nightmare origin story. It isn't that Cait just powered through and got out okay despite all odds, it's that Bethesda didn't fully think about how her trauma would actually affect her.

If anyone played Silent Hill 2, remember Angela Orosco? She was also incredibly abused and mistreated all her life, and actually, her story is remarkably similar to Cait's in every way. And Angela, she acts like a person who's been traumatized at every single turn. Watching Angela is heartbreaking even if you don't know what she's gone through, because you can tell there was something.

Cait's backstory could be significantly pared down. Again, the dialogue and 4 affinities talk system butcher the character arc, but Cait suffered the most, I think. She tells you about all of her trauma at once, in her second affinity. Second. Other characters talk about their most intense/emotional shit at the final talk, but because Cait's third talk needs to start Benign Intervention, and her final talk needs to be about being clean now, they have to rush through her trauma at the second one.

For Cait, I think it'd be better to pare down the trauma, but it could work to just...move her opening up about it to the final talk. That makes the most sense, her explaining how she got that way.

Also, why was it Cait that got all of this?

No, really, why was Cait selected to be the trauma donkey de jour?

She's one of 3 female companions. Piper and Curie's trauma is both their dads died. Cait's trauma is endless rape, beating, drug addictions, slavery, and fights to the death. She sticks out. It's like the other girls got nothing so Cait got everything.

Cait is compared to Cassidy from New Vegas, but...why? Cassidy got off nice and easy compared to Cait. Everyone gets off easy compared to Cait. It's like she's the heaviest thing in the room, the odd one out because she's gone through significantly more and worse than anyone else. Can you seriously compare Cait to anyone in Fallout 4? MacCready lost his wife, Cait was raped for years on end. Hancock feels guilty for not doing more in his younger years to help people, Cait was constantly beaten and tortured by her parents for her entire life. Nick has some identity issues and body dysmorphia, Cait killed her parents and now is always attempting suicide via bare-knuckle combat for the same people who raped her.

It's like she was meant for a different game. I could easily see her in say, Wasteland 3, or the other Fallouts, which had much darker tones. Everyone else in 4 is lighter to slightly darker shades of grey, and then Cait is pitch black.

I especially find this suspicious, given that Cait is the addict character. No, it's not Hancock, because Hancock's addiction isn't addressed, it's just...seasoning, some texture thrown on top. His addiction doesn't matter, by the game's standards, you're not supposed to care about it. Cait, you are. She's the addict character.

It's like...weirdly implied that it's only incredibly fucked up stuff that makes you an addict. Like, there's a certain bar of trauma you have to have before you start using. First of all, incorrect, grossly so. Secondly, patronizing as shit. Thirdly, if you think like this, you shouldn't be allowed to write anything. Ever. Or vote, for that matter.

FUCK UP 3: THE IRISH SHIT

I will not bring up the accent, beyond that it, specifically, is pretty obnoxious. Katy Townsend, her voice actor, is Scottish, but...the accent is bad enough, I was sure she was American. Listening to this video, you can hear her natural speaking voice, and it's nowhere near Cait's thick, caricature Tough Irish Gal voice.

I have previously described Cait as a 'too many cooks in the kitchen' scenario. On one hand, she's a Trauma Donkey, as described in the last section. On another, she's a haha funny Irish lady love booze and fighting, ain't nothing better than getting pissed and picking a fight, am i right!

I have a theory that Cait was two separate characters that was merged into one. Fallout 4 tries to represent/dickride Massachusetts culture and history, and Massachusetts has double the national Irish population. New York and New Hampshire are more Irish, but Massachusetts is still very Irish. So, Beth made an Irish character, but then, like, Frank down the hall wanted his sadgirl babe, and they got stuck together.

There is no bigger clash than a historical cruel/tragic cartoon caricature and the darkest, most horrific character in a story, and it's the same person in Fallout 4. Again, Cait can be Irish. She cannot be a Tough Irish Gal, while being everything else that she is.

HOW IS THIS FETISHIZED?

I mean...look at it. I should preface that I've been writing for, like, three hours and am Quickly Losing Steam, so this conclusion is not likely to be great

I've also described Cait as getting sprayed down with a pain hose. Just drenched in every kind of suffering imaginable. It's not handled properly, it's not addressed properly, it's just kind of there for you to figure out on your own. Another thing I've called Cait is Whedonesque, for Joss Whedon loves makes strong female characters, making them tiny, not-like-other-girls waifs (Cait is very thin and skinny), and then putting them through trauma, making them cry. He's been accused of making strong women just to see them break.

I don't fully think that last part applies to Cait, but it gets close. Cait is one of three girls. She's the only masculine/androgynous, Piper and Curie are both rather feminine, even if in different flavors. Cait is all tomboy, and she's all trauma and addiction, and misery. She falls into the Whedon trope of "I can kick ass but I need someone to fix me". Cait is, very much, a fixer fantasy. She's broken and desperate and Sole is supposed to be the white knight on a shining horse to save her, fix her. That's why she makes a big deal about how they're the first person to ever be nice to her. It's a fantasy.

And finally, Cait has something in common with the two other ladies; Piper exists to serve a plucky, girl-next-door romance (she's the intended romance, even, the one you're expected to pick), and Curie is a french virgin maid fantasy. Y'know Lusty Argonian Maid? Literally Curie.

And that is at least half of why Cait's Character was made the way it was. It's to appeal to a fixer fantasy. Even if unintentional, that's what Cait's character adds up to. Compare to 500 Days of Summer, if the movie wasn't self-aware.

[blackwoolncrown]

So I’m listening to this full reading and interpretation of the Bhagavad Gita since I had it but didn’t get to finish it and when I moved didn’t bring it with me.

And like...I notice that there are so many subjective perceptions used to validate certain positions within it, which stands out to me, because I have noticed over time and study that grand religious philosophies that have been supported and spread by Empires have this interesting habit of operating on hierarchies and extrapolations therein that do not exist in Indigenous philosophies as such.

At this moment the teacher is giving an example of asses (the animal) and how they are synonymous with foolishness because they will labor all day just for a bit of feed given them by their owners. In this perspective, the ass is seen as stupid because it is docile, incapable of conceiving having access to grass without servitude even though grass is all around.

But like...that’s not true? Asses are a wild animal that can be domesticated. And if you let an ass free  it will eat its own grass. If it really feels like it, it will buck a load and escape. Not only is it not incapable of conceiving freedom, it was born in freedom and is capable of attaining it.

Like, we have here a nice animal that allows us to use it and you turn around and use it as an example of what a low consciousness life is, instead of a sign that the world is kind, and THEN say ‘servitude is the highest form of service to gxd’. Wel!! What do you think the domestic ass was doing!?!!?? And you insult them for it!

This same teacher gives the example of dogs having a lowly existence because they rely on humans to be fed, and lacking humans cannot eat- which is why they howl at night...hunger.

This is also not true. Dogs again are wild and some are domesticated. They are capable of refusing to be domestic and do not howl for hunger but communication. They are not stupid just because they are docile.

Don’t get me wrong- I dedicate a lot of my life to the loving pursuit of spiritual closeness with the divine and ultimately find a lot of good in scriptures.

But It’s truly ironic and sometimes pathetic how many of these scriptures take subjective and sometimes false perspectives based on positions of power and base entire cosmic views off of them-- and how often this coincides with support from social systems that include slavery, hiararchies, imperialism, etc etc.

Fundamentally, Indigenous spiritualities suggest that God = Nature and Imperialist ones suggest that Nature is a trick, a thing of lowness and deceit that must be over come.

But what ticks me is like.. if the absolute is absolute then all the enlightenment, purification and growth that ever must be done is already done. There is no way to fail at it and no way for it to take ‘too long’ because time, on a spiritual scale, doesn’t exist.

So.........................

...............................

................................I don’t think I, personally, need to do anything beyond fulfillment of my human life. I think it’s pretty okay. After all, ‘I’ don’t even exist since the ego is an illusion.

So there is no one who suffers and no one to improve, since Gxd is everything and is ultimately perfect.

*eats a date*

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

People that don't live in the South have no idea what that flag means. There's been a few historians around saying that flag specifically, was not THE Confederate flag, but instead, one of the flags used by them. Our modern history teachers, (not actual historians) also tend to claim that the Civil war was fought primarily over slavery. It was not. It was a large component. But not by most metrics the main "one". That's a cheap bedtime story they tell neo progressives to feel better about themselves. The actual biggest cause for that war WAS states rights. And Lincoln's main goal was to force unity of the US. Ending slavery was a footnote in that, but was pushed up as a "large issues" because it would get public support.

Never you mind that a lot of northern states had slaves still at the time. Which is important historical context.

Most people in the south currently view that flag not as "Racist". They view it as a form of southern pride. Because to a certain degree, at least in a shallow way, it DOES imply "The South". Which were the confederate states. Here's the thing though. North v South has been a thing for a long time. and people move. And so a lot of relocating has gone on for a number of years. And people in the south are used to be seen as the Beverly Hill-Billies, while people from the north were seen as rich, stuck up 90210 types. The term "Stupid Yanks" is one I heard a lot growing up. Because of those stereotypes both sides place on one another, that specific confederate flag started being used as a southern pride flag.

Now. Did a lot of racist people wave that flag? Yes. Were all the people that waved it racist? They were not. Hell if you've ever met a black redneck you'd see that flag just as prominently at their home as a white redneck. Because colloquially these people had changed what the flag meant. And it was not until the 2010's that the flag started to receive large scale criticism.

Which funny enough is on purpose. Because the same thing that happened to that flag in the 2010's, is the same thing happening to the US flag. Where people are saying "Oh well if you see that flag you know people are racist living there". And this is why I hate the internet. It allowed this culture of, "Don't care about nuance, just read headlines, believe everyone at just their word so long as they agree with your 'side', and always become the worst kind of person just because you don't like something."

And worse over. I see comments like the ones above and I go, "Ya know, I hope someone breaks your stuff. If you have anything with the word black on it, just I hope they break it. Why? Because I view that as the starting word for BlackLivesMatter(A scam organization that made millions off a race hustle and caused racial division) or maybe it's the start to Black Identity Extremist."

I can make up any excuse I want to turn the tables. But it's likely that the person you did this to was not racist. Just proud of being a rural southerner. And now if your profile photo is anything to go by, you put the seed in her mind. And if by chance is WAS already there, you watered it. So congratulations. You're creating the people you are so against. The world is a nuanced place in general and we are making it black and white. And personally I hate it.

Also also I second what was said directly above. This is disgusting

the thing that makes my blood boil is the fact that yall dont see the double standard, ‘its okay to destroy art if its problematic’  you are an anti-intellectual and functionally a conservative

A lot of people in the south are conservative and extremely intelligent. Some likely more than you. Also conservatives don't "hate" art. Most of them don't care about it either. Hyper Puritans? Maybe. Modern conservatives for the past 30 years or so? Nah. Also that slight to call conservatives stupid is not warranted. Full statement sounded a lot like "STFU you're making us look bad". Congrats. You did that enough on your own.

SHE IS A TRUE HERO 

[thecagedbard]

Oh Look, another Tav story! This is currently posted over on AO3 in its entirety but I thought I’d post it to tumblr as well. If you’d like to sneak a peak at some of the chapter names, if you don’t want to read the whole thing yet, have a listen to the title playlist: here.  There is also just the ‘Here’s what I was listening to while writing' playlist, and my Faetrala Uncaged playlist which serves as inspiration for Vesper’s siblings.  A lot of the songs tend to overlap but who knows, you might find one you enjoy. 

Rating: Mature

Pairing(s): Astarion/Tav (Vesper), Astarion/Halsin, Astarion/Halsin/Tav(Vesper); Mentions of Karlach/Shadowheart/Wyll; Mentions of Gale/AFAB OC

Warnings:  Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Canon Divergence, Child Death

Word count: 8,897/300,000+

Summary: Vesper needed someone to protect her from an abusive husband should he appear after she was abducted by mind flayers. Astarion needed someone to fall for him so he had protection from Cazador. He's got two hundred years of manipulation and she has the soft heart of a lamb being led to slaughter. While subconsciously healing each other they both realize they also need to heal the druid of all damned people.

Chapter Nine

“You know, I have to say,” Gale said as he perched on the boat next to Vesper, “that was quite the farewell you got from Astarion this morning.” He kept his voice low so the duergar who had boarded their vessel didn’t overhear. “I hadn’t realized the two of you were so close,” Vesper turned and looked at the wizard, thankful that the illusory image of her sister kept him from seeing her flushed cheeks, though it didn’t do much to hide her rounded eyes as she looked away quickly.

The corners of her mouth were upturned, “You may be the only if even Halsin caught on.” Gale lifted his hand to his chest, “You wound me. I knew you were close but not so close to have such a passionate goodbye in front of everyone. Though, perhaps, I am just a little more conservative in my own acts of affection.” The bard’s head tilted and she leaned close to the wizard, her voice low as she teased him about his own relationship with Mystra, “Conservative or just astrally adventurous.” Gales's mouth formed an ‘O’ shape as he chuckled, “Fair enough. I’m done teasing I suppose…truly I just wanted to keep your mind clear. After our breakfast intervention and knowing what we’re coming up to…I must admit I’m worried. About you, I mean.” 

Sparing him a glance as she turned to look behind them, Vesper nodded, “Thank you. I’ll be okay I think…as long as they don’t turn their rods on me at least.”

That morning, Vesper had awoken to several terse voices not far from the tent. When she emerged, her hand rubbing her tired eyes, she saw everyone around the fire. “None of you thought to tell her that you saw into her dreams?” Astarion had said and Karlach glanced behind her as she rounded the corner. “It’s not that, Astarion,” the tiefling said, keeping her eyes on the drow, “We didn’t know how to bring it up. That’s part of the reason I want Vesper to wear that ring of mind shielding…not because I don’t want to share your dreams,” she began to address the bard in the back who was trying to disappear back into the tent, “but because I don’t want you to share something you’re not comfortable sharing. That’s all!” 

Astarion turned and looked at the drow before crooking his fingers, “None of you thought how she’d feel learning about it later, did you?” He turned and looked at Shadowheart, “For someone so secretive about her own self you don’t seem to mind sharing others' histories…even things they haven’t told people themselves.” When Vesper got close enough he looked at her again, “We all have a past. Karlach was sold to Zariel. I was tricked into my slavery to Cazador. Wyll is Mizora’s little bitch…none of us want to talk about the horrible things that happened to us. No one has poked at Wyll about what he experienced as he was dragged through the hells.”

The warlock opened his mouth before closing it. The bard was unsure if he was going to share or defend himself.

“All I’m saying is that perhaps you could all have a little heart and not tell everyone the awful things that have happened to our bard,” Astarion tilted his head as he looked at Shadowheart. The cleric was watching Vesper though, she adjusted her jaw before speaking, “I’m sorry, Vesper. Astarion’s right…I had no right to share what I did with Halsin or Gale and Wyll.” Vesper nodded and Astarion huffed, “That’s it? Just going to forgive them that easily?”

The bard turned to look at him, “What can I say?” she shrugged, “First apologies in ten years may sway me more than anger…” The high elf cleared his throat and pursed his lips. Karlach’s face fell, “I’d give you the biggest hug if I could Vesper…” she turned to look at them around the fire and showed a tense smile.

There was a tense silence as they all looked around before Lae’zel spoke up, “Who is this Mariwen…why did that man say it was your fault?” The other’s heads whipped around to the githyanki, “Just because the rest of you prattle on and gossip does not mean I too did not experience the dream.” Slowly the attention of those around the campfire turned back to the bard and she took a shaky breath, warmth enveloped the middle of her back. Looking up Halsin stood on one side of her, his head bowing in a nod; with another breath, Vesper launched into her story about her children again. 

Unlike the night before where she kept glancing at the druid, this time she kept her eyes on the fire as it danced within the pit.

“Someone hug her, I can’t…” pleaded Karlach as Vesper finished. Wyll was quick to acquiesce to Karlach’s request, his arms encircling the bard’s shoulder, “I’m so sorry for your losses,” he whispered to her before stepping back. The redhead lifted her eyes to meet him, she knew her body had gone stiff the moment he embraced her, “Thank you.”  

She listened to them as they talked more agreeing that from now on if there was a dream shared through the tadpole to talk to the person they believe it came from. Karlach approached her as the others began cooking and held out the ring she’d received for telling Omeluum the story of how they’d gotten to the underdark, “Seriously. Keep this. If it’ll work to keep your thoughts your own, you deserve it.” Vesper tilted her head up and gave the tiefling a genuine smile before nodding, “And if we have to go to Baldur’s Gate, point that prick out to me the moment you see him. I’d like to have some words…between his arse and my foot.” 

Preparations to leave had been started, Gale had been the one to suggest she disguise herself before leaving camp. Astarion jerked his head up and moved rather swiftly to her side, “Before you do,” was all the warning she had before he grabbed her hip with one hand and pulled her close. Vesper had practically shrieked when she was forcibly moved, and frozen for just a moment before melting into Astarion’s kiss. Thankfully she couldn’t hear the low whistle Karlach let out as her hands fisted in his cotton tunic, but the tangy metallic taste against her tongue after she opened her mouth to the rogue’s prodding made her push at him just the tiniest bit. He leaned back, his tongue wetting his own lips, “I was going to wait but I’d rather see this than a false image of that sister of yours.” The bard was dazed as she stepped away from him and nodded, “Right. That….that makes sense.” 

Thinking back on it now, on this rickety little boat, her lip began to tingle as she pressed them together. Gale pointed just past her, “My spell isn’t nearly as powerful as your eyesight, but there’s something just ahead.” Vesper pulled back from her musings to look in the direction he pointed, he was right. Large statues loomed ahead, she stood up and braced herself as they neared.

Thankfully, Vesper’s lack of knowledge of how Lloth's sworn drow behaved didn’t cause any issues. She just pulled on all the mannerisms her sister embodied over nineteen years of knowing her. At the very least these underdwarves couldn’t tell the difference. 

“Something wrong?” questioned Shadowheart as the spiders ran off to find Lloth’s faithful. “Oh, I’m just beginning to wonder if my sister was perhaps darker than I thought…” replied the bard as she continued to look around, “Have you found anywhere worth trying to summon the others?” Gale nodded, “There’s a locked door in this direction, I had to agree to throw some gnomes into the dark waters but it should be safe for you to…” he cleared his throat, “unlock.”

Lae’zel searched the pockets of the dead gnomes while Shadowheart and Gale kept an eye on the duergar; Vesper kneeled at the door her tongue poking between her teeth as she worked on the lock. “Any luck yet,” asked Shadowheart. “This is different from the locks he had me practicing on last night…it’ll just take a minute…Oh, I got one,” the bard bounced before focusing again.

“It’s almost adorable how excited you are about your criminal education,” Gale said with his head turned, so the bard could hear him. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but I didn’t exactly take you as a sneaky thief type,” he waved a dismissive hand. Shadowheart laughed softly, “Not everyone is as they appear, Gale. Not to mention besides the bad we know about our dear bard, we don’t know much about your life before.”

Another pin stuck, and the door shifted, “Got it, let's go.” She stood and began pocketing the tools before she pushed the door open, “And we,” she looked at the wizard as he stepped up beside her, “did whatever we had to do to survive. I’m a much better pickpocket…” Gale raised a brow as they walked through the Nightfeast. “Is that so?” he pressed a button that was against the wall, “Much practice doing that?”

Vesper nodded as she balanced over the unleveled floor, “When I was much younger my brother Vale would play while one of our sisters danced, people would be so caught up in their drinks or the entertainment they never saw Perris and me rifling through their pockets. And of course, if they caught us we were fast enough to get away and Lothaire would just bully them into leaving us be.” She smiled fondly, “I miss them sometimes.”

Carefully sneaking by the two acid pools, Lae’zel spied the two large acidic blobs that clung to the ceiling, Gale found an area to begin his ritual. “I’ll leave the chalk markings here in case we need to come back later, just give me enough time to gather the others,” he looked at Lae’zel and Shadowheart who then looked at one another and nodded. It was Vesper they had to stop from wandering off though, the bard was too curious about what else this area of the place was hiding. 

When the others arrived, it took a little bit of time for Gale to perform the ritual the second time, they set out. They found a gnome with a large container of rune powder, the bard was practically a sweaty mess when the gnome gave them a vial of the powder and left with the larger one. She had to sit down after that.

“I think we’re better off trying to save the drow…or well, are we saving him or leaving him to die. Either way is fine with me, we just need his head,” Astarion said as he walked around the area where the gnome had been hiding. He was searching the bookshelves and looking over the stone tablets.

“We have to save the gnomes, Astarion,” Karlach said.

“Ugh, why must it be gnomes…”

Wyll pointed at the spawn, “You said something similar when we saved that man from the goblins back in Moonhaven. What do you have against them?”

“Nothing I suppose, just one of Cazador’s spawn…I assume they’re most like him really, so why save any of them,” he pocketed something from the bookshelf. “Weren’t we supposed to find something about the Nightsong in a Sharran temple?” he picked up one of the tablet fragments again, “This mentions the lady of loss more than once…”

“What? Let me see,” Shadowheart rushed to his side and began trying to piece the tablets together.

“You cannot hold an entire race of people responsible for the acts of one person,” Wyll shook his head, “Just because one of your spawn siblings bothers you, doesn’t mean that they’re all the same.” Astarion scrunched his nose in annoyance, “I think you’ll find I can. I’ve yet to meet a gnome who amazed me…”

“Did your gnome brother tattle on you or something?” Gale asked as he helped Vesper back to her feet.

“More than once…”

The others got quiet before Karlach cleared her throat, “Right well…let’s annoy the piss out of Astarion and save these gnomes. Because slavery, Astarion,” she pointedly looked at him, “is bad.”

They entered the hottest portion of the area, lava flowing just under their feet, and Vesper had to adjust her illusory image to give her sister’s face the appearance of sweat. She met with the sergeant who didn’t have a tadpole but seemed to be a believer of the absolute anyway. With the mention of a vial of rune powder the dwarf practically pushed her forward toward the gnomes. And there was a familiar face.

“Barcus Wroot?” she said softly and one of the deep gnomes turned and looked at her, “Hello. I’m not supposed to talk but…do I know you?” Her eyes widened before she remembered the face she was showing, while it was just like her own even the change in complexion and the different hair might make her look like a different person. “We met at the windmill, I–I saved you from the goblins,” he looked her over and nodded slowly, “Right. Well…if you could be as heroic now that would be great…they won’t likely keep us alive after we get the drow out of here.”

Vesper nodded, “Stay away from the lava,” she took the vial of rune powder out of her pocket, “try to avoid being used as a shield. The blonde doesn’t mind collateral damage.” The gnomes paused and looked at the vial, “Go, run for cover.” She turned and walked back to Astarion’s side, “Don’t shoot the vial yet…” he glanced at her through the corner of his eye, “Why?”

Vesper tried to make sure the man behind the rubble wouldn’t hear her as she used the tadpole to speak to the others, “Kill the dwarves. We risk the gnomes if we don’t take them out now.”  She saw Karlach begin to stretch and heard her, “Right then.” She glanced at the others and received subtle nods from Wyll and Gale. Lae’zel began to stretch and reached for the hilt of her long sword while Shadowheart hid her face behind her shield, though she could hear the cleric as she began to say a prayer.

“Go ahead,” she said to Astarion with a nod.

The rogue still seemed unsure as he hesitated for just a moment before he lifted his hands, “Ignis!” A flame lashed from his fingertips and hit the sergeant right in the back, “Oops…I missed.” The sergeant turned and drew her sword, “Traitorous bastards!” 

The under dwarf let out a yell for help that was eclipsed by Karlach’s rage as she rushed forward and shoved the sergeant into the lava. It didn’t stop the scrying eye that had been hovering around them from calling for help though.

Barcus and the other gnomes did as they had been told and ran for hiding places, two taking the opportunity to shove the dwarves or to try and trip them as they came running. With her rapier in one hand and the other holding her crossbow, Vesper focused on the dwarf that was trying to shoot them from above. When she missed twice she dodged the blow of a dwarf near her and called to Wyll. The warlock misty stepped onto the balcony and with an eldritch blast threw the duergar off of its perch.

Shadowheart pulled one of the illithid bombs they’d found on the nautiloid from her side and threw it in the center of a group of the duergar, “Gale!” The wizard swung around and summoned a fireball atop the grouped dwarves before jumping back from the swing of one near him, “Karlach! A little help please!”

It wasn’t the strength of the duergar that gave the party issue, but rather the sheer amount of them and the room’s hazards. Vesper danced on her toes around the duergar trying to avoid their weapons while at the same time trying to steer herself away from the lava, the two duergar clearly trying to push her in its direction.

Astarion came up behind one and stabbed his daggers into each side of the dwarf’s neck. Despite armor upgrades and careful dodging, the group did receive injuries and as Lae’zel beheaded the final dwarf, one wearing a mask that had been a particular annoyance for Astarion, they each took a moment to heal themselves. 

Barcus ran forward while they collected themselves, “You did it! I can’t believe it…but inside there are more of us…please.” He stuttered the last bit, staring at Vesper who nodded, “Right, hide again.” She looked at Astarion and Gale who glanced at each other before Astarion turned and cast another firebolt cantrip at the rune powder.

As the dust cleared, Vesper stepped forward, watching gnomes run out and a male drow stepped from the rubble. He swore at one cowering female before shoving her into the lava, Vesper jumped forward, “Stop that!”

The drow looked her over, and Vesper realized where she’d screwed up. Yasmine didn’t care about another’s pain. She quickly schooled her features and narrowed her eyes at the man in front of her. “What happened here?” he questioned looking at the bodies surrounding the area. The bard licked her lips, tasting her own sweat and blood that ran down her face. Shit, there was blood on her face but probably not Yasmine’s. “True believers against traitors…we survived,” she said, her voice faltering as she was unsure if she wanted to say that they were True Souls.

Nere looked her over and stepped forward, “Very well. You will dispose of the gnomes, they have–” “No I won’t!” she said and felt her tadpole writhe in answer as it pushed into his head. The Absolute has other plans for these gnomes. His head tilted, “Yes…yes–” he frowned and shook his head as her attempt at charming him failed, “Lies!” Vesper’s eyes widened and she turned to try to avoid his lunging hand.

His fingers slid through the illusion of Yasmine and found purchase on the lip of her collar, not chancing it he gripped tightly and jerked the bard backwards. Like lightning thrumming through her body, Vesper screamed as she felt the threads in her shoulder pull before snapping as she was thrown behind him. She rolled as she landed and hiss as the lava popped hitting her boots, “Shit, shit, shit!” Vesper cursed as she tried to crawl away from the most dangerous part of the room. Unfortunately for her, every time she moved her arms to pull herself up the pain in her shoulders thrummed through her.

“Save her!” she heard Astarion yell and felt three sets of hands pulling her arms and pulling her away from the molten lava. She released a pained cry as the gnomes dragged her away from the fight and she felt the loss of the magic over her appearance as her disguise fell away.

From their hiding spot she could hear Karlach’s enraged yell and the sound of metal cleaning against metal and then just hard breathing. Footsteps pounded against the grate and she felt hands on her hips turning her over, “Vesper!” Shadowheart’s panicked voice met her as she turned and lay flat on her back. The cleric began unbuckling her armor, “Your collar.”

The bard nodded, “Take it off…just fucking take it.” Tears rolled down her cheeks from the abrupt pulling and the jerking that had happened at her throat. Barcus Wroot was still hovering over her as he watched the cleric strip the bard of her armor and then there was Astarion a knife in hand, “It’s alright, darling, we’ve got it from here.” Brandishing the blade just in front of her Vesper felt herself slipping and soon found herself within her own mind. In that boat where she’d been during her night with the high elf. 

She could barely hear the sounds as the boat rocked in the dark waters. Shouting was softened to a whisper, something cool across her forehead and cheeks while her shoulders burned. Until there was nothing but the burning where she ached. No sound besides the water lapping at the sides of the boat, she was safe again. The pain would lapse and she’d awaken to new aches and bruises.

“I just hope I can move my arm after this…”

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

“Use your tadpole, it’s a connection to her.” Vesper frowned as the new voice, deeper, but with an underlying worry she wasn’t used to. “Let me,” that was…Gale? Vesper sat up in the boat and looked around before an image of Gale materialized in front of her. “Gale?”

“There you are…you can wake up, we’re out of the Grymforge now. Wait–can you wake up?”

“How did you get here?” she tilted her head as Gale just sat there in front of her. This image of the wizard had none of his mannerisms, his hands stayed rested on his thighs as he spoke and he didn’t emote in the way she was used to.

“I’m using the tadpole. We’ve brought you back to camp…we need you to wake up, we need to know that you’re alright. Going comatose as you did gave us all an awful fright, please…wake up.”

There was a warmth surrounding one of her hands, her shoulders…didn’t ache or burn any longer. She flexed her hand and felt the warmth tighten around it.

“That’s it, you’re doing wonderfully. Can you move the other hand?”

She turned to look at her other hand and wiggled her fingers before looking at Gale. “Perfect, though you just scared Wyll with a little tickle. Careful of your legs, but move one of them?”

Slowly she reconnected with each part of her, Gale giving her encouragement each time a new part of her responded in the waking world. As her eyes opened she was shocked by the golden glow over her, she turned to the hand that had been held so warmly and found Halsin smiling down at her, “There you are,” he said in relief. 

Shadowheart let the spell fall and bent until her forehead was pressed against the bards, “Lady of Sorrows, Vesper don’t do that again. We tried everything to wake you and nothing…nothing worked.” The cleric choked as she repeated the second nothing, when she sat up Vesper looked up and saw tears in her companion's eyes, “We didn’t know if it was the worm or if we’d just lost you. You were breathing, and your heart was beating but–”

“I’m okay,” Vesper said softly and flinched when she heard the barking laugh of Astarion. Slowly she looked around, they were surrounding her. Even Lae’zel stood behind Shadowheart, worry etched on her face as Vesper made to sit up.

Halsin used the hold on her arm to help pull her up and Vesper paused when she realized it didn’t hurt when he pulled. Her free hand came up to her chest and felt…nothing. Astarion sat at her feet, Gale just beside him, “Nere ripped the back threads, nearly detached the whole thing…” The wizard nodded as Astarion spoke before adding, “If the gnomes hadn’t acted so quickly…we thought you were going to go in.”

She heard a surprising voice pipe in and turned to see Barcus as he nodded to her, “Hardly seemed appropriate to let you die after you had just saved us. Consider us even…” Vesper nodded mutely and continued to rub her fingers across the bare skin of her sternum before her right hand reached up to feel the raised area where her bone hadn’t healed right.

“Careful,” Halsin said, “in their haste, it looks like the people who saved you may have agitated the break. I wanted you awake before I healed the fracture.” He looked toward all of them, “It will only take me a moment, the rest of you should go and relax. I have it from here.” One by one the others got up, Wyll placed a careful hand on her shoulder as he left. Shadowheart pushed past Lae’zel, the gith hanging around before she began to remove her armor. The only one who didn’t leave was Astarion who stared at her injury.

‘It could end the whole thing if it’s not enjoyable.’

He’d just uttered those words the night before. Unconsciously she covered the area and looked at Halsin, “I didn’t mean to worry everyone. I just…” Halsin shook his head as he assured her, “You don’t owe anyone an explanation. You’ve learned a technique that many have when in a situation similar to yours. Escaping to a safe place, though I’m sensing not many here knew about you doing that.” Vesper cut her eyes to Astarion who cleared his throat, “I’ll get some rags and water, to clean your neck.”

She watched as he got up and walked away, her eyes trailed him as he retreated to his tent before she felt Halsin begin to manipulate her arm. Gently he lifted it to straighten it before bending it more, his eyes watching her face for any hint of discomfort. “This is alright?” she nodded, “Perhaps I healed more than I intended the first time. Astarion made something of a mess of your shoulders trying to find the threads, Wyll mentioned he seemed determined to remove them all while Gale came to retrieve me.” 

The wood elf continued to stretch her left shoulder, up and down, pulling it back and then in front of her. When he was satisfied he moved to her right arm and this time Vesper tried to move with him. She stiffened when she felt cold water touch the nape of her neck, “It’s only me. I’ll let you wash the front, but let me get the back.” She had expected it to be Astarion, but he had apparently passed the task to Shadowheart who scrubbed heavily trying to get everything off of her.

“How long did you wear that device?” Halsin asked as he lowered her right arm and began prodding at the marks on her shoulders, “Two years maybe? Possibly almost three, I can’t remember exactly.”

Shadowheart paused before returning to washing. Halsin wet another rag and held it out for the bard, “I know I’m pushing for us to reach Moonrise, but if I may suggest to the group…take a day before moving on to this crèche Lae’zel would like to reach. If only to be certain there are no other surprises from the collar’s unexpected removal.” Vesper didn’t reply to the druid, she just took the rag from him and began to scrub at the dirt the collar had hidden and left behind after all this time.

There was a clinking sound and Astarion kicked a crate over to the fire before he set down several bottles of wine, “I think we all need a drink after this.” Picking one bottle up he glanced at it before removing the cork. Pouring two goblets full he set them beside the bard and cleric before picking up a third for himself, he glanced at the silver cup before tossing it down and tipping the bottle to his mouth. “Very classy, Astarion,” Shadowheart said as she finished cleaning the back of Vesper’s neck and shoulders, “but thank you.” She lifted the goblet to her mouth with one hand while the other reached up and tugged the bard’s hair loose from its bun, “If you’re self-conscious we can figure out a way for your hair to cover your shoulders. I can’t imagine it’s easy to go two-three years of them being hidden to suddenly being exposed.”

Vesper nodded dumbly as she continued to scrub at her throat. Eventually, the others joined around the fire again as Gale began cooking. No one mentioned the collar, no one even brought up that she’d gone comatose. Thankfully no one brought up the fact she’d nearly died. Again.

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

Astarion had been correct, they all needed a drink or twenty that night. Vesper settled in Astarion’s tent after only two goblets full, though she does carry her third into the spawn’s space. “I didn’t realize you were planning on staying with me tonight as well,” she heard and turned, careful not to spill the contents of her cup. Astarion kneeled just outside the flaps of his tent with a smirk on his face, “Don’t mind me, you go right ahead and get comfortable. I’ll just enjoy the view.” The bard frowned before she realized she would have been on her hands and knees crawling into the tent when he followed behind her, “Astarion,” she admonished while her cheeks flushed.

“What? Am I not allowed to watch?” once the drow was settled against some of the cushions in his tent, Astarion followed behind her, settling across the way, his legs resting on top of hers as he stretched. “Someone has to be admired and as I can’t see my own face, I guess yours will have to do,” he said as he continued to stretch lazily. “You can’t see your face? Right…mirrors,” she frowned and took a sip, “do you miss it?” A gray brow lifted as he lowered his head to look at her, “Do I miss petty vanity? Of course, I do! I haven’t seen this face in nearly two hundred years, I don’t even remember what it looks like anymore.” 

“It’s a good face,” she said as she lifted her goblet to him, “a beautiful face.”

His smile softened under her compliments, “Could–” he stopped and shook his head. “What?” Vesper moved to fully sit up asking again, “Could I?” Astarion took a breath and held it for a moment before he breathed out the question quickly, “Could you draw me?” The bard, who had been waiting patiently, frowned and shook her head, “I wouldn’t do you any justice in a drawing. Portraits require details that I’ve never gotten right…” She looked down before her hands paused reaching over to her goblet, “but there is something I can do.”

“Are you going to recite poetry about how beautiful I am?” he retorted, trying to fight the crestfallen look that had come over his face when his request was denied. But when he looked back up he jumped back because Vesper was right in his face, “Hold still,” she said as she moved her eyes over his features. 

“What are you doing?”

“I want to make sure it’s right…where’s your mirror?”

“I’ve already explained–here–I cannot see myself in the mir–”

He stopped talking as she spoke a familiar incantation and her own facial features began to morph. Her long red hair became a silvery blonde, in the mirror’s reflection he could see her teal and violet eyes become red and…sad, her cheeks hollowed, and her cheekbones were higher. “Is that…”

Vesper stared in the mirror then turned to look at him, “One second,” she moved the mirror behind him and adjusted Astarion so she could compare her reflection with the real thing. “Alright, now I’m just a tad bit drunk but I think I’ve got it right,” it was so odd hearing her voice come out of this masculine appearance but Astarion was in awe. Swallowing hard he reached out and turned her chin to have a better look at her, “This is me?”

The pallid face smiled at him and she nodded, “This is you. See, what I meant about you being a very pretty man?” When he reached for the curls on the illusion’s head his fingers first met air before he felt the bard’s own, just a couple of inches below where it was supposed to be. “It’s still only an illusion,” she said softly, “I can try and adjust it to be closer to my face, but yours is just a tad longer than mine.” “No,” he said as he looked into the red eyes he’d never seen before, “no, this is…this is perfect. How often can you change this…” She pursed her lips and Astarion watched as his face made one he recognized as hers immediately, “Don’t do that…” he chuckled, “Your expressions on my face are…well, I suppose I wouldn’t know if they were wrong per se, but it's odd.”

She laughed and shrugged her good shoulder, “I can cast this a couple of times if I have enough magic. Changing its appearance though takes some time, especially when I have to keep concentrating on the spell. If you were a wizard I’d say we go ask Gale how he summons his mirror image.” Astarion’s lip curled but then he stopped sneering, “I don’t think he’d be up for teaching me how to use the weave. It’s so precious to him.” 

“It wouldn’t do any harm in asking, he asked me the other day if I wanted to compare magics. If the way I cast magic felt the same way he did…he might enjoy teaching you,” she offered and Astarion shook his head. “No,” he said with a whine, “He’d enjoy teaching you. Not me. We just don’t get along, my dear.” He still had a hold of her chin and was now turning the face in different directions, pausing when he realized he could see two scars on the side of the neck. “You included those as well?” his voice warbled as he pulled back. “Should I not have? I didn’t want it to be a false image,” she sat back and crossed her arms over her middle.

“No, it’s… it's fine…thank you, now please, drop the illusion?” 

She let her concentration fall and looked in a mirror again. Gone was the visage of the high elf in front of her and instead, she just saw herself. Astarion caught her as she quickly looked away and frowned, “What is it?” 

“Hmm?” she glanced toward him as she settled back on the opposite side of the tent and sipped at her wine. “Don’t ‘hmm’ me, you looked disgusted after looking in the mirror,” he said, his tone accusatory while she shook her head and kept her head down. “I don’t know what you mean…I saw myself and I decided to sit back,” Astarion’s eyes narrowed at her answer before he pulled his legs under him to lean toward her, “Do you think you’re disgusting?”

“Don’t you?” she asked, lifting her chin higher. She was biting the inside of her cheek to try and keep control of her emotions. There were mirrors at home but for the most part, she avoided them, no one ever cared how she looked, only if her body was satisfactory. Astarion eyes scanned her face and stopped on her lips, “No. Not at all…why would I? And think very carefully about how you answer that question.” Vesper’s eyes darted upwards as she choked out a singular laugh, “Don’t be ridiculous, Astarion. Caz–” she stopped when she saw his lip begin to curl, “That bastard chose you because of your beauty…I was a pawn to Issac. Handed over to whoever had enough coin or a big enough debt that Issac didn’t want to pay off. I’m no more than a piece of gold to be passed from hand to hand.”

She lifted the goblet and drank. Vesper was barely able to swallow for a third time when a cold grip pulled the cup from her mouth, “Those sounds like your bastard’s words, Vesper.” When she didn’t answer he moved closer until he straddled her legs, “Look at me.” Her chin lifted, no need for him to do it, but she still wouldn’t look at him, “Vesper, darling, eyes on me,” when she finally lifted them she knew he would see the tears welling. He was right of course, it was Issac who made her feel this way. Issac, who constantly told her how worthless she was besides being passed off.

“I’ve spent two hundred years bedding any beautiful soul that would follow me back to, as you said, my bastard’s palace. Do you know what they had in common? How beautiful they were…” he said as his hands bracketed her cheeks and his thumbs wiped away the hot tears from her eyes. “I had thought to seduce you the moment I laid eyes on you,” he paused, and his head bounced from side to side, “once we became allies I mean…the moment I saw you I thought you worked alongside those tentacled freaks.” His smile spread when he heard a soft giggle from her lips, “Nevertheless, two hundred years of orders kicked in when you invited me to join you. A beautiful little elf, all red hair, and charm…”

“Are you saying that you would have taken me to him?” she asked her eyes growing round.

“You would have been just fit for him to invite me to dine with him…I would hate doing it, taking you to him, but it’s true,” he said as he swiped his fingers under her eyes again. “Even with your dark circles and scars, you’re incredible.”

She blinked twice before pulling her head away from his hands, “I don’t know if you’re telling the truth or if the wine has muddled my head.” Astarion frowned and sat back, “Let’s just say that if you didn’t have your issues I’d have bedded you several times already. As horrible as it all was I did like having gorgeous people writhing beneath and on top of me…” 

Her teeth ground together as her face flushed more and she heard his chuckle again. “You think it’s funny when I blush,” she said softly and Astarion hummed in appreciation. “Yes, these little flushes of purple on your cheeks do delight me,” he admitted, he didn’t go back to his side of the tent. Instead, as he got off her lap he settled just next to her and leaned close to her ear, “It has me curious if you flush like this when you’re actually enjoying sex.” Her face lifted to his, “Must everything be sex with you? You’ve got your own problems…I thought you’d be happy to not be–”

“Performing? I am…but is that not what couples are supposed to do? Find fulfillment in each other bodies?”

“I don’t know. I thought so…”

“So,” he said as he tucked a bent knuckle under her chin, “should we try?” Her mouth opened and closed without an answer. Pulling her closer until his nose touched the tip of hers, his voice lowered to a whisper, “I should thank you for your gift after all. It is all because of you I know just how beautiful I still am.” Her face betrayed her sadness and Astarion pulled back, “What’s the matter, my sweet?”

“You shouldn’t want to sleep with me because I did something nice for you, it feels…like a payment. I,” she pulled back again and shuffled away, “I don’t want this,” she motioned between the two, “to feel like it used to. I���” Vesper trailed off her focus now on her hand as she pulled it back to her, Astarion tilted his head and shifted closer to her, “You what?”

She looked up at him and blushed again, “I want it to be real…” a breathless laugh left her before she shook her head, “Don’t listen to me…I’m being drunk and silly.” The bard leaned forward and took up her goblet again, missing the flash of confusion before Astarion smirked. She finished her goblet before the vampire’s spawn took it from her again, he leaned close to her, “Then let’s be real.”

He glanced away long enough to set the cup on the ground before turning and placed his hand against her cheek, coaxing her forward, “Tell me no…” he hesitated, waiting for her to stop him. When no answer came, he pulled her closer until his lips met hers. Vesper allowed him to lead, numbly allowing herself to slip away until she felt a fang nip at her lip, “Oh no, stay with me…” he whispered against her mouth. 

Her eyes sprung open and met his crimson stare, she could see and feel when he smiled, “You said you had kissed someone before…try and remember then. Unless you want to say no?” Astarion glanced down at her mouth before looking up again, “Do you want to say no?”

The rogue was so close that when her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, she touched his mouth and he took it as a sign. His mouth shifted over hers and he used his weight to push her onto the floor of the tent. The hand not cradling her face found her side and gripped tightly, taking his time to move underneath the flimsy leather top she still wore. He chuckled when she shivered as his hand grazed over her skin, “Just make sure you’re quiet, darling.” He sat up and quickly pulled the ties of his tent flaps allowing them to flutter closed before he removed his shirt, “We wouldn’t want the others peeking in now, would we?”

She lay there staring up at him, though she could see the glow of the underdark’s flora through the stitching of his tent he was still cast in the greyscale of her dark vision. Even then he was breathtaking. Languidly she reached out a hand for him and he took it into his hands placing a kiss against her bruised knuckles before flipping it over and kissing her palm. 

When he kissed her again she tried to recall those nights from ten years before. The now faceless boy she had rolled down the hills with, the way her body had responded. “Out of your head,” she heard a whisper in her ear and opened her eyes again to see the high elf’s raised brow, “where are you?” She frowned at the question. Astarion’s hand cupped her cheek and he ran his thumb across her brow, “Where are you?”

“We’re in the underdark…” he nodded and bent his head lower pressing his lips to her now naked throat. A chill went up her spine and her breath caught in her throat when he nipped his teeth across the now-exposed skin of her throat. She heard his appreciative hum and flushed, he lifted his head and captured her mouth again. The hand that had rested on her side slid lower, tugging at the lacing of her leather trousers. 

On instinct, her hand moved quickly to grab his wrist and he stopped before whispering, “Who are you with?”

Her eyes fluttered open and she looked him over, “I’m with you…” his head shook, “Not good enough, little bard. I want to hear my name.” He bent down and caught her ear lobe just between his teeth before he whispered again, “Who are you with?” Despite her holding his wrist he tugged at the lace that held the panels together, “Astarion,” she answered in a hushed voice.

“I want you to enjoy this,” he said as he pulled his hand from the lacing and began to trace the top hem of her pants against her abdomen. “I won’t fuck you unless you let me, I just want you to know how your body feels when it enjoys it.” Astarion dipped his head back down to her throat, his tongue tracing a path down until he met the junction of her throat and shoulder. He easily found the raised area where her bone hadn’t properly healed and pressed a gentle kiss to it.

“But you–” 

“No, I’m fine. I’ve enjoyed myself most thoroughly,” he used his other hand to wiggle the metal fastener of her top, “I was right about how far your blushing goes.”

 Further down he moved until his mouth closed around a nipple. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth as she stared up at the roof of the tent. Between teeth and tongue, she felt an unfamiliar tug in the pit of her belly and a warmth that she could only recall once. 

When he switched to her right breast he pressed a kiss to the scar just above before he began to tease her again. His hands worked on her pants, tugging at the leather that hugged so tightly. Curiosity had her planting her feet on either side of the elf and lifting her hips, and the warmth in her core multiplied as he chuckled against her skin.

As he trailed down he nipped at her softer flesh on her middle. She reached down to stop him with one hand but he caught it and pinned it to her side, “Use your voice.” Astarion paused as he glanced upward but she didn’t say anything, still looking upward and covering her mouth with her hand. “Vesper?” she shifted and looked at the rogue who smirked and leaned up to move her hand and kiss her again, “You can still say no. Tell me to stop and I will…” She watched his eyes bounce back and forth before she licked her lips again, “Do you want me to stop?” 

Blood was rushing in her ears, she wanted to keep going but wanted to stop all the same. “Would you hate me?” she asked and he shook his head, “Not at all, my sweet.” He started to back away before she grabbed him, “I don’t want to stop…”

Astarion’s smile grew and he bowed his head, “Alright.” Bending to catch her lips again she heard his chuckle as she copied him and placed her hand against his cheek. The rogue used his foot to kick her pants further down her legs until they were off. This time rather than just holding her side his nail divoted into her hip as he pulled her close and bent down to her throat once more.

His mouth paused over her pulse, the hard beat of her life pulsating under his lips and for a moment she wondered if he would bite her then. It was enough of a distraction that she didn’t realize his hand left her hip until it found the apex of her thighs. A surprised gasp left her and she removed her hand from his face to cover her mouth again, to his amusement.

As his finger slid between her lips, his mouth came back to her ear, “I think you know what desire feels like now.” He lifted off of her and brought the finger he’d run through her to his lips, her eyes wide as she watched him taste it. 

“Delicious.”

He made no move to toy with her body again as he moved downward, settling his body between her lifted knees. Pressing a kiss to the top of one of Vesper’s knees, he descended, and again her eyes found the roof of the tent very interesting. Astarion had not done this in the woods, she expected his tongue to be just as cold as the rest of him but was surprised by the not-icy feeling against her sensitive flesh.

Then he found something, one nudge and she shuddered, her hips jumped, and her knees attempted to close. Astarion didn’t allow them to, just as he had held her arm pinned before he now held one of her legs open wide while he used the other to spread her lips.

A breathy moan left her when that tautness she had felt before tightened again and the chilled air of the underdark made goose flesh of her skin. Or was it Astarion’s doing?

There wasn’t much room for thought as he continued moving his mouth over her. His tongue danced between that sensitive bundle of nerves down to her entrance. The tightness in her belly twisted, tighter. She kept mentally repeating the answers to his previous questions. She was with Astarion. They were in the underdark.

Astarion. Underdark.

His nails scratched over her mound, slipping down the junction of her thighs and core. 

Underdark. Astarion.

Her hand not covering her mouth gripped the bedroll she laid on. There was no longer a difference in temperature between his tongue and her body, it was just the ghost of pressure as he teased that spot with the tip of his tongue.

Underdark.

There was a distinct difference when she felt cold fingers press into her, her hips tried to raise and were pushed down. The motion was neither rough nor gentle. She lifted on her elbows and looked down, a shudder running through her as she met Astarion’s unwavering gaze from between her thighs. “Astarion,” she whined in a whisper before biting down on her lip to stop another noise from passing through her lips as the tightness broke in her and a rush of heat flooded her. 

Vesper’s head fell backward and she felt him move over her, his teeth finding purchase on her neck while her hips still stuttered, and his fingers were still there. They were still in her thrusting through her rush of elation. At the height of her orgasm, she couldn’t feel when his teeth punctured her throat, but the rush of blood leaving her made her heady feeling…more. When the quaking of her body halted she could feel him pulling more from her and ran a hand over his shoulder, her fingers raising when she would catch the raised edges of his scars.

Astarion settled back, laying the bard down gently after removing his fingers from within her. His gaze was still on her throat, where she felt the warm droplets run before he reached past her and pulled a healing potion from his armor, “Drink.” She obeyed his command and watched as he poured water from a jar into a chalice he kept in his tent. He wet a rag, and then another, cleaning his face and hand with one he threw it down and took the other before leaning towards her, “I can do that…I’m used to it.” She said with flushed cheeks.  

With a lifted brow, Astarion finally nodded and passed the rag to her. Once she was clean he reached for his discarded shirt and passed it to her, “We’ll find you something more comfortable to wear soon. Maybe Lae’zel’s crèche has an abundance of laundry somewhere.” He grunted as he laid down on the outside bedroll, “Surely they cannot wear that armor all the time.”

Vesper pulled the ruffled shirt over her head and grabbed for one of the blankets to cover her lower half.

He turned to her, his hand twisting in her direction to lift her chin to keep it from bowing to her chest. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her again until they heard Karlach’s voice.

“Are you two finished? Shadowheart and I want to go to bed but we also don’t want to listen in….” Vesper’s jaw dropped as her head twisted out of his grasp to stare at the tent’s opening. Astarion’s own eyes rounded in surprise before he started cackling, his eyes squeezing together tightly as he laughed. He ran his hands across his face, “By all means. Have the sweetest of dreams, darling Karlach.”

“Yep,” the tiefling grunted out before they heard her shoes scuff as she walked to her tent just behind Astarion’s. The drow’s face was drained of color as she turned to look at Astarion, who laughed harder when he got a look at her, “I did tell you to be quiet.” 

More scuffing was heard outside the tent and a horrified Vesper looked at the close flaps, “If he bit you during that I won’t be restoring you tomorrow.” The bard buried her face into Astarion’s naked side and groaned. The rogue wrapped an arm around her shoulder as he shook from his laughter and daubed his eyes with his other hand. 

“Are you finished?’ she asked as she lifted her head. Astarion looked down at her and shook his head, “No. But I’ll stop…for you.” Vesper sat up and reached for her pants, “Maybe I should sleep by the fire…” Astarion reached for her hands, pulling lightly, “No. Don’t go. What will the others think of me if you leave after such a pleasant evening? I’ll go get another blanket if you’re cold.”

Vesper looked down to her naked thighs and then at Astarion, “I’d have to fight with my trousers anyway wouldn’t I?” He nodded, “Unless you wanted to give Halsin a show…not sure that he’d mind.” The bard lifted her head, her eyes wide again and Astarion chuckled, “It’s true…I don’t think he’d mind if the whole camp was nude. He’d probably be happy to walk around without clothing.” Relief flooded the bard and she shook her head, “I thought you were implying something else.”

Astarion’s tilted his head and pursed his lips, “I might…though I’d rather not consider you with someone else when I only just got a taste of the real you.” He gave her wrist another tug, “Stay with me.” Heat stained her cheeks as she laid down on the inner mat and shifted to her back beside him. Just as she assumed he would, Astarion shifted to his side and laid his head against her breast, her heart pounding against his cheek. “Even this feels nicer, no leather digging into my face,” he said as he closed his eyes.

[redladydeath]

also wait six is literally all about holding shit that happened five hundred years ago to modern moral standards and realizing “holy shit, this was not okay”. if you’re gonna engage with a piece of media where that is literally the premise of the entire show, you don’t get to opt out of applying that mindset to other moral issues that come up in regards to it’s subjects

[kali-writes-meta]

The Ancient Magus' Bride 101

I promised I would review this anime. It wasn't easy.

The story begins with a young, ostracized homeless woman selling herself into slavery for a place to stay. The human trafficking scenes were hard for me to get past. I couldn't do it the first few times I tried to watch it. I was sold to abusers as an infant, I know human trafficking survivors, I'm married to someone who witnessed human trafficking as a child. Fans say, "You don't understand how desperate she was." Girl, I understand EXACTLY how desperate she was. That's WHY I had problems getting through those scenes. That's why I strenuously object to the story giving the impression that maybe this was a good idea on her part, which it seems to do in the second half of the first episode.

Our protagonist is bought for a high sum by a weird guy with a deer skull for a head and taken to his home. Once we get the human trafficking setup out of the way, the story falls into a 200 year old pattern. An enigmatic stranger brings a poor girl to a remote country estate for mysterious and questionable purposes. That's Early Gothic straight out of the Bronte sisters, which Jane Austen satirized mercilessly, Arthur Conan Doyle warned against in his darkest Sherlock Holmes stories, and in real life provided some of the most stomach-churning true crime reports. None of those efforts did anything to stop Gothic romance from becoming a sales juggernaut. Over the centuries their forms have mutated as their popularity has ebbed and flowed. The 19th and early 20th Century Gothic romance had magic and no sex before it died off around WWII. The mid-century Gothic romance of my childhood had neither magic nor sex and ran out of steam in the 1970s before coming roaring back in the 21st Century with plenty of both magic and sex. The atmosphere, remote setting, secrecy, and the power imbalance have stayed the same.

We find out that the girl Chise has the ability to see magical creatures, which has lead directly to her ostracization and homelessness. It also means she can be trained as an apprentice magician which the deer skull head guy Elias says he plans to do. And there's the Chosen One/Cursed One theme. Chise is also removed from her slave collar and given a magic stone to wear in it's place.

(Okay, now I want to see Elias and Moon Knight's Khonshu go out for coffee together, grouse about having animal skull heads and the trouble finding decent minions, and compare staves.)

As is standard with any Gothic romance, we next find out that the neighborhood is dangerous and the neighbors are either untrustworthy or nonexistent. In this case there's fairies in the nearby forest who try to hustle Chise through a secret portal. Chise, in a heretofore unseen display of either caution or Sunk Cost Fallacy, is like, "What the Hell? I just SOLD MYSELF INTO SLAVERY to get a roof over my head, you think I'm going to turn around and throw it away now?" (Coming from a badly traumatized child, that's understandable.) Elias shows up to fetch her back (it's too early to call it a rescue) and we find out that the magic stone has a magical GPS. He then reveals that he wants her unscarred because he's thinking about making her his bride as we check off the last ticky-box on the Gothic Romance plotline checklist, the impoverished female protagonist attracts the intimate gaze of the Master of the House.

So far so standard.

Aside from the plot details, there's two more ticky-boxes. One of them regards art. Gothic art is supposed to be "magical", slightly eerie and very beautiful. The animation easily fits the bill. It's lovely, the forest scenes especially so.

The last ticky-box concerns the atmosphere of the story. Gothic romance has always derived power from transgression. What contemporary readers often fail to realize is that the original readers would have felt a very real sense of danger in what the heroine was walking into. Contemporary writers have a bad habit of falling back on sex and gore, and if that doesn't work, slathering on more sex and gore. (Looking at you, Laurell K. Hamilton.). This story has a real sense that Chise's idyllic sanctuary might be ultimately less safe than the streets she was living on. In that regard, it's the finest recreation of the feel the original Gothic Romance stories would have given their audiences that I've seen in ages. But that feeling isn't very comfortable.

[iminyourwallsbabe]

Okay wait, hear me out, they're going in the right direction here

I don't think they're acting the same as ppl who think minorities not being comfortable around them is a form of oppression, but rather the same way that people act when they feel like there's too many minorities ykwim? The ppl who think minorities feeling some type of way about their views is oppression say things like "political views shouldn't make or break friendships", ships are NOT the same. Your ships don't affect whether or not I can fucking live. There's no issue there. So I don't think this is the correct comparison, but they're close, let me explain.

This is a common issue in MOST fandoms actually. There is always a surprisingly large crowd that goes "stop *making* everything gay" or "character a and character b don't have this relationship so don't *force* it". They also make claims that other shippers are ruining the show for them and deem most shippers crazy and delusional for even insinuating anything other than canon, ESPECIALLY IF IT'S QUEER. They used language that makes them seem as if they're taking over and crossing boundaries. Shit, they'll even try to call you a pedophile over it cuz apparently you can't be gay until you're 18.

This is very similar to the rhetoric a lot of centrists and right wing ppl use. They'll say similar things about TV shows where those kinds of relationships are canon and not just fan made. They say it's forced, that we're pushing something onto them, that the kids don't need to see that. They'll say it's ruining the franchise, it's ruining entertainment as a whole, it's ruining the country.

I think as people who engage in fandom, we need to call this shit out properly because people's biases and true colors can pop out very quickly when it comes to how they engage with the media. If someone can't handle you suggesting that a character might be queer, what do you think they think about actual queer people? Watch out for these things, especially after we just learned that we really can't trust people. I mean California, THE BLUEST OF BLUEST STATES, voted not to fully end slavery and let it continue for people in prison. Gen Z white men turned tf out for Trump, a generation known for its progressiveness. You need to keep an eye out for these bigots in liberal clothing because they are fucking everywhere.

And also, don't take this to mean I think ppl who ship queer ships are better, some of them are MONSTERS who should never be allowed anywhere near a ballot box but that's for another post, for now, that's all I gotta say

canon shippers acting oppressed is giving trump supporters thinking that minorities not being comfortable around them is a form of oppression TBH

[wildernessuntothemselves]

All my kitty!lino AUs

Warnings: prostitution, slavery. 

AU 1:

minho is a prized breeding kitty that you're hired to guard as he is a very rare and pure breed and having him breed other pure kitties makes for very profitable offspring

as a result of being treated like royalty all his life, he's super rude to you, a common guard dog

he's always snarky with you and he never listens and you have enough of it one day

you push him down to the floor, your teeth grazing against his delicate neck, showing him that you were not someone to be trampled on

"that's right. you have nothing to say now, brat." you growl, sitting up to look at the frightened kitty

but as you sit back, your ass comes into contact with his boner

arching an eyebrow, you smirk and roll your hips over his clothed dick "now what do we have here?"

minho stays silent, frowning but not making any attempt to push you off

"don't tell me you like this." you tease him, grinding against him harder and pulling breathy little moans from his pouty lips "kitty likes it when I'm mean to him?"

"Yeah you like that pretty kitty? Are you gonna make a mess in your pants for me? Good boy."

you make him cum like that without even touching his dick

minho is shameless after that brazenly getting on your nerves so you'd punish him

he gets so needy that now you're getting him off on the daily, letting him hump your thighs to get off while you degrade him

his insatiable need would be bad enough but now he's outright refusing to breed the cat hybrids anymore

no matter how many times you try to convince the stubborn idiot that he's going to draw attention and ruin you both, he still refuses

until finally you make a deal with him that you'll have sex with him if he continues breeding the cats

he's not fully convinced. why would he waste his seed on other women when you were right there?

"because I'm not your kind, you stupid cat."

but minho doesn't care. all he cares about is getting to breed you

"Fuck you're burning up. Are you going into heat over this? Dumb little kitten thinks he can put babies in my belly."

your words only make him fuck you harder as if he could do it if he tried hard enough

AU 2:

he's the prince's very picky kitty, rarely is a cat good enough for him. he rarely mates at all and the prince doesn't understand it one bit

one day they're walking around shopping in the bazaar when lino catches a whiff of your scent. he follows it to a shady part of the market that he never saw before

that's when he sees you standing there with a heavy chair around your neck and a cheap transparent dress over your body

out of nowhere a short disgusting man appear and he asks him if he wants to see your tits. it's only for a couple of coins

minho shouldn’t say yes. He has a whole harem of much better bred pussies for him to pick and choose from. He didn’t need to pay a disgusting man to see the body of some nameless mongrel

yet here he was hanging the slimey man the coins

the man all but rips your bodice open, eager to please the rich hybrid.

Minho feels an uncomfortable tightness in his pants. His mouth waters at the sight of your full breasts on display for him and he finds himself moving forward to touch, but the man steps in.

“The silver was to see not to touch. Three if you want to touch.”

Minho grunts and gives him what he wants. you don't seem impressed by him.

He cradles your breasts in his hands and leans down to pluck a pert nipple into his mouth, ear perked to the sound of your restrained gasp.

but then he hears the prince calling for him and he rips himself away from you and wipes his mouth harshly, panting as if he was under a spell.

Gulping, he spares your half naked form one last glance before he’s retreating towards his owner. As he slips back into the main room he hears the vendor call after him smugly, “We’ll be waiting for you, my lord.”

He does come back, this time more worked up than last time as he couldn't go to sleep thinking about you and he was reduced to getting himself off multiple time throughout the night just to cool down

his owner catches him this time though. "So this is why you were so eager to come back even though you hate the market. I gotta say I'm surprised by your taste." The prince grins. "Did you mount her yet?"

Minho blanches, feeling humiliated at being caught "of course not. I would never defile myself with such a mongrel."

The prince arches an eyebrow. "It's okay minho. Sometimes you need to slum it down a little. I get that urge too. Cheap prostitutes like her have their draw."

The prince grabs you and pushes her over a table, pulling your skirt up. "Come on kitty. Take her. I know you're dying to."

minho's hesitation evaporate when he sees your pussy exposed and waiting for him. he quickly comes up beind you, pushing his length into you even though you weren't wet. it's uncomfortable but it's not the first time a man shoves his dick into your pussy without bothering to get you wet

it's over soon anyway, the spoiled cat getting overwhelmed by your tight walls and ends up cumming embarrassingly fast. He stumbles away, watching his cum drip from your fucked out hole.

"We'll take her."

Minho looks at him shocked. "I finally have something for my precious pet to fuck. You're so picky."

AU 3:

You were standing outside the gymnasium for a quick smoke when a voice slurs behind you. "Where is your little boyfriend?"

You roll your eyes, already fed up with the boy that is talking to you.

"What, he couldn't stand the thought of fucking you tonight so he ran away?"

You narrow your eyes at him. How did he know you were planning to give your virginity to your Hyunjin tonight? If he had shown up that is.

You don't even know what minho's deal is. He wasn't always like this. You remember a time long, long ago when the two of you were friends. He was so nice and sweet to you when you first met as kids. But then suddenly out of nowhere he turned on you for absolutely no reason.

"Tell me, mutt. What was he gonna give you so he could get between your legs? A pack of cigarettes?" Oh yeah, that’s why. He looks down on you for not being a purebred like him.

You huff the smoke in his face in agitation, still ignoring him.

"Aw, don't be sad. If he won't do it, I can rise to the occasion. Just tell me how much." He goads you. You throw the cigarette to the ground, violently snuffing it out with your heels when an idea pops into your head.

Looking up at him, you reply simply. "50k."

"W-what?"

"You're so fucking obsessed with my sex life so you must really want me. So yeah I'll give it to you for 50k."

"You're a crazy bitch."

you were just messing with him. and he worked. he left you alone

what you never expected was for him to show up the next day at your door, shoving a heavy suitcase into your arms

"what's this?"

"50k." He mumbles.

“Is this a joke?”

“You said you’d give it to me for 50k.” He explains flatly, looking everywhere except at you.

you walk towards him. "You really are a sick pervert, aren't you? Buying my virginity?"

He stays silent, looking at the ground so you grab his jaw and force him to look at you.

"You're not in control. I am. Got it?" You sneer, and he stares for a second, processing that you’re actually agreeing to go through with this, then he nods enthusiastically.

AU 4:

you're a dog hybrid and he's a cat hybrid. He's been kissing you secretly since long ago

You know it's wrong but you like it so you keep it a secret. and you always get so jealous when his heat comes and he goes away to fuck someone else.

When he comes back he's apologetic and spends days trying to make you forgive him. He shouldn't have to. He's not yours.

You touch yourself while you're sleeping next to him a lot. He pretends he doesn't know but it drives him insane

He's waits till you have your first heat. You're supposed to be given to chan but he convinces you not to let your owner know telling you he'll take care of you

You know this is forbidden but you let him fuck you because you're in love with him.

"Oppa this is too much."

"Shh baby take it. You've teased me long enough."

He cums in you but doesn't pull out so he can fuck you more. He's been training himself for this in order to satisfy you.

You get overwhelmed and he laughs at how cute you are. ask him to kiss you so he does

"What a cutie. All mine."

"Open your mouth." He lets a trail of spit fall from his mouth and you obediently open up and take it like you've been taught. He groans and kisses you softly. You whine in his mouth as he fucks you again.

"Not gonna go to that mutt right baby? Only I get to do this to you."

AU 5:

he's the queens pet and you're the leader of a mercenary group the queen has hired to fight a battle for her

he immediately takes an interest in you and follows you around thinking that he's slick

In the beginning, his infatuation was merely amusing to you as you took to teasing him whenever you got the chance--cornering him when the princess wasn't looking and whispering filthy things in his ear. It was both easy and fun to work up the needy kitten.

What you hadn’t expected was for him to walk in on you while you were fucking one of your own hybrids, Chan. The big wolf tended to get rowdy so you were often rough with him to keep him under control, and well that's how the masochistic hybrid liked it too.

You expected him to be terrified of you after that, he certainly looked the part, but he surprised you by coming to you teary eyes and whimpering pleas so moving that you couldn’t resist giving him whatever he asked for, which was badly worded and clueless seeing as he had never been in any kind of physical relationship before.

He’s never done something like this before. His owner, the queen, kept him on a tight leash, untouched and forever pure. He had been taking suppressants ever since his very first heat and, before he met you, he had barely remembered what it was like to feel that painfully delicious pang of pleasure in his belly.

He holds onto you as you pleasure him, one hand fisted in your clothes and the other wrapped around your wrist as if he was afraid you were going to hurt him. If you were to look at his expression, you would think that you were hurting him, a small frown on his face as he whines and whimpers.

You stroke his cheek softly with the back of your fingers, finding it hot to the touch. “What is it, kitten?”

“It hurts.” He sobs.

“I know, baby. I’ll make it go away.” You almost feel guilty for purposefully prolonging his pain, the stimulation you give his cock designed to make him reach the edge at the slowest possible pace, but the truth is you weren’t sorry at all.

“You know, kitten, you should come with me when I leave. I’ll hide you until we’re out of the castle walls. Your princess won’t even realize you’re missing until it’s too late, and when you’re with me, every moment will be filled with pleasure. I’ll take care of you like she never did. I’ll show you a whole world of pleasure. How does that sound, kitty?” You seduce as your thumb flits over his weeping slit, distracting him and seducing him. “Hmm, you wanna come with me?”

“I--I’m not--I don’t know.” He answers nervously, his brain too hazy especially as you finally speed up your strokes, jumbling up all his thought process.

“Don’t think too much, kitten. Don’t you want to feel good?” You purr, tightening your fist around his cock to give him more pleasure.

“Yes, but--”

“No buts, darling. Don’t you wanna be a good kitten for Master?” You ask, referring to yourself and he gasps, his cock jumps in your hand. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you? You’re a dirty little kitten, aren’t you?”

“No!” He cries, shaking his head from side to side, but there is no denying the way his stomach tightens and his hips buck off the bed as his orgasm approaches and his primal senses take over. “I can’t take it! Please, help me. I can’t--”

His seed splatters across his abdomen as he cums, and you talk him through it. “That’s it, baby. Let go for me. Let it all out. Good kitten.”

you ruin him so thoroughly that he gives into her and lets her fuck him in front of the queen herself

"Lino stop that! You sound like a common whore."

"I can't help it. Mistress… is making me burn up." "Ah fuck." He keens

"Your precious kitten is getting fucked regularly, that’s why he sounds like that. He’s nothing but a loose slut right now. I fucking ruined him. Isn’t that right, kitten?"

"Hah... touch my cock." He drools on the sheets under him and you laugh, grabbing his cock from underneath and starting to milk him. “See? Just a dumb slut.”

___________

A/N: one of these will most likely get a proper fic but I couldn’t keep these to myself

[cocobeanncteez]

Ateez Hongjoong: Tame (Final Part)

Genre: Fluff, angst, smut, mafia au.

Pairing: Mafia!Hongjoong x OC (written in 2nd person)

Word Count: 17k in total, 2.2k in this part. (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3)

Warnings for all parts combined: Mafia themes such as torture, abuse, violence, human auctions, murder, drugs, guns. Mentions of rape, human trafficking, sex slavery, organ trafficking, unprotected sex, pulling out, facesitting.

“What are you guys up to?” you questioned, plopping down on the couch beside Wooyoung. Yunho, Jongho, and San were seated on the opposite couch.

“Just talking about one of our hostages who we will kill tonight,” Yunho replied while playing with a rubik's cube.

“What did they do?” you asked.

“He tried to sabotage our latest drug deal with a secret dealer from Russia. We didn’t know how he found out about it, but he spilled the beans on his gang,” San answered. “So we don’t need him anymore.”

“Well… rest in peace, I guess,” you remarked, making Wooyoung snort.

“Would’ve been better if we killed Yang Daeyoung instead.”

You turned to look at him. “Who exactly is he? I’ve heard his name a few times, but I’ve never gotten the opportunity to ask.”

Jongho gently cleared his throat. “He’s the man who raped and murdered Hongjoong’s sister. Him and three of his men. He wasn’t from a very powerful gang or anything, but he does his work extremely well. He wanted to take us down, and he used Hongjoong’s sister as bait to trap him. Hongjoong refused to give up on Ateez. By the time we managed to track Hongjoong, the damage was already done.” You felt your heart break; you couldn’t even imagine what your boyfriend had to go through.

“Where is Yang Daeyoung now?” you asked.

“Rotting in our torture chamber as we speak.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “What?! Why haven’t you killed him yet?”

“We are looking for his child,” Hongjoong replied, joining the conversation. “The man has over five trillion won kept in a secret bank account. He also has information, good and bad, on every mafia gang and the corrupted politicians and locals involved. That’s why all gangs are still on the lookout for him even though we captured him eight months ago. He has a secret place somewhere in the world and only his child can access his possessions as he used iris pattern recognition. He has covered up everything though. We can’t find shit on any of his family members.”

“No amount of threatening or torturing works on him. We even told him that we’ll find his child and torture them,” Jongho added. “But he won’t reveal anything to us.”

“Maybe I can try?” you suggested. You did learn how to torture someone for information, but it wasn’t something you really enjoyed.

“Your chances are extremely low,” Wooyoung remarked.

“I’m aware of that. But even a little information could be helpful, right?”

“Go ahead then, sweetheart,” Hongjoong said with a smirk. “I’d love to see my girl torture that filthy bastard.”

You pecked his lips. “Then let’s go now, shall we?”

You made your way to the torture room, Hongjoong, Jongho, and Wooyoung following you. Seonghwa joined you after finishing his work in the interrogation room, satisfied with how much information he was able to obtain. Jongho entered a passcode for one of the rooms, letting everyone inside.

The room was pretty dark and looked like a jail cell. You saw a plate of untouched food on the floor. There was a chair in the middle of the room and a cot at the end of the room where Yang Daeyoung was sleeping, his back facing you all, long chains attached from his hands to a pipe.

Wooyoung moved to the sleeping form, giving the man a kick on his back to wake him up. “Get up, fucker.”

Yang Daeyoung groaned in pain before sitting up, looking at the faces of everyone in the room. As soon as you made eye contact with the man, your heart dropped to your stomach.

His eyes widened. “Kiah?! What are you doing here?!”

The boys immediately turned to look at you. You weren’t able to utter a word due to how shocked you were at seeing your own father there. His hair was quite long and he had a long beard and moustache. There were a few scars on his face and arms.

“How do you know her?” Hongjoong interrogated.

“Run from here, Kiah! They’re gonna kill you,” your father yelled at you.

“Do you know him?” Seonghwa asked you, but you weren’t able to answer. You felt sick. You felt terribly sick that it was your father who raped and murdered your lover's sister.

Tears rolled down your eyes when you glanced at your boyfriend. How could you ever face him now?

“Kiah!” your father yelled, tugging hard on the chains, grabbing your attention. “Get out of here! They’re gonna torture you in front my eyes! They said they will find you and torture you!”

Hongjoong looked at you with an emotionless expression, finally understanding the situation. “You’re his daughter?” You couldn’t respond.

“Are you this bastard's daughter?!” he yelled at you. Before you could answer him, he rushed out of the room. You couldn’t help but cry, burying your face in your hands, feeling your heart ache.

Your father glared at you angrily. “Why are you involved with Ateez?! What is wrong with—"

“Shut up!” you shouted, cutting him off. “You’re fucking pathetic! How could you r-rape someone when you have a daughter?! How could you lie to me all these years that you’re a cop, when you’re nothing but a heartless monster!” you sobbed loudly, collapsing onto the floor. You felt someone kneel beside you, wrapping their arms around you.

“Get away from her, Park Seonghwa!” your father spat.

Seonghwa turned to glare at him. “Shut it,” he said, before helping you stand up, taking you to your room.

You blankly stared at the window of your room from your bed, watching the horizon darker as night was approaching. It has been four days since you last saw Hongjoong. You felt nothing but emptiness and agony. You didn’t know if he was at the mansion or if he went somewhere as you haven’t left your room at all ever since Seonghwa brought you to it. The girls tried to make you eat, but you barely had the appetite to.

You sighed, forcing yourself to get out of bed to take a shower even though you were going to crawl right back into it.

Stripping out of your clothes and entering the shower, you pushed the tap, letting the warm water soak you. Closing your eyes, you could feel a dull ache in your chest when you began to think of Hongjoong. A sob got stuck in your throat, but escaped a few seconds later. You couldn’t hold it back anymore. You sat down, hugging your propped up knees. Your sobs got louder, and your throat was aching, tears mixing with the water running down your face.

After spending a few minutes crying until you couldn’t anymore, you finally washed your body and your hair.

Stepping out of the shower, you wrapped a towel around your body and another one for your hair. You exited the bathroom after putting some clothes on, having no strength to dry your hair with a blow-dryer. You stopped in your tracks when you noticed a figure seated on your bed.

“I'm sorry…” Hongjoong apologized, getting off your bed and moving towards you. He stood in front of you with a pained expression on his beautiful face. You wondered how long he was waiting for you and you really hoped he didn’t hear you cry. Even if he didn’t, he could still tell you were crying as your red, puffy eyes gave it away.

“F-For what?” you stuttered, voice shaky.

Hongjoong sighed, looking down at his feet.  “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I shouldn’t have left you alone when you were going through much worse. It was a shock for you too…”

Your eyes filled with tears. “I understand why you did it. It’s okay…”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not okay, baby. I’m ashamed of how I acted. You didn’t deserve that.”

You blinked, causing the tears brimming at your eyes to slide down your cheeks. Hongjoong reached up to cup your cheeks, gently wiping your tears away with his thumbs. He placed a gentle, lingering kiss on your forehead. “I’m so sorry.”

You closed your eyes, shaking your head in his hold. You pulled away from him, taking a deep breath. “Hongjoong, I-I think it’s best if we end things.” His eyes widened, heart aching due to your words. He opened his mouth to say something, but you spoke before he could. “I’m the daughter of the man who raped and murdered your sister, Hongjoong. I-I can’t…” you paused, sobs taking over. “I can’t live with that fact. I can’t look at you without thinking about it.”

“I don’t care, Kiah,” he reached out to hold your hands, his own eyes filling with tears. “I love you. Do you understand? I fucking love you. Yes, I was furious when I found out that you were the daughter of that bastard, but you shouldn’t have to suffer because of him. You didn’t even know what he does for a living. It’s not your problem.”

You sniffled. “You don’t h-hate me?” you couldn’t help but ask.

“Baby…” he sighed, pulling you into a hug, his own tears rolling down his beautiful face. “I could never hate you. Never. You’re the love of my life. Fuck, I can’t even live without you. These past four days… I felt like I was gonna go insane if I didn’t see you, but I had to give you some space.” You didn’t know what to say.

“There's no me without you,” he continued, gently pushing you away so that he could see your face. “So please… never try to break up with me again. I’d rather die than live without you,” he cried. You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest while you both cried together. Hongjoong placed soft kisses onto your head, trying to calm himself and you down.

When your sobs stopped, he gently pushed you away so that he could look at your face. He cupped your cheek, titling your head back before he leaned in, capturing your lips with his own in a soft kiss.

He pulled away, resting his forehead against you. “I love you,” he murmured.

You smile slightly. “I love you more.”

Epilogue

 “Oh my god! We’re finally here!” Jiwoo squealed, running on the cooling sand. Ateez managed to find out the location of your father's secret hideout in Fiji with the help of Yeosang who used your iris pattern to track the computer. Ateez managed to receive all your father’s possessions and now you all had flown across Fiji for a mini vacation.

“Jiwoo's dream destination is Fiji and now we’re here,” San said, watching his girlfriend with love and adoration. You chuckled, watching San run after Jiwoo to join her little hyper session.

“We’re gonna go rest for a while,” Seonghwa stated, holding Aeji's hand.

Wooyoung smirked. “I know what that means,” he said, earning a smack on his head from the older man before the couple went to their beach house in the chain of houses.

Hongjoong took your hand in his, intertwining it. “We’re gonna rest too. See you all for dinner,” he said, dragging you along to your little beach house.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence, sandals leaving prints on the sand, observing the various hues of orange, red, blue, and purple in the beautiful sky as the sun was setting. Hongjoong let go of your hand when you reached your beach house, pausing in his tracks. You gave him a questioning look, wondering why he wasn’t going inside.

He cleared his throat, moving his hands to wrap around your waist. “You’re the only one who could tame my temper, as the boys always say," he started, making you giggle. “The only one who could make my heart beat so fast. I’ve never wanted anything more in life than to be with you. You aren’t just my girlfriend, you’re my best friend and the love of my life. But now I’d like to change that,” he reached into his pocket, taking out a small velvet box.

Hongjoong got down on one knee, and you gasped, realizing what was about to happen. “I’d like to be upgraded from your boyfriend to your fiancé.” You chuckle at that and he opened the box, revealing a beautiful oval-shaped diamond ring.

“Moon Kiah, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

“Yes!” you squealed, face beaming with happiness. Hongjoong took your hand in his, sliding the ring onto your finger. He got up and you pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. When you pulled away, he grinned before placing a soft kiss on your lips. “I love you. Thank you for bringing light to my life.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck. “I love you too, Joong. So much.” Hongjoong chuckled, pulling you into a sweet kiss.

You couldn’t wait for this new chapter in your life, spending it with Hongjoong by your side for the rest of eternity.

[swanlake1998]

Article: The Unbearable Whiteness of Ballet

Date: April 22, 2021

By: Chloe Angyal

In an exclusive excerpt from her new book Turning Pointe, contributing editor Chloe Angyal lays out the ways that white supremacy is embedded in ballet's most basic foundations.

Wilmara Manuel and her 11-year-old daughter, Sasha, were at the world finals of a ballet competition, the Youth America Grand Prix, in 2015 when it happened. Shortly before the competition began, the young dancers were on the performance stage with their parents, warming up and preparing to dance the solos they’d been rehearsing for months.

As Wilmara, who is Black and originally from Haiti, and Sasha, who is biracial, stood there, a young white dancer looked around the stage, checking out the competition. “And her eyes land on Sasha,” Wilmara remembers, “and I saw her look [Sasha] up and down, and then look at her mom.

“And her mom said, ‘Don’t worry. They’re never really good anyway.’ ”

Wilmara did her best to contain her shock. Sasha didn’t hear what the white mom had said, and Wilmara wasn’t about to tell her, because “that’s not the thing I want to discuss 10 minutes before she takes the stage.” But Sasha could sense that something was amiss. “Just the look on my face, she was like, ‘What? What happened? What did she say?’ ” Wilmara brushed her daughter off.

Don’t worry. They’re never really good anyway. An entire worldview of white resentment of Black progress and excellence passed quietly from mother to child in just seven words.

That white mother could not fathom that Sasha, a biracial child with a Black mother, might be really good—as in very good, or truly good—at a traditionally white art form at which her child was presumably also quite proficient. She could not imagine that Sasha might deserve to be at that competition, might have qualified on her merit—her talent and skill and persistence—rather than because of what she might consider a misguided or even unjust attempt to diversify ballet by lowering standards. They’re not really good, but they are allowed to be here. In this space that is rightfully yours, in this art form that is rightfully yours. They’re never as good as the white girls, a sweeping generalization that grants no individuality, no humanity, to any nonwhite dancer. They’re all the same, and they never deserve to be here. But don’t worry. Your excellence is a given. You belong here, while their presence is conditional or even ill-gotten.

A few minutes later, Sasha took the stage and performed her solo. She ended up placing ahead of that white dancer.

From then on, Wilmara traveled with Sasha to every competition, paying the additional travel costs to make sure that, if something like that ever happened again, she’d be there to support her daughter.

“That has stuck with me,” she says. “And it’s one of the reasons I make the sacrifice and I go with her everywhere. Even if there are others going, I feel like I need to be around should comments like that pop up. I just don’t feel like I can take that chance, you know? And what cracks me up is that . . . she doesn’t even look as dark as I do, which makes me feel like, ‘Oh my God, if you were darker, like, what else?’ ”

Sasha grew up in a suburb of Indianapolis and is now 16. She trains at the Royal Ballet School in London, an exclusive training ground that serves as a feeder school for the Royal Ballet. It’s widely acknowledged to be one of the best ballet schools in the world.

Wilmara says that people often express their surprise at the quality of Sasha’s training and technique. “Oh wow, you’re really good,” Wilmara says by way of example. “Where do you train? Have you been dancing for a long time?” She says that while she tries to give these white people the benefit of the doubt, she knows what they usually mean, and she’d prefer they just come out and say it: “I’m surprised you’re that good. You’re Black and you’re dancing and you’re good.”

Now that Sasha is a little older, Wilmara talks to her about the racist assumptions embedded in those surprised comments. “You know she’s asking because she doesn’t think a person of your color can do this,” she’s told Sasha, who now “gets it when she hears that tone of voice.”

And, she says, she’s been frank with her daughter about the kind of resistance she should expect from the overwhelmingly white ballet establishment if she keeps excelling—which she shows every sign of doing.

It’s moms who do the bulk of the work of ballet parenting: the sewing of costumes, the schedule keeping for rehearsals and recitals. And when you’re a ballet mom to a dancer of color, there’s an even higher price to pay.

“Not everybody’s gonna be thrilled,” Wilmara says, paraphrasing her conversations with Sasha. “Even if you’re not a dancer of color, it’s cutthroat. And on top of that, you are a dancer of color, and so that poses another threat in some ways. So you have to be mindful of your things and what you are doing, and know what things are okay, and [pay attention to] when you are uncomfortable.”

This emotional labor, the work of helping young dancers understand what “that tone of voice” means and why it’s being used—or the work of deciding whether to tell your child about the racist remark you just overheard or absorb it yourself and shield them from it—is a part of parenting not demanded of mothers of white dancers.

Then there’s the payment in time and money required of Wilmara to make sure that Sasha’s ballet experience is as fair and worry-free as possible. Once, at a competition, Wilmara forgot to color in the “nude” pale pink straps on one of Sasha’s competition costumes. Wilmara scrambled to find brown foundation because none of the vendors at the competition had a leotard in Sasha’s skin color.

“Come on, people, you are here,” Wilmara remembers thinking. “There may not be that many [dancers of color], but they are all here and you should be able to bring various shades of nude leos.”

Succeeding in ballet, or even just surviving, requires extra talent, extra work, extra resilience, and extra sacrifices from dancers of color, especially Black and brown dancers, and their parents. White ballet moms might have to talk to their white daughters about how cutthroat ballet is. But they don’t need to issue additional warnings about how a white girl’s success will be received by that cutthroat culture, because almost all the successful girls and women in ballet are white.

“They’ve had to grow up a lot faster,” Wilmara says of Black and brown ballet dancers. “I think the ballet world makes you grow up a lot faster, but on top of that,” there are the “extra hurdles that other dancers don’t have to think about.” There are the overtly racist comments backstage before a performance and the subtly racist “compliments” after. There is time spent frantically searching for the right leotard or adapting the default pink leotard. There is the knowledge, internalized first by parents and then by their kids, that if you make it over all those hurdles your success will be viewed with suspicion and resentment—that ballet does not have a “diversity” problem; it has a white supremacy problem.

“Our kids,” Wilmara says, “are thinking about this and thinking about it early on.”

The organizing principle of ballet—of training, of performance, of making a ballet body—is control. Control of your rigid torso while your foot shoots upward from the hip in a battement. Control of a silent and compliant class of otherwise giggly 9-year-old girls. “The traditional and classical Europeanist aesthetic for the dancing body is dominated and ruled by the erect spine,” wrote dance scholar Brenda Dixon Gottschild in her landmark book The Black Dancing Body. “Verticality is a prime value, with the torso held erect, knees straight, body in vertical alignment. . . . The torso is held still.”

It all demands control. Control of your smiling face as your feet scream in your pointe shoes at the end of a long pas de deux. Control of your weight, of your turnout, of your stretched and strengthened feet that now arch into a shape no ordinary foot can make. “The ballet audience, attuned and habituated to view control as a prime value, applaud its display and are embarrassed when it isn’t fulfilled,” Gottschild wrote.

Discipline, order, adherence to strict and unquestioned rules. That’s what ballet is. When Gottschild asked Seán Curran, a white dancer and choreographer who performed with the Bill T. Jones/Arnie Zane Company, what he pictured when he thought of white dance or white dancing bodies, he said, “Upright. . . . For some reason, ‘proper’ stuck in the head a bit, something that is built and made and constructed rather than is free or flows.” A body that is rigid, obedient, and disciplined, remade from something natural and unruly into something refined and well behaved. Proper. “Whiteness,” Curran said, “values precision and unison.”

Curran’s assessment identifies a central underlying prejudice of white supremacy: the belief that people of color, and their bodies, are wild. Uncivilized, animalistic, subhuman. That white people—who, by contrast, are assumed to be organized and civilized—have both a right and a responsibility to tame that which is untamed and impose order, precision, and unison on it. To suppress and control that which is savage; to press it into something that approaches whiteness but will never be truly white and thus never truly equal.

This is the logic that underpinned white colonization and American slavery. It is also the logic that makes racial segregation possible: that which is pure and organized must be kept separate from that which is profane and undisciplined. And central to this worldview is the idea that the work of white supremacy is unending, not because white supremacy is flawed, but because the very people it seeks to suppress are inherently inferior, naturally incapable of complying. Because of some inborn lack—of will, of understanding, of discipline—people of color will never fully obey, never properly assimilate, never be redeemed by whiteness. In this way, white supremacy perpetuates itself, justifying both its worldview and the permanent need for its existence.

It’s little wonder, then, that ballet—with its fixation on control, discipline, and uprightness—wraps itself so neatly around whiteness. It makes sense that white Americans, reared on the belief that whiteness is synonymous with order and refinement, also believe that people of color have no place, or a limited place, or a conditional place, in classical ballet.

Furthermore, it is easy to see how the ideal ballet body—so controlled, so upright—is everything that white supremacy imagines a Black body is not. And because of deeply ingrained American cultural associations with musculature, loose movement, brute force, and untamed sexuality, the Black body is believed to be everything a ballet body is not permitted to be.

“When we talk about the ballerina,” says Theresa Ruth Howard, a former dancer and a teacher, diversity strategist, and the founder and curator of the digital ballet history archive Memoirs of Blacks in Ballet (MoBBallet), “we’re talking about the ideal, our stereotype of the desirable woman, and that is reserved for white women.”

Howard has made a career of helping the people who run ballet companies and schools to examine their ideas about what makes for a “good” ballet body, asking them to question their biases about the inherent fitness of white bodies and unfitness of other bodies, especially Black bodies. She says that long-standing racist tropes about Black women’s bodies make Blackness and ballerinas seem antithetical.

“You have the trope of either the jezebel, the mammy, or the workhorse of the Black woman,” which are incompatible with desirability, fragility, and sexual purity, the ideal of white womanhood at the heart of the ballerina’s appeal.

“She’s desired. It’s the epitome of beauty, of grace, of elegance, and these are not adjectives that are assigned to Black women,” Howard says. “Especially not darker-skinned Black women. This is why the closer you look to the white European aesthetic as a Black woman, the better chance you have at occupying that role. Especially at a higher level.”

Despite the long tradition of Latin American dancers carving out successful professional careers in the U.S. and the enormous success of Misty Copeland—a light-skinned Black dancer whose ascent to the pinnacle of American ballet was a watershed moment for Black dancers and audiences alike—the archetypal ballerina is still a pale-skinned white woman with slender limbs, negligible breasts and hips, and long, sleek hair. In the American cultural imagination, the ballerina is still white.

George Balanchine famously said that “ballet is woman,” but that’s not the whole truth. Ballet is white woman, or, perhaps more precisely, white womanhood. Ballet is a stronghold of white womanhood, a place where whiteness is the default and white femininity reigns supreme.

Excerpted from Turning Pointe: How a New Generation of Dancers Is Saving Ballet from Itself by Chloe Angyal. Copyright © 2021. Available from Bold Type Books, an imprint of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

IOTA Reviews: Sole Crusher

Well... It's finally here... the episode introducing the new bee hero. And what do you know? It looks like I was right about how the new character would be portrayed.

It's kind of funny how I made predictions exaggerating what could happen, and they were surprisingly accurate. Isn't that funny?

Let's just get into the seventh (chronologically the seventh and the seventh episode in the season to air after “Mr. Pigeon 72”) episode of Miraculous Ladybug's fourth season: Sole Crusher. Damn, I hate that a pun this clever was used for the title.

We get to the point pretty quickly with the first scene being Zoe arriving in Paris and getting a tour of the city. She asks to stop at the Dupain-Cheng bakery, where she meets Marinette through some brief Unfunny Marinette Slapstick. The two quickly strike up a conversation.

I mean, it's not like Zoe is the sister of the absolute worst human being in existence, right?

Marinette compliments Zoe's shoes, and she points out that she designed them herself, and wrote every good thing anyone has ever said to her on them. But because she only has one friend, there's only a standard “I <3 U” on the left shoe.

So Zoe leaves the bakery and heads to Le Grand Paris where she meets her mother, Audrey. Unlike how she talked with Marinette, Zoe pretends to be just as snobby as Audrey in order to fit in. She then meets up with Chloe, who criticizes her for having poor person things like a phone without any diamonds embedded in it. And then she sees Zoe's shoes.

Look, that meme was already dated when it was referenced in Black Panther three years ago. Please don't try to reference memes in 2021, Miraculous Ladybug.

Chloe offers some golden heels while saying that those kind of shoes are for winners to wear and crush the losers underneath. This is the only episode to mention this kind of ideology, and believe me, it gets worse when Chloe decides to teach Zoe how to be like her.

Get used to this. This episode is all about demolishing any semblance of likability in Chloe's character. Now that Astruc doesn't have to bother with writing Chloe with decency since she's not Queen Bee, watch as he turns her into an absolute caricature of her former self.

Yes, Chloe has ordered her father to give her a lot of frivolous things in the past, but she has been shown to care about him, like immediately rushing to hug him after she was safe in “Origins” and showing concern for when he was akumatized into Malediktator while apologizing for causing it. For the love of God, one of the first things she did when she allied with Hawkmoth at the end of Season 3 was to have him unto her parents' akumatization. I guess she only cared about her rich parents for their status and not because she actually loved them right?

Next up on the list of Chloe's positive qualities to ruin is her friendship with Sabrina.

🎶It's seven o'clock in the morning🎶 🎶I can't believe they made this scene🎶 🎶With the writing Astruc's enforcing🎶 🎶It's like he's trying to piss off me🎶

Yep, Chloe doesn't view Sabrina in a twisted view of friendship anymore. Now she's a slave. I'm not exaggerating by the way, he actually said that in a tweet.

THIS IS WHAT THOMAS ASTRUC ACTUALLY BELIEVES

Okay, so I guess all those times we saw Chloe playing superheroes with Sabrina in “Antibug” and “Miraculer” were just a slave driver playing with their property. Actually apologizing to Sabrina for getting her akumatized in those episodes? Protecting her from the Scarlet Akumas in “Ladybug”? She was just interested in keeping her slave around. I think Astruc may have slept through the slavery unit in his history class. Yes, Sabrina was mostly used as a joke to show how controlling Chloe could be, but there were still semblances of an actual friendship between the two.

Chloe arrives at school and introduces Zoe as her half-sister, despite being the same age and having the same mother. Because I guess we can add basic biology to the list of things the writers don't understand. Now that we're at school, Chloe's friendship with Adrien is next up on the chopping block.

Yep, despite being Adrien's only friend and making a big deal about valuing his friendship to the point where she threw a big party just to make sure he wouldn't leave her and risked cooperating with an Akuma to save him, now Chloe just sees Adrien as a rich meal ticket. Two of the earliest episodes to show Chloe had a more compassionate side to her, and they just undid them. Even as much as I hated the episode, “Felix” showed Chloe was willing to cooperate with Marinette and her friends just to find a way to cheer Adrien up on the anniversary of his mother's not-death.

For the love of God, Astruc, 1984 was supposed to warn people about what could happen if they rewrote the past, not encourage people to rewrite the past. He probably finished Animal Farm thinking Snowball really did work alongside the humans, didn't he?

Marinette comes up and Zoe pretends to hate her, leading Marinette to wonder why she did that. She texts Zoe (she gave her number to her earlier) and invites her to a concert on the Liberty, but Chloe finds out. Zoe thinks fast and pretends it's just so she can torment her more. Chloe then takes out a book listing all the ways she can torture Marinette. I wonder if this is a metaphor for the writing process behind most of the episodes last season.

Zoe decides to go outside for some fresh air, and Andre comforts her. Funny how Andre bends over backwards to give Chloe whatever she wants, yet he's willing to actually talk to Zoe like an actual parent. Andre tries to cheer Zoe up, but she talks about her past where she had to put on an act so she would be liked, but (bet you've never heard this before) she just wants to be accepted for who she truly is. The surge of emotions is enough for Shadowmoth to akumatize her into Sole Crusher.

In addition to having one of the most clever puns for an Akuma name, I actually like Sole Crusher's design. Not only is it a good excuse to reuse Chloe's character design, it makes sense thematically, as Chloe was trying to mold Zoe into a copy of herself. The gold and diamonds also make sense given Chloe's love for shiny things. Her powers tie into the bizarre belief Chloe has about stepping on the winners. Whenever Sole Crusher kicks or steps on someone, she absorbs them and gets progressively bigger, making it easier to do so. While it's not cracking my top ten anytime soon, it's still an interesting character design.

Sole Crusher heads to the hotel to get Chloe, and she manages to get away pretty quickly. Maybe in an alternate universe, she's a track star? For some reason, she runs to the Dupain-Cheng bakery and then... Oh my God... pushes Marinette's parents so they get absorbed by Sole Crusher, before trying to do the same with Marinette.

When has Chloe ever done something like that? Whenever she endangered someone during an Akuma attack, it was unintentional or a result of her naivety. She was only trapped in Pixelator's dimension because Adrien tried diving to save her, she only alerted Rogercop to Ladybug's presence because she eagerly called out for her, and during “Zombizou” she only tried to throw Sabrina towards the horde of kissing zombies once, and that was meant to highlight her growth. The only person to actually do stuff like this consistently is Lila, but I guess she got vaporized by Big Brother offscreen.

This episode is determined to make the audience hate Chloe by retconning everything about her character while portraying her as a complete monster. As bad as Chloe could get, she was never selfish enough to use anyone as a human shield. This kind of behavior honestly could be explained by saying Chloe was lashing out as a result of losing the Bee Miraculous permanently, but the events of the Season 3 finale aren't mentioned ONCE, not even in the next episode that introduces Queen Bee's replacement! How the hell can you set up the next Bee hero without explaining why the original needs to be replaced in the first place?! And trust me, I'm going to talk about Zoe replacing Chloe later.

Sole Crusher grabs Marinette in her hand, so the Horse Kwami, Kaalki, uses her power to teleport over to Adrien's house and inform him Ladybug needs help, meaning once again Adrien did nothing in this episode before becoming Cat Noir.

At the Liberty, Chloe offers more victims to Sole Crusher in the form of the band Kitty Section (consisting of Luka, Juleka, Rose, Ivan, and Mylene) and theatens the giant golden supervillain she can send her back to Paris, even though she's really not in a position to bargain right now. And she STILL continues to insult her. Do you hate Chloe yet? Come on, do you? The writers won't stop until you do.

After we see Sole Crusher's conflicted emotions, Marinette is set free by Cat Noir and transforms into Ladybug, immediately summoning her Lucky Charm, a shoehorn. They only learn Zoe's sneakers were where she were akumatized thanks to Chloe's ranting, so the episode unintentionally made Chloe save the day. Ladybug breaks into Le Grand Paris and breaks the sneakers where Zoe hid them, using the shoehorn to open a door. So Sole Crusher is de-evilized, Ladybug fixes the damage, and gives yet another charm to Zoe.

Afterwards, Zoe goes to the Liberty, apologizes for the act she put on, all while divulging to the audience her “tragic backstory”.

Of course, everyone welcomes her with open arms.

And right here is where the biggest problem I have with Zoe as a character. I normally hesitate to use this term given how often it gets thrown around when criticizing characters these days, but I really can't say anything else.

Zoe... is a Mary Sue.

For those who don't know, the term Mary Sue originated in a Star Trek fanfiction from 1973 satirizing several self-insert stories at the time. Most of these stories showed a beautiful young woman joining the crew of the Enterprise and immediately gaining the attention of the crew. Mary Sue parodied this character archetype by showing how much she was appreciated by Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock, the latter being driven to tears at her funeral despite his species being emotionless normally.

What does this have to do with Zoe? She has the exact same storyline as Mary Sue in the parody fanfiction. Her mere presence is enough to make Chloe act extremely out of character in an attempt to make her look better, and as soon as she apologizes while giving a frankly vague backstory, everyone just accepts her as their friend, and I mean everyone in the entire class. I'm sorry, but it just doesn't feel earned. Why was she bullied at her old school? What did her bullies have against her? What caused her to stop going along with her peers, and why did everyone turn against her? How the hell did the bullies who put cockroaches in another student's locker get no punishment while the victim was forced to transfer schools? It's an intentionally unclear backstory designed to make the audience feel sympathetic towards Zoe without actually doing anything else.

I want to ask anyone reading this who watched the episode a question: Outside of her backstory, what do we actually know about Zoe?

What is her personality like? She's nice? Socially awkward? We've never had a character like that in Miraculous Ladybug before! Sorry Marinette, Adrien, Juleka, Nathaniel, Mylene, and Marc, there's a new character with more personality than all of you combined!

What are her goals? She wants to be an actress? Great, but why? Even though there's no clear answer for why Marinette loves fashion, or why Alya loves journalism, or why Nino loves DJing, you can still see the passion in their lives when they do something related to their goals. Zoe only says she wants to be an actress, connecting it to her people pleaser backstory (and given how it ended, she must be a terrible actress), and in the next episode, she immediately gets the lead role in a student film.

When Mylene got the starring role in the movie in “Horrificator”, we at least got snippets of her acting skills in the same episode that established her desire to be an actress, which is also implied to be because she was inspired by her father in “The Mime”. She didn't just say she wanted to be an actress and got the leading role. She still had problems to overcome like her cowardice, which threw her own self-confidence into doubt. Here, Zoe just says she wants to be an actress, and is rewarded for no reason the very next episode.

Zoe basically exists only to be a foil to Chloe, and the writers had no idea what to do in terms of a personality, so they just dumped a bunch of extremely likable character traits onto her without thinking of how her character could come off. And like I said, she's a Mary Sue.

I'm not the only one who thinks this. I've seen a handful of posts on this very site calling Zoe a Mary Sue. In fact, I even asked another Tumblr user @anxresi​ to quote their take on Zoe being a Mary Sue, which I couldn't even top in terms of accuracy. They basically listed off five things that made Zoe a Mary Sue.

She has to have a ‘tragic backstory’ so all the other characters will fall in love with her. Usually within minutes, in the very first episode they’re introduced.

She has to have a supercute design so that the audience at home will fall in love with her. And if they don’t, they’re automatically dismissed as ‘haterz’ even if their objections are purely from a writing POV.

Her only flaw will be thinking too little of herself. “What, lil ol’ me as the Bee Miraculous holder? With my shyness, colorful shoes, chic beret and personalized pink strip in my hair? Gosh, who’d have thought it?”

The contrast to her half-sister will be a constant plot point, with Chloe always getting dumped on. “You see, kids? Bad things happen to bad people. But you see this super-sweet girl over here? She gets a free DAD. Instant FRIENDS. To star in her own MOVIE. The chance to be a SUPERHERO, even though she only arrived last week. Who cares if she has no depth, no personality and barely any reason for being in the show, apart from being a massive ‘Up Yours’ to all the Chloe fans out there?”

What about character development, Mr Generic Zag Guy? “Development? What’s that?! Zoe is already perfect as she is. The only ‘development’ she’ll receive is having her hair done in the first episode she’s introduced. Besides, That‘d’ word is banned here at Zag studios. Why do you think we abandoned Chloe’s stillborn arc so quickly? This is a KIDS show, why bother trying to create a complex character with more than one dimension?”

This is essentially who Zoe is. She's perfect, has no character flaws, has a cute design so the audience will love her already, and was designed only to replace Chloe as Queen Bee. That's all she is.

So the episode ends with Zoe feeling happy at all the new friends she made while we get one of the most blatant attempts of symbolism in the ending card I've ever seen.

See, look. While Marinette is happily talking with Zoe with the image of Ladybug next to them, Chloe is to the far left with an EVIL purple aura, showing how bad she is compared to how great Zoe is. Only a braindead moron would actually like Chloe over the super awesome and pretty Zoe!

I'll give my final thoughts on the episode in the next part where I analyze this plotline as a whole.

LINK TO “QUEEN BANANA” REVIEW

[teddy06writes]

Greek Myth Series: Hades And Persephone

Woo! Woo! It's finally here, the moment you've been waiting for, the kick off of the greek myth series!

We are starting out with Hades And Persephone because on the poll they beat out Psyche and Eros by like, 12 or 13 votes. So lets go:

Wilbur Soot x reader (slightly implied female)

Trigger warnings: yelling, some swearing

premise: if you know the story of Hades and Persephone then you know what it is. If not, well you'll see. This is me putting an mcyt twist on my take of the story.

Just a line up {subject to change from part to part of this series} :

Wilbur- Hades

Tommy- Thanatos

Dream- Zeus

Ranboo- Hermes

Hannah- Demeter

Tubbo- Askalaphos (the dude who tells Persephone to eat the pomegranate)

Sapnap- Apollo

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Long, long ago, when monsters and mortals still clashed over land, and when Gods still ruled the Earth, there lived a woman.

No, not just a woman, a goddess, one of the 12 major gods, housed in the Greek Pantheon.

Hannah, they called her, who hailed over crops and the growing season. Most would have known her as passive, but in one flick of her wrist you may find your fields dead, and her wrath growing.

Now, Hannah, had but one godly child, who presided over spring growth, called (y/n).

(y/n), though they loved to walk the earth, to see fields full of flowers, and orchards full of trees, longed for something more. As they grew, Hannah bound them more and more to the growing season, nearly forbidding them to have their freedom.

And, during those fleeting moments, where (y/n) was able to roam free, not giving their energy to blessing crops, they didn't know that someone had been watching.

Wilbur Soot, the king of the underworld, could sense their despair, and their suffering. Of the things he wished he could change, this was the one he could not.

At least, until one day.

It was one of the few days that (y/n) was able to escape what seemed to be a prison with their mother. They had picnicked, in a lovely valley, with a few of the friendlier Nymphs, Niki, George, Foolish and Puffy.

The sun was just starting to sink in the sky when (y/n) slipped away from their friends, wandering through the flower field.

They sighed, twirling the stem of a cut rose in their fingers, if only they could get away like this everyday.

It wasn't until they were a considerable distance from the Nymphs that Wilbur made his move. Chariot beginning to long trek to the surface.

(y/n) turned suddenly, as a crack formed in the ground, the chariot pulled by huge black stallions emerging.

"Who- who are you?" They asked cautiously, already backing away.

Wilbur stepped down from the chariot, "I am Wilbur Soot, king of the Underworld. I- love you, join me, to rule by my side."

(y/n) let out a nervous giggle, "Ummm..."

"I know that you've been longing to get away. If you come with me you won't have to be a slave to your mother's passions any longer."

They looked at him for a long moment, at his outstretched hand, and then back they way they had come. Could he really free them?

Wilbur couldn't help but squeeze his eyes shut, worried for their response, only to feel a hand grip his own. Opening his eyes, he looked down at them, "Truly?"

They nodded, "We should go, before my mother catches word."

~~

The underworld, (y/n) quickly realized, was nothing like the world above. There was no sky, only a dark cavernous ceiling, and there seemed to be no blues, no yellows or greens, only the dark dismal blues, greys, and reds.

The first days that they had spent there, were spent exploring, the palace, the grounds, and anywhere else they were allowed.

Usually, Tommy, the young god of death accompanied them, having appointed himself as their personal tour guide.

It frightened them, to be so far away from the surface, so far from their mother, and so close to the dead.

Though, they did suppose that it was freedom, they couldn't trust this foreign place, minding to never eat anything, for fear of becoming stuck in that place, never allowed to visit the surface again.

On the seventh day of their stay in the underworld, (y/n) managed to shake Tommy long enough to wander into a set of gardens they had never seen before.

With a gasp, they realized that all of the fruits, all of the plants that though abundant on the surface never grew there, were all thriving in that garden. Rows and rows of apple trees, cherry trees, pear trees and- Pomegranate trees.

As soon as the gasp escaped their lips, a small form appeared from behind one of the trees, "Oh- hello there!"

"Hello- what is all this? If I'm allowed to ask." They edged forward into the garden.

"Oh- Lord Wilbur ordered all this to be planted, to make you feel at home. I'm Tubbo, the gardener."

They blinked, processing his words, "He did all this- for me?"

Tubbo nodded, already moving to put down his watering can, and beginning to pluck some of the pomegranates from the nearest tree, "He cares for you very much."

(y/n) continued to look around in amazement as they sat at the small table.

"You look famished," he commented, "Do you want any?"

"Oh no, I couldn't." They shook their head.

"Not even a few pomegranate seeds?"

~~

It was at the same time, that Hannah's quest to find her missing child, found her standing in the Olympian throne room, threatening to worsen the state she had put the world in.

While (y/n) had explored the underworld, the overworld had withered, Hannah's wrath once again coming to the surface.

Sapnap shifted in his throne, "Well, Hannah, I may have some information, on the where abouts of your kid."

She turned on him, "What did you see?"

"It was a bit ago, they were out wandering, big hole opened in the ground, and they got in one lord of the Dead's chariot." He shrugged.

Wilbur swallowed as Hannah whirled on him, and slowly he held up his hands, "In my defense they agreed to come with me."

"Did they?" Hannah questioned.

"They did. (y/n) wanted to get away from you!"

The throne room was thrown into chaos as various gods and goddess shouted their opinions on the matter.

"Silence!" Dream yelled, "Wilbur, is what you say true?"

He nodded, "Yes M'lord."

Dream frowned, "This is a predicament indeed."

~~ When Wilbur finally returned to the underworld, it was with Ranboo trailing behind, both trying to formulate a plan where (y/n) could truly get a say in what happened.

They found (y/n) in the garden, sitting with Tubbo, and laughing candidly.

"(y/n) Are you aware that your mother has been looking for you?" Ranboo asked.

They jumped up, hiding there hands behind their back, "Well, I had assumed so, yes."

"Are you aware of the trouble that this has been causing the mortals? Hannah has begun a decay, and thousands of them starve everyday." Ranboo reported, "I am to asses the situation here and report back to Dream. So, allow me to ask a few questions before we prepare to decide your fate, have you permanently installed yourself here?"

"Well not permanently, but some of my things are here." They answered.

"Mhhhm, and you haven't done anything to effect the lives of the dead? er- afterlives of the dead?"

"Smooth one boss man." Tubbo muttered.

"Gods no." They shook their head.

Ranboo nodded, "Okay, and last one, hove you eaten anything during your stay here?"

The ichor seemed to drain from (y/n)s face, "Well..."

"Well what? (y/n) this could decide whether or not you'll be forced to stay here or not!" WIlbur exclaimed.

Tubbo grabbed one of their hands, holding it out for the gods to see the pomegranate juice that still stained the flesh, "One third of a pomegranate."

"Oh dear."

~~ It was decided that (y/n) would be brought in front of the council of gods, to advocate where they would like to stay.

After long hours of arguing, it was decided, that because they had only eaten one third of the pomegranate, they would remain in the underworld for one third of the year, and for the rest they would stay above.

However, after Wilbur advocated for it, the Gods agreed that (y/n)'s time above could be spent however they chose, and not in the slavery of Hannah.

Perhaps it was then, that they fell.

For in time, (y/n) grew to love Wilbur, and they married, becoming the king and queen of the Underworld,

[waiting-for-motivation]

yours and mine

summary: No one touches one particular slave of Jabba, no one except for Boba Fett.

request: Can I request a story where Reader is a slave to Jabba and is Boba's favourite girl so everyone knows not to request her, because whenever he's over she's on his lap ;) Maybe someone tries a move because they're new and Boba comes back in that very moment ~ anon

pairings: Boba Fett x Reader

warnings: fluff, nudity, slavery, nasty bounty hunter, soft boi boba

words: 1148

MASTERLIST REQUEST RULES

"That's not fair! I was wearing less clothing than you from the start", (Y/n) cries tipsy and leans forward to press her finger against her lovers strong chest. Boba laughs warmly and wraps one of his arms around her smaller form, making (Y/n) fall forward. Their lips meet in a messy kiss because she lost all balance. When her hips meet his, and she is finally seated in his lap, (Y/n) deepens the kiss.

Unfortunately, Boba settles back against a wall, crossing his arms behind his head and grinning cockily at his companion. (Y/n) pouts and sits down on her knees, grabbing her glass and swallowing the bitter alcohol.

"Now off with your bra", the Mandalorian commands and leans forward again to watch (Y/n) take off her second last clothing. She sighs but still opens her bra and throws it on her pile of clothes. One of her arms moves quickly to cover up her breasts. Her eyes wander shyly to her beloved Boba who can't stop staring at her nudity.

"I hate you", (Y/n) growls and takes five cards from the stack. Instead of doing the same and probably winning once again, Boba almost jumps forward and on his love.

"You love me", he whispers in her ear and starts to nibble on the soft skin of her neck. (Y/n) giggles and lets her hands wander from his back to his sides and finally to his short dark hair. The material of Bobas tunic rubs against her naked breasts and makes her moan.

Finally, their lips meet in a passionate kiss which leads to much more.

He watches her dance for some time to the music of the band. The heavy chain around her neck clinking and forcing (Y/n) to remember that she is a slave to Jabba the Hutt.

Gracefully, (Y/n) walks towards her favorite bounty hunter and lays both her hands on his armored shoulders. Then she places each leg on either side of Bobas hips. With a smile on her lips she takes a comfortable seat on his lap.

"Hello there, princess", Boba greets his favorite girl and takes off his helmet to press a sweet kiss to (Y/n)s lips. One of his hands holds her waist, the other wanders to her chin, letting his gloved thumb caress her lower lip.

"I have to leave you for a few days", the bounty hunter tells (Y/n) and kisses the corner of her mouth.

"No", she whines and wraps her arms around Bobas neck, hugging him tight. He laughs and presses a few kisses to her neck. "Take me with you. It's so boring here without you!"

"I already told you that you can't leave this place. Jabba will have you hunted down", the bounty hunter explains and carefully pushes (Y/n) from his chest to hold her at arm length. Boba can see her frown and look down which tells him that she is sad.

"Hey. Look at me", he whispers and grabs her face with both his hands to force her gaze on him.

"You can stay in my room. I brought new books you can read. No one will touch you but me. I promise", Boba says with a soft voice and leans his forehead against (Y/n). Both close their eyes and enjoy their last shared moments together. But eventually Boba has to leave for a bounty hunt.

Days come and go, and Boba seems to take longer for the bounty hunt than he planned. (Y/n) already read the few books her lover gave her. Even though she knows that Jabbas palace can be cruel and harsh towards her, she feels the sudden urge to leave Bobas comfortable room.

She sits down on her regular seat which is always free because no one dares to enrage Boba.

"A drink for a pretty lady", a human bounty hunter catches (Y/n)s attention as he places a glass of blue milk in front of her. He sits down unreasonable close to her and wraps an arm around her shoulders. His breath smiles like alcohol mixed with a dead bantha. It's obvious that the female slave doesn't feel comfortable with his touch bur nevertheless he kisses her cheek.

He must be new because no one in their right mind would dare to touch Boba Fetts favorite slave.

"I want you, baby. Right now“, the man whispers in (Y/n)s ear and bites her earlobe, making her wince. Whenever Boba touches her like that she enjoys it but not now, not with this nasty man. Quickly, (Y/n) stands up and tries to leave the main hall of Jabbas place without attracting too much attention but then the bounty hunters hands grab her by the waist and pull her on his lap.

“Don‘t leave me yet. You will thank me later on tonight for taking you so good“, he tells (Y/n) harshly and starts moving his hands all over her body. Her eyes wander all over the room but no one pays her any attention. She is lost. No one will help her.

The bounty hunters hands start massaging her breast but when he tries to kiss her lips, a blaster shot can be heard. He falls backwards and leans lifeless against the seat. (Y/n) jumps from his lap and runs towards her savior - Boba Fett.

Immediately, he wraps his arms protectively around (Y/n)s shaking form, and she hides her face in his neck. One second everyone looks from the dead body to the mandalorian bounty hunter, the next everything turns back to normal. Mainly because no one wants to get shot like the nasty stranger.

“Boba“, (Y/n) whimpers in her lovers arms and can feel one of his hands in her hair. This is what calms her down and Boba knows that. His fingers caress her scalp and neck. His touch feels soft and like home compared to the harsh one of the other bounty hunter. “I don‘t want to stay here any longer.“

“Okay“, the Mandalorian says simply and takes (Y/n)s hand to drag her out of the main hall and Jabbas palace. But the female stops in the middle of a door frame. She knows what she said, but she can‘t just walk straight out of this place. Boba told her that many times.

“You can trust me, princess. This was my last bounty for Jabba, and he gave me you as payment. You are free now and if you want to be you can be mine“, Boba explains the former slave and presents her a key with which he removes the chain around her neck. His lover takes a deep breath and stares at him with wide happy eyes.

“I trust you, Boba“, (Y/n) says with a shaking voice but still a smile on her lips. Taking her lovers hand, they leave the horrible palace of Jabba the Hutt.

“Then you are mine, and I‘m yours.“

star wars taglist: @shadowfoxey @luvzoria @remmyswritings @periwinklehoney @maximumcoffeeme

[cocobutnochanel]

The Kims | 18+

Genre: smut, angst, drama, au

Main Characters: Kim Minseok, Kim Junmyeon, Kim Jongin x Reader (oc: female)

Warnings: profanity, sex scenes, aggression, mature themes, slavery(not literally idk)

Summary: When you thought life wasn't a fairytale and you were no Cinderella, truth slaps you in the face when you become an orphan overnight and your step-family sells you off to the richest family in town.

Kink List: verbal degradation, size difference, exhibitionism, blowjob, gagging, mention of tears, spanking, overstimulating, daddy!Junmyeon

Part 3

(Part 1, Part 2)

The following days were boring once again. The Kims were busy, as per usual. Their money wasn’t made by staying at home and laying around. You really had no idea what their family’s business was into but it was safer that way. Baekhyun always said that the less you know, the better.

You sniffed the air and immediately guessed it was cookies. You ran to the kitchen where Kyungsoo was mixing the ingredients while the oven beside him was releasing a very distinct smell.

“That smells so good!” You inhale once more, catching Kyungsoo’s attention. He beckoned you to come nearer. “Help me with this, will you?” He pointed to the bowl.

“Sure.” You smiled at him and skipped to his side. You look at the dough he was mixing. “You should really add more chocolate chips.” You advise to the older guy.

He looked at you with thinking eyes. “Won’t it be too sweet then?” He asked, still holding the whisk in his hand. He contemplated for a moment but followed your advice nonetheless.

You smile when you see him pouring half a cup of chocolate chips onto the mixture. Kyungsoo was good with food but he liked his food not that sweet. He always needed yours or Baekhyun’s opinion.

After mixing, he jokingly puts some of the mixture on a tiny teaspoon. “Try it.” He jokes but you open your mouth and go for the mixture.

You let your tastebuds examine it before your eyes light up at the satisfactory taste. “That’s it! You got it, Kyungsoo-oppa!” You exclaim a little too loud. Kyungsoo grinned at how you gushed over the tiniest things.

“You really are a child.” He pinched your nose and ruffled your hair. “Yah, oppa! Don’t do that!” You glared at him jokingly which made him laugh even more.

You hear someone clear their throat. You quickly turn around and see Junmyeon walking inside the kitchen.

“Young master, we weren’t expecting you. How can we help you?” Kyungsoo immediately greeted him, saving you and your flustered self. You bow your head towards Junmyeon as a late greeting. You silently hope he won’t give you shit because of this.

“I just went to check since I heard some voices.” He nodded at Kyungsoo, making the tension in the air even thicker. Baekhyun appears by the open door behind Junmyeon and his eyes widen at the site of our boss in the kitchen.

Quietly, Junmyeon turned around and walked out of the kitchen. He whispered something to Baekhyun’s ear and proceeded to walk away. You sighed after the nerve-wracking scene finally ended. Junmyeon might look gentle and soft but he is no exception to the danger all the Kims have.

“You okay, Y/N?” Kyungsoo’s worried voice made you look at him. “I’m fine, oppa. Still not used to them, I guess.” Your voice was weak and faint. You shook your head, trying to get the nervousness out of your system.

Baekhyun entered the kitchen with a worried face and you look at him questioningly. His gaze shifted to Kyungsoo and back to you. This time, he even looked more worried.

“Spill it, Baek.” You say to him confidently despite your heart beating against your chest.

“Kyungsoo, Junmyeon said to bring Y/N to the study now.” Baekhyun looked away as if that would erase the worry on his face. You were confused as to why Junmyeon would say that to Baek. He could’ve told us directly or sent me after him but he didn’t. He had to order Baekhyun and now this overthinking man was all over the place.

“It’s okay, Baek. He’s probably just pissed we’re noisy.” You try to reassure him but your voice audibly shook. “We’re fine, Baekhyun.” Kyungsoo walked to Baek’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Kyungsoo beckoned you to follow him out of the kitchen. He took his apron off by the counter and started walking down the hallways of the mansion.

You sigh once again and Kyungsoo turns around for a moment. You mouth an ‘I’m fine’ to him. He walked continuously until we reached the study’s door.

Kyungsoo cautiously knocked and announced your arrival. “Bring her in.” You hear Junmyeon’s muffled voice through the door. Kyungsoo turned the doorknob and pushed the wooden door open carefully. He gave you one last glance until he gestured he would leave.

“No, Kyungsoo stay.” Junmyeon’s voice was eerily calm, it scared the living shit out of you. He was even calmer than he was when they first welcomed you. You have no idea if this was a good or bad sign.

Kyungsoo simply nodded at the boss’s order and stood by the door with an expressionless face.

You see Junmyeon smirk a little as he looked at you while signing papers on his desk. You tried to look at Kyungsoo for help but he avoided your gaze. He didn’t want any trouble with the bosses.

“Strip, Y/N.” You hear Junmyeon say this so normally, his eyes still on the pile of papers in front of him. “E-Excuse me?” You tried to ask while looking at Kyungsoo for help. “I said strip. Are you hearing impaired?” He looked at you incredulously.

You gulped at his request but nonetheless, your hands went to the hem of the dress you were wearing. Kyungsoo tried to get a hold of the doorknob but Junmyeon spoke again.

“I said stay, Kyungsoo. Are you all deaf or dumb?” Junmyeon looked at him angrily. Kyungsoo immediately retreated to where he stood earlier.

He wanted you to strip in front of Kyungsoo? What was the point of all of this?

“Strip, you fucking whore. Stop playing dumb.” This was the first time you heard Junmyeon curse and honestly, it shocked you. You only shook your head and unzipped the back of your dress.

Your dress fell to the floor as you look at Kyungsoo who had his eyes stay glued on the floor. To be in this state with Kyungsoo present made you want to run and cry, you consider him a friend and an older brother after all. Your heartbeat now doubled as you stood in the middle of the room in your underwear alone.

You hesitated to do it but you couldn’t afford Junmyeon to get angrier. Your hands unhooked your bra from behind. You took it off so slowly, it was excruciating to watch. Your fingers hooked the ends of your lace panties and you took it off afterwards too.

Junmyeon looked up from his desk, a satisfied glint in his eyes as soon as he saw you naked. You close your eyes. You were naked in front of Kyungsoo. You wanted to run and hide. He was a friend for you, how could he stomach this image of you?

Junmyeon stood up, snatching your attention away from Kyungsoo. He walked to you and you bit your lip nervously. His hand reached for your cheek as you closed your eyes in anticipation of what was about to happen. It was shame, fear and anxiety all at the same time.

“Kneel.” Junmyeon ordered you as he shifted you to a position that your side profile was more visible to Kyungsoo. You followed Junmyeon’s command and kneel in front of him.

When your knees touched the velvet floor, it felt like you lost all your dignity as a human being. You were a slave to this man and if he said you should eat dog shit, you would. He was your god, after all.

Junmyeon unzipped his pants and pushed it lower, allowing his 9-inch penis spring to life. You gulped at the sight of his masculinity and you couldn’t help but gasp when it almost touched your face.

He looked at Kyungsoo who was standing by the door, eyes still on the floor. “Kyungsoo, watch us.” Junmyeon said with so much amusement in his voice. You refused to look at Kyungsoo when he said this. You knew Kyungsoo would obey him.

“Suck on it like the whore that you are.” Junmyeon smirked and held you by your hair. You wince a little at his harsh hold but then, you knew you should follow him.

You swallowed the lump that was forming in your throat and held the erect member. You opened your mouth and started to suck on the head. “Fuck.” Junmyeon audibly groaned when you let your tongue flick on his tip.

“More.” He pushed your head towards his cock more and you could feel it against your tonsils. Tears started to form in your eyes and you started to choke. You didn’t know if it was the huge penis in your mouth or the shame that you were feeling as you felt Kyungsoo’s gaze get heavier as he watched you and Junmyeon.

Tears streamed down your face but Junmyeon couldn’t care less. The choking and gasping noises you made just drove him crazier and harsher. He kept pushing you towards his cock, making you take it in as a whole every single time. Your head bobbed as more tears came. You didn’t know how something as degrading as this made you want it even more.

Junmyeon let go of your head as he threw his head back. You sucked his cock to your own accord now. You didn’t know how or when but this brought the same funny feeling you had with Minseok and Jongin.

You hold his cock as you divert your attention now to his balls. You caress them with your tongue while your hand pumped his member. “Fuck, Y/N. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” The curses Junmyeon spat made you want to work for it more. He was such a formal and professional person, you found out he only cursed like this whenever he was aroused.

You went back to his large cock and let your tongue flick its tip. You taste the salty precum and assume this was a compliment from Junmyeon. You took it in as a whole and he finally released his salty and bitter juice inside your mouth.

Before you could swallow his cum, Junmyeon held your jaw and made you open your mouth. Seeing his cum on your tongue made his cock twitch and his lips smirk. “Good girl.” He praised you and you felt the tingling sensation in your femininity heighten.

“Sit.” He pushes you onto the floor. You obey him and he makes you turn, facing Kyungsoo. You see his emotionless face as he stood there idly. You turn red in embarrassment as the thought of Kyungsoo seeing you suck your boss’s dick sink in.

Junmyeon pulled your left leg forcefully, making you widen the space between them. You cringed at the sight of your wet pussy that was facing Kyungsoo. His eyes widened at the sight and Junmyeon chuckled at that.

“Won’t you look at that? You’re wet and I haven’t even touched you.” Junmyeon growled, holding your legs apart from behind. You turn away in shame but Junmyeon uses his other hand to hold your jaw in place. He wanted Kyungsoo to see you like this.

“You still think this whore is a child, Kyungsoo?” He sarcastically laughed. Kyungsoo only shut his eyes. “No, Kyungsoo, watch. Watch this child turn into my whore.” He bellowed, his hand reaching for your pussy.

You felt his middle finger flick your clit and you whimper. He starts teasing you down there while he stared at Kyungsoo’s face. He was taunting him, showing him who you truly belonged to. You belonged to the Kims as their plaything.

He pinched your clit, making you scream. Your hands went to Junmyeon’s shoulders that were behind you. Your thighs trembled and you feel yourself reach your own peak. You clutched his shoulders as you felt your release. You close your eyes shut because you knew you were gonna squirt and Kyungsoo was about to see that too.

You opened your eyes and looked at Junmyeon’s satisfied face but stubbornly, he went on. He kept teasing your clit even if you already came. His gaze on Kyungsoo was smug and confident.

He puts a whole finger inside you so suddenly, making you jump in surprise. You bit your lip when you felt him entering and exiting your pussy so easily. You were that wet for him. For his touch.

His other hand that were holding your thighs apart travelled to your boob. The warmth of his palm against your cold breast makes you moan. “M-Master.” You manage to make out as you get wetter and wetter.

His finger started grazing your nipple as soon as he heard you begging. Jongin must’ve told him your nipples were your greatest weakpoint. You feel another release coming your way.

You cried as you reach for his shoulders for support again. You felt something gush out of you once again. You feel Junmyeon’s smirk against your bare shoulder.

You thought he was satisfied already but he kept going on. You were turning crazy now as he wanted you to come again. The finger that was entering your pussy was now below you as you rode it yourself. His hand was no longer moving. You pounded on his finger like the whore that he called you.

“Look at that, Kyungsoo.” He smugly bragged, gesturing to you who were now going crazy for his touch. He removed his hand from below you.

You were disappointed but he quickly crawled to your other side, his face now in your pussy. He was placing soft kisses on the inside of your thigh. He lets his tongue run down your vagina and you feel yourself tremble once again.

“I know that face.” Junmyeon declares as he sees you squirm. He beckoned Kyungsoo to come nearer. You hid your face in your palms immediately, blocking your sight as quickly as you could. You feel Junmyeon’s warm palm hit your pussy and that was enough to send you over the edge again.

You feel another wave of release coming. Tears once again came back to your face as you squirted for the third time today.

You fluttered your eyes open and you wanted to hide immediately. Horror entered your system. You see Kyungsoo’s face in between your legs. His cheeks were wet from your juice while Junmyeon stood behind him, smirking.

“See, she’s a bad girl, Kyungsoo. A slut, even.” Junmyeon licked his lips, an amused glint in his eyes. Shame was an understatement for how you were feeling right now. He was my oppa. He wasn’t supposed to see this, what more feel it on his face?

Junmyeon pushed Kyungsoo away from you. He replaced Kyungsoo’s position, his member still erect.

He enters you without any difficulty. You were so wet, his dick easily slid in and out of you. He rocked you as you laid limp on the floor.

He was grunting as he thrusted every time, hitting your G-spot. He pulled out immediately, letting his cum land on your bare stomach. You come one last time and this earns you a chuckle from Junmyeon.

You sighed when it was finally done. “You can go now, Kyungsoo.” Junmyeon smirked as he stood. Kyungsoo immediately raced out of the study. He must’ve been traumatized and that made you guilty.

“Thank you, Y/N.” Junmyeon formally said, pulling his pants up. He was back to himself after that final release. His pent up frustration might have been the reason why he switches personality when aroused.

You stood up too. You picked your clothes up from the floor and wore it back. Junmyeon nonchalantly returned to his desk and continued with his paperworks.

You were about to exit but Junmyeon spoke once again, his eyes still concentrating on the paper on his desk.

“Lesson for today, Y/N: Never make me jealous. I hate hearing you squeal and call someone else oppa.”

[tennessoui]

Does anyone else wonder what would happen if Anakin & the Clones were to 'steal' some of the Jedi's so called Reject (or ones on the way) Initiates? Obi-Wan did spend time as a Slave & he has clearly been Brainwashed by his CURRENT Masters. Anakin with the help of Aayla, Ahsoka, Vos, Obi-Wan, &Clones could raise them to be great. I never understood why they took the L.S. from the people they sent into the Corps when they say that L.S. are their lives. Basically saying that they are Dead to them.

ahh hello you sent this i think in May and i'm gonna be a bit honest i didn't like it that much because i think it's much, much too heavily jedi-critical for my tastes--obligatory pause for the I Love The Jedi Order ad run-- so i wrote this in about an hour about what i think would happen if Anakin and his men were to steal some of the Jedi Initiates, and no. No, it doesn't go well. Because the Jedi raise their kids in a community for a reason and literally Anakin could not do that alone and there is no way i can see it working on a practical level because I don't think Anakin or his men know the first thing about childcare, save for Anakin's occasional shift at the creche.

I didn't mean for this to be Anakin-critical, but someone had to be the guy getting lectured and i figured it should be the guy that kidnapped some kids. anakin needs to get lectured more sometimes imo.

(1.6k)

Three of the Initiates won’t stop crying, and a fourth has been shivering since they jumped into hyperspace, no matter how many blankets Rex has draped over their form.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Anakin doesn’t know what to do. He’d thought…well, Anakin’s sure that his former master would say that he hasn’t been thinking at all lately, and certainly not when he’d hatched this harebrained scheme to steal away younglings from a cruiser bound for the AgriCorps.

But he’d thought, really, that all Initiates would be like Ahsoka had been when she’d come to him as his padawan. That they’d be snarky but kind, quick to adapt and ready to listen to him as the authority figure.

Apparently, every youngling isn’t the same. Who knew.

The fifth Initiate who had aged too old to be taken in by a master sits in sullen silence by the porthole, but they’re screaming in the Force.

Anakin’s head hurts. He’s being bombarded on all sides by children whose mental shields aren’t strong enough to keep their very strong emotions in. They’re terrified. They’re terrified of him.

He calls Obi-Wan. He doesn’t know what else to do, and he had never, ever wanted to hurt these children. He’d been trying to help them.

It just turns out that he doesn’t know how.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan snaps as soon as the call connects. Anakin flinches away from that tone. It means danger. Not in a physical sense, but in a I’m Very, Very Disappointed With You sense. Which might be even worse.

“Master,” he says. One of the Initiates lets out a particularly high pitched cry.

“Are the younglings okay? What have you done, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asks him in an aghast tone.

It makes Anakin bristle, even though he’s just been thinking the same thing not a minute ago. “It’s not right that the Jedi just send some of their younglings away! They deserve better than that! They’re children! They deserve choices! The Jedi—they took them from their homes and then they’re just giving them away! It’s worse than slavery! And if you can’t see it, Master, you’re as brainwashed as the rest of the Jedi!”

The holo of Obi-Wan looks at him for so long that Anakin starts to fidget. Finally, his master shakes his head slowly. “That was a very nice speech, Anakin. Who told you that?”

“I can’t think for myself!” Anakin snaps.

Obi-Wan raises a delicate eyebrow and checks something on his datapaad. “I see you were scheduled to have tea with the Chancellor at 2000 last night. Is it safe to presume you discussed the Jedi tradition of sending Initiates to the Corps?”

Anakin blushes furiously at that. It had been the Chancellor, actually, who told him about this in the first place. He’d always known, of course, but he hadn’t known the details. “You take away their lightsabers!” He shouts. “Master, you told me that my lightsaber was my life! And then you just take them away from the Initiates? It’s like you’re killing them!”

Obi-Wan looks alarmed and even confused. “Anakin,” he says slowly. “Are you really expecting the Jedi to let barely trained thirteen year olds run amuck with dangerous weapons?”

“Barely trained? I was only six years older than that when I was Knighted!”

“An event I regret not arguing against more every day,” Obi-Wan rubs at his temple for a second before looking up at Anakin. “A lightsaber is your life if you’re out in the field, on a mission, on a dangerous planet, in a war. In what event would a youngling need one in the AgriCorps? Would you run to the Senate and demand Senator Amidala’s floating podium? I’m sure she would say it’s her life.”

Anakin splutters. It’s not the same.

“But put all of that aside for a second, alright. Yes, I too wish that younglings and initiates brought to the Temple to be trained could all be trained. But there are simply not enough Jedi. And one should never rush a padawanship in order to take on another Padawan. Do you know what happens to the Initiates sent to the Corps?”

The Chancellor had made it sound as though they were forced to do backbreaking work in the fields of the planets the Corps had bases on. Anakin gets the feeling that if he were to say that now, Obi-Wan would disconnect the comm, and as much as he doesn’t need a lecture, he does need help.

When Anakin makes no move to say anything, Obi-Wan sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “The younglings you’ve kidnapped—they’re in pain, yes?”

Anakin crosses his arms at the phrasing, but he can’t deny that they are crying.

“Initiates sent to the AgriCorps are sent in groups of ten or more if we can help it. That’s because it helps them latch onto each other and strengthen their own shields, all with a mind healer in the cruiser with them to oversee the process. And upon arrival at the AgriCorps, they’re specially trained still until they would have been Knighted. Not in combat or diplomacy as you and I were, but in meditation and compassion, as you and I were. We don’t…the Jedi don’t just send our younglings out into space alone! We have systems in place that help with the transition. Systems you have ruined because you did not even try to understand them.”

“I wanted to help them,” Anakin protests, but it’s weak and he knows it.

“Help them? Help them?” Obi-Wan repeats. “Padawan, unless you have been spending much more time in the crèche than I have ever seen you voluntarily sign up for, you have no idea how to help them! I have no idea to how to help them! The Jedi raise our children communally for that very reason. You cannot do it alone. Neither could any of us, but together we can. What were you going to do, Anakin? Where would you take them, how would you feed them? Clothe them? Train them? Were you going to form training bonds with all of them? Because you’re powerful, you’re the Chosen One. You don’t need the Jedi Order.”

“I never said that,” Anakin mutters. “I’m not—I didn’t do this because I’m the Chosen One or—or whatever, I—“

“Was listening to the wrong source of information, I am highly aware, yes. Now. We do have your coordinates now. There will be consequences for this. There has to be. Hopefully harsh enough consequences that the next time you think you can abuse your authority over your men to unilaterally right an injustice only you can see, you think twice. You call me before you commit a felony.”

“Palpatine told me you were almost sent to the AgriCorps!” Anakin bursts out. “He said you were made a slave!”

Obi-Wan freezes and turns his face back to Anakin completely. “Ah.” He says.

“You admit it!”

“I…they were hardly related, Anakin. Bad things happen, yes. No matter how hard we try to create a perfect system. External trouble will arise. Like, say, your friend Palpatine who, indirectly through you, has managed to derail a simple AgriCorps drop-off and also ground The Hero With No Fear during a war.”

Anakin curls his lips. “This isn’t about anything but the younglings. I felt them on that cruiser. They were scared! And sad! And confused! And hurt! You can’t tell me you weren’t when you thought you had to leave!”

Obi-Wan runs a hand over his face and stays quiet for a few moments. “I was,” he finally admits. “And I’m sure they are too.” Anakin goes to say something, but Obi-Wan holds up his hand. “I’ll not mention the fact that I’m sure you’ve made it worse for them, despite what I know were only gold intentions. And I will say yes, I was scared. And sad. And hurt. And angry too. I was leaving my home. I didn’t understand why.”

Obi-Wan fixes him with a cutting stare, one that makes Anakin feel all of eleven again.

“Tell me this though, Anakin. How did you feel when you left Mos Espa with my master, Qui-Gon Jinn? Did you feel scared? Or sad? Perhaps angry? Hurt?”

Clenching his jaw around the denial that he hadn’t felt any of those things (he had), Anakin nods stiffly.

“Because you were leaving your home?” Obi-Wan presses.

“No one should be forced to leave their home. No child should feel like that!” Anakin bursts out.

“But do you still feel like that?” Obi-wan ignores his outburst. “Do you still feel angry and sad and scared and hurt all the time? Do you hate the Temple that much, Padawan? The Order? The Council? …Me?”

Anakin stares at him, and Obi-Wan shakes his head slightly and clears his throat.

“I apologize, I should not have made that so personal. My point, however, is that they are scared now and they are mad now, and they will not have the life they thought they would. But they will not be alone to work through that disappointment. How could you think you and your men are better equipped to dealing with these younglings’ needs than a community of fully trained people who have been in their position before?”

Anakin scowls, but there’s a high piercing sob from behind him that has him turning around in worry. Kix rushes over to the youngling, but he can’t help them. He’s not Force-sensitive, let alone trained in the Force. Obi-Wan’s right. Force, he hates it when that happens.

“Alright, master,” Anakin says when he looks back at Obi-Wan. “I’m sure you’re on our tail already, so we’ll turn around and meet you halfway.”

“Thank you, Anakin.” Obi-Wan tells him quietly. “And…Padawan, I know your heart was in a good place but…oh, we’ll talk much more about this later.”

“Yes, Master.”

“And Padawan? Perhaps no more tea with the Chancellor for a while.”

“…yes, Master.”