#but unfortunately that is not really the world we live in

[kittymizuki]

thinking about the kamikou festival event again and how it conveys the tone and atmosphere of the school while showing the constant transmisogyny microaggressions mizuki lives with every day so well, and this phone call with an drives me insane bc even though an is genuinely well-meaning and is trying to ensure that mizuki knows that today is a safe day for her to come to school due to the circumstances of the festival, the way she words this is very discomforting bc she's basically saying "nobody is going to notice that you're dressed as a girl today bc everyone is wearing wacky outfits!" which carries the unfortunate implication that the way mizuki presents herself is equally wacky in a way that reinforces everything ppl say about her, but this isn't easy for her to push back against bc she doesn't have a good enough 'excuse' to do so when this is one of the few ppl who go out of their way to accommodate her even if they don't fully get it? it's thoughtful of an to want to reassure her but also it's another little thing that others fail to understand. she's trying to be kind but even then mizuki feels somewhat pushed into a corner. she's very bad at actively saying No. and an has removed her ability to misdirect here bc an is speaking with ambiguity.

mizuki also being too anxious about the idea of changing her clothes in school bc she's terrified of the possibility of being caught and thus having her body perceived by others... that's also another reason she'd hate being at school. gym and changing for it … i'd wager mizuki skips almost every gym class bc she can't stand the idea of being forced to change amidst boys, but she's also not allowed into the girls' locker room… literally only has the option to go to the roof if she wants to change. she's so hyper cognizant of her body and being seen … and the worst part is, she likes to be seen under her own circumstances and control (which is one of the many reasons she's very passionate abt fashion, and a lot of trans ppl in fiction tend to have an attachment to fashion and styling which makes a lot of sense bc of the element of control over one's appearance and making a self one can love). she really does. it just … happens that she knows she has so little control.

i've read the vbs main story (and a bit of their events but i need to continue whoops) and this makes me appreciate mizuki's brief interaction with kohane and an here more, bc it's obvious in this moment that kohane is just being her usual self—anxious around other ppl she's not familiar with and this is something she wants to improve upon (which as far as i can tell is the conceit of her character arc as an underdog of sorts compared to the others in her group). but mizuki assumes that she has to be uncomfortable with her specifically (presumably due to her transness) bc of her experiences, so she immediately feels bad about 'taking up space' and decides to make up an excuse to get away from the situation to give kohane the chance to comfortably hang out with her friend. and the fact that mizuki goes out of her way to say that she's going to find a place to hide alone is interesting bc the way it's framed it doesn't sound like it means much, but it feels deliberate on her part, like she wants an to know... mizuki's internal world and where we see she has internal bias and how she blames herself or assumes she herself is the problem if she can't make others comfortable, and she takes so much upon herself all the time bc she's used to constant microaggressions and either can't say how she truly feels or has to divest what she feels from its context to make it palatable. but of course kohane is not transphobic, she is someone who has trouble socializing with strangers bc of her own anxiety that has nothing to do with mizuki herself, but mizuki doesn't have access to this perspective like the reader so it's easy for her to assume that she's the problem. it's paranoia but it's understandable considering how she's treated by almost everyone...

[seongwars]

away with the wind | xiv

Pairing: dragonrider!Seonghwa x ex-dragonrider!Reader AU: dragon rider au | strangers -> lovers Summary: A spinal injury forces you to retire from dragon racing, and with it, the end of your engagement to Song Mingi. Park Seonghwa, a rising star in the world of dragon racing and heir to the prestigious House Park, seeks a new dragon after an unfortunate accident on the skyway. As the saying goes, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Word Count: 7.5K (sorry!) Warnings: dragon violence, kidnapped children, swearing, mentions of blood

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a/n: this chapter's for the san girlies

Emergency Evacuation Order: Leave Immediately

A massive dragon has been sighted wreaking havoc, with confirmed reports of collapsed infrastructure, fires, and heavy casualties. Troops have been deployed in response to the ongoing destruction. All citizens are urged to evacuate now to ensure their safety.

San stood at the edge of the city, flanked by soldiers armed with automatic rifles modified to fire incendiary rounds. The harsh glow of searchlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the monstrous form of Yeosang’s dragon as it circled above, its rotted scales gleaming like a living war machine.

“Coordinates locked!” called an officer from the command unit, his voice muffled by the roar of jet engines overhead. 

“Missiles are primed and ready, General Choi!”

San’s jaw tightened as he tracked the dragon’s movements. It wasn’t just a creature—it was a weapon, an apex predator bred for war created by the hands of man. Its talons carved into the sides of buildings as it perched on a crumbling skyscraper, its long neck craning to survey the chaos below. 

“Negative,” he ordered. “We’re too close to civilian zones, we have to flush it out.” 

A squad scrambled into action, launching rockets that briefly lit up the battlefield in fiery streaks. The dragon twisted in midair, evading the barrage, and, in a swift and devastating counterattack, unleashed a torrent of searing flames engulfing the battlefield in a hellish inferno.

The explosion shook the ground violently. San barely had time to duck as vehicles burst into flames, sending debris and shrapnel flying in every direction. Stelle folded her massive wings around him, shielding him from the onslaught. Falling debris struck her armored hide but bounced off harmlessly. Her golden eyes, piercing and insistent, turned to him with urgency.

“Drones, target the left wing,” San ordered, his voice rough but firm. “Smoke it out now!”

From above, a formation of drones shifted into position, releasing a barrage of missiles. The dragon roared in frustration as several struck its wing membranes, tearing through the delicate structure as the beast faltered mid-air. But as the smoke cleared, the hope drained from San’s face. The dragon flapped its wings once, twice, regaining its balance with ease. The damage had been superficial at best.

His heart pounded in his chest as he racked his brain, desperately trying to remember every detail of a dragon’s anatomy. He could hear the frantic chatter in his earpiece, soldiers shouting over each other as they scrambled to recalibrate their approach. But he forced himself to block out the noise, his mind racing through everything he’d ever learned from his training and folktales about dragons.

“The wings are reinforced,” he muttered, piecing it together out loud as his eyes scanned the beast.

“The scales are too thick for standard rounds... Headshots require too much precision…” His gaze darted across the dragon’s body, searching for anything—a crack in its armor, an unprotected joint, anything that could give them an edge.

Then it hit him—He could almost hear Jongho’s nagging as if he were standing right beside him, dropping a precariously tall stack of books onto the table.

“This is ridiculous,” San grumbled, flipping the book open. “Do you really think I’ll ever need to know the difference between a fire gland and a venom sac? Or the exact length of a dragon’s vertebrae?”

“If you don’t understand how they move, how they breathe, or where they’re vulnerable, you’ll be dead,” Jongho retorted sharply.

“What kind of soldier would you be then? You’ll thank me later!”

San had sighed, dragging his hand down his face, but the seriousness in Jongho’s voice had silenced any further complaints. He’d spent the rest of the night pouring over diagrams of wing joints and muscle structures, muttering curses under his breath.

But now, standing in the middle of a battlefield with a dragon circling above him, its eyes scanning for its next target, San let out a breathless laugh.

“The throat,” he said aloud, his voice firm. His eyes narrowed as he locked onto the underside of the dragon’s neck, where the scales thinned just slightly to allow for flexibility. It was a small target, but if they could strike that spot with enough precision and force, it might be enough to sever critical muscles and disrupt the glands beneath. 

He tapped his comm, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Focus on the throat—right under the jaw! We take that out, we stop the fire.”

“Understood, General,” a voice replied, shaky but determined.

“Let’s fly,” San said, gripping Stelle’s reins tightly. She let out a fierce roar in response, her wings flapping open as she ascended into the fray, ready to execute San’s plan.

⊹

“Y/N said you had the coordinates for the kids,” Seonghwa demanded, striding toward Mingi. 

Mingi, lounged casually against a van, barely sparing him a glance at first. When he did, it was with that infuriating, shit-eating grin that stoked Seonghwa’s temper. 

“Well, hello to you too,” he drawled, his voice thick with sarcasm.

Seonghwa stopped a few feet away from him, his patience visibly thinning. “Time’s running out,” he snapped, his voice low but filled with restrained anger. 

“Do you have the coordinates or not?”

“I do,” Mingi said, his voice firm, though doubt flickered in his gaze. He folded his arms, his stance challenging as his eyes narrowed.

“You gonna kick in the door and hope for the best?”

​​“If that’s what it takes,” Seonghwa replied coldly, his posture unyielding as he stood tall, meeting Mingi’s stare head-on. 

“And if it doesn’t work, I can always call reinforcements.”

Mingi let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and humorless as it echoed through the room. He shook his head, the bitterness in his expression unmistakable. 

“Reinforcements,” he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue with disdain. “Ah, I forgot. You’re always trying to play the hero, aren’t you? The golden boy with his endless connections and resources.”

Seonghwa’s eyes hardened, his jaw tightening as he took a step forward, closing the distance between them. “This isn’t about me. It’s about the kids and I made a promise to see it through. Either you give me the coordinates or get out of my way.”

“Enough,” Yunho interjected firmly, stepping between them before the tension could escalate further. His calm yet commanding presence immediately demanded their attention. 

“This isn’t the time for that. Is there anything else we need to know, Mingi?”

Mingi glanced at Seonghwa, his defiance momentarily tempered by Yunho’s steady tone. 

“The facility won’t be as heavily guarded as the lab,” he admitted, his tone begrudging. “But it’s still a stronghold.”

He hesitated, his gaze shifting to the ground before he continued. “And the kids...might not come quietly.”

“What do you mean?” Yunho asked.

Mingi’s expression darkened. “They’ve been through hell,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with a bitterness he couldn’t quite mask.

“The testing, the experiments—it’s messed with their heads.”

Seonghwa’s eyes narrowed, his hands curling into fists at his sides, but he forced himself to stay focused. Letting anger take over wouldn’t help—not now.

“How many are there?” he asked, his tone clipped, trying to push past the sinking weight settling in his chest.

“At least fifteen. Maybe more. It’s hard to say for sure. Some were... eliminated,” Mingi replied. The word came out jagged, laced with bitterness and contempt as he forced it out.

Seonghwa’s expression darkened, his brows knitting together as he absorbed the information. “Fifteen,” he repeated, the word hanging heavily in the air.

His mind raced, already calculating the logistics. Supplies. Transportation. Medical aid. The sheer manpower needed to extract so many—and that was assuming they could even move.

“And how many of them can even move? If they’ve been subjected to tests—”

“You think they’ll be marching out of there in neat rows? Most of them are half-starved, scared out of their minds, and don’t even know what ‘safe’ looks like anymore.”

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond immediately. He knew Mingi was right; the kids weren’t just prisoners—they were victims of something far worse, and whatever strength they had left was likely hanging by a thread.

Yunho glanced between the two men, his own expression grim. “Then we need to be prepared,” he said evenly, breaking the tension. 

“If we’re going to do this, we have to go in ready for anything—not just the defenses, but the kids themselves. Their fear. Their distrust. Everything they’ve been through.”

Seonghwa’s gaze hardened, the determination in his eyes unshaken despite the grim picture Mingi painted. “We’ll figure it out,” he said firmly, his voice carrying a quiet but undeniable conviction. 

“We’ll need supplies—food, medical kits, and a contingency plan for the worst-case scenario.” His mind raced, organizing the next steps with the precision of someone who refused to let failure be an option.

“Mingi,” Seonghwa continued, his focus turning to his rival, “you know the layout better than anyone. We’ll need every detail—entry points, exits, guard rotations, weak spots.” 

“Yunho,” he said, his tone softer but no less commanding as his attention shifted, “we’re going to need more than Voltage and Starshine to ferry the kids out. Find us extra transport.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, heavy with the gravity of the task ahead. Then, his voice softened, the quiet determination in his tone making it clear there was no room for doubt. 

“But no matter what,” he said, his gaze locking on each of them in turn, “we’re not leaving them there. Not one.”

The brightness of the surgical light above felt almost intrusive, forcing your eyes to flutter shut. Each beep of the monitors echoed like a countdown, a reminder of the risks surrounding the procedure.

Your body felt like it wasn’t entirely your own—numb, heavy, distant. Even the sharp sting of the anesthetic was fleeting, overtaken by a spreading warmth that dulled your senses. Your head felt heavy, the edges of consciousness slipping further away with every passing second.

Somewhere beyond the haze, you think you hear Seonghwa’s voice, but you can’t make out the words. The last thing you saw before darkness took over was the bright light overhead.

And then silence.

“She’s under,” the nurse announced, checking the monitors. Steady beeps confirmed your vitals, though the subtle fluctuations suggest a body already trying to fight the invasive tech.

The surgeon leaned in, her gloved hands steady above the incision site. “Let’s get this done before the implant integrates itself into the spinal column. No room for error,” she muttered. 

With surgical precision, she made the first incision at the base of your neck, the scalpel slicing cleanly through layers of skin and muscle. Blood welled around the edges of the cut, quickly suctioned away to maintain a clear view. Beneath the tissue, the faint metallic glint of the implant caught the overhead light, a foreign presence embedded deep within your body.

Her brow furrowed as she maneuvered delicately, parting sinew and nerves with control. Sweat beaded at her temple as she worked to sever the intricate web of connections between the implant and your spinal column.

Outside the operating room, your family waited in agonizing silence. Sunmi paced in tight circles, her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms. Your grandmother sat on the edge of a chair, hands clasped tightly in her lap, lips moving in silent prayer. Every so often, her gaze flicked toward the door, as if willing it to open and deliver good news.

The shrill ring of a phone cut through the heavy quiet, startling everyone. Your grandmother fumbled for her device, hands shaking slightly as she answered.

“Sangjoong?”

“I know this might not be the most opportune time,” his voice crackled from the other end of the line.

“But Seonghwa has asked for our help.”

Your grandmother’s brows furrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. “What do you mean?”

“Time is running out,” Sangjoong said, his voice filled with urgency, “and it’s a long story, but Seonghwa has the coordinates to the location of some missing children linked to Cromer Labs. There are two dragons available to help with the extraction but he’ll need more.”

Chunja’s gaze flickered toward Sunmi, who had stopped pacing, her eyes wide as she stared at your grandmother.

“I…suppose,” your grandmother began, her voice measured but laced with an undertone of hesitation, “since the military is preoccupied with that monstrosity, the burden must fall elsewhere.” 

For a moment, Chunja remained seated, her hands gripping the arms of the chair as though grounding herself for what was to come. Then she stood slowly, her movements carrying the weight of years spent navigating impossible choices. Yet, there was no trace of weakness in her posture.

“It will be done,” she said firmly, the hesitation gone from her voice. Her eyes burned with an unyielding determination as she tightened her grip on the phone. 

“Tell Seonghwa I’ll bring three dragons.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, the faint hum of static underscoring the enormity of her promise. 

“I’ll send you the coordinates,” Sangjoong replied, his tone grave but tinged with relief. Without another word, the call ended, the screen going dark in her hand.

“You’re not really going, are you?” Sunmi’s voice broke through the quiet, tinged with urgency and disbelief. 

Chunja’s lips pressed into a thin line, the weight of Sunmi’s question settling on her like a shroud. For a moment, she stood still, the silence stretching between them. Then, with a slow breath, she lifted her gaze.

“Aurora hasn’t been at war for 200 years, but we will be if we don’t stop what’s happening with that dragon.” 

She paused, her gaze distant, and for a moment, Sunmi thought she wouldn’t say more. But then Chunja’s shoulders straightened, and her tone took on a deeper gravity.

“When I was young, the riders before me warned us of this. They said that peace wouldn’t last forever—that one day, the skies would burn again, and it would be up to us to hold the line.” Her expression softened, touched by a flicker of something almost mournful. 

“I didn’t believe them. I thought we’d outgrown war, that we’d finally learned.”

Chunja turned, her eyes meeting Sunmi’s, sharp and unyielding. “But I look at the next generation—the children we’ve trained, the dragons we’ve bred full of fire and hope—and I see it in their eyes. They’re not ready. Not for this. If we don’t act now, they’ll be the ones dragged into a war they don’t understand, against an enemy they’ve never faced. I won’t let that happen.”

“If I have to risk everything to give them a chance to live in the peace we’ve had, I’ll do it.”

⊹

Yeosang stood atop the roof of Cromer Labs, observing the battle between humanity and Hope unfold beneath him. She was magnificent—his masterpiece. The way she twisted and dove, effortlessly outmaneuvering the Auroran military’s clumsy aircraft, filled him with a rare sense of pride. Her form was immaculate, every movement a testament to years of meticulous work, trial, and sacrifice.

The battle below was a cacophony of explosions, melding with the roar of gunfire, and the desperate shouts of soldiers scrambling for cover. Missiles and drones screeched overhead, in an attempt to land a hit on her, but she was too fast. Too agile. Every shell that came near her was met with a graceful twist of her body or a sweep of her tail that sent it careening harmlessly into the ground.

“Beautiful,” he murmured under his breath, voice barely audible over the chaos below.

Yet even as he admired her, a voice in the back of his head reminded him that the Auroran military was relentless. Squads were regrouping, heavier artillery was being deployed, and from the corner of his eye, he caught jets breaking through the clouds.

Hope roared again, this time in pain, as one of the jets managed to land a glancing blow along her flank. Yeosang’s heart seized for a moment, his fists clenching at his sides. She faltered in the air, her wings shuddering, but recovered quickly, retaliating with a burst of searing red flames that engulfed the jet, sending it spiraling in a fiery wreck.

Yeosang’s gaze returned to Hope, who had regained her momentum, surging through the remaining jets with determination. For all their efforts, the Auroran military was fighting a losing battle. Yeosang knew it, and from the looks of panic and desperation below, so did they. This wasn’t just a fight—it was a statement. A testament to the power of what he had created.

Smoke billowed from wreckage, the acrid stench of burning metal and scorched earth rising to meet him when a sudden, high-pitched whine pierced the air.

The strike hit Hope's throat before she could react, embedding deep into the vulnerable space between her armored scales. She let out a strangled, guttural roar that reverberated through Yeosang like a physical blow.

“No!” A shout tore from his throat, raw and unrestrained. His face dropped as he watched her writhe in pain, struggling to lift her head. Smoke and debris obscured his view, but he could see the harpoon glinting in the pale light.

Rage surged through him, hot and unrelenting, searing away any remnants of logic or restraint. He turned his gaze skyward, his eyes locking onto the craft responsible. It hovered ominously, its sleek design unlike anything the military had deployed before.

Then his eyes shifted, narrowing as they locked onto the unmistakable figure leading the charge—a rider atop a dragon nearly as formidable as Hope. 

San.

“Of course,” Yeosang hissed under his breath, his voice trembling with fury. The strike wasn’t a fluke. It was a warning shot, meant to prove that San wasn’t just a soldier—he was a tactician. A predator.

Yeosang’s gaze snapped back to Hope, her massive form heaving with labored breaths as she struggled to push herself upright. Blood seeped from the wound in her throat, staining the debris around her. Yet despite the pain and the odds, she didn’t yield. Her fiery eyes burned with defiance, her growls low but unbroken.

"You think you can match her? Match me?" Yeosang gritted. 

Hope let out a deep, guttural growl as she shifted, attempting to rise despite her injuries. The harpoon may have struck deep, but it hadn’t stolen her fire. Even through the haze of pain, she zeroed in on Stelle, her instincts sharp and unrelenting. She wasn’t done fighting—not yet.

Above, San’s sharp eyes met Yeosang’s from across the distance. There was no gloating in his expression, no trace of smugness. Instead, his face was set with cold, unwavering resolve. He wasn’t here to play games. This wasn’t a spectacle for him. It was war.

Yeosang’s jaw tightened, his fury simmering beneath the surface as his gaze flicked back to Hope, watching as she fought against her injuries, her growls deepening into something almost primal.

“Stand down,” San ordered. 

Stelle’s wings shifted slightly, her posture tense, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. San wasn’t threatening—he was offering Yeosang a choice.

Before Yeosang could answer, Hope let out a guttural snarl and launched herself into the air, propelled by a surge of desperate fury, and in a heartbeat, collided with Stelle. 

San, perched firmly on Stelle’s back, barely shifted as her wings flared out, catching the air with ease as she twisted to avoid Hope’s next attack. Her talons lashed out, grazing Hope’s shoulder and drawing blood, but the dragon barely flinched, her defiance burning brighter.

From below, Yeosang watched the clash with clenched fists, the battle a representation of the storm brewing within him. The air crackled with tension, the sky above him a blur of flailing wings, scales, and unyielding resolve.

Seonghwa paced outside the meeting point near the holding facility, his boots crunching against the rocky ground. The distant roars of dragons and the echoing explosions from the battle with Yeosang reverberated through the air, each rumble amplifying his unease. The rendezvous was supposed to be quick–yet, every second felt like an eternity.

On the horizon, shimmering forms emerged over the ridge, causing Seonghwa to freeze mid-step. Cirrus and Eos glided into view, their scales reflecting the moonlight even in the dead of night. Trailing behind them was a larger shadow that made Seonghwa’s heart drop. Dante landed last with a thud, sending tremors through the ground. His fiery amber eyes scanned the area before narrowing at Seonghwa.

“Lady Chunja,” Seonghwa called, jogging toward Chunja as she dismounted. Relief washed over him as Cirrus trotted forward, nudging him lightly in greeting, but it was quickly overshadowed by the audible huff from Dante. He swung his massive head to the side, a deliberate show of disinterest as Seonghwa approached.

“Seonghwa,” Chunja greeted, brushing dirt off her cloak. She didn’t seem winded from the flight, her composure as unshakable as ever. “Has everyone else arrived?”

“Yes,” Seonghwa replied, his voice tight. “Hongjoong, Yunho, and I will be assisting with the extraction, which leaves you and Lord Kim with our retreat.”

Chunja nodded, her sharp eyes assessing the surroundings. “Cirrus, Eos—hold position here. Dante…” She patted the elder dragon’s side, her tone softening. 

“Try to behave.”

Dante rumbled low in his throat, the sound reverberating like distant thunder. His gaze shifted to Seonghwa, who stood his ground despite the tension crackling between them.

Mingi emerged cautiously from the shadows, his expression guarded as he approached. The faint tension in his posture was unmistakable, and his eyes flickered briefly over each dragon before landing on Chunja.

Your grandmother straightened slightly, her gaze cool and assessing. Though she was no stranger to second chances, her wariness of Mingi lingered, especially after all that had transpired at the end of your relationship.

“My lady,” Mingi greeted, bowing slightly to Chunja. His voice was steady, but there was a subtle hesitation in the way he spoke, as if testing the waters.

“Mingi,” Chunja acknowledged, her tone neutral but carrying the weight of her watchful scrutiny. 

Dante’s gaze flicked over toward Mingi, his expression unreadable, though the slight flare of his nostrils suggested his own distrust. Your grandmother cleared her throat, reminding her dragon to stand down. 

“What’s the status inside?”

Mingi blinked, as if shaking himself free of the moment, and cleared his throat in response. “The facility’s defenses are spread thin,” he began, his voice firm as he focused on the task at hand. 

“Most of the guards were drawn to the city because of the dragon attack. We have a narrow window of opportunity.”

“And the children?” 

“They’re being held in the lower levels,' he replied grimly. 'I didn’t see many guards down there, but the clock’s ticking. The longer we wait, the more likely reinforcements will show up.”

Chunja nodded, her sharp eyes narrowing as she calculated their next move. “Understood. Then we don’t waste another moment.”

⊹

Mingi slipped through the side entrance of the facility, the faint hum of the security systems buzzing in his ears. It wasn’t heavily guarded—not like the lab, but that only made him more cautious. 

He adjusted his earpiece, keeping his breathing steady. “I’m inside. No sign of resistance yet,” he whispered.

The corridors were dimly lit, the walls suffocating as he moved deeper into the facility. The air was sterile, yet heavy with an unspoken tension. Faint sounds echoed—distant machinery, muffled cries that made his stomach churn. 

The children.

He turned a corner, coming face-to-face with a single guard. The man’s eyes widened in surprise, but Mingi was faster. He grabbed the guard by the collar, slamming him into the wall with a force that knocked him unconscious before he could raise the alarm.

“Clear,” he whispered, moving past the crumpled figure.

Behind him, Hongjoong, Yunho, and Seonghwa moved into position, their eyes scanning the area for any signs of movement. Hongjoong knelt briefly by the guard’s body, ensuring he was fully out cold before signaling the others to advance.

They moved quickly, their footsteps muffled against the polished floor. The faint hum of machinery buzzed in the background, broken only by the occasional distant echo of voices or the sharp hiss of steam from the facility’s ventilation system.

They pressed forward, the dim hallways twisting and turning like a labyrinth. The air grew colder as they descended deeper into the facility, the faint sound of muffled cries and shuffling feet growing louder with each step.

Mingi’s chest tightened as they rounded another corner, revealing a large, reinforced door. A keypad blinked red at its side, indicating its locked status. His fingers flew over the keypad, his eyes narrowing in concentration as he bypassed the security protocol. 

“Give me a minute,” he muttered, sweat beading on his forehead despite the chill.

The heavy door slid open with a hiss, revealing a dimly lit room lined with capsule-like pods stacked neatly along the walls. Each pod was just large enough to hold a single person, the frosted panels glowing faintly with a white light. Inside, children of various ages were curled up in makeshift beds, their faces pale and drawn under the dim glow.

As the door opened fully, heads began to turn. One by one, the children stirred, blinking against the sudden shift in light. Their movements were tentative at first—hesitant, unsure—before the realization dawned on them: the strangers were there to help. 

Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and Yunho didn’t hesitate. Moving quickly, they slid open the pods, speaking softly to the children as they extended their hands.

“It’s okay,” Hongjoong assured, his voice calm and steady as he coaxed a young girl to climb out of her pod. “We’re here to take you somewhere safe.”

Seonghwa knelt beside another pod, offering a reassuring smile to a boy clutching a thin blanket tightly around his shoulders. “Can you stand?” he asked gently. The boy nodded, his thin legs trembling as Seonghwa helped him to his feet.

The children began to gather in small clusters near the center of the room, their movements stiff and uncertain as they clung to each other for comfort. The atmosphere was heavy with quiet murmurs and stifled sobs, a mix of relief and fear. 

Mingi crouched near them, his tone soft but steady as he coaxed them closer. “Come on. Stay together and follow me,” he urged, his gaze scanning the group to ensure he didn’t miss anyone. 

The children moved as a single, trembling mass, their feet shuffling against the floor as Mingi led them toward the exit. Each sound—the creak of the walls, the hum of machinery—made them flinch. Their fear was palpable as Mingi and Hongjoong worked quickly to lead them out.

From the shadows of the far corner, a figure stepped forward. It was an older boy, his frame lanky but strong, his expression sharp and watchful. He looked about seventeen, his dark eyes scanning the room quietly. His presence was commanding, a stark contrast to the younger children.

Yunho froze for a moment as recognition flashed across his face. 

“Jinsik?” he called, his voice soft but filled with urgency.

The boy stopped in his tracks, his shoulders stiffening slightly. His gaze locked onto Yunho, and after a tense moment, he gave a small, sharp nod.

“You’re alive,” Yunho breathed, the tension in his shoulders easing as his expression softened. He took a careful step forward, as though approaching a skittish animal. 

“Your father never stopped looking for you. He asked us to help.”

The mention of his father made something flicker in Jinsik’s expression. His jaw tightened, his eyes darting to the ground before flicking back to Yunho’s. There was no anger, no joy, just…shame. 

Jinsik hesitated, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. The room seemed impossibly quiet, save for the muffled murmurs of the other children as they gathered near the exit. 

“He shouldn’t have,” he muttered, his voice laced with bitterness and self-loathing. “It’s my fault I’m in this mess to begin with.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was just another pawn in Cromer’s game. They promised my family everything and I believed them. But it was all a lie,” his voice cracked, and he exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

Yunho’s heart ached at the sight of the young man before him, his shoulders hunched under the crushing weight of guilt and betrayal. “Your father doesn’t care about any of that,” Yunho said firmly. 

“He just wants you back. You’re not a failure, Jinsik. You’re still here, and you’re safe. All that matters is getting you home.”

Jinsik hesitated, the lines of tension in his face softening slightly as Yunho’s words sank in. His shoulders loosened just a fraction, but the doubt in his eyes lingered, a trauma response developed from betrayal and disappointment.

“If it helps…” Yunho began, his voice growing lighter, an edge of warmth creeping into his tone, almost teasing. “I think there’s someone here you really admire who wants to help.”

The boy blinked, startled by the shift in Yunho’s demeanor. His brow furrowed in confusion. 

“What are you talking about?”

Yunho didn’t answer directly. Instead, he jerked his head toward the far end of the corridor, where Seonghwa was crouched, gently adjusting the blanket around a young girl he had scooped into his arms. The girl clung to him, her tear-streaked face buried in his shoulder as Seonghwa spoke to her in low, soothing tones.

Jinsik’s gaze followed Yunho’s gesture, his eyes widening as he watched Seonghwa balancing the girl in one arm while performing a headcount of the children. 

“That’s…” Jinsik whispered, his voice trailing off. His lips parted slightly, in awe.

“P-Park Seonghwa?”

Yunho nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “The one and only. So, what do you say? Ready to get out of here?”

Jinsik looked down, his jaw clenching as emotions churned within him. Slowly, he exhaled and gave a small nod, his shoulders lifting as he straightened. The doubt in his eyes lingered, but now there was a spark of determination breaking through, fragile but growing stronger. Without another word, he stepped forward, moving to join the younger children as they huddled together. 

The sound of boots pounding against the floor grew louder, echoing through the corridors like an ominous drumbeat. "Find them! They couldn’t have gotten far!" a voice barked, harsh and commanding.

“Faster!” Hongjoong urged, his voice a harsh whisper as he crouched beside the maintenance hatch, holding the panel open. “Come on, kids—don’t stop now!”

The children shuffled forward in a trembling line, their movements sluggish with fear. Yunho, his face tense but calm, stayed in the middle of the group, gently guiding them one by one into the cramped passage. 

"You’re doing great," he murmured, his large frame shielding them from the growing chaos around them. "Just a little more."

Mingi stood at the back, his eyes darting between the approaching corridor and the last of the children climbing into the hatch. The walls groaned ominously, the aging facility betraying its fragility. A fluorescent light flickered overhead, casting shadows across the floor that made the younger ones flinch and cling to each other.

Mingi’s stomach twisted. They were running out of time.

“Seonghwa,” Mingi hissed, his voice low but sharp. “Take them. I’ll stay back.”

“What?” Seonghwa snapped, spinning around to face him.

“There’s no time to argue,” he shot back, his voice sharp but quiet. His gaze flicked to Yunho, who nodded grimly and ushered the last child into the hatch.

“If they see you,” Mingi continued, “it’s over for all of us. I can buy you time.”

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists. “This is insane, you don’t have to—”

“I do,” Mingi interrupted. “They need you more than me. Go.”

For a moment, Seonghwa hesitated, the conflict clear in his eyes. But then Hongjoong grabbed his arm, his voice low and bitter. “He’s right. We have to get them out. Now.”

With one last glance, Seonghwa ducked into the hatch, pulling the panel shut behind him.

The corridor fell eerily silent. Mingi exhaled slowly, his hands balling into fists at his sides. The flickering light above cast a pale glow over the empty hallway, the stillness almost unnerving. The guards rounded the corner moments later, their weapons raised.

“There!” one of them barked.

Mingi stepped forward, raising his hands in mock surrender. His lips curled into a smirk that was equal parts challenge and disdain. “Well, you found me,” he drawled, his tone deliberately lazy and dripping with defiance. 

“What now?”

The guards hesitated, their formation faltering as they processed the scene. Their eyes swept over the hallway, confusion creeping in when they saw no one else. This wasn’t what they’d expected—a lone figure standing calmly in the middle of the chaos.

“Sir…Mr. Mingi?” one of them stammered, lowering his weapon slightly. His gaze wavered, as if trying to reconcile the defiant man in front of him with the S-class rider.

The guards hesitated, their formation faltering as they took in the man standing before them. Mingi’s smirk didn’t waver, but his eyes tracked their every move, sharp and calculating. He stepped forward deliberately, forcing them to react.

The lead guard’s face darkened as he stepped forward, his weapon still raised but unsteady. “We were told intruders broke in. What’s going on? Why are you here?”

“If you’d stop pointing those things at me, maybe I’d explain,” Mingi replied smoothly, his hands still raised in a mockery of surrender. 

“Unless, of course, Cromer Labs wants to deal with the PR nightmare of you roughing up their golden boy.”

At the mention of Cromer Labs, the guards froze, their faces a mix of confusion and apprehension. “He’s... he’s sponsored by the labs,” one of them muttered, glancing nervously at the others. “We can’t touch him.”

“You lay a hand on me, and I guarantee the higher-ups will have your heads. So maybe think twice before pulling that trigger, yeah?”

The guards grew more uneasy, their weapons shaking as they looked at each other in uncertainty. The tension was thick, but Mingi stood firm, appearing confident despite his racing heart. Behind him, the children's footsteps had stopped—they were gone and safe now. That was all that mattered.

Outside, Chunja stood rigid, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The cold night air bit at her skin, but she barely noticed. Her sharp eyes scanned the surrounding shadows, searching for any sign of trouble. 

“Jang’s a fool—always has been,” Chunja muttered under her breath, her voice low but seething. “Keeping Lady Lee around was his biggest mistake.”

Sangjoong snorted, shaking her head in disdain. “The man’s a walking disaster, as is, it’s pathetic.”

“She’s gotten comfortable—complacent.” Chunja’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “That’s why she’s sloppy. I can’t wait until the Court buries her.”

Sangjoong’s smirk faltered, his expression turning serious. He pushed off Ventus, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Still, we need to be careful. She isn’t someone you corner without expecting a fight. She’s got dirt on half the council.”

Chunja rolled her eyes. “A family man with a son who works in the archives is all the dirt they have on you,” she said sharply. “You really think that’ll stick?”

“It’s not about what sticks,” Sangjoong replied, his tone measured. “She’s clever, Chunja. And desperate people are dangerous.”

Before Chunja could deliver another biting remark, movement at the edge of her vision drew her attention. Her head snapped toward the building, her posture immediately stiffening. Beside her, Dante, Eos, and Cirrus rose to their full height, joined by Lord Kim’s dragon, Ventus. Their tails swayed low and deliberate, their sharp eyes scanning the shadows for any threats.

The heavy door swung open with a low groan, and the soft murmur of voices spilled into the night. A small crowd began to emerge, their movements slow and tentative. Children—thin, pale, and wrapped in thin blankets that offered little protection against the chill—filed out in clusters. Their faces were etched with exhaustion and fear, but Yunho and Hongjoong guided them gently, their reassuring words coaxing the children forward.

Chunja’s expression softened, the ferocity in her eyes giving way to something gentler, though no less intense. “The children,” she murmured, uncrossing her arms and stepping forward slightly.

“We have to move quickly!” She turned back to the dragons, her hand raising in a commanding gesture. “Cirrus, Eos, prepare to mount. Every second we wait, someone else gets hurt.”

The dragons responded instantly. Cirrus stepped forward, lowering herself to the ground so the children could climb on more easily. Her eyes were sharp but gentle, and she rumbled softly, as if to reassure the nervous little ones. Eos mirrored the motion, her wings folding neatly as she crouched, ready to bear her load.

Sangjoong moved to assist, lifting the smaller children onto the dragons’ backs. “We’ll need to double up on a few of them. There’s no time for a second trip.”

“We’ll manage,” Seonghwa said firmly, his voice steady as he guided another child toward Starshine. “The dragons can handle it.”

Chunja took one last look around, her sharp eyes scanning the area for any signs of danger. Satisfied, she stepped toward Cirrus, grabbing hold of the reins and vaulting onto the saddle. 

The dragons rose in unison, their wings spreading wide as they prepared for flight. The children clung tightly to the ropes, filled with fear and awe as the powerful beasts beneath them began to stir.

With a mighty push, they launched into the air, their wings beating against the night sky as they carried their precious cargo to safety. Below, the ground quickly disappeared, leaving only the distant glow of their destination ahead.

“Where’s Dante?” Hongjoong asked, pulling Rami’s reins into an ascent. 

Chunja glanced over her shoulder, her grip tightening on Cirrus’ reins. “He’s still down there,” she said calmly, her tone casual despite the growing tension.

Far below, Dante’s massive form stood out against the dark, his stormy scales blending into the surrounding rubble. The faint flicker of emergency lights played off his dark, iridescent scales as he prowled through the wreckage. Guards poured out of the collapsing facility, their shouts echoing into the night as they scrambled to mount a defense. Firelight built in his throat, molten and alive, spilling from the edges of his teeth like liquid gold.

“What is he—” Seonghwa started, leaning forward, but Chunja waved him off with a flick of her wrist.

“He’s finishing the job.”

Dante reared up on his hind legs with a deafening roar, his wings unfurling in a display of raw power. With a sudden exhale, a torrent of fire engulfed the facility in a single, devastating wave. The blaze consumed the facility in seconds, the flames hungrily devouring walls, machines, and anything left standing. Explosions burst like fireworks, sending debris shooting into the sky. The guards who had dared to give chase turned and ran, their shouts lost in the roar of destruction.

“That’s one way to put an end to things,” Seonghwa muttered.

Chunja smirked, leaning back in her saddle as Cirrus banked to give her a clearer view of the spectacle. “Efficient as always,” she remarked, completely unbothered by the destruction below.

Dante remained on the ground for a moment longer, his chest heaving as the last embers of his attack faded. Then, with a powerful leap, he launched himself into the sky. His dark wings cut through the smoke, and within moments, rejoined the others.

The elder dragon flew close to Chunja, his eyes meeting hers briefly. She gave him a small nod, her expression softening. “Good work,” she murmured, though her voice was lost in the wind.

Ahead, the other dragons maintained their pace, the children clutching tightly to each other as the wind rushed past. Chunja glanced toward the horizon, her eyes narrowing slightly as the faint glow of the Park Estate came into view.

The two dragons collided in mid-air, their snarls reverberating through the night as claws and teeth clashed in a brutal, primal dance. Scales and firelight flew, and the sky seemed to tremble under the weight of their fury.

Hope, undeterred by Stelle’s onslaught of flames, snarled in response. Her rotting scales shimmered as she surged forward with a burst of speed, her claws slashing through the air in an attempt to cripple Stelle. San tugged on his reins, guiding Stelle just enough to avoid the blow, the tip of Hope’s claws grazing her side.

“Don’t falter now,” Yeosang muttered under his breath, though it was unclear if the words were meant for Hope or himself.

High above, Stelle dipped suddenly, her wings snapping close to her body as she plummeted toward the ground. San's grip on her harness didn't waver, his focus sharp as he prepared for her next maneuver. Hope followed, her roar tearing through the night as she dived after them.

Stelle roared as she banked sharply to the right, narrowly avoiding another fiery barrage from Hope. San leaned into her motion, his gaze flicking between Hope and the horizon, where the military forces lay in wait. The plan was simple but brutal: lure Hope into a vulnerable position where her exposed underbelly could be targeted. But getting her there was proving to be anything but easy.

San’s sharp eyes tracked every motion. “She’s guarding her underside,” he muttered, frustration creeping into his tone. “We need to expose her.”

Stelle let out a snarl in agreement, her intelligence matching her rider’s. With a sudden burst of speed, she dove toward Hope, her claws extended as though going for another strike.

Hope’s jaws snapped toward Stelle’s neck, but the war dragon abruptly shifted mid-dive, angling her body away at the last moment. Instead of landing her blow, Hope overextended, her balance faltering as she left herself momentarily exposed.

“There!” San shouted.

But Hope was quick to recover, her wings beating furiously as she propelled herself upward to regain her position. 

“She’s too fast,” San muttered, narrowing his eyes. Then, an idea sparked. “Stelle, we need to keep baiting her. Keep her focused on us, and make her think we’re desperate.”

Stelle grunted, angling sharply as she dove again. This time, her movements were erratic, almost sloppy, as though she was struggling under Hope’s relentless assault.

Below, military forces were in position, their weapons primed and ready with projectiles waiting for the perfect shot. Stelle dove low, her wings slicing through the air as she skimmed just above the ground, weaving a frantic path to evade pursuit. Hope surged behind, her larger, heavier form struggling to match Stelle’s speed. Forced to descend lower than usual, Hope pushed hard to close the distance.

San’s breath hitched as he watched the pursuit unfold, every beat of his heart mirroring the tension in the air. His voice rang out, sharp and commanding. 

“Now, Stelle! Climb!”

With a powerful beat of her wings, Stelle shot upward, spinning sharply to avoid Hope’s snapping jaws. The maneuver left the rotting dragon exposed, her underbelly glinting in the moonlight as she struggled to adjust her trajectory.

From the ground, a signal flare burst into the sky. The first cannon fired, its projectile screaming toward Hope with deadly precision. It struck her exposed underbelly, exploding into a burst of fire and shrapnel.

Her furious roar morphed into a cry of agony as she twisted midair, desperately trying to evade further strikes. The second and third projectiles followed in quick succession, slamming into her with unrelenting force. Her mighty presence diminished to pitiful whimpers as she plummeted toward the ground, reduced to a flailing mass of wings and scales.

“No!” Yeosang fell to his knees, ​​his outstretched hand trembled, as if he could somehow catch her fall or undo the damage.

Dust and debris filled the air, but Yeosang remained frozen, his face pale and contorted in disbelief. “You can’t take her from me!” he bellowed, his words heavy with despair.

“She was mine,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, the sharp edge of his anger giving way to an overwhelming grief. His chest heaved as his mind raced, grasping at the enormity of his loss.

“How…how could this happen?”

For a moment, all the fight drained out of him, leaving him hollow and shaking. Then, slowly, his grief ignited into something darker. His gaze snapped upward, locking onto those responsible. His jaw tightened, and his trembling hands clenched into fists.

Stelle circled above, her movements sharp and vigilant as ground troops swarmed around Hope's fallen form. On the lab’s rooftop, several helicopters hovered ominously, encircling Yeosang, preventing him from attempting escape. 

“It’s over,” San called out through the cacophony of rotor blades and distant shouts. There was no room for doubt, no hesitation in his tone. His gaze bore into Yeosang’s, unwavering even as the other man trembled with the weight of his grief and rage.

<< xiii | xv >>

a/n: we're close to the finish line (only 3 chapters left to wrap up everything nicely) 😭 sorry if this seemed rushed, I had to cut 2K words of dragon fights and traumatized children

taglist: @chngbnwf, @sunnysidesins @litolmochi @syubseokie @park-simphwa @szakias @babymbbatinygirl @oddracha @maliamaiden @signingsongbird @passionandsuga @mitchii

@notevenheretbh1 @intowxnderland @foxinnie8 @sanriomilk @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone

[limeade-l3sbian]

Im sure you have noticed many radfems talk of how men will use their spouse/partner as basically a second mother, having her do all the chores, the emotional labour, the organisation, etc. And I agree with this take.

But can we talk about how a lot of women, especially trad adjacent ones, also see their male partner as almost a parental figure. The amount of times i’ve seen women use different versions of “I just want a man that can think for me” is too many to count at this point. And it’s common. It’s seen in so much romance media, where the man takes control of everything, all the big decisions. It’s become a whole trope in heterosexual romance books and stories, of a rich man with control issues who sweeps some woman off her feet and makes it so she basically just disappears in his embrace.

This is gonna sound super harsh, but please know it isn’t meant as a critique of them as much as something i’ve noticed. I really do believe a lot of women who crave old school gender roles are very lazy, “useless”(to themselves) people who don’t want to amount to anything in life. The idea of struggle and hardship, heck, even just working TOWARDS something, it scares them so much they would rather be shapeless blobs controlled by someone else. That’s why they fetishize that traditional life style for women. Obviously WE know the women of that time and current time too in those types of homes aren’t just sitting around all day doing nothing, but I really do think a lot of women use it as an escapism fantasy from life.

The way a lot of them describe their sexual fantasies is similar, it’s always what is done to them, like they aren’t actually active participants, like they don’t actually have to make any choices.

I think the reason a lot of men crave a parental figure partner vs the reason a lot of women crave one is very different but they seem to be extremely common nonetheless. And with women I also know it’s a very complex issue of both society telling us our worth, the fact that women nowadays even as the more educated demographic STILL do more housework and emotional labour in relationships, capitalism being horrifyingly exhausting to live under, I could go on. But the point is, I think certain women crave a life of no consequences so that whole “i’m just a girl” and “he thinks for me, he makes the choices” mentality thats unfortunately had a huge uptick in popularity in recent years, I do think it’s women craving a parental figure as a partner. Not to say it’s anything linked to incest, i’m not trying to make freudian connections here, but I think the role of a parent is to take responsibility for the child and they crave that floating consequence free existence of a child.

I dunno, is what I’m saying completely deranged? Let me know.

Anon, I'm gonna try to be respectful and hold your hand when I say this... YOU'RE RIGHT! Thought I was gonna get condescending on your ass, huh? 😎🤪

Firstly, don't undercut your words with "I dunno." You made a completely logical point and casually explained yourself so eloquently I wouldn't be surprised if English wasn't your first language.

Secondly! I have seen this too! This weird, "take care of me" emphasis from both sides of the camp. Is it laziness? I wouldn't cast that aside for a second. But I think it's also this strange reaction to the present world. At least in the U.S., the economy is shit and people kind of already know that shit is just going to be hard, no matter what. And as humans, we have a weird tendency to swing the pendulum completely to the left or the right. So our reaction to very real, economic hardship that requires frequent "grinding" is to desire a complete release of the wheel, and to have someone else handle the hard stuff.

For some reason, according to social media, you either need to be grindset girl boss or a trad trophy wife which is...yeah. But I don't doubt your point being more of a reason for this. It's bizarre, and you're not crazy.

[is-this-mathieu-enriched]

i live in australia where mathieus have been unfairly banned :( i have always really loved mathieus and the wide variety of display patterns and varieties they come in - i also love how adaptable they can be to new activities and lifestyles! do you have any recommendations for an alternative breed i can look in to that might fill the mathieu shaped hole in my heart

Sometimes a single incident can lead to an entire species being banned, as was the case in Australia after an escaped poorly-socialised Mathieu began attacking local juveniles in a territorial dispute. This behaviour is very uncommon, but unfortunately has reflected upon the whole species. We can hope that with time this ban will be overturned, but for the moment your best bet is to consider one of the similar species native to Australia. While none fill quite the same niche as a Mathieu, there are multiple delightful options which share many of the same characteristics:

1) A Bling

The jewelled Bling actually has a wider range of display patterns than the Mathieu, with a depth and purity of colour that even fancy Mathieus have not yet attained. In addition, the iridescent varieties possess a beautiful sheen, often compared to that of precious jewels. Like a Mathieu, a Bling uses his display patterns for social signalling, allowing a surprisingly complex range of emotions to be conveyed.

In the wild, Blings will build and decorate elaborate structures to cover the entrance to their burrows. It is theorised that these may play some role in mate selection, but research is still ongoing.

Although native to Australia, Blings are often kept in other parts of the world as bonded companions to Tadejs, and the two species are extremely compatible. A Bling is a pursuit hunter focusing on intense bursts of speed, and like a Jasper will eat one large meal and then rest and digest for several days. This allows time for social bonding, which is very important to the Bling - unlike some species, your Bling will want to sit and watch you type on your laptop, and some will even attempt to mimic your activities.

A Bling may not be suitable if you are not looking to adopt a bonded companion for him, and need to be away from home for multiple hours each day. But if you are looking for a species with a strong social connection, beautiful display patterns and outgoing nature, a Bling may be just right for you.

Also consider: A Julian or Fabio.

2) A Jai

With a sweet personality and friendly nature, the Jai is ideal if you have a smaller living space. Exclusively found at altitude, they are primarily herbivorous, but will supplement their diet by catching unwary prey on an opportunistic basis. Their favourite snacks are flowers, and it is theorised that the colour of blooms consumed in infancy will affect a Jai's adult colouring.

Unlike Mathieus, Jais are not capable of changing their display patterns. However they can be found in a range of beautiful colours, from golden to pink, white and teal. A Jai will primarily build his nest in the rocky terrain of the high mountains, but this can be easily reproduced with a gravel substrate to his enclosure. As Jais are not primarily hunters, they do not need to hunt live prey. Check for approved florists in your area, and supplement his diet with a multivitamin.

Quietly playful, Jais are easily harness-trained, and will enjoy the opportunity to explore your world with you. What may seem like a quiet walk down the street will quickly take on a new light, as your Jai appreciates every new smell, sight and sound! They also enjoy physical enrichment toys, especially those which involve climbing. A Jai's enclosure should contain plenty of opportunities for vertical as well as horizontal movement.

Jais can suffer from problems during shedding - stuck shed is a regular complication - so they may not be suitable if you are not comfortable helping him to remove any old skin. If in doubt, never pull or tug at the old skin, but consult your veterinarian immediately.

A Jai may not be suitable if you are not able to devote vertical as well as horizontal space to an enclosure, or if you are looking for varying display patterns as a mood indicator. But if you are looking for a species with a gentle nature, and an active curiosity about the world, a Jai may be just what you are looking for.

Also consider: A Wilco or João.

3) A Ben

Unfairly possessing a reputation as 'difficult' to keep, it is time that the Ben was reconsidered as an option. With the right care, they can be extremely rewarding - Bens do not bond easily to their keepers, but once they do, their fiercely loving nature becomes apparent. This also applies to bonded companions, so do be aware if you are hoping to introduce a Ben into an already formed bond.

Primarily persistence hunters, Bens will exhaust their prey before moving in for the kill. Tufted like a Tadej, their crests are used to signal mood and intent much as a Mathieu uses his display patterns. The Ben pictured above is in a pleasant mood, and his raised crest shows that he is vigorously asserting dominance over the photographer! They will bask once a day, similar to a Mathieu, with a drooping crest indicating that your Ben is likely too cold.

A Ben will live happily on a similar diet to a Wout or Tadej, and requires a similar amount of supervised outdoor time as either. They enjoy the opportunity to hunt live prey, and any enrichment activities which mimic this. Bens enjoy a challenge: if your Ben fails to conquer a particular enrichment toy at the park, be prepared for him to make a beeline for it at every subsequent occasion until he has succeeded at mastering it!

A Ben may not be suitable if you already have adopted another species, or if you are hoping for a quick and easy bond. However if you are looking for a deeply caring species with a love of enrichment challenges, a Ben may be the perfect choice.

Also consider: An Enric or Tao.

There are many more options out there, and hopefully you will be able to find the perfect species that fits with you and your lifestyle. Happy adopting!