#it’s a privilege to be able to pay for lessons

[lqnar]

”being bilingual is a privilege” is the most anerican and tumblr take to exist

[arabellasleopardcoat]

No masters or kings (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Aemond has issues around sex. The thought of being married to you, an angel, it's not helping.

Warnings: Angst (w/happy ending) Religious guilt, repression around sex. Kissing. Thoughts of sex, but no actual smut. Just angst and fluff.

Requested: Yup! Modern reader falls into Sept x Aemond

For as long as he could remember, Aemond had been alone. He had been an outsider to his siblings and nephews, all with a dragon. He had been an outsider to other noble children, marked apart by his distinctive features. He had been an outsider to his father's family, Rhaenyra and her children.

The loss of his eye had only exacerbated that. The girls at court were frightened by the sight of him, and he often worried about how he could secure a match. No longer activities he had found solace in, like studying and swordplay, came easily. Everything, from reading to being able to walk down the stairs without tripping, had to be relearned.

His faith in the Seven had permeated all of his childhood. His mother was the only person to pay attention to him, even if it was sometimes in a way Aemond could not appreciate. When he thought of her, his mind's eye always conjured her with a seven pointed star hanging from her neck.

Aemond had tried his best to keep her happy. She was all he had. So instead of running from his lessons and incurring on indecent behavior, Aemond had closely listened to the Septons that educated them. He had prayed daily. He had read the Seven Pointed Star and annotated its passages, committing them to memory.

Paradoxically, the time when he felt closer to the Gods was after the loss of his eye. It had been then he had truly understood what it felt like to be favored by the Seven. His faith demanded sacrifices, but always rewarded them. An eye for a dragon. The biggest dragon in Westeros.

Sacrifice will bring good things. It was a very simple lesson, but one he committed to memory regardless.

As a child, Aemond had not prayed for a dragon. Nor had he prayed to the Warrior to make him strong and able to defeat his enemies. When Aemond was a child, he had often prayed for a friend. Asking for the Maiden to send him someone kind. An angel. He had never spoken it out loud, afraid of appearing weak. Children were such cruel creatures, after all. But Aemond never forgot to ask the Maiden for it.

Aemond prayed. And suffered. And prayed, and suffered, and thought that at least this life he was leading, of loneliness and desperation and so much fear, would finally account for something. For the Gods favored those who suffered and sacrificed, and if his reward didn't come in this life, it would come in the next one.

His prayers were always the same. Each morning, before anyone else could rise except for the lowliest of servants, Aemond went to the Sept. He spent equal time in front of each of the Seven's effigy and lit a candle for them. He prayed in silence, asking of them simple things. Aemond knew he already led a privileged life, so he did not dare ask for more.

His prayers were so ingrained, he recited them with little thought. Yet, when he came to the Maiden, Aemond always fumbled. With the other Gods, he knew exactly what to ask for. But with Her, he only felt unease. So he rapidly mumbled his childhood prayer, and moved on. It had become a tradition, even if he was no longer the appropriate age to pray for friends.

Aemond knew it was the wrong thing to do. When you were praying, you were supposed to be present. To think of all the aspects of the Seven with the devotion they deserved. But when you are taught as a child to pray, it turns into instinct.

Just as someone who has trained enough with the sword barely thinks about his next move, someone who prays enough doesn't need to think about what they will ask next. It's too ingrained.

At this hour, the Sept is quiet. Aemond enjoys praying here instead of in the one inside the Red Keep. There are no court ladies around to bother him, nor an Aegon making mocking noises while he tries to pray. Despite wanting to join his mother in prayer sometimes, he just couldn't take the royal sept. It lacked the peace septs were supposed to make you feel.

He leaned down, lighting a candle before each effigy, and muttering his usual prayer.

“Warrior, give me strength.” Aemond whispered. He lit the candle and moved on. “Mother, protect my sister and my mother. Father, bring your justice upon my enemies. Maiden, bring me someone kind. An angel.” And as he kneeled to light her candle, something hit him from above.

The weight of the thing was too great for him to remain upright. Aemond was sent sprawling to the floor. His head slammed on the stone floor of the Sept, making him grunt. A woman screamed. Probably, one of the commoners visiting the Sept. They were few at this hour, most having already begun their labors. Her scream was echoed by one of another woman, and soon, hurried footsteps were nearing him.

Aemond tried to sit up, reaching a hand out to move the weight aside. What he gripped, made him fall back down.

Cloth. Cloth covering something soft, something that yielded under his hands. An arm. You. The Gods had answered his call. There was a woman right on top of him, eyes closed and expression smooth, as if in peaceful sleep. The Maiden had sent him an angel, after years of solitude and sacrifice. You were his reward.

Aemond lifted you and set you aside, on one of the benches of the Sept. A couple of the commoners hurried forward, to gape at you, but Ser Criston stopped them.

“A miracle! A miracle!” Someone was screaming, and you twitched. More and more commoners started to pour through the entrance of the Sept, all gawking and murmuring about the woman who had appeared out of thin air.

The people were bright-eyed, frenzied by the demonstration of the Seven's power. They started pushing at Ser Criston, and trying to touch Aemond and you.

Cole and Aemond exchanged looks. If no one controlled the crowd, they might very well end up being torn to shreds by them, in their frantic attempts of touching the holy being they were guarding.

Aemond unsheathed his dagger.

“I think… We need a Septon.”

You were being carried somewhere. You could tell because your head swayed with the movement, unsupported. It was giving you terrible neck pain.

“If she has fallen out of the sky, and there is no hole….”

“A miracle! A miracle! The Seven have…” Fuck, your head hurt, and the woman screaming was not helping things. You flinched, trying to curl into yourself. This felt like the worst hangover ever, and you had no leverage to avoid the noises, since you were hanging in midair.

“The Prince must be held in high regard, for clearly the Gods favor him. Thousands of people pray here daily, yet the Maiden herself answered his plea.” The man from before continued speaking.

Someone else scoffed.

“Surely, this is a bit much. The Prince is hardly…”

“Shut up, Cole.” The person who was carrying you barked. The movement his chest made when he was talking made you fearful of falling down. Despite the strength in his grip, you weighted more than a few sacks of flour or a gallon of milk. People were not supposed to carry other people for long, unless they were frat boys attempting to impress girls or some sort of soldier.

You tried to sit up, the movement making all your body ache. Where were you? Why were you being carried? The last thing you remembered was going into an occult museum with a friend.

Everyone has that one friend. The slightly witchy one who believes in ghosts and crystals and whose favorite month of the year is October. The one who likes terror movies, and scary podcasts and dragging you to haunted houses and escape rooms.

It will be fun, they said. It's an occult museum, what could possibly go wrong?

Where the fuck were they? You were so going to strangle them for getting you… Wherever you were.

“My Lady.” The man holding you said. You looked up and met a pale blue eye and an eye patch. You startled. He looked straight out of a low-budget pirate movie, all in leather. “Are you alright?”

“What happened?” You lifted your head, noticing everyone was cosplaying as medieval priests and knights. There was a sinking feeling in your stomach. The man holding you looked an awful lot like Aemond Targaryen. You would recognize that ensemble anywhere. You had read enough fanfics for it. “Is this a renaissance fair? A comic con?”

It was worth the shot. Perhaps something happened to you and you had stumbled into a comic con? But was it so easy to stumble into one? You thought the tickets for those were expensive, they surely wouldn't just let you in.

Something had happened to you and these kind cosplayers who were… Doing something decided to help you? That seemed more likely.

“No, my lady. This is Westeros. The earthly one.” The man dressed in the more expensive costume of a priest was speaking. He had an elaborate head accessory, billowing robes and some strange pentagram with way more points than usual. His voice was the one which had been muttering about a Prince, and being favored.

“What is a renaissance fair?” The man had the oddest combination of a white cloak and armor. You looked at the man and froze. He was… Oh, what was his name again? Oranges guy!

“Something they must have in the Seven Heavens.” The expensive priest answered, in a matter of fact tone. “Clearly. The Prince asked for an angel. Angels reside there.”

Your mouth was hanging open. They thought you were an angel. Holy shit. You looked down, at your scuffed sneakers and clothes. You didn't feel very angelic, but like hell if you were going to miss the opportunity of receiving royal treatment in Westeros. If you truly were here, you would rather not learn how the lower class lived.

Another priest turned to you. He was dressed as expensively as the first one, but he lacked the head accessory.

“Tell us, young lady. Were you an attendant for the Maiden? What are the Seven Heavens like?”

You panicked. Perhaps pretending to be an angel from a religion you had no clue about was not a good idea. These questions would continue, you knew it.

“Don't be ridiculous, Eustace. Everyone knows that angels can't divulge that sort of thing. It's basic theology. They come to fulfill their purpose, not to entertain fools.” The man with the head accessory spoke, as if talking to a child.

You did your best to sit up. Aemond held you more firmly, and raised his arm on your back, encouraging your head to loll towards his shoulder. You were moving inside a prehistoric looking building, corridors made from stone and decorated with tapestries. The Red Keep, perhaps.

“And what do you believe the being’s purpose to be?” Eustace asked. You did not like being referred to in such a manner, and you fought Aemond's grip a bit harsher. He merely settled you against him and kept walking, this time going up a stairwell. You squirmed.

“The Prince's wife. He prayed for a companion. That must be it.” The expensive priest, Septons they were called, now that you remembered, seemed to have become an expert on all things you. Wisely, you kept your mouth shut.

“Is that why her attire is so immodest?” The oranges guy spoke, reaching for you. He clearly noticed his Prince was struggling and hoped to relieve him of the burden. You clung to Aemond more tightly. You were honest enough with yourself to know you had many impure thoughts about him, and were not going to lose your chance.

Aemond grunted. Encouraging him to keep carrying you beyond his capabilities might not have been your best move.

“You can put me down. I can walk.” You spoke softly, trying to sound your most angelic.

“We are nearly there.” His voice sounded agitated from the physical exertion, but his tone screamed danger. It would wound his pride putting you down now, you realized. He wanted to look strong. “There is no need.”

“The Gods see all, and angels are pure beings. They do not know of such earthly concerns, for they have not been exposed to the sins of the flesh.”

“What the fuck.” You whispered to yourself, sure that you were dreaming. This was turning crazier by the second.

“That is a crass word here, my lady.” Aemond whispered to you. “You shall not repeat it.”

Safe to say, you were learning your lesson. When an occult museum artifact has a sign that says, “Do not touch” you DO NOT TOUCH.

Marrying an angel was not a part of Aemond's plans. Begrudgingly, he admitted he may have to reconsider his more violent revenge plots. Aemond had to prove himself worthy of you, and for once, worthiness did not mean prowess with a sword or riding a dragon. It meant piety.

Piety. Kindness. All the virtues that the Faith enforced and that you were made of. All the virtues Aemond felt he lacked, sometimes.

Taking his nephew's eye would not be kind. You had explained so, as if you could read his mind. You also said that Aemond should not attempt to force him to pay his debt. It had been an alarming show of clairvoyance.

That you were privy to his most secret inner thoughts should not have surprised him so. It was only further proof of your angelic nature.

Your arrival had the Kingdoms in an uproar. The Citadel had wanted to record the circumstances around your appearance, the Faith had made you pose for a portrait. Some even dared utter that perhaps Aemond was better suited to be King, since the Gods clearly favored him.

The King was displeased, but your miraculous arrival had been witnessed by too many to deny it. Aemond had been authorized to marry you, only out of sheer pressure from the High Septon. You were a hero to the man. Families who had been worshiping the Old Gods for generations now rushed to convert. Only House Targaryen remained stagnant.

Even after your marriage, Aemond struggled to catch a minute alone with you. Anywhere you went, people were currying for your attention. If it wasn't his other asking you to join her in prayer, it was some Septon asking you questions, or near mobs awaiting outside the Red Keep for you to appear on a balcony. People thought your touch was magical, that you could heal the sick and bless the innocents. Aemond had to fight to keep their hands off you.

As the wife to a Prince favored by the Seven, all thoughts of going back were stomped on. You had mentioned it once or twice, before he had married you. Going back home, you had said. Aemond understood that the earthly world was much different than where you had been from, and the homesickness that came with it, but he hoped you forgot such silly ideas. There was no way for you to go home, and if there was, he would not allow it.

In hopes of distracting you, his mother had suggested expediting the wedding. Aemond had agreed, but he had soon realized that it was not enough. While sweet and kind to him, and clearly loving, your mind still drifted to thoughts of your life before. Something stronger was needed. And there was only one stronger bond than marriage. He had to put a babe in you.

Such thing, unfortunately, was much harder than expected. To produce a child, a couple needed to lay together in ways Aemond and you had not. You were loving, pressing kisses to his lips and cheeks every chance you had, but it was a pure kind of affection. You had been told that you were his wife, and what that entailed, innocent being that you were. It didn't mean anything. You were only trying to do what you thought was needed.

Aemond didn't dare touch you. It was his right to do so, but he was unsure if it was the moral thing to do. You probably weren’t too sure of the connotations of the act and all that it entailed. Besides, was it really his right? You were no ordinary woman. You were an otherworldly being, an angel, a perfect woman carved out by the Maiden herself and sent to him to love and cherish. You were not meant to be hurt or tainted in any way.

Intercourse was dirty. It hurt maidens, and it was a sin when practiced outside the marriage bed. Despite always pleasurable to him, and sometimes to his companions, Aemond was not too sure he should submit you to it.

You were heavenly. Asking you to have intercourse with him would be asking you to roll around in the mud while wearing a white dress. It would make you earthly, change you. And you were perfect just the way you were.

Yet Aemond could not contain these… Urges. When you kissed the corner of his lips, all he could think about was grabbing you and deepening the kiss until he got to know every inch of your mouth. When you hugged him close, letting him curl around you at night and hide his face on your neck, Aemond thought of kissing and bitting and sucking the supple skin until you were writhing in pleasure. When your hand innocently grazed against his thigh, he thought of his hands squeezing your own thighs, pulling them apart to reveal your core.

It was a sinful way of thinking. He knew it was wrong of him, but he could not stop. He could not control it. If only his waking thoughts were sinful, things would be different. Waking thoughts could be controlled. Dreams could not.

Every night, without fail, Aemond woke up drenched in sweat, breeches uncomfortably tight. He saw you in his dreams, in all sorts of lurid positions. Your pretty lips parted, your thighs fluttering open and closed like the wings of a butterfly. You on your knees, back, your bosom spilling from your bodice, your pretty breasts, nipples puffy. His mouth, his hands, his cock, on you, in you.

The dreams were pleasurable while they lasted, but as soon as Aemond woke up and saw you sleeping peacefully next to him, the guilt returned. You let out the tiniest puffs of air when you breathed, and always chased his warmth on cold nights. Adorable being that you were, you curled into him, unaware of the turmoil you caused.

Aemond could no longer take it. At first, he tried looking for answers to his dilemma inside of books. He soon found out his studies of philosophy and history had not prepared him for the monster that was theology.

So he asked for advice. To the only person who had to be an expert on the topic. The High Septon.

By the end of the day, a panel with four Maesters and ten Septons had been formed to discuss the issue.

“She is a pure being. The Queen and a Septa have confirmed that she has female anatomy, but having it does not mean she should be defiled.” One of the Maesters spoke, frowning. Aemond nodded along. It had been like he thought.

“It's hardly defiling if the Maiden gifted her to the Prince. She blessed the union.” The High Septon argued, sitting straighter in his chair. He clearly was uncomfortable at the thought of Maesters, of all people, interfering in these matters. What Aemond could not figure out was why the man had invited them if they clearly ruffled his feathers.

“The Maiden is a maiden. That's the whole point.” Another Maester rolled his eyes. It was a sound logic. Aemond felt even guiltier after hearing that. Thinking about you in such a manner was impure. You were a representative of the Maiden herself, here on Westeros. Even thinking of such dirty things near you was disrespectful. It was as if he were thinking them about the Maiden herself.

“Well, yes, but if you ask for a wife, is it not implied?” Septon Eustace chimed in. Aemond had never particularly enjoyed the royal Septon, but he was proving to be very useful. “I do not presume to know how the Prince words his prayers, nor do I think I can know his intentions, but…”

A companion. Someone kind. The prayer had started innocent enough, a child asking for a friend. Aemond had kept it worded exactly as it had been back then, when he was eight years old and dragonless. But he had grown, and so had his intentions. When he spoke of a companion, did he still think of a friend? Or rather, a wife?

The word companion indicated someone that assisted, that served to cater to a necessity. Not quite a friend, but someone to ward off loneliness. A somewhat inferior being, even. It was a term used to refer to pets, after all.

Women were precious beings. Images of the mother, to be treasured and protected, but never equals. Wives were, after all, lower than husbands. It was why they must be obedient to them, why they should mind the children and the home. They were not made to stand on their own. Women were made to stand next to a man.

Besides, wasn't it interesting? The Gods could have sent him a man. A boy. A dog. But instead, they had sent him a woman near his age, with pretty eyes and a tempting mouth.

“Hardly.” A Septon interfered. “There has been precedent of marriages that…”

“Marriages declared null.” The High Septon snapped. His mood was a reflection of the room. The conversation was starting to turn more and more heated, murmurs breaking out among the gathered. It brought uncomfortable memories of the day Aemond had met you and had to fight a frenzied mob. He had the feeling this was going to turn into that quickly.

Perhaps sensing the same, another Maester spoke.

“Why don't we ask her? She must know the Seven's will in the matter.”

Neither of the fourteen other men in the room had thought of that.

When Aemond asked you, timidly, if you wished to consummate the marriage, you could have danced from joy.

You had decided early on that if going back was not an option, you were going to make the most of your stay here. You missed your family and friends, but your life here was so pampered that you didn't feel so bad. Any quirks of behavior that you had were excused as part of your angelic nature, and you had the biggest crush on the man who had married you.

If only Aemond didn't refuse to even touch you. So far, you have tried everything. You have kissed him. Stroked him. Cuddled far too close to him, so you are nearly on top of him. Groped his thigh, almost his cock. Your behavior has bordered on indecent even by modern standards, yet Aemond dismisses it all as innocent. He is either the most oblivious man on the planet or he doesn't want you.

That suspicion had given you pause. If Aemond did not want you, you weren't about to force him to do so. You had stopped with your insistent touching, and went back to light kisses on the cheek. Instead, you had made the mistake of looking around.

You are so horny it's driving you mad. Being married in Westeros is not what you thought it would be. You expected much more sex. Besides, everyone here was insanely good-looking, especially the man sleeping next to you and waking up every morning with a raging erection. Anyone with a sliver of a libido would be frothing at the mouth and clawing at walls from horniness.

In your other life, you had watched HOTD and understood the message clearly. Despite being a common occurrence, cheating was not a good idea. There were no reliable contraception methods and no way of preventing STDS.

Even if you were not aware of all the possibles consequences of cheating from your knowledge about the show, you now knew Aemond. He was terrifying, devout, and hated his bastard nephews. You did not want to see what he would do if he caught you cheating.

So here you were. Into forced chastity and perpetually horny, with your husband asking you if you thought it was a good idea to consummate the marriage.

You could have jumped from the bed in your haste to show him exactly what you thought. But you had to maintain your air of an otherworldly being. Which you technically were, since this was not your world.

“Whichever you think best, my Prince.” You answered, voice soft and patient. Just as you had always spoken in his presence. It had done wonders to make Aemond seek your company. He found you soothing, or so he said.

Aemond reached forward. His hand cupped your cheek, very gently. You looked up at him with your most innocent eyes.

He lowered his hand, shoulders slumping in defeat. You tried not to let it show how much it hurt you to have all you wanted dangled in front of you and then taken away.

“I cannot touch you. Nor should I lust after you. You are…” Aemond’s eyebrows pinched together. His face showed an inner conflict that made your own heart soften. Perhaps he had grown to care for you, in the ways you wished he did. He just didn't think it appropriate.

You stepped closer. This time, it was your hands that cupped his face. Aemond's eye closed, briefly. He seemed to be enjoying the touch, committing it to memory.

“Kiss me.” You whispered, pulling him close. Aemond went into the hug, nuzzling your hair. Despite the sweetness with which he responded, his frame was tense. “Please. I beg it of you.”

“I can't. I can't defile you.” He sounded truly strained. You rubbed his back, gently. “ A perfect being, such as yourself, does not deserve this.”

“It won't hurt. I know how to do it.” You explained, softly. Perhaps he worried about hurting you, you thought. You were no blushing virgin, but Aemond did not know that.

“Of course. You are an enlightened being. But it does not mean you have to put that into practice. You must know of the mysteries of death, yet you have not hurt anybody.”

“Because killing is wrong.” And truly, it was a ridiculous comparison. Sex had not killed anyone, at least that you knew of. It was not meant to hurt.

“Sex is, too. It's only for making heirs, and I am a second son. I don't need heirs.”

And by the look of his face, Aemond really believed what he was saying. The thought of him suffering, of being so deeply repressed, hurt you. You understood well how damaging thinking about sex in that way could be.

It hurts you more to think it might have been exacerbated by you. The thought of you being this perfect soul, someone so pure and easily hurt, and then the thought of tainting you. It said a lot about his mental health.

You vowed then you would aid you in any way you could.

“It's not wrong.” You whispered, and moved slightly back from his embrace. “Let me show you.” And you were kissing him, and Aemond was kissing back. His lips were soft, and he held you as if you were the most delicate glass vase he had ever held. You understood him now. And one day, Aemond would understand this too.

[thesafecafe]

Trust In Me: Mommy May

Summary: You can always trust in Taemin. He is always there for you. He is always there, leading you down the right path. Really, you have no choice but to trust in him. You will, if you know what’s good for you.

CW + Disclaimer: 18+, MDNI, yandere Taemin, toxic relationship, gaslighting, obsessive and possessive themes, manipulation, fingering, pussy slapping, oral (male rec), cum swallowing, unprotected sex (don’t), riding, slight objectification themes, mommy dom! Taemin, sub fem! reader (who’s wearing a microskirt and no panties), pet names, condescending Taemin, reader is naïve + subservient, smut under the cut enjoy! 

Disclaimer: I do not believe that any of the members of SHINee would act like this in real life, nor is it a guide on their real life personalities. I do not support/condone the behavior represented in this work, it is a fictional depiction for entertainment purposes.

Words: 2179

Tea. Sugar. Milk. Honey. You mentally ticked off  the ingredients for the tea you were making. You couldn’t make any mistakes; you couldn’t afford any. It was already bad enough that you were running behind. Thankfully, you’d already prepared lunch, and as soon as you finished setting up the afternoon  tea tray, you heard it. The sound that signaled the winding down of time. The sound of a familiar, habitual whistling. Taemin was home. Quickly assessing your tray, you set the final touches up, before throwing off your apron and picking up the tray. Making your way to the  living room, you carefully lowered yourself onto your knees.

You let out an internal sigh of relief as you realized you’d made it to the living room first. Just in time too, since it only took a few moments for the whistling to stop. You caught a glimpse of his boots as he walked in, since your eyes were trained on the floor. It was just what he’d taught you to do: kneel before him and don’t speak until he addressed you. A lesson in manners that had been drilled into you over and over again. You heard him taking off his accessories, tossing them into a drawer before he turned to you. “You’re on time today dear. That makes a whole month of you being a good girl right?” He sounded pleased as he circled around your form, before sitting in his recliner. “Go on, speak.”

“Thank you mommy. It is my pleasure to serve you. I wouldn’t be able to do it without you. Allow me to serve you again this afternoon.”  Taemin smiled. You genuinely wanted to please him. The lessons had been paying off. “You may serve me. Start with the tea today.” You nodded, placing the tray on his side table. Rising to your feet, you began to prepare the tea that he usually drank. You hoped he couldn't see that your hands had a slight tremble to them. ‘He’s in a good mood, you can ask. Don't worry.’  You reassured yourself as you poured the tea, handing it over to Taemin. ‘Now or never Y/N. Be brave.’ As you prepared yourself to speak, you didn't realize that your expression had changed.

“What’s on your mind my dove? You look worried to death.” Taemin took an appreciative sip of tea, humming before setting it aside. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. So much for being subtle. “Well mommy, I had a question to ask you. Do you remember Mr. Kim’s dove?” He nodded, his eyes meeting yours. “I remember you two had quite an interesting play date last time.” You nodded your head earnestly, excitement beginning to mix with your nerves. “I really enjoyed her company, and when it was time for my phone privileges last week, she asked if I would go to the movies with her soon. If it’s alright with you, can I go mommy, please?” Your words were a bit rushed, but clear. You knew he understood your request, and you waited with bated breath for him to  answer.

Seconds stretched into minutes, and you felt like time had slowed down. Each passing second felt like an hour, and you could feel a bead of sweat roll down your neck. Had it always been this hot in the room, or was it the way you were being regarded by your lover, like you were one of the targets he hunted down as a sport. As the tension in the air became palpable, you were sure he was weighing what you said in his mind. Finally, he broke the tense silence. “You want to go to the movies? With someone else?” The indicative tone of his voice had you  dropping to your knees. “It wouldn’t be just anyone! It would be your most trusted acquaintance chaperoning. It would be safe as well-’ 

You are cut off by a hand cupping your jaw. Forcing your chin up so that you meet his eyes. Taemin’s glare freezes you. “My most trusted acquaintance? Who are you to decide who that is for me?! Did I ever say that he was?!” You shake your head, your mouth useless as it is caught in his vice grip. “I allow you company once, and this is how you repay me? You ask to break my number one rule, knowing that it keeps you safe, that it keeps us safe!” You claw at his hand, panic overtaking you. This wasn’t what you planned to happen. You thought you’d done everything right.. “No-no, mommy, I didn’t mean it that way! I wouldn’t try to break your rules, I promise!” Taemin pushes you away, almost toppling you over. 

“I see. You don’t love me anymore, right? That’s why you’re asking. My company isn’t enough for you anymore.” You continually denied his words, telling him that you loved him with all your heart. “Is that so? It can’t be. If you really loved me, you’d get on your knees and beg my forgiveness. You’d never ask to go somewhere without me again.” Your heart split in two at his words. Were you really so cruel? You’d never meant to hurt his feelings. Getting onto your hands and knees, you hung your head low. “Please forgive me mommy, It won’t happen again. I’ll be good, I promise! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Another silence fills the room, shorter this time. “Are you really sorry?” Taemin’s voice had a particular edge to it, that you couldn't quite place.

“Yes mommy! One thousand times sorry!” You couldn’t see the wicked sneer on Taemin’s face as he contemplated his next words carefully. “I’m deeply disappointed in you sweetheart. I go to work all day, thinking of nothing but how I’ll keep you safe and take care of you. You really deserve a punishment for such bad behavior.” Your heart dropped at his words. Taemin’s punishments were like hell on earth, and something you never wanted to experience ever again if you could avoid it. There were still scars from the last time. “But since you’ve been so good this past month, I won’t punish you.” Your eyes widened, and you looked up at him in shock. “Don’t look so surprised. I’ll give you a chance to redeem yourself.” 

You watched as he sat back in his chair, his legs spread wide in his recliner. “Go on dove, show me how sorry you are.” His words hung heavy in the air, and you immediately shuffled closer, stopping when you were situated between his legs. Reaching for his belt, you quickly unbuckled it, before unzipping his pants. You could see the outline of his dick through his underwear, already starting to stand at attention. You carefully placed your hand on him, rubbing him through the material. Taemin sighed, a look of boredom on his face. “Is that all, my toy?” He sighed again, closing his eyes. You changed tactics, this time reaching for the band of his underwear. The last thing you wanted was for him to be unsatisfied. You pulled down his briefs just enough to spring his cock free of restraints.

You wasted no time, taking him into your mouth. Your tongue flattened against the tip, rubbing against it, before sucking it fervently. Taemin groaned as you alternated between harsh sucking and swirling your tongue around him. Your hand moved along the base, your nails grazing the underside of his length. If you’d been paying attention, you’d have seen the way his hands gripped onto the arms of the chair as you pleased him. He was restraining himself; he'd never admit it to you, but he could barely keep himself together from a single touch from you 

You could hear him cursing under his breath, a sign he was close. You kept going, taking him further into your mouth, and finally looking at his face. He is watching you, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. You made eye contact with him, not stopping your actions. You moaned around him, sucking and licking more earnestly. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you let yourself get lost in the feeling. “Fuck!” Taemin cursed loudly, throwing his head back as he filled your mouth with his seed. You caught all of it, not allowing any to spill. “Good girl, swallow it.” Taemin panted, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.

You obeyed him, opening your mouth to show him when you were done. “I knew you were still my good girl. Come here, stand up for me.” He pulled you up, bringing you to stand between his legs. He parted your thighs, before sliding his hand up to your slit. Running his middle finger between your lips, he felt your arousal pool and run down to his palm. You shuddered when he grazed your clit. He kept at his shallow teasing for a few moments, before pausing to speak. “You’re my good girl, right?” You swallowed thickly, trying to break through your clouded haze of lust. “Yes mommy, I’m your good girl.” He hummed, nodding his head. “So you won’t ask me to break any more of the rules, right?” You shook your head, reassuring him that you’d never ask again.

Resuming his previous movements, Taemin pressed his fingers deeper between your lips, now fully dragging over your clit. He carefully dipped his middle finger into your hole, loving the way your walls sucked him right in. “My perfect little toy, you’re so naïve. Everyone sees it in you.” Taemin added another finger into you, pumping them in and out, and hitting a spot that had you reeling. “You have to be more careful. Don’t you know that she was trying to humiliate you in public?” His thumb finds your clit, rubbing in circles. “She talks about everyone behind their back, so how could I let you go out with her?” You don’t answer, far too lost in the pleasure you were receiving. 

He increased his pace, his fingers fucking into you with renewed purpose. “All you can do is trust in me. I’m here for you, I never deceive you, do I?” You shake your head again. “No, you, you never lie to me mommy. I trust you.” Taemin smirked, satisfied with your answer. Sliding his fingers out of you, he gave you a moment to register it before landing a harsh smack to your clit. It only took two more to send you over the edge, your cries of pleasure like music to his ears. When you came down from your high, he was beaming at you. “My dove, you’re so well behaved, just for me.” You blushed at the compliment, not used to receiving such positive feedback from him.

Taemin pulled you closer to him, pulling you down until you were straddling his thighs. Pulling your face towards his, he kissed you deeply, the taste of his release still on your lips. He broke the kiss for air, putting his forehead against yours. He took a good look at you as you caught your breath. Your makeup was smudged, lip gloss almost nonexistent. Your skirt bunched around your waist, a poor excuse for covering up any skin. But what really drew him in were your eyes. Blown over with lust and unfaltering adoration for the man in front of you. You wanted him, and if there was nothing he wanted more, it was for your desire to be solely focused on him.

Reaching for the lever of the recliner, Taemin adjusted the chair to a more comfortable position. He could feel your eyes on his every movement. “Ride me.” He commands you softly, seeing how much further you’re willing to go; how far you’re willing to go for him. You grab him, aligning the head with your entrance. You ease onto him carefully, until he is fully sheathed in you. You adjust for a moment, before you are moving your hips up and down on him, the both of you sighing in pure bliss. Taemin’s hands come to rest on your hips, helping to move you along the length of his dick. “Do you want to cum for me dove? Want me to fill you up just the way you like?” His teeth nipped at the skin of your neck, and you shivered at the sensation.

“Yes, yes mommy please! Please fill me up!” Taemin kissed your neck, his mouth trailing marks all over your skin. “Then tell me you trust me, that I’m the only one you’ll ever trust. You’re mine, and no one else deserves you, they don’t love you the way I do.” Taemin knew you’d tell him what he wanted to hear. You were completely loyal to him, You were his toy, his puppet specifically. It only took a few strings to make you behave how he wanted. You had no choice but to trust in him. Every puppet needed a master. He just happened to be yours. “You’d better trust in me just like I’m saying.”

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

Tags: @minhyuuk​, @brownsugarbaybee​, @hee0soo​, @mommyhwa​, @legbouk​, @singularity777​

[burst-of-iridescent]

Aang was indeed a bad father. It's way past time we stopped making excuses for him.

An all too common defense for Aang is the fact that he's a monk and is not well-versed in how parenting looks. Yeah! No shit! But do you know who is well-versed? Katara! They talk as if Aang is a single parent like Toph but he is not. Katara's been on Aang's side since the day they met, always stood up for him, always complimented him.

Is this really the thanks she gets? Are they really that disinterested in explaining Katara's side of the story? As if her not getting a statue wasn't insulting enough.

Another major flaw in this defense is that Aang is not just a monk. He's the avatar. This means, part of mastering all elements also means embodying all of the ideologies based on said elements. That includes elements/ideologies completely opposite of his own. His daughter's crack about Aang "cutting and running when things get tough" shows that he's learned absolutely nothing.

We never truly see him master all the elements, he just gets them and, more or less, calls it a day. I'm even beginning to doubt that he's truly mastered his default airbending and he just got his tattoos prematurely because the monks were impressed with his scooter invention.

Zuko got the privilege of understanding the ideologies of other nations, allowing him to grow, and unlearn any toxic masculinity lessons through them, and would blow a gasket if he ever saw a kid get mistreated by a parent in any way. Is it really any wonder why Zuko is the more popular character and the most requested choice for Katara, in comparison to Aang?

using the "but he was a monk!" argument to excuse aang's bad parenting is fucking baffling to me. even leaving aside that aang did have a father figure (or are we collectively ignoring monk gyatso?), i don't think you need to witness fatherhood in action to understand that showing preferential treatment to one of your children is a messed up thing to do. that seems like the kind of thing that should be common sense, especially when you're best friends with the guy who's walking proof of what happens when you play favourites with your kids.

truthfully, i also don't fully agree with katara being able to compensate for aang's supposed lack of knowledge. while i do believe katara was a good mother, and i don't think it was her responsibility to teach her own husband how to be a good parent, i have my doubts about how much, if ever, katara called aang out on his behaviour towards bumi and kya. if their relationship in atla was any indication, i suspect katara very much turned a blind eye (or at most tried to gently suggest that aang pay more attention to bumi and kya) to aang's flaws in this area, as she (unfortunately) does in most others. that's one of the reasons i was never able to get onboard with kat.aang, because katara is the only one of the gaang who is never able to meaningfully challenge aang, even when he desperately needs it. (the only time i recall her trying to push him to do something he doesn't want is in sozin's comet when the fate of the literal world depended upon it. not a good omen, methinks.)

the katara we knew in atla might not have idly sat by while aang favored his airbending child over the others, but the seeds for who she turns out to be in lok are already planted. it's not a stretch to see how katara's blind faith in aang, and her unwillingness to confront his flaws, could have easily led her down the path to the woman who would fail to stop her husband from neglecting two of their children.

it's no surprise that aang in lok is repeating all the same mistakes he did in atla, because his character arc came to a screeching halt at the start of book 3 and was never picked back up again. how are we meant to believe that aang ever became the avatar (yknow, the embodiment of all four nations in one) when he was still, at the very end of the show, prioritizing the values of one nation over the others?

truly the shocker of the century that people might prefer katara to be with a character who had a believable arc with well-written development and a satisfying conclusion, instead of the narrative equivalent of a brick wall.

[hearvex]

can i ask for this Juan guy lore :v i saw his tweet when it had like 3k and thought it cant be good but i dont know anything about him. its upsetting to see 12k likes tho like why are people fighting against human fights tho

oh this is a long one, who's Juan Guarnizo, the streamer who has recently tweeted against the french union in regards of the qsmp.

juan guarnizo is a colombian streamer (who now lives in mexico with his wife). he's participated in Tortillaland, a roleplaying minecraft series, as a wizard of sorts. He then decided to create a "spin-off" series (more cinematic/pre-planned) called "El Dios de Todo" (The God of Everything, his character's catchphrase). So he partnered with Euphonia, a popular Minecraft Studio that has created games such as SquidCraft, Dedsafio, SawMinecraftGames, and more.

He announced he was looking for several roleplayers for this project, and people started complaining on twitter because some of the requirements were pretty much insane.

Some include, full availability for 6 hours a day everyday for an entire month, good quality microphone, not being able to livestream the content, just record it to be used after the proyect was released, knowing how to rhyme/rap/sing/imitate voices and animals/general voice acting talent and being able to improv. All of that for the price of 0$. The payment? The enriching experience of being part of this unpayed proyect with your favorite content creator.

Well turns out people still didn't like this idea, justifiably so, and continued to call him out on twitter. His initial response was as follows:

(Hello, I understand that you know little about the project so I'll explain it to you: The God of Everything is a series based on a story that we will tell in the most cinematic way possible, therefore it is only possible to have one pov and not 40. Participants will be able to take advantage of the series on different social media platforms but not live. How much benefit they decide to get out of it is up to each person. The 6 hours a day thing is insurance, because there will most likely be days where your participation is half an hour and that's it. Also making it clear that professionals such as voice actors who will also be in the series will be paid for their work. We are creating an experience never seen before for me, the roleplayers and the audience, whoever wants and can experience it will enjoy it very much. It is something that we are putting all our heart and desire into for those who want to see the story. Communities that are not going to see it at all, at least don't fill it with your toxicity or bad vibes.)

Basically excusing himself by "I'm doing good by allowing you to join, please don't let toxicity ruin this". Which was still off, because professional voice actors would be getting payed but somehow the rest wouldn't, weird overall. Several POVs would be recorded but only one would be able to broadcast it, Juan. "we'll pay you with exposure" ahh deal

I haven't followed him since this happened, some claim he then did pay the actors, but even if that were the case, that would've never happened if it weren't for people calling out his exploitative bs. Which is exactly what's happened with the qsmp, only this time it's not a cancellation on twitter dot com, but a whole entire french union.

What I think their fans don't understand is that this is not a mob campaign against their faves, it's about protecting the working class from the privileged who refuse to pay them correctly or sometimes never at all, granting them rights to defend themselves when cases like these arise. This goes for people who claim Juan learned from his mistake, he clearly didn't if his immediate reaction to the union was:

(It's good that they formed a union, so they all hold hands together and fuck off)

So either he's forgotten his "lesson", or he only payed them (if that even happened) because he got caught and wanted to prevent a future cancelation).

[radical-revolution]

"If Life is a Game, These are the Rules" - a relationship focused adaption of Cherie Carter-Scott’s 10 Rules for Life:

1. You will receive a body.

And you have the incredible privilege of exploring play, sensuality and pleasure with other bodies.

2. You will learn lessons.

Every relationship is going to teach you things about yourself, about life and about love. Some lessons will hurt. Other lessons will be wonderful.

3. There are no mistakes, only lessons.

This can be really hard to see when it feels like everything is falling apart. In retrospect though, nothing is wrong. Every relationship, even if it didn’t go the way you wanted, is bring you one step closer to the divinity of love.

4. A lesson is repeated until it is learned.

We are here to grow, and we will be given indefinite opportunities to do so. But you only get to the next level when you pass this one. If you keep dating the same kind of people, or having the same kind of relationship troubles, it means you haven’t learnt the lesson yet… but you will.

5. Learning lessons does not end.

As is often said “it’s a journey, not a destination”. The lessons will keep coming, there is no ‘happily-ever-after’ Disney fairytale fantasy ending. Even when you find a relationship you are committed to, there will be new challenges to discover, and deeper layers to reveal. Only forever.

6. "There" is no better than "here."

The greener grass is an illusion. While the new shiny object might seem interesting at first, eventually it will become familiar. You can chase superficial shiny objects and new relationship energy forever, or you can go deep by paying attention to the fact that every moment is a new moment. The potential to love is limitless.

7. Others are merely mirrors of you.

Your partner (or future partner), as frustrating as they can be sometimes… are the most perfect mirror for you. Who you choose to date and form relationship with, is reflecting to you how you feel about yourself on the inside. This is why relationship is the most incredible crucible for evolution and transformation. Your partner is your ultimate teacher.

8. What you make of your life is up to you.

You get to choose. Nobody is coming to save you from yourself. Relationships are complex things and the difference between those people who have happy, beautiful and thriving ones, and those who suffer - is the willingness to take responsibility for putting in the effort to grow, mature and learn. You are the only one who can do this.

9. Your answers lie inside you.

Everything you need to understand love and intimacy is already inside you as a divine blueprint. All you need to do is learn to trust yourself more deeply. Sometimes guides are helpful, but the best guides only ever guide you back to realising what you already know.

10. You will forget all this at birth.

This experience of life can seem so serious. But it’s just a transitory event, and when you remember then you get to open up to the joy of exploring the incredible and divine gift of being alive, and being able to share intimacy with others.

***

[dusty-daydreams]

Beyond the setting of elite school and working class town in Young Royals, education is also a great setting to examine the implications of class.

On the surface, Simon and Sara have this great opportunity to study at this Elite school, it should in theory set them up for life. Except class is not as a simple as getting into the right classes (if you'll excuse the pun).

Sara is clearly talented with horses and attending Hillerska gives her opportunities to develop this talent - BUT horses are an expensive hobby/field. Sara cannot get as far in horse related fields, as say Felice, despite Felice having zero talent with horses, because where Felice can afford to buy and upkeep a horse, Sara can't. Sara's family can't even afford to keep her in long-lasting jodhpurs.

Simon is extremely talented with music and singing, and attending Hillerska gives him opportunities to develop this talent - BUT he has not had formal music lessons, and can't read music, or fully play piano, beyond what he has been able to figure out himself (or potentially with his dad's help). Wille, with no interest in music (beyond getting starry eyed at his boyfriend's voice) can play piano and read music as a result of a royal upbringing.

The working-class kids with the passion and talent, are starting behind the upper-class kids with the resources (but no genuine interest in the areas)

The resource gap is even more overt in the straight academic classes. It is implied that math at least, but possibly all the academic classes are subjects that Simon and Sara excelled at, but Simon's math mark drops, not because his work ethic has but because he does not the resources to pay for the corrupt bribery marking system at Hillerska. He also doesn't have the same time resources as the other students who board and have weekend access to the teachers. Attending an elitist school serves no purpose if you 'fail' at the school.

Which brings back the drug issue in season 1 - Simon is caught in a catch 22. He sells drugs to afford to bribe the teachers. BUT his position is precarious - if he as a working-class second generation immigrant is caught selling drugs he risks prison and criminal charges. Whereas the upper class kids he is selling too (via August!) get caught, they depending on their degree of privilege will be expelled and sent to a different elite school (lower-upper class), be suspended and need to make a 'donation to return' (middle-upper class like Alexander, or potentially be on the receiving end of in-school punishment (upper-upper class). The consequences for Wille at the pinnacle of the hierarchy depends on who finds out - if it is kept under wraps, he is unlikely to receive any direct punishment - as that would expose the secret (which isn't to say that he would be mistreated by his emotionally abusive family), if the public finds out, he is likely to quietly withdrawn and put into a rehab to 'correct his ways'.

Being poor is expensive.

The consequences for what happens to Simon and Sara, may not be worse than the consequences for their upper-class counterparts, but they are more expensive.

Let's take the example of the sex tape -

There are three people involved: Wille, Simon and August

The consequences for August for perpetrating a sexual crime, recording and publishing revenge child porn: the crime is covered up in order to protect him, and the royal family by his association with them. Ultimately he is prepared to promoted to the ready-made job of 'working royal' a career that we know he desires.

The consequences for Wille: He is potentially outed, this poses a threat to the royal family's stability, he denies the video and immediately frees himself from the public consequences of the video, loses his relationship with his lover as a result. This is all very sad, and the undeniable tragedy of season 1 but it is not expensive.

The consequences for Simon (notably the only one that cannot deny any connection to the video): Simon is outed to the entire public, interested world. His undeniable visage is publicly blasted, attached to his name. We are shown that 'Sweden Crown Prince Boyfriend' is a top search. Any potential employer that does a cursory google of Simon (if they didn't already know who he was) would stumble across his scandalous underage sex tape (that most people think was with the Crown Prince, but pre-season 2 finale would be politely pretending it wasn't). Revenge Porn, is in part 'revenge' because it demonstrably limits it's victims ability to be employed.

If Simon were to take August to court, August would have the support of lawyers from the royal court (as we are told in Season 2). Simon with fewer resources, would possibly end up in a long, expensive war of attrition that August would win, and that would even more publicly tie Simon, his name, his face to the video.

I also think that it is significant that Simon and his mother consider withdrawing him from Hillerska in the immediate aftermath of the tape. Something that Wille and August don't need to think about. August's actions could have cost Simon's education as well as his future employment prospects.

TLDR: Class is about more than money, it's about the resources that give people opportunities that others don't have and disproportionately punishes people at the bottom of the hierarchy. It's a system that holds Simon and Sara back even when they get into class with their "class betters". It's a system that makes any mistake made by or against the working class, expensive as well as traumatic.

[gabessquishytum]

Hob is paying his way through college as a sex worker. He is safe and takes care of himself and has some regular customers, but is careful to keep it separate from his college life. Then one day he’s requested by someone he knows from campus. Hob is scared at first—he doesn’t want to get kicked out of school. This person has the power to ruin his life. So he shows up, prepared for anything, from blackmail to shaming to having to fight his way out.

He gets to the motel and…Dream, a student at the same college, is waiting for him.

Dream actually has not seen Hob around. He doesn’t pay much attention to people. He’s only here because he is a virgin. He’s technically dating someone but is sure he won’t be able to please them, so this was his great idea: hiring the most attractive escort he could find. He asks hob to let him practice so he doesn’t disappoint his soon-to-be lover.

Hob relaxes when he realizes this isn’t a trap. So he is happy to flop down and let dream sweetly explore his body. He talks dream through how to open someone up and make it good for them—how to kiss hob and massage his thighs and finger him gently. He teaches him how to reach his prostate and read his body. It’s actually super sweet how attentive Dream is to hob’s pleasure. And rare, honestly. Hob rarely gets to think about his own pleasure with clients.

Hob lets dream fuck him for the first time and takes great pleasure in seeing the awe break over his face. They actually spend the night together, and hob teaches dream all his best cocksucking tips, and they really work on Dream’s stamina (and ability to fuck hob in the shower, on the bed and against the wall.)

In the morning, hob sits dream down and tells him that if his partner is the right person it won’t matter how experienced dream is. And that he has no reason to be ashamed of himself.

Then he leaves.

Dream is … beginning to realize this was a mistake. And he feels more comfortable with kind, lovely hob than he ever did with his partner. Dream ends up deciding to end the relationship because of his feelings for hob. But Dream tells himself it would be wrong to pursue him. Surely he was just a job to hob. So he loses hob’s number.

…only to literally run into hob in the campus library a week later.

Aww this is very sweet!! I'm imagining Dream getting out a lil notebook and very studiously making notes on what Hob is teaching him... until he gets too distracted by their practical lesson, heh.

He keeps the notebook even though he has no one to use his new skills on. He doesn't want anyone except Hob, and he's so bummed about the whole situation. He really wishes he didn't delete Hob’s number now.

And then, like fate itself is watching, they walk into each other in the library. Dream spills his to-go latte all over his notebook and Hob’s face turns scarlet, desperately trying to keep quiet while Dream stares at him and tries to mop up the coffee. Hob helps him clean up and tries to explain everything in hushed whispers but they're still too loud, and end up being booted out of the library.

Outside, Hob pleads with Dream not to expose him or tell anyone, and of course Dream agrees, he'd never do such a thing. He's just glad Hob is ok. And Hob relaxes, asking if his first time with his boyfriend was a success?

And Dream admits that he actually broke up with his partner. So he'll have to use Hob’s techniques another time. Although his notes are ruined now, so he might not be able to.

Hob rolls his eyes fondly. And takes Dream back to his flat, this time. The hotel room is for clients. Future boyfriends get the privilege of coming home with him.

(Dream firmly cements his status as boyfriend by rocking Hob’s world even without notes, making him cum until he's dry and aching. His focus is entirely on Hob’s pleasure, and that is... revelatory. Ultimately Hob decides to switch into a part time job bartending, but he'll never regret his time in sex work. It helped him find a love he never could have imagined.)

[notyouraryang0dd3ss]

not swifties screaming and crying about how Taylor has ''earned'' all of her success through hard work as if she's not the poster child of mainstream music. her parents pulled the strings to get in to the scene (which i actually didnt know and was SHOCKED to find out), she gets so much radioplay, gets nominated every year in every category they can shove her in, wins awards she doesn't deserve and literally has every door open for her. it's d-i-s-g-u-s-t-i-n-g. learning about musicians who had so much passion for music that in order to make it they left home, had to live on the street, couldn't afford to eat and yet they kept playing gigs until they caught the eye of a record label is crazy. but sure, Taylor just worked so fucking hard to make the most soulless music know to man. poor her

YES HER WIKIPEDIA PAGE IS SO INCRIMINATING

she came from a family with an immense amount of wealth and she is spoiled beyond belief. going to nyc EVERY weekend for vocal lessons? can you imagine going to nashville with your mom and demo-ing tapes all bc you felt inspired by a documentary? the amount of time, resources and investment they were able to put in?!? hiring a talent manager?!? her dad literally having the privilege to change branches of his work to further her career?!? i wouldnt be surprised at all if her parents are paying for these noms at award shows and her awards themselves. no wonder she’s so entitled she’s been getting everything she wants her whole life! how much of a hard worker/grinder can you be when all of this was handed to you on a silver platter? so many artists deserve the spotlight she has but will never get it because of her greed and consistent ability to sell. her success really is so frustrating knowing how many talented artists there are out there who will never be as successful because of the means they were born into. ugh i hate her

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Passionate Discussion (Larissa Weems x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Sometimes your anger gets the best of you

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: smut, just so much smut, also angry conversations

You wouldn’t say working at Nevermore Academy was hard, but you did find yourself dealing with an inordinate amount of rage. Mostly it was directed at your boss. Larissa Weems got under your skin, and you had no idea why. It would be easier if you didn’t find her the sexiest person you’d ever seen.

First, you’d asked her if you could take the students into town for an excursions. She’d said no. Then you’d asked if you could take them into the forest. Once again she said no. You’d assumed she’d be okay with you conducting a lesson down at the lake. That refusal had left you shaking with anger. And then the one after that. And the one after that. And the one after that.

It was as if she delighted in foiling your plans for your students.

So you’d tried a different approach. Cajoling. Weedling. Playing nice and trying to be her friend. Doing every task she asked of you. The only thing you’d yet to try was begging. Your dignity hadn’t deserted you that much yet.

But finally you’d reached the straw that broke the camels back.

“You can not seriously think there is any danger in conducting a class in the quad,” you stormed, slamming down the paper on her desk. Stamped across it in large red letters was a rejection.

“Of course not,” she said, turning those sparkling blue eyes up to you. You bit down on a growl.

“Then what possible reason could you have for not allowing this?” you demanded.

“Why the noise would carry to other classrooms. It would cause quite the disturbance,” she said, that calm voice only forcing you to a new height of anger.

“You won’t allow me to teach a class anywhere but in the assigned room, you point blank refused buying the new books I requested, and every single practical demonstration I suggest is smacked down,” you said, ticking off each infraction on your finger, “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this so please tell me.”

“You haven’t done anything,” she replied, giving you a smile that almost made you take a step back. Why was she smiling at you? Your fingers twitched at your side and you could already see how good they’d look around her neck.

“Then why am I the only one of your teachers unable to conduct my classes as I wish?” you snapped.

“How long have you been teaching here?” she asked.

“I- what?” You had no idea where she was going with this.

“You’ve only been teaching here for a year and in that time you’ve made no fewer than thirty seven requests. While I find your determination admirable, you must understand, these requests are a privilege, not a right,” she said as she slowly stood, “you have not earned them yet.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” you said, seeing the moment you were going to drive off the cliff ahead of you but unable to stop, “Rowena has been working here for hardly a semester and yet you’ve approved her requests. Every. Single. One of them.”

“Are you accusing me of preferential treatment?” Something in her face shifted and you were already wishing for the disconcerting smile back. This was steelier, icier, as if you’d finally punched through the surface and found her own simmering rage beneath. Maybe that’s what you’d wanted to do. Maybe you’d wanted proof she felt anything other than calm when you were around.

“I suppose I am,” you said, not able to stop yourself.

She lent over the desk, both hands flat on the wood, and your heart began to beat double time in your chest. Perhaps going up against the woman who signed your pay slips was not the right move. Not this woman.

“I’d suggest you tread very lightly here,” she said, voice growing dangerously low, “or you may not like the consequences.”

“And what might those be?” you asked, tilting your head to the side. You still couldn’t stop yourself.

“Do not test me,” she warned.

“Or what?”

She growled, actually growled, and your legs trembled. You weren’t expecting the throb between your thighs or the way you suddenly became hyper aware of every little movement of the air around her. Your breathing became heavy, practically panting.

She lent back, stalking around the desk. You stood your ground, refusing to back down. You knew you were right, knew you had a perfectly good leg to stand on. She lent forward, until her breath ghosted across your face. She seemed to be breathing as heavily as you.

“Or you’ll live to regret it.”

“Give me the goddamned class in the quad,” you spat.

“You’re really pushing it,” she warned.

“And you’re being unreasonable!”

You weren’t expecting her lips to crash into yours. You gasped, clutching at her shoulders. You sunk your teeth into her lip, hard enough to draw blood. She growled again, sending another jolt of pleasure right between your legs.

She grasped your hips, pressing you back against the desk. Her tongue swept into your mouth, not giving you the chance to catch your breath. You slid onto the desk, opening your legs to let her step between them. She did, one hand roughly cupping your heat under your skirt, making you whimper. Any control you’d had was gone, slipping through your fingers under her insistent touch.

She sucked your bottom lip into her mouth before letting it go. Her lips trailed down your neck, teeth scraping against skin. They sunk in right at your pulse point just as she pressed against your covered core, finding your clit so easily. You cried out, the pain as pleasurable as the touch. Your blood was boiling and your breath was coming out in short pants.

You clutched at her, thrusting your fingers into her hair as she sucked roughly at your skin. Pins went flying to the floor, hair tumbling down around her shoulders. You clutched at it, tugging, tightening your fist until it was pulling. It only seemed to spur her on.

With delicate fingers she pushed aside your underwear, one finger beginning to circle your clit. You gasped out her name, head falling back, eyes closing. You couldn’t stop, knowing how fucked you were. Never again would you be able to be in this room without thinking of this moment. You hoped it would be the same for her.

She pressed her fingers to your entrance. She paused for a moment, tongue darting out to trace a pattern on your skin. Just as you began to catch your breath she plunged two fingers into you, not needing to worry about how wet you were. You whined as she set a hard and fast pace.

You could feel it, the wave of pleasure threatening to crest. You could almost taste it. Her name was like a prayer on your tongue. She curled her fingers inside you. You moaned, so close, so tantalising close.

And then it all stopped.

She stepped away from you, pulling her hand from between your legs. You could have cried. You wanted to scream at her.

“You want to have class out on the quad?” she asked, her only tell the strain in her voice.

“What?” Your head was hazy.

“Do you or do you not want to conduct your class on the quad?” she asked.

“I do,” you replied, finding it hard to concentrate on the question.

“Then beg.”

You blinked at her, then blinked again. She tilted her head, waiting. Her lipstick was smudged and her eyes were blown wide. You could see your arousal glistening on her long fingers and you had to wonder how the conversation had come to this. You hadn’t even noticed it going down that path.

“You want me to beg for the class?” You still had no idea what was happening, so focused on your own need.

“Only if you want it.” How could she sound so indifferent?

“I do want it,” you replied, not sure which it you were referring to anymore.

“Then you know what to do.”

She waited, so patiently. It took a moment for the words to form on your lips, doing the one thing you’d said you’d never do. But all dignity you had left was thrown out the window with your need.

“Please,” you whispered, surprised at the sting of shame.

“What was that?”

“Please!”

“Now was that so hard?”

You weren’t expecting her to lower herself to her knees between your legs. On strong hand holding your knees open, the other hooked in the waistband of your ruined underwear, pulling it down your leg.

The first lick of her tongue along your slit had your head growing dizzy. You had no control of your hands burying themselves in her hair again. Her name slipped over your lips again as you held her to you.

And she feasted.

It didn’t take much for the wave to crest this time, suspended from her rough touch. It shuddered through your body, taking your breath, leaving nothing but her in your mind. She was all there was.

Only she kept going. Lapping at you, tongue circling your clit, sucking on it until you were trembling. The second orgasm ripped through your body, violent and desperate and so welcome. You thought you might have screamed her name but it was hard to keep track. Your fingers slipped from her hair and she sat back on her heels. She should not have still looked so in unaffected.

She rose to her feet, swiping the back of her hand across her chin. You watched through bleary eyes as she pocketed your underwear. That shouldn’t have been as hot as it was.

“Is that how Rowena got all her requests approved?” you asked, feeling both boneless and hyper aware of your situation.

“Of course not,” she scoffed.

“So?” You weren’t quite sure what you were asking.

“You, my dear, are rather special,” she said, “I knew you’d be such a good girl.”

You’re cheeks burned and the fire within you was relit. No one should be able to have that effect on you. She surprised you with a tender kiss pressed to your lips, the taste of you still lingering on her tongue.

“And if you’d be willing, I’d like to continue this arrangement,” she said.

“Only if next time I get to taste you,” you said, words bold but desperation high.

“I’m sure that could be arranged.”

[atopvisenyashill]

Whether in the books or show, didn’t Dany eventually try to prevent the pillaging of the Lhazareen village? So couldn’t her trying to protect the women from that village by claiming them as her own be all she could do considering the system the Dothraki had? Trading slaves is one of their ways of trading money. All she could do was claim the women as her own slaves, so that no harm could be done to them as they are Dany’s property. Dany obviously doesn’t share the same views but knew how to act because she knew the Dothraki ways. She cares about them and even her entire upcoming arc is freeing slaves. Dany wasn’t able to properly free them because she as a Khaleesi doesn’t have any worth without her Khal, in terms of power. But she still cared for those girls and even swore to avenge one of them. Why do ppl criticize her for that?

There are several reasons for this.

1. She burns Mirri.

Regardless of what she meant to do with her slaves, she owns Mirri. Mirri tells her what to do several times and her instructions are not followed. Dany acknowledges this herself when she thinks that Jorah killed her son, yet she ultimately makes Mirri pay the sole price for this. Later on, when a former slaver comes to her and asks for the newly freed slaves who raped his female members to be punished, she says she will not punish a slave rising up. There is no reflection here on her actions towards Mirri, there’s no growth, and it’s on purpose.

2. She doesn’t treat Irri or Jhiqui any differently

They still refer to themselves as slaves. Dany uses Irri sexually even knowing Irri feels obligated to do this, then has this weird power play moment where she implies Irri is not good enough to fuck one of her bloodriders. It is a valid point of criticism that you can say you’re a good person until you’re blue in the face but if you still see your former slaves as slaves, as beneath you, as worthy of fucking but not of marrying up - I mean what have you changed, really?

3. Regardless of her intentions, slaves were still taken in her name

This conquest is kicked off because she wants it. I get she’s not driving, she’s not even riding shotgun, and the initial fallout is out of her control in many ways because she’s literally giving birth. I also understand that she’s practically a child herself, and doesn’t quite understand what “sacking a city to build an army” actually entails until she sees it. I think you could compare the initial sack of the Lhazareen village as similar to Arya killing that stable boy, or perhaps Sansa’s actions after Ned is taken, Catelyn when she takes Tyrion to the Vale; as in, she just doesn’t have all the facts or enough agency to make this situation go the way she thinks it’s going to go, and it goes horrifically sideways.

That said, the issue here is she continues having to learn this same mistake over and over - she knows a sack is violent and unpredictable, she knows younger people often have very little control over their lives, she still sacks three cities in a row with orders to kill everyone over 13 and then doesn’t understand why they turned to hell and why the forces that sacked those cities are having a hard time taking control. Like, she hears and sees herself from the account of Eroeh AND Mirri’s own mouth that what good “freedom and safety” are worth if your home was burned to the ground before your eyes and still hasn’t made the connection here to her own actions. Tywin was mistrusted by the people of KL up until his dying day because of the brutality of the KL sack and his use of the Mountain to regularly sack & raid small towns has turned the Riverlands inside out, not dissimilar to Astapor and the Bay in general. It’s a worrying pattern that seems likely to really bite her in the ass if she still hasn’t learned this lesson by the time she lands in Westeros.

It speaks to a level of privilege, and dehumanization that puts to question whether she is capable or sincere in her quest to upend the system or whether she is simply a reactionary child grasping for the ability to protect herself at the expense of the slaves around her. I think she DOES believe what she’s talking about, that everyone deserves the chance to live a happy life (strictly in the book. i do not feel the same about her in the show). But I also think she is a child ruled by fear, with no knowledge of the context in which she exists as a valyrian and a targaryen, and actively avoids learning the truth about her family’s actions and the way she may be perceived because she ties so much of her self worth to her family’s legacy. if that legacy is bad, then she is bad, ergo her father can’t be bad. this is her constant struggle in the series - her compassion for missandei and care for the girl’s future and her complete dismissal of irri as a human being with dignity. her drive to fix injustice she sees and the idea that dragons plant no trees. all of that starts in the dothraki sea - but she never learns, even as she gains more control, she defaults to anger and violence and dangerous fire magic to solve every single problem she comes up against, and purposefully closes her eyes to the cost it has, because that cost is people like Mirri! Other slaves!!! Acceptaboe collateral damage!

4. Her actions are just kinda dumb sometimes?

Yeah, while she’s trying to stop the rape happening in Lhazar in the first book, her save for this is essentially “trap these women in hostage marriages, and sell their relatives for money and take their shit.” Even if she had said and been listened to by the time they got to another village (but they don’t bc Drogo dies), she’s still stealing their shit to fund a war of conquest with a group of Dothraki screamers? From a PR standpoint alone, that’s not gonna win her any friends, which is the same point of criticism with a lot of her alliances - she’s like tailor making an army that is going to piss off Westeros the most! She’s got Dothraki, she’s got ~freed Unsullied, she’s got a greyjoy in the works, she’s not paying anyone jack shit. Who in Westeros is going to ally with her here? I’m not even just talking about Westerosi xenophobia and racism here, it’s like. Sometimes it feels like watching Ned in the capital, to read Dany and see her make all the wrong choices. I get why she’s making them but my god they’re so bad. The Dothraki are near universally disliked for being a slaving culture! Armies that are wholesale bought somewhere else and brought to another place are not usually liked very much even just region to region - hello the riverlands mess! The Ironborn DO experience a level of social prejudice that feels xenophobic but there Is this element here that like,,, these bitches love to raid the coastline of their neighbors, a lot of people have legitimate beef with them! Take a step back from how much you love her and look at what she’s doing - half of the wars in westeros center around PR and her PR as of right now kind of sucks even internationally bc she’s got the crazy fire worshippers on her side who are about to have a big issue in Westeros with SOMEONE about to set poor Shireen on fire! I don’t think it’s bad to point out that she’s not gonna have an easy time getting buy in from the people of Westeros! People whack Rhaenyra for this point all the time, “she refuses to understand how she’s perceived” neither does Dany tho!!

5. She’s still in a place of privilege

This one is hard to get across and it’s the one that always annoys me most to explain. (not mad at u anon, you’re being perfectly polite but i just don’t know how to explain this without sounding patronizing and also like, rape tw here). But it’s like. I get she’s oppressed more so than the average Westerosi wife as a khaleesi. I get it. I understand this. She still isn’t a slave. She still owns slaves. When I say “she owned slaves” i’m saying THINK about this From The Slave’s POV, not from Dany’s!! Some slavers show up in your town and kill every man you know. Boys and men. Then they rape you, and your neighbor, and your niece, and leave you lying in the mud. Then another man comes by and rapes you. Then some girl comes up and says she owns you. You are exhausted and traumatized and now you’re on this long trudge so she can sell you or the other children captured into slavery somewhere else. Then the leader dies, and she burns a slave alive, and says you’re free. Yeah she doesn’t have a lot of control, but what about the control the slave has? Why should we not weep for Mirri Maz Durr? Why is her life and tragedy worth less than Dany’s and why is Dany’s story littered with women exactly like Mirri? Could it be that maybe there’s a theme going on here about the limits of power that relies on the subjugation of others and the consistent failures of Great Powers to nation build when they refuse to interact with their own complicity in violence or the harm done to the native population?

I’m not saying I don’t understand the limits of what Dany can do in many of the situations she’s in. I’m saying she is on this quest to free slaves while having no understanding and at this point is actively FIGHTING understanding what it is about slavery that is so evil and dehumanizing. I’m saying can we think about the PoV of the peasant child who is burned and eaten by Drogon? Can we think about the PoV of Irri or Jhiqui? If we’re freeing slaves and criticizing the system, why does Dany refuse to reflect on Mirri Maz Durr’s fate as a slave?

[virtualcarrot]

[KKIR] Pen on paper - Part 3

[Ao3] [Part 2 on tumblr]

When Masato’s finally considering setting them loose on more advanced material, a courrier interrupts his lesson.

Masato’s supremely unimpressed.

“Yes?” he snaps, hand lowering from the blackboard.

None in the room are really pleased with the delay. They’re about to be given access to a room of--carefully vetted and unrestricted--scrolls and the class is abuzz with the excitement of new knowledge. It’s thrilling. Or it will be, as soon as they can get back to it.

Faltering under the weight of a classful of unhappy eyes, the young woman at the door clears her throat.

“I have a missive from the Rokudaime of Konohagakure, to be delivered to one Umino Iruka.”

The blood drains from Iruka’s face. A formal missive. Few things sound more ominous. He hopes Naruto’s okay. He hopes Hinata’s okay. He hopes Boruto--Oh gods, did Hinata miscarry?

“-inappropriate,” Masato’s saying. “Official communication from the Hokage should go through the Mizukage’s office. This is a gross sign of distrust and secrecy.”

“Kakashi-san probably didn’t realize the diplomatic implications,” Iruka hears himself say, ears ringing from the adrenaline rush.

“And what does this Kakas--” Masato begins to say, rolling his eyes at the implication of incompetence. He cuts himself short, likely as he notices the actual name he’s repeating. “You mean, the Rokudaime? Hatake Kakashi himself?”

All eyes turn on Iruka, who blinks in incomprehension. Ryo elbows him under the table and mouths a silent ‘ san ’ like a kid whispering the cheat to a test, except with a wide-eyed look of utter dismay.

“Kakashi-sama,” Iruka rushes to amend. “I meant Kakashi-sama.”

Masato welcomes the correction with a sneer. “Regardless, Intelligence should read it first. Iruka-san is not a diplomat. There is no privilege.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Nobuko retorts out loud and with an exceedingly dismissive snort. “He’s an official envoy from Konoha. What kind of moron would interfere with mail from the Hokage himself?”

If looks could kill, Nobuko would be dead on sight. Since it doesn't, she weathers Masato’s glare with indifferent aplomb. In the doorway, the courier seems to be considering the disproportion between her own pay and the whole hassle.

Finally, Masato relents.

“Very well. But make sure to inform the Mizukage’s office.”

“Yeah, sure,” the courier says unconvincingly.

Iruka barely glances at her. He’s too busy tearing the envelope open.

He skims over the content, two single sided pages of Kakashi’s sharp and concise strokes, the writing of someone used to efficient writing both on the field and in the office.

Then he blinks. He gives the pages a slower perusal. As far as he can see, everything’s fine. It is, in fact, pretty much a letter telling him just that, and one after another the clenched muscles of his body begin to ease. 

By the board, Masato sniffs, radiating sarcasm. “May we continue the lesson, Iruka-sama?”

“Ah, yes, of course. Sorry.”

Iruka shakes himself and puts the letter away for later.

*

Dear Iruka-sensei,

It's come to my attention that you were worried about the effects of your absence. Be assured that Konoha still stands.

The mission desk is running smoothly. The newest clerks must have been suitably filled with fear of your retribution upon your return. As for the users, if any nurtured hope of slacking off on their reports out of your watch, they were quickly disabused.

I was able to meet with Hiroaki-kocho. He praised your work at the Academy and your positive influence on the teachers. We had an interesting conversation on how to tackle the old guard and draw them to new methods. I’m sure it's a topic you’ll have ample things to comment on.

(Incidentally, I was unaware that Hiroaki-kocho is such a connoisseur of spirits. The sake bottle was much lighter from his visit)

Naruto’s doing fine. It seems he's slowly coming to understand that the office has demands he can't simply talk his way out of. Just yesterday, he asked Shikamaru for further clarification on administrative procedures. The care of war orphans, I believe was the topic. I thought you'd want to know.

Hinata and Boruto are also well, as are Sakura and Sarada. Konohamaru remains promising. He will likely make jounin soon. If I forgot anyone you'd like to know about, please let me know.

I've also been made aware you might be under the impression that I oppose this enterprise. Understand that it is false.

Arm yourself with all the knowledge you want. If I'm lucky, you'll be kind enough to share it with me. After all, you'll soon be the one in charge of imparting it. You will be ready to be Headmaster well before Naruto takes the mantle from me.

Please take this letter as proof of my full support. I hope it finds you well.

Regards,

へのへのもへじ

*

“You okay?” a disembodied voice asks from on high.

Unable to look away from the words swimming on the paper, Iruka mumbles a vague acknowledgement.

From nir perch, Ryo has a clear line of sight of the meager furniture of their shared room, from the cramped closet to the other beds to the rickety table Iruka's using as a desk.

Ne peers over the railing of the top bunk bed. “I think you stopped breathing. Is it bad news?”

Iruka slowly lowers the letter, dizzy with longing. “No. No, it's… very much the opposite.”

“Are you sure? Or is it, like, secret?”

“He's fine, leave him be!” Nobuko yells from outside of the open sash window.

She’s sitting on the other side of the wall through core strength and chakra alone. They’re on the second floor. A hint of the smell of her cigarette wafts inside, carried by the smoke that the tori-based seal she summarily slapped on the raised pane is struggling to keep away. It’s the same she’d been using all of last week and it’s clearly losing power. Iruka will have to warn her. He doesn't mind it too much but Ryo tends to scrunch nir nose at the smell.

They weren’t all originally set to bunk together until Nobuko decided otherwise and bullied the original occupants into a switch. Although first disgruntled, the hostel owner opted to turn a blind eye. Likely, he measured the worth of arguing bed distribution against the effort it’d take, and came up with a negative result. He’s since been leaving them to their own devices, though not without pinched looks of judgment at their now mixed dormitory.

Thus far, the most debauchery they've indulged in is a late night game of koi-koi with the hanafuda Ryo provided. They drank a couple of cheap beers while playing, after which Toru blessed them with a taste from his personal stash of umeshu.

It tasted lovely but Kakashi would probably find it too sweet.

Iruka drops his face in his hands with a groan. Even his thoughts won’t give him respite.

“Shower’s free,” Toru announces, walking in with his damp towel thrown over his arm. “If you’re fast enough, it might still be when you get there.”

As if on a spring, Ryo scrambles into motion. Then ne stalls, one leg hanging over the precipice of the bunk bed. Iruka doesn’t have to see it to feel nir beseeching look.

He lowers his hands with a sigh and leans back to meet nir gaze. Out of the corner of his eyes, he catches Nobuko crushing her cigarette on the window sill and maneuvering to come inside. Her chakra control isn’t bad for a non-active operative but she’s clearly better skilled at sticking her back to the wall than shifting anchor points.

“I’m vice-principal of Konoha Academy,” Iruka reminds them. “I was worried about taking a leave. Kakashi-sama has been kind enough to keep me informed.”

Nobuko sucks her teeth. “Sama, is it now?” she mutters on her way to the trash can, where she drops the cooling cigarette butt.

Justifications crowd the tip of Iruka’s tongue. Kakashi insists on a lack of decorum, he wants to say. He’s never sought praise, he’s never sought fame, if anything he’s been haunted by it. Only his sense of duty keeps pushing him in the spotlight.

Kakashi’s down-to-earth. He takes pride in his work, because he takes pride in work well done and he takes pride in doing it well, but he’s not self-important. He doesn’t like being made to feel special. Kakashi, Iruka thinks, has been made to feel special too many times for too many wrong reasons over the years.

Kakashi favors teamwork. He values friendship. Probably, being called an equalizing honorific makes him feel less alone.

Iruka rubs the back of his neck with a wince and says none of it.

“Ah, about that. Slip of the tongue,”  is what he goes with. “I’ve known him before he was appointed. He was jounin-sensei to some of my students.”

It’s the most honest and the shallowest reply he feels safe to give.

He ignores Nobuko’s noncommittal scoff. Ryo has made nir way down the top bed and is staring at him with something strange in nir eyes, like ne’s seeing Iruka for the first time. It’s unnerving.

“I didn’t realize you were so close to the Hokage,” ne says and Iruka suddenly recognizes with a flare of embarrassment what the shine in nir eyes is: admiration.

The mere fact of knowing another person isn’t worthy of that much.

“I’m not. I just used to be a teacher, is all. Nothing much.”

By the closet door where he's hanging his towel off to dry, Toru tuts in disapproval.

“Nothing much?” he repeats, sounding genuinely upset. “You’re Vice-Principal of Konohagakure Academy. It’s unfair that you speak of your duties so lightly. That’s a lot of responsibility. I hope you take it seriously.”

Iruka doesn’t think there’ll be an age where he isn’t vulnerable to disapproval from an older, respected figure. That is likely why he doesn’t snap back over being scolded by what, all things considered, is very much still a near stranger.

In fact, Iruka ducks his head, admonished.

“Of course I do! I almost canceled this trip, I was so worried about leaving!”

At his words, Toru’s gaze turns considering. Then he smiles, satisfied. For a brief, grief-stricken second, Iruka wonders if the Sandaime would also be pleased with him. With who he’s become today.

“Your kage seems to think you do, anyway,” Toru grants lightly, packing away his toiletries. “To take the time to write to you. That's quite the honor, you know?”

Iruka does. He knows it all too much.

No matter how much Kakashi insists on informal terms of address, there’s nothing equal about them. 

*

The scroll Masato unrolls barely reaches the length of the table. It’s surprisingly short for the amount of power it radiates. In a slow succession of groups, the students are invited to crowd over to examine it.

Iruka’s group is among the last to reach it.

“Amazing work. See the lines here?” Toru says in a low voice, finger tracing over them from afar. The library assistant watches him eagle-eyed in case he comes into contact. “They drive the chain of triggers.”

Iruka peers over, squinting in interest. At the center of the scroll, Inu presides. Smaller characters circle it, disposed with elegant symmetry along what Iruka suspects to be cardinal points. Long, fluid strokes of ink tie them together, swirling back and forth from Inu and the other characters. The result is mesmerizing.

“This isn’t just a trigram, it’s a nodal seal,” he whispers. It’s not even on purpose. His throat has gone tight with awe.

“The crowning achievement of Kiri style sealing,” Masato confirms with a puff of his chest.

They spend the rest of the afternoon studying the strokes, trying to figure out the order they were drawn and whether the sequence of catalysts would follow the same path. While Toru and Nobuko are busy arguing opposing interpretations, Ryo keeps glancing up at Iruka.

He doesn’t know what ne expects from him. In spite of his origins, Iruka has no practice of Kiri technique. If anything, given the intuitive ease with which Ryo’s been picking it up, it’s nem that Iruka should be looking to for help, not the other way around. And he sure needs it. He’s been struggling.

After a moment, he stops scratching down notes with a sigh. “What is it?”

“Did you reply?” Ryo asks before adding, in the face of his confusion: “to your Hokage?”

Iruka crosses his arms, feeling a scowl darkening his face. “What’s your obsession with this?”

Undeterred, Ryo does an antsy windmill motion with nir hands. “You got a letter. From your Hokage! How can you be so cool about it? You think the Tsuchikage would write to me? I don’t think he even knows I exist!”

Iruka can’t help but smile, struck with the sweet relief that this isn’t about him. He remembers being young and desperate to prove himself. He remembers what it was to hope to be noticed.

 On the other side of the table, he catches sight of Nobuko and Toru’s looks of amused interest. Iruka rubs his chin in the appearance of thoughtfulness.

“Hm. But why would you want him to?”

Ryo falters with a frown of frustration. “I don’t know? It’d be cool? If the great kage himself acknowledged me?”

Iruka’s been so stuck feeling inadequate and inferior, these past days, that he forgot how much wider and bigger the world is than him. He completely missed Ryo’s insecurity. Ne’s younger, after all, nearly as young as Iruka was when he started teaching. He hadn’t realized just how much of a difference these ten years between them make. He hadn’t realized how much he, himself, has matured.

“Why do you need him to?” he prompts. “Will that make you stronger? Smarter?”

“Of course it won’t,” ne replies, upset to be misunderstood.

Iruka nods. “No, it won’t, because you’re already smart. You’re hardworking. You’re curious and sharp-minded. I see it. Toru-san and Nobuko-san see it. Sure, it’s not as fun to brag about than the Tsuchikage,” he adds, good-naturedly ignoring Ryo’s stammered disagreement, “but the Tsuchikage doesn’t know you. He’s not the one sharing a room with you. He isn’t fleecing you at cards. I’d say, we’re much better suited to give you accurate feedback. Better looking too,” he adds with a wink, just to break the ice.

Ryo flushes at that, and then flushes deeper when ne notices ne’s the focus of Toru and Nobuko’s attention.

Suppressing a smirk, Nobuko turns back to her notes with a carefree roll of her shoulders. “Eh, you’re alright. Less obnoxious than Toru, definitely.”

Following that, they resume their study of the seal, trying to identify usable patterns. After a while, Ryo lowers nir pencil.

“Does that mean you, like, know the Hokage?” ne asks, less combative than earlier.

“As I said, he’s taught some of my students.”

Ryo gives him a mean look over his evasive answer. When even Toru’s expression turns disapproving, Iruka sighs.

“I’ve known Kakashi-san for years. He was a good team leader to me, before I became a teacher. Tried to take the fall when I messed up. He’s a good guy. He means well and he cares about the students. More than I gave him credit for, to be honest.” He scratches the bridge of his nose, feeling sheepish. Then he catches their curious looks and clarifies: “we’ve been working on reforming the Academy.” He meets Ryo’s gaze before ne gets any ideas. “Trust me, it’s not glamorous. Late nights of paperwork, takeout, and finances spreadsheets. Not anybody’s dream of a pleasant evening.”

Except Iruka, apparently, who has grown terribly fond of those meetings.

“Are you and the Hokage… friends?” Ryo asks, but this time ne sounds more puzzled than wonderstruck.

The question hits a bit too close to everything Iruka’s been trying and failing so terribly to push away from his thoughts.

He shrugs one shoulder. “The Hokage’s a private person. But yeah, we’re friendly.”

Toru gives a sharp, meaningful little nod. “The burden of power is not an easy one,” he says, to which Nobuko lets out a tortured groan.

“I swear, Toru, you say the lamest things,” she says, looking for a distraction by tugging one of the schematics out of the pile they’ve drawn.

Ryo perks up at the sight.

“Oh, I think I see it, now,” ne says, and proceeds to draw and trigger a two-nodes seal that floods their desk in a matter of seconds. Iruka manages to crumple their research to the dry safety of his arms, but only narrowly.

*

Inspiration strikes Iruka the next morning, while he’s applying balm of sea foam to his temples. He keeps it in mind all day, scraping a few errant minutes here and there to write it down and waiting for the time to complete his parcel.

At the end of the day, the old man at the apothecary squints at him in recognition. Iruka would be surprised, hadn’t he lived the most of his life with a very identifiable scar running across the middle of his face.

“Back already? What did you do, eat it? You’re not supposed to.”

“Ah, no. It’s not for me. But I was wondering if the balm couldn't also help someone back home.”

“It’s not hand lotion. Can’t go around just giving it to anyone.”

Iruka stamps down on his irritation and reminds himself that he’s a guest in Kiri. He tries to figure out a way of wording the issue without divulging state secrets, and gestures in the vague direction of the right half of his face.

“My… friend… used to have a seal over here. For years. Now that the seal’s been taken off, they’ve been having trouble adjusting.”

Thoroughly unimpressed, the shopkeeper snorts. “And what, you don’t have medinin in… wherever you’re from?”

“Konoha. And my friend has a high tolerance for pain,” Iruka replies carefully.

“Ah. The grin and bear it type,” the shopkeeper hums, sounding vaguely sympathetic. ”Tell me the symptoms.”

Something about the folds of his skin seems wry, like he’s very aware he’s about to be given a summarily redacted version of the situation. At the end of Iruka’s account, he scratches his cheek.

“Hm. Chakra migraines. Yeah, unpleasant. Balm of Sea Foam might help, alright. Force chakra flow, plug the leak,” he says, disappearing into the backroom with what Iruka’s beginning to suspect is customary curtness.

Iruka leaves with his purchase wrapped in coarse brown paper. He tucks it into the envelope he folded while at the Archives, along with the letter he penned during lunch break.

The receptionist at the hostel greets him with her usual disinterest. She barely glances at the envelope, even as she grabs a notebook to add it to her to-do list. It’s not the worst she’s had to deal with: three days ago, one of the researchers handed her a chest-wide package to send to Suna. It took up a third of her counter until she was able to push it onto a courrier.

“Where’s it going?” she asks in a monotone.

“Konohagakure,” Iruka supplies helpfully.

“To whom?”

“Hatake Kakashi.”

“Address?”

“Hokage tower.”

A credit to her lethargy, it takes reaching the middle of the address before her pen skids in confusion.

She looks up warily.

“Hatake Kakashi. The Hokage. Of Konoha.” An eyebrow lifts in judgment. “Through common mail?” At Iruka’s nod, she shakes her head. “Don’t you have, like, messenger birds and sh--Oh, what am I saying. Yeah, sure, I’ll take care of it, whatever.”

“Right,” Iruka says, before expressing bemused thanks.

When he reaches it, the dormitory’s empty. A fresh tori seal is cycling air through the window. He throws his legs on the other side of the sill, feet dangling while he sits to take in the view.

It doesn’t go far. Kiri’s imposing tower karsts block the horizon, safeguarding and secretive. The salt of the sea at large still finds its way over, carried by the wind even past the tobacco smoke. Beneath, a lake of ambient mist rolls sluggishly, puddling in the many dips of Kirigakure’s uneven ground like water in rocky shores. The sinuous streets and stairs that complete the landscape draw labyrinthic paths between the cylindrical architecture of the village.

Iruka misses Konoha’s overgrown forest. He misses…

When Nobuko holds out her cigarette, he doesn’t startle.

“Didn't peg you as one for hero-worship crushes,” she says, back and feet adhering to the wall.

“I'm not,” Iruka denies.

He gives a minute shake of his head. She pulls her hand away with a shrug.

“Ah.” The tip of her cigarette flares in the corner of his eyes. “Don't worry, kid. Heartbreak passes.”

Seagulls squawk in the distance, where the eye can’t see. At the windowsill, Iruka pulls up a knee to brace on.

“You?” he asks.

Nobuko takes a silent, drawn out drag. She blows it out in an even longer breath. Her gaze is far away. She rubs the lower half of her face then shakes off the cobwebs of her thoughts.

“Eh. It’s happened. But love needs making yourself vulnerable.” She sucks her teeth and huffs a humorless chuckle. “I'm not made to be vulnerable.”

She offers the cigarette again, pinched upright between thumb and forefinger.

Iruka takes it.

(He coughs, just a little)

*

Dear Kakashi-san,

Thank you for your letter. I was a bit homesick--I've gotten rusty and complacent, I think, staying in Konoha--and it was the perfect cure for it! I'm very grateful. It's a relief to know everything is going well. And to have your support.

You'll find enclosed a little balm. I know your headaches tend to flare, and I thought this might be of help. The apothecary is a grumpy and kind old man that seems perpetually peeved, but his advice has been sound. I use it myself [...]

*

[Part 4]

[damianurl]

i know they are just waiting to figure out ways to profit and tax it to give every single state an "accessible" public transit system but jfc y'all do not know how to drive

if a light is out treat it like your intersections have a stop sign

do NOT use your hazards if it's pouring rain it is confusing for other drivers and emergency vehicles

if you hydroplane foot OFF your brakes both hands firm on your steering wheel and go the direction your vehicle is taking you

understood it is a privilege to be able to take driving lessons but again ALL of this information is easily accessible online at this point sure everyone doesn't have the same judgement and reasoning another great reason why we need more public transit but a lot of y'all don't have respect for other people everything is "fuck you pay me" including getting behind the wheel i'm overall tired if the apathy and selfishness in all areas but mostly driving majority of accidents are preventable y'all just don't care enough and it's gross tbh

[tobiasdrake]

Today's the day. To the House of Change.

It's exactly the size that I thought. You can see it from town, Isa. Pay attention to things.

Was that in doubt? Did we go on this entire quest to find the Orbs without anyone ever checking if the door is even locked?

There is a non-zero chance that we are all clowns. This does not bode well for our chances today.

It's a good thing that magical keys levitate because I do not envy our chances of physically reaching those upper locks.

In any case, no going back now.

Oh, so THAT'S a Sadness.

...is not a thing I should be saying this deep into our adventure but. Like. You don't understand. It was lemon-flavored. I accept the consequences of my possibly-hallucinatory actions.

I'm so fast, I've already thrown Scissors before anyone even thinks of throwing Rock.

...which. They then. Proceed to do.

...

I think I just figured out why I'm always the one on chore duty.

Unfair that she gets two different types but she is the Chosen One main character of our epic fantasy adventure. She gets Chosen One privileges.

You mean the fact that they're already throwing Scissors and we haven't even started attacking yet?

...

Oh, shit, does that mean they're faster than me? >_< Odile, this is your fault. You made us slow down. I need to hurry up and throw Scissors now!

Trick question. Nothing beats Scissors because it is the superior sign. Cuts through Paper. Cuts through Pillow. It would be weak to Rock but Rock has the Infatuated status ailment so it has a 50% chance of losing its turn each round.

Also the Chosen One is half-Scissors so. Like. Scissors's superiority is unmistakable.

That's honestly a good idea. Item Duty is perfect for the tagalong kid.

Nah, I get that. When I was younger, I'd drink bad coffee on purpose because that way the coffee would make me more alert. I don't do that anymore because life should be spent enjoying things, but the logic holds all the same.

Is it bad if this is my favorite thing of the items I've picked up in here? There are a lot of uses for going ding-ding. Entertainment. Distraction. Entertainment. Ruining stealth missions. And entertainment.

I have an established track record of putting questionable things in my mouth. She is right to fear me.

Hey, that would have worked if you hadn't stopped me! Guaranteed stat increases across the board with only a moderate chance of heart explosion.

So the group can't see the Star. Probably because they haven't ingested one, so they're not gifted with the same hallucinations that I am. Good to know.

Oh cool! Time to do my job as the Trap Pincushion. Here we go!

...

...

Well, here are the possibilities.

1 - There's no traps. 2 - The traps are so cleverly hidden that even my best Trapfinding rolls couldn't locate them. 3 - I'm so fast and so good at my job that I disarmed all of the traps before even I was able to notice.

Personally, I'm leaning towards Option 3. It's easily the most plausible, as well as a valuable reminder of the important assets I bring to this team.

Is it possible that somebody died here for reasons unrelated to traps, and it simply developed a reputation? Like, someone dropped dead of a heart attack or something? And they were just like, "Oh, don't go in there, that's the Death Corridor"?

It's cool. You can be a little high-strung but that's just part of your charm. Let's all just take this as a valuable lesson in not giving too much weight to eavesdropped rumors and--

NO FUCK YOU THAT WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE A PUN

Oh god, I died a clown.

[pink-gladioli]

shit i forgot to post the first chapter before i left my bad

also shout out @/ p-s-yokubo for being my beta reader!!!

One hundred and fifty years wasn’t really long, not at Knightons Knights’ Academy. Peace had thrived in Knighton for centuries, monsters were a thing of the past even a hundred and fifty years ago all that remained of the inhuman creatures was a few weak stragglers at the edges of civilization. But it seemed as if it didn’t matter if there were monsters or not, a threat to the realm or peace, there would always be knights in Knighton just as the sun would rise every morning. So, in order to train these knights, the Knights’ Academy would stay alive but those youths they trained to become knights were far from what was deemed ���knightly" all those centuries ago.

The Knights’ Academy had been founded over three thousand years ago, by Reginald Brickland, a member of the Order of the Eight, yet if its founder were to step foot in its halls he wouldn’t be able to recognize the very walls he built. It had gone through renovations, sure, no building can last three millennia no matter how much magic you blast into the foundation, but it was as if the very soul of the Academy had changed. With no monster to fight or major wars across its realm, Knighton had lost the need for rigidly trained knights. Instead, the Knights’ Academy served a more modern purpose, a training center for the kingdom's young minds. Everything from traditional combat training to acting was taught to the over ten thousand students that graced its halls. While every student was required to learn the ways of Knighthood, most didn’t have the intention of actually becoming a Shield Bearer or a Protector of the Realm. Most students attended to have access to the best educators Knighton has to offer, opportunities to raise their social class after graduation, or to mingle with the children of nobility. Regardless, each child that had the privilege of attending the Knights’ Academy was required to take at least some form of combat training which, for some, was part of the reason they worked so hard to enter this academy and for others it was… a pain.

“For the last time- it’s swing perry thrust then you-” “Will you shut up?! I don’t care how its supposed to be done, I finished the-” “Well, if you actually paid attention to the lesson then we wouldn’t have come in last place-” “SHUT UP YOU-”

Ah yes, the sixth years of Knightons’s academy, truly the most civil of knights in training. It was a cool spring day, the sun shone just enough to warm the skin but not too much where it was stronger than the cool eastern winds. A perfect day for outdoor battle practice and that was just what concluded. But unfortunately it was a group practice day in which all the students would be bunched into random groups and pitted against each other in battle. As one could imagine, not every group got along swimmingly.

“Lance, you have to pay more attention and actually try in practice! You act as if none of this matters!” A young boy yelled out, he was slightly shorter than the boy he was yelling at, his hair was a deep brown and was slicked back to not end up with hat hair from wearing a knight’s helmet too long. His skin was a light brown with slight scarring all over his arms and a bit of hyperpigmentation from sun damage. His eyes, much like his hair, were a deep brown but despite their dark color his annoyance was clear as day.

“Because it doesn’t matter! We finished the battle, who cares if we came in last place? I don't care and my opinion is the only one that matters! Get off your high horse, no one here really cares about this, Clay!” The other boy, Lance, yelled back. His hair was the perfect natural blond, styled to the T, that somehow survived the physical battle he and his peers just had. His skin was fair and face lacking any blemishes, most likely from the boy's 12 step skincare routine, and his eyes were such a bright light blue it was a shock he could actually look up at the skin without going blind.

The rest of their battle group did nothing to stop their bickering, they were all used to it. It wasn’t until a tall and lanky boy walked up to Clay and tapped his shoulder when they stopped yelling, if only for a second to listen to what he had to say. “Hey Clay- I uh- it’s time to go back and change into our uniforms, uh class is o-over…” The boy said timidly, nervously twiddling his fingers together as he avoided eye contact with Lance who was staring at him. He was taller, he had a few inches on Lance yet his body language was timid, like he was trying to seem as small as possible despite his size and disappear into the background. The boy was thin, very thin, and if it weren’t for the guaranteed three meals a day he got from the Knights’ Academy one would have wondered if he was eating enough. His skin was almost sickly pale, lacking any warmth, almost looking like lead white clown paint. The only bit of color visible on him besides the school provided battle armor was his eyes and hair. His hair was completely black, not even a direct hit from the sun would show any undertone, but it was hidden underneath the knight's helmet. Yet despite his black and white face, his eyes were a bright emerald green. Despite their glow, they stayed firmly on the ground, avoiding eye contact with both Clay and Lance.

“…Fine” Clay said, giving Lance a quick glare before walking away with the other boy. He ignored Lance’s name calling he whispered under his breath, if he spent more time arguing he would be late to Chivalry and Ethics 102. Clay took a deep breath as he reached the armory, took off his chestplate, and hung it carefully on the rack, “You did good Jestro, really” Clay said as he turned to the taller boy.

“H-Huh-? Oh, uh thanks Clay, I s-still messed up a lot…” Jestro said, looking down at the floor as his hands started to move in small circular movements, almost as if he was juggling something.

“Oh come on Jestro, you have to give yourself more credit! I saw your block after Glaziere came at you with his sword, a few weeks ago you were telling me how you thought you would never learn how to block!” Clay countered proudly, trying to motivate his friend.

“Yeah and immediately after I got hit in the back with an arrow. I’m not good at anything…” Jestro said, his entire soul seeming defeated, but once he got a glimpse of Clay’s facial expression that was a mix of concern and pity he straightened up his posture and put on a weak smile, “B-But m-maybe that just m-means I need to t-try harder! A-And if this whole knight thing doesn’t work out I can always keep s-studing under Merlok!” Jestro said, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself more than Clay.

“That’s the spirit Jestro, I’ll see you at lunch” Clay said with a smile before quickly taking off to his next class. He always made sure to arrive a few minutes before class started, something about how it showed his determination to learn. Jestro didn’t really understand it. He sighed, taking off his helmet and quickly putting on a jester hat. He changed out of his armor and into his school uniform.

If Jestro were to be honest, he would say he didn’t want to become a knight. Who really wanted to be a knight nowadays anyways? Certainly not him, but he would never admit it to Clay, he was so determined to become a Protector of the Realm. Still, Jestro had the suspicion that deep down Clay knew that Jestro didn’t want to be a knight, he just wanted a purpose, something to do with his life. But it didn’t help that everything he did was a complete failure. The only reason his battle squad didn’t get dragged down to last place due to him was because somehow Clay and Lance’s fighting was a greater weakness than his existence. He was reminded of his failure everyday, even as he got onto the Academy’s Holorail he could hear the quiet snickers that he knew were directed at him. He had messed up so many times in practice battles, gave the wrong answer in class, or tripped over nothing he became the prime target for bullying. Lucky for him, the ride to Merlok’s library was short enough where he didn’t hear too many whispered insults from his peers.

As Jestro stepped out of the holorail he looked up at the tower in front of him. It was one of the few old buildings left in the capital, the only real sign of modern day technology was the security system it had in place and even that wasn’t visible. The only tech that was visible was a small keypad and camera at the door but even those had been magically infused to keep them from shutting off if there was a power outage. At the top of the door, written in a magically glowing gold font was the words “Merlok the Magician’s Library,” this was the place Jestro spent instead of going to traditional classes. While the young man still had to take his core classes at the Academy, even Principal Brinkland knew that Jestro didn’t… thrive in these classes, so they simply shoved him to Merlok to get him out of their hair. He walked up and nervously typed in the code. It changed everyday and the only person that knew what the combination would be everyday was Merlok, so every morning Jestro would be awoken by some messenger bird pecking at the window with the code written on a piece of parchment tied to the bird’s leg. Jestro had tried to teach Merlok how to use a phone he could simply text him the code but somehow the teaching session ended up with a blown up phone and Merlok claiming that messenger birds were more reliable because they could take a fire blast without dying. Jestro then had to remind the man that no, birds can’t take a fireball to the head and survive, just like a phone can’t but there was no changing the man’s mind.

The old door stayed closed after Jestro typed in the code so he tried again, nothing. “Huh, that’s odd, it normally opens on its own after I type in the code” Jestro mumbled to himself before trying to push it open one more time and nothing again. So, the young boy took a few steps back before running at the door shoulder first, intending to brute force it open, but right before his shoulder made contact with the old wooden door, it opened and caused Jestro to run into the tower and crash against the wall.

“Ow! Crap ugh that hurt… Of course it opens-'' Jestro got up, ignoring the pain in his side as he dusted off the dirt on his clothes before making his way up the long spiral column of stairs. It felt like an eternity before he made it to the top of the tower, gently knocking on a large wooden door locked before him before pushing it open. “Merlok? Are you in here?”

As Jestro stepped into the library he saw an elderly man standing next to a large table that was covered in books with a staff in hand. The older man looked up from one of the old books and smiled warmly, “Ah, there you are my boy. Come over here I was looking over my old spell books and found some different incantations we could try.” Merlok was a kind soul, the last his kind, yet he did his best to pass his wisdom onto Jestro,

“Oh- uh I-I was kinda hoping we could j-just read and study instead of… practicing” Jestro said as he put down his bag next to the door then walked over to Merlok, his hands shaking slightly as he touched one of the books that was decades older than him. It didn’t matter how many times he interacted with Merlok’s relics, Jestro always felt like was going to ruin the sacred text somehow. “I don’t want to b-break anything…”

“Nonsense! Everything in this library is already preserved under the Royal Palace. Anyone can spend their whole life studying something but if they never apply that knowledge then it’s pointless. And besides, few are even able to use that knowledge” Merlok said with a sly smirk, gently nudging Jestro’s shoulder. Jestro gave a nervous smile back to the magician before he reached down for the small staff laid out on the table. “A-Alright, what are we doing?”

“It’s a simple teleportation incantation, although I’ve edited it slightly to focus more on the first part, making an object disappear!” Merlok said, flipping open one of the many books on the old table open to a page that had much more recent calligraphy in comparison to the century old spells written on the other pages.

“Wait, isn’t this the spell you use for events in the Joustdome? I thought it was a wordless spell,” Jestro asked, “Ah, yes. Of course, with experience even the most complicated of spells can be performed without its incantation, but young sourcers are always taught the incantations of their spells. But don’t worry, this is a simple spell, you’ll get the hang of it and before you know you’ll be performing alongside me in the Joustdome” Merlok said with a warm smile, placing a reassuring hand on Jestro’s shoulder before reaching for a empty potion bottle and placing it on the table. “Now simply read the incantation here and focus your mind onto the glass bottle, just like the levitation spell we practiced a few weeks ago.”

“A-Alright, I-I’ll try not to turn it into a glass pig…” Jestro mumbled nervously as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wooden wand. It was the first item that started his magical journey, Merlok had noticed the fine bits of purple feathers crafted into the small staff would glow a faint light whenever Jestro tried to do anything whilst the wand was near around the boy’s second year in the academy. That was how Merlok discovered Jestro had the ability to wield magic, although faintly and his connection to magic still needed to be greatly strengthened; it had been the first sign of a possible new wizard in decades.

“So it’s uh- Okay, d-deep breaths, you c-can do t-this… E-Evanescet- AH-!” As soon as Jestro raised his wand and the spell slipped from his lips a golden light surrounded the glass bottle. But just as soon as it began to glow, its light faded and violently shattered into a thousand small pieces. How Jestro nor Merlok was hit the young wizard in training didn’t know. But as soon as realized what happened he quickly started apologizing.

“Gah- Merlok I’m so s-sorry I-I didn’t mean to-” Jestro tried apologizing as he panicked at the sight of the broken bottle.

“It’s alright my boy, no one got hurt and mistakes happen. Normally failed incantations result in nothing and I can’t say I remember any of the other wizard trainees of the time of the Council having such a…” Merlok paused for a second, trying to find the right word that wouldn’t break the boy’s already fragile ego, “…violent result to such a simple spell…”

Merlok didn’t have to say it and he never tried to say anything that would hurt Jestro, he knew the boy was trying, but his facial expression showed his confusion, slight disappointment, and worry clear as day. Jestro pushed down the shame as deep as he could, he wouldn’t cry over something this small, no matter how much it hurt him to have his mentor disappointed in him. He knew Merlok wasn’t the best at comforting people so he tried to put on a neutral face.

“But it’s okay, let’s take a break alright?” Merlok said, putting down his own staff and closing the book, “We’ll clean up later. Now, tell me how your interview for your role of Royal Jester went?” Merlok asked, quickly trying to change the subject as he led Jestro out of the library.

so thats all i have so far! pls leave any suggestions and critism you have!! next chapter will probably just be focused on introducing the main 5 with maybe a bit of ava and robin in the background idk

[fatphobiabusters]

[Image ID: Text that reads “’Thin privilege’ is constantly being accused of having an ED because you’re naturally thin even though you are well within a healthy BMI and eat healthy.”]

This fatphobe has apparently blocked this blog, so I can’t reblog their post. So instead, I will write my response to their post here:

Thin privilege is having an eating disorder be cared about and not encouraged by your family, friends, doctors, and society as a whole. Thin privilege is actually being able to be considered anorexic and not labeled with “atypical anorexia” just because you’re not thin.

Thin privilege is living in a world that caters everything to your body, from clothing to exercise equipment to chairs all designed to fit you and no one bigger. Thin privilege is not having to pay extra for the same goods and services. Thin privilege is actually being seen as beautiful by general society and not being told your body is only capable of being loved as a fetish.

Thin privilege is not being constantly subjected to medical neglect. Thin privilege is a doctor actually doing tests on you to find a tumor instead of telling you to lose weight for years until someone finally listens and finds the tumor when you only have two days left to live.

Thin privilege is being represented in every single piece of media. Thin privilege is not having your body relegated to only villains, ugly characters, and characters who symbolize evil things.

Thin privilege is being able to go to the grocery store and put a melon in your cart without someone else taking it out with a “You don’t need all that sugar, I’m doing you a favor.” Thin privilege is being able to eat in public without scrutiny.

Thin privilege is not having your children taken away from you and put into the foster care system purely for their weight. Thin privilege is not being kept from adopting children because the adoption agency thinks your weight is a sign of bad parenting.

Thin privilege is automatically being viewed as healthy and thus not facing the social repercussions of the opposite. Thin privilege is having your problems taken seriously. Thin privilege is being able to go to your elementary school’s swimming lessons in 4th grade as an 8 year old instead of willingly choosing to do the written assignment to keep others from seeing your ostracized body. Thin privilege is being 5 years old and not comparing your body to your smaller friend who has the same name as you and you pretend to be twins with but know that you will never be the same as her.

Thin privilege is not being recommended to starve by every person on this planet. Thin privilege is being able to find clothes in any store and not cry in a dressing room. Thin privilege is being allowed to go trick or treating. Thin privilege is even being able to find a costume in your size to go in the first place. Thin privilege is being allowed to eat as much as you want on Thanksgiving.

Thin privilege is not being put on diets as early as 8 years old. Thin privilege is not being categorized as a disease. Thin privilege is not having the government wage a war on your body. Thin privilege is not having the first lady consider your body an epidemic and make ridding the country of you her goal during her husband’s presidency.

Thin privilege is not having everyone refer to your body with a literal slur. Thin privilege is not having the most basic word for your body type treated as a taboo insult to the point that being called that word is most people’s greatest fear.

Thin privilege is being chosen over fat people for everything. Thin privilege is not facing a wage gap for your body type. Thin privilege is not facing workplace harassment and job discrimination. Thin privilege is not being harassed in a Discord server for suggesting the developers of a supposedly diverse video game make more than one character out of thirty have your body type.

Thin privilege is everyone learning how to draw your body from the get-go and not forcing themselves to learn how to draw you years later after they’ve already learned how to draw everything else. Thin privilege is being represented in more than one of the three hundred works on someone’s art blog.

Thin privilege is being allowed to participate in society and culture. Thin privilege is not having to learn how to sew in order to have any clothes to wear. Thin privilege is not having people smaller than you take clothing in your size from a thrift store and make it into a full outfit, severely depleting the miniscule amount of clothing that poor people with your body type have available to them.

Thin privilege is being able to be successful without everyone and their mother constantly commenting on how unhealthy they think you are. Thin privilege is not having your mother put a sign that reads “Nothing tastes better than how skinny feels” on the refrigerator that you’re forced to see whenever you want to nourish your body.

Thin privilege is not having your rape dismissed by not just society but even the actual judge of your case because “You should be grateful someone wanted to have sex with a body like yours for once.” Thin privilege is getting to be the prom queen. Thin privilege is not being controversial when Disney makes a two minute animation of someone with your body type in a neutral way.

Thin privilege is actually being able to see people who look like you while you grow up who are not ridiculed or cast to the side. Thin privilege is having every aesthetic blog on Tumblr feature only your body type. Thin privilege is not having to scavenge for representation and rely on a handful of blogs to find pictures of people with your body. Thin privilege is not having to use a euphemism for your body type when searching for pictures of people like you online because not doing so will only give you bigoted and fetishistic search results.

Thin privilege is being able to have a blog that isn’t constantly followed by thinspo people so they can use you as inspiration to throw up and starve, so they can find other people like you to abuse, so they can send you hate, so they can steal your selfies to post and laugh at with their friends. Thin privilege is not being screenshot and put on the Reddit thread r/fatlogic. Thin privilege is not having documentaries made about children who look like you and how them existing is a problem. Thin privilege is people not then using those documentaries as starvation porn when they want something to watch instead of eat dinner.

Thin privilege is being able to fly on a plane. Thin privilege is being able to go on any amusement park ride and know that it was made to fit you. Thin privilege is not having to use an app to figure out if a place is accessible to you. Thin privilege is not enduring barrages of hate on YouTube for simply posting a video of you trying on clothes. Thin privilege is people making videos about your struggles and not having enormous amounts of downvotes on those videos because they “promote ob*sity.”

Thin privilege is being able to post a picture of yourself without being hassled for it by strangers, friends, and even family. Thin privilege is being able to see your parents who have your same body type not hate themselves and constantly try to make themselves smaller throughout your childhood and the rest of your life. Thin privilege is not having invasive, deadly surgeries pressured on you and oftentimes even forced on you to be able to receive actual life-saving healthcare.

Thin privilege is not having the worth of your life debated in a pandemic. Thin privilege is not having the worth of giving you an organ transplant debated. Thin privilege is not having to change your weight in order to transition because things like top surgery are not gatekept from you and your body type is seen as inherently performative of whatever gender you transition to.

Thin privilege is not being forced to top and be dominant. Thin privilege is not having your asexuality, aromanticism, and any other queer identity dismissed because “You’re only that identity because men/no one want to be with you.” Thin privilege is not being misgendered and degendered because people with your body type are seen as “real women” and are not forced into masculinity. Thin privilege is not being gatekept from even androgyny and thus not leaving you with a body that is more of a thing than a person.

Thin privilege is not fearing PE in school. Thin privilege is not being turned away from a gymnastics club because they don’t believe people with your body type are capable of doing sports. Thin privilege is having your disabilities taken seriously and being able to use a mobility aid without being ridiculed even more than other disabled people are.

And thin privilege is so much more.

-Mod Worthy