#that being raised a certain way will not determine how you act all on its own. and there are tons of other things that can shape you

[tomwaterbabies]

It's so fascinating to me that the way you speak reminds me so much of this other dude on the internet who also makes fantasy/cosplay clothing and happens to be trans and gay. Like, the way you frame sentences, which words you put emphasis on, and even the general rhythm of it. I was just talking today with my English teacher about how different dialects and manners of speech can be formed from different towns geographically, but also from interest-based "virtual towns" on internet spaces.

I think you've also mentioned something similar in a previous post of yours, about how the flamboyant(?) tone to your voice doesn't necessarily come from you not being born a guy but also from being queer (citation needed). I think it's cool that I was kind of able to connect this silly theory of mine to an example (you lol).

(although you might actually know whom exactly I'm referring to (dorian gay) and already be watching him and subconsciously integrating that vocabulary into yours, in which case this is less of a coincidence and more of a language mirroring thing.)

Uhhh yeah that's my observation/rant for this month; sorry if it's too personal, feel free to ignore this I guess, have a nice day bye-

not too personal at all, this was interesting to read and ponder for a moment and honestly a delight to receive LOL

im actually not familiar with the guy you're talking about! but i might take a gander, i dont actually follow a lot of other cosplayers and such bc i genuinely start going crazy if i cant spend all day trying to make something bc the inspiration hits pretty hard but i do Not Have Time Or Money to start a lot of the cosplay/clothing projects i would want to

you're remembering the post right though! the short version of it is ive been more content with my "gay accent" and effeminate tendencies (definitely flamboyant at times, though it's probably more accurate to just say im being dramatic. bc i am pretty dramatic lol). there's definitely some stuff i gotta work on, its pretty difficult trying to fully accept that this isnt some sort of fakery, that im 100% a Real Man™ even with all that "Less Manly" Stuff, sometimes it feels like even in queer circles im never going to be seen as who i am- i'll be perceived as nonbinary, gender-nonconforming, etc. which are, of course, fantastic things to be, but not what i am

but i DIGRESS, the deeper more serious stuff with all that is something for myself and, uh, therapy and friends to work through so its mostly ok. leaning into who i am, dramatics and flamboyancy and stupid gay accent included, has been more joyful than not even with the struggles that have come with it. the renfaire cosplays helped too, even if i had to subject myself to being blonde

[misswynters]

Ma Meilleure Amour

featuring. ekko x fem!reader

a/n. doing my duty as a writer to fill the ekko tag with fics of him only (it’s translated to my best love)

inspired by. the song Ma Meilleure Ennemie and the scene with ekko and jinx in act iii (listen to it while reading)

Everything felt different. The streets of Zaun had the ever-present haze of smog seem softer, its grim edge dulled by the warm hum of neon lights. The streets bustled with life, as they always did, but the night gave the chaos a certain charm. The glow of green and pink signs reflected off damp cobblestones, while the occasional flicker of a malfunctioning lamp sent ripples of color through shallow puddles.

You walked side by side with Ekko, your steps slow and aimless, as if the two of you had all the time in the world. You didn’t, of course. With how Zaun always had a way of reminding you that the clock never stopped ticking. But right now, under the swirl of lights and the faint hiss of steam vents, it felt like time had paused just for the two of you.

Ekko’s hand brushed against yours every so often, and though he wasn’t one to initiate touch easily, you could tell he didn’t mind the closeness. He always had this way of being effortlessly cool, his swagger and wit making it seem like nothing fazed him. But you knew him better than most. You saw the weight he carried, the pressure of being a leader, a fighter, and a kid all at once. And tonight, you were determined to remind him what it felt like to just…be.

“Ever think Zaun’s kinda pretty at night?” you mused, breaking the comfortable silence.

Ekko glanced at you, one eyebrow raised, before looking around. “Pretty? Dunno if I’d call it that. More like…gritty with a side of a green glow.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Says the one waxing poetic about this place,” he shot back, his grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Fine, maybe I’m seeing it through rose-colored glasses. Or maybe I just like walking around with you.”

That earned a chuckle from him, the sound low and warm. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his shoulders relaxing as he leaned closer to you. “Well, when you put it that way…” The two of you wandered through winding alleys and across rickety bridges, the air thick with the scent of metal and oil. Every so often, Ekko would point out a shortcut he’d used for one of his time-bending escapades or share a story about an adventure with the Firelights.

But then he led you down a narrow path you hadn’t noticed before, his fingers brushing yours briefly to guide you. At the end of the path, you stepped into a beautiful hidden oasis. A rooftop garden tucked away from Zaun’s usual grit and grime. The first thing you noticed was the lights. Strings of mismatched lanterns crisscrossed the space, casting a soft, golden glow over everything. Tiny fairy lights were woven through the vines that climbed up makeshift trellises, their warm flicker like little stars in the night. The plants themselves were a mix of scrappy greenery and surprisingly vibrant flowers, their colors popping against the muted tones of the city below.

“Woah…” you breathed, turning to him with wide eyes.

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the faint blush on his cheeks gave him away. “It’s nothing fancy. Just a spot I’ve been working on.”

“Are you kidding? It’s perfect,” you said, your voice filled with awe.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze darting away from yours. “Figured it’d be nice to have a place to get away, y’know? Somewhere quiet.”

You stepped forward, taking it all in. A small wooden bench sat in the center of the garden, its surface worn but sturdy. Around it, the plants swayed gently in the cool breeze, their leaves catching the light just enough to shimmer.

“Come on,” Ekko said, his hand lightly brushing the small of your back as he guided you to the bench. “I didn’t bring you here just to stand around.”

You sat down, the wood creaking softly under your weight. Ekko settled beside you, close enough that his knee pressed against yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet hum of the lights and the distant sounds of Zaun filling the space. It was a working pattern. There was always a comfortable silence between the two of you.

“How long have you been working on this?” you asked softly.

“Couple months,” he said, leaning back with his arms stretched across the bench. “Takes a while to get plants to grow in a place like this. But I dunno…it feels good to build something, y’know? Instead of just tearing things down.”

You glanced at him, your chest tightening at the softness in his voice. Ekko didn’t let people see this side of him often though. I mean this was the boy who dreamed of a better Zaun, the one who carried the weight of his community on his shoulders.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, resting your head against his shoulder. “Just like you.”

He laughed softly, the sound warm and a little shy. “You’re laying it on thick tonight, huh?”

“Just telling the truth,” you said, closing your eyes as his warmth seeped into you.

The two of you sat like that for a while, wrapped up in the stillness of the garden. Ekko’s hand found yours, his fingers intertwining with yours in a way that felt natural, like you were always meant to fit together.

“Hey,” he said after a while, his voice quiet.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For, y’know…being here.”

You lifted your head to look at him, your heart aching at the sincerity in his eyes. “Of course,” you said softly while winking. “You’re worth it, Ekko.”

His gaze lingered on yours for a moment, the golden light casting shadows across his face. Then he smiled. It was real, genuine smile that made your chest feel light and full all at once.

“C’mere,” he said, pulling you closer until you were practically in his lap. His arms wrapped around you, his chin resting on your shoulder as you leaned into him.

“This is nice,” you murmured, your fingers tracing absent patterns on his arm.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a little muffled. “It is.”

There it was again, the comfortable silence. The garden was quiet, bathed in the golden light of the mismatched lanterns. You rested your head on Ekko’s shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath against you. His fingers were still intertwined with yours, his thumb brushing small, absentminded circles against your knuckles.

It was peaceful, almost too perfect for Zaun, where tranquility was a rare luxury. The hum of distant machinery and the faint chatter of the streets below were a backdrop to your own private world. You thought this was it, that the night couldn’t get any better. But Ekko had other plans.

Suddenly, he shifted away from you, his weight leaving the bench as he stood. His warmth leaving your body. You blinked up at him, confused as he turned to face you, his signature grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He extended a hand toward you, palm up, the glow of the garden lights reflecting in his dark eyes.

“Dance with me,” he said, his voice soft but brimming with an irresistible playfulness.

You tilted your head, a laugh escaping you. “Dance? Here?”

“Why not?” He wiggled his fingers, urging you to take his hand.

You hesitated, glancing around. “Ekko, there’s no music.”

He smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Oh, ye of little faith.”

Reaching into his pocket, Ekko pulled out a small, beaten up speaker, a relic salvaged from some forgotten corner of Zaun. He fiddled with it for a moment before a warm melody crackled to life, filling the air with a gentle rhythm.

You stared at him in disbelief, your lips parting in surprise. “You planned this?”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool but failing miserably as a proud smile broke through. “Maybe.”

Shaking your head with a soft laugh, you placed your hand in his, the warmth of his palm grounding you. “Alright, Clockstopper,” you teased. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Ekko pulled you to your feet, guiding you to the center of the garden. The music swelled around you, soft and sweet, a contrast to the chaos of Zaun. His other hand found its place on your waist, and he held you close, his movements easy and unhurried. At first, you tried to match his rhythm, your steps tentative as you followed his lead. But it wasn’t long before your foot accidentally landed on his.

“Oh, sorry!” you gasped, pulling back slightly.

Ekko winced dramatically, clutching his chest as if you’d mortally wounded him. “You’re killing me here,” he said, his voice laced with mock pain.

You rolled your eyes, a grin tugging at your lips. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“Baby?” He laughed, spinning you unexpectedly. You stumbled slightly but caught yourself, the sound of your shared laughter echoing in the garden.

The two of you continued like that, swaying and spinning under the lanterns. Every so often, you’d step on his foot again, and he’d exaggerate his reaction, making you laugh until your cheeks hurt. But then, as the song shifted to a slower melody, Ekko’s movements became gentler, more deliberate. He pulled you closer, your bodies impossibly near. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the faint scent of zauns atmosphere lingering on him. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the world seemed to fade away. The golden light reflected in his eyes, making them shimmer like they held their own constellation. There was something unspoken in his gaze, something raw and real that made your heart stutter.

“Ekko…” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the music.

He didn’t say anything, just leaned in slowly, giving you enough time to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t. Instead, you closed the distance, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was soft and sweet, filled with everything words couldn’t express. Your hands found their way around his neck, pulling him closer as his arms wrapped around your waist. The world seemed to tilt, the glow of the lanterns and the soft hum of the music swirling around you in a haze of light and sound.

Time felt irrelevant—ironic, considering who you were with. All that mattered was the way he held you, the way his lips moved against yours with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice steady and sure.

Your heart swelled at his words, a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the lights around you. Smiling, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I love you too,” you said, the words as natural as breathing.

Ekko grinned, his hands tightening around your waist as he pressed a series of quick, playful kisses to your face—your cheeks, your nose, your forehead. Each kiss was accompanied by a soft giggle from you, his affection spilling over in a way that was so uniquely him.

“Ekko, stop,” you laughed, trying to pull away as he kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Never,” he said, his voice full of mock defiance as he caught your lips in another kiss.

The two of you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world forgotten. The music played on, the lights flickered, and Zaun’s ever-present hum seemed softer, almost distant. As the night stretched on, you found yourselves back on the bench, your head resting on Ekko’s shoulder as he absentmindedly played with your fingers. The garden felt like a dream, a little slice of peace carved out of the chaos. And in that moment, with Ekko by your side and the glow of the lanterns above you, everything felt right. Almost perfect.

banners. @anitalenia

taglist. @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @thesevi0lentdelights

[starcurtain]

Hello! Wanted to say that I’ve really enjoyed your analysis on Aventurine’s theming - and yea big agree that part of the charm of the guy is that he’s a weird paradox (he got everything one should technically want, and he also lost absolutely everything he cares about) - and also I like your comment that he is, as a character, actually pretty obnoxious (it’s an odd character charm point to me)

Also your post on the way he interacts with the ladies in the cast kinda reminded me - I know folks tend to focus in Ratio’s note but I ended up zoning in on his convo with Acheron more than anything else - because a lot of Penacony is Aven butting heads with other aeon-touched people (Acheron, Sunday) - but Acheron seems like a fun foil because she also has a pretty double-edged metaphysical blessing that is associated with losing everything she loved, but she ironically hasn’t given in to full meaninglessness.

I think one of Aventurine's defining character traits is that he "tests" everyone he encounters to judge whether they are trustworthy or whether they are a danger to him (I guarantee you, he has some kind of mental ranking scale for how likely people are to dislike or mistreat him), and I think his being obnoxious is actually a direct offshoot of this.

Kakavasha clearly was raised with manners; he knows how to be polite and to tone down his responses to social situations as appropriate, which means that, in every other scenario, he is actively choosing to be obnoxious, even in situations where it seemingly won't benefit him (like talking back to the slave master or being too forward when first meeting Sunday, for example) because it allows him to gauge exactly how others feel about him and exactly how much they will let him get away with.

People who play along are potential allies (Robin, the Trailblazer) and people who act grumpy but actually tolerate the obnoxiousness are safe (Ratio, Sparkle, most of the rest of the Express Crew), while people who respond poorly (Sunday, basically everyone else Aventurine dealt with in the past, etc.) are forced into showing their true colors. If minor obnoxious behaviors can provoke them, then it means their core response to Aventurine is likely to be one of dislike and disrespect. He's just forcing that response from them out into the light sooner, rather than later, by being obnoxious from the get-go.

(And, to a certain extent, I think he also just finds it fun to be a bit obnoxious. Like, he's free to say and do whatever he wants now--who is going to stop him from being a brat if that's what he feels like doing?)

But on to Acheron... Yes, I do think there are a lot of parallels between Acheron and Aventurine (came from a doomed people, lost everyone, both determined to hold out against nihility and live just for the sake of living, "blessed" by aeons), but I think narratively speaking, the story puts Acheron in a different position when her tale entangles with Aventurine's: the surrogate big sister role.

Acheron's a very good parallel to Aventurine's sister in numerous ways: First, she essentially sacrificed herself to defeat the evil threatening her people, but is ultimately unsuccessful, resulting in the permanent loss of all she knew.

This loss also resulted in Aventurine's sister actually dying, while Raiden Mei experienced a symbolic death, taking on the name "Acheron" to evoke the Underworld, getting a ghostly, bleached white form, and prowling the river of nihility like a wandering spirit of the dead.

Second, the philosophy Acheron espouses is nearly identical to Aventurine's sister. When even as a child Kakavasha was doubting the value and meaning of life, his sister was the one constantly reaffirming that life has meaning, despite its hardships, and that continuing to exist is the way to honor those who have sacrificed for you. Just as Aventurine's sister expresses that people must hold on to faith, Acheron reminds everyone she encounters to cling to the last bit of color and light in their lives.

This ends up being echoed by the role of guidance that she plays for Aventurine, with him both directly relying on her for his continued survival:

And turning to her in his moment of greatest emotional need:

(Sound familiar? It should. This is the exact same question Kakavasha once asked his sister.)

But there's also a very, very nice visual parallel that goes on with Acheron and Aventurine's sister: the dusk rain that accompanies her.

For Aventurine, the rain has complicated emotional connotations. For the Avgin, it was desperately needed, life-giving water, and thus was considered a direct blessing from Gaiathra. Rain on Aventurine's birthday was the sign of his being favored by the aeon, and yet it also rained on the day he lost everything and had to flee from the only home he had ever known (conveniently also his birthday, dude this guy's life sucks).

Meanwhile, the rain for Acheron is equally complex--rain can bring life, the renewal of barren, lifeless lands... But we also see the rain accompany Acheron through her worst loss, the final collapse of her planet:

It also is said to rain constantly within the shadow of nihility, a lightless gray that washes away all that people wish to cling to.

For both Acheron and Aventurine's sister, the rain accompanies the end of their "lives," the backdrop to their ultimate sacrifices.

Yet it is also in the rain that they both send Aventurine onward, escaping from the cage of his destiny into a "better" life. From beneath the shadow of the storm, they both bid him to go and not turn back, freeing him and permanently changing the course of his life.

The rain that took everything from both Aventurine's sister and Acheron is ultimately what saves him.

It's all a very tidy and well-written parallel.

[peachiejeongin]

Venom and Velvet - Hyunjin

Synopsis: Snake hybrids were terrifying; the mere thought of them integrating into society sent humans into mass hysteria. You cannot help when one of them captivates your attention, however, leading to an entire reconstruct of your ideology...

Pairing: snake hybrid!Hyunjin x reader

Genre: hybrid!AU, Fluff, Angsty Elements

Warnings: Do not read this if you have ophidiophobia, bullying, mentions of vandalism

Notice: Hello, darlings! I have recently acquired Snake Hybrid Hyunjin brain rot, thus why you are receiving this story today! [Thank you, fluffylino, we all say in unison]. I have not seen many fluffy Snake Hybrid Hyunjin fictions, so I thought I would create one of my own. Enjoy! :)

It was an honest mistake, how they came to exist.

The fateful day at the chemical plant seemed like any other; chemists researched in their labs, engineers repaired certain sectors of the building, and quality assurance workers monitored every aspect of the plant to a tee.

What happened in the later hours of the day is still unknown. Perhaps it was a careless chemist, maybe a freak accident; however, what was factual was the explosion. The plant erupted into a fury of flame and smoke, first stemming from the lab quarter and swiftly engulfing everything in its path. Hundreds of workers lay dead within the remains.

Or so was speculated.

The first signal of many that something was off was the flames; they were not the typical shades of orange, yellow, or red that one would typically catch glimpse of during an explosion.

They were green.

Flaming, emerald green.

'A mix of chemicals,' was the initial speculation, since that was the most reasonable voucher and humans preferred to opt for the easiest explanation rather than delve into the technical science of situations.

However, this explanation proved irrifutably inaccurate as the second signal came into play; the "deceased" workers rose from what was determined to be their gravesite, yet they were not...themselves. It was evident that some sort of radioactive mutation had occured; those who were once thought of as dead sported a new appearance, consisting of cascading, Sacramento green scales prevailing in patches, primarily on the victims' shoulders, collarbones, forearms, and calfs. Fangs protruded from their upper jaws, claws replaced their fingers nails, and both appeared sharp and hungry. Their tongues forked perfectly down the center, and their once neutral-shaded eyes turned a bright yellow shade, their pupils dilating until they were nothing but thin, black slits. From here, the story became clear: necrotoxins and cytotoxins, specifically the kinds commonly found in snake venom, had somehow been involved within the accident and were responsible for this mutation.

This new species wreaked havoc on the town, biting, constricting, and terrifying every human being in sight. It took nearly a full year for the madness to cease; a surviving chemist from the chemical plant created an antidote for the infected individuals, who the town had started referring to as, "Snake Hybrids." The antitode was administered to every Snake Hybrid, whether by choice or by force. While it did not remove the physical side effects, like the scales or fangs, it significantly calmed their tempers, allowing them to fully act like regular members of society once more.

The town council, however, did not want to take anymore chances; as such, the Hybrids were secluded from society and forced to live in a sectioned off, abandoned chamber of the neighborhood. They were forced to adapt to this new way of life, forced to raise their children in a town in which they had to explain why the humans had such a horrid distaste for their kind.

Yet, the newly-elected mayor had an irking to put a stop to these laws. His mind's configuration believed in equality for both humans and Snake Hybrids. Because of this, he slowly but surely began testing the waters, beginning with a new mandate.

"All university age students, whether human or Hybrid, will be allowed to attend whatever university of their choosing, starting this upcoming school year," he declared one Saturday morning during a press conference.

That, my friend, is how you found yourself in the situation you were currently facing.

You were "normal" by society standards; you had excellent grades, you were above average in athletics, and you had a phenomenal social life. You were the golden child of your town. Growing up, you had heard stories about the Snake Hybrids; the adults in your life did not speak fondly of them by any means, and there were a plethora of urban legends surrounding them. You had been raised to fear these creatures.

As were others your age, you had quickly inferred. When the Snake Hybrid students arrived on campus, everyone had fled like the plague. Nobody had dared to go near them; it was not like they cared, however. They stuck together, with the only humans they interacted with being their teachers. An overwhelming terror shrouded the university.

So, why in this moment, did you find yourself fixated rather than fearful?

You could not take your eyes off of the Hybrid sitting across from you. He looked absolutely nothing like the creatures friends and family had depicted in gruesome stories and tales. He looked relatively human for the most part, spare a few scaley sections on his shoulders and collarbones peaking out from underneath his top. His face was chiseled, the yellow of his irises complimenting it fairly well in your opinion. He had shoulder-length curly black hair that framed his face perfectly. From time to time, you would catch a glimpse of his forked tongue peaking out between his teeth when he became focused on an assignment.

He was incredulously, irevokably beautiful.

You were concentrated on the boy all hour, only opting to focus on your assignment whenever his eyes flicked up to meet yours and you nervously glanced away. Before you knew it, class was dismissed; you took a long time gathering your things on purpose, attempting to work up enough courage to talk to him. You did not take long enough, it seems, as you walked out of the classroom feeling slightly dejected. You did not have to make the planned effort, however.

"Take a photo," the boy nearly snarled out in a harsh manner, catching up to you in the hallway. You swiftly whipped your head around to make fierce eye contact with him; his slitted pupils bore an annoyed stare into your round ones.

"I'm sorry?" you inquired quietly, almost timidly. The both of you were now stopped in the middle of the corridor.

"You heard me," he hissed, both literally and in his tone. "A photo will last longer than staring at me. I'm not some spectacle for you to ogle at." Your eyes widened almost instantly, and you made an attempt to explain yourself.

"Oh my gosh, no!" you exclaimed, regret prominent in your voice. "I am so sorry, that is not what it was at all!"

"Yeah?" his tongue was protruding at his cheek, his tone laced with faux sympathy. "Then what was it?" He crossed his arms as he awaited an answer.

That is when you froze. You did not know how exactly to explain to the guy that you were focused on him in class because you found him absolutely stunning. Even if you did tell him, you were sure he would think it was some cruel joke. You stared down at the ground, your heart beating with guilt.

"I'm sorry," was all you managed to mumble out. You could have sworn that when you looked up, you saw his face soften. He rubbed his lips together and tsked slightly as they unfolded.

"Just don't make a habit of it," he replied, the sentence diminishing in volume as he walked away from you.

---

From that moment onwards, you were captivated by him. Everywhere you looked, he was in your line of sight; at lunch, during classes, even walking around on campus. It was like you could not escape him.

Yet, you did not physically come up to nor encounter him until one late night. You and a couple of your close friends were walking back to your dormitories after a brief party; you were not drunk by any means, but you did feel a tad tipsy after the night's events. You had began to space out when your friends began snickering and stopped in the middle of the walkway.

"What's up?" you asked; their response came in the form of more scorning giggles as they pointed upwards. The direction of their fingers landed on a different dormitory building; it was the dorm specifically designated for the male Snake Hybrids to reside in. Specifically, your friends were motioning to one of the middle windows in which a Snake Hybrid seemed to be working out.

You recognized that face anywhere.

"Oh, yeah, snakes," you stumbled over your words as you spoke. "Anyways, let's get back before lights out?" you tugged on one friend's jacket sleeve, encouraging them to get away from the building.

"Wait, oh my gosh, do you still have it?" one of them asked the girl standing next to her, completely disregarding your comments. In response, the girl smirked and took off her backpack; reaching into it, she pulled out a can of black spray paint.

"Snagged this from shop class," she explained to your confused stature.

"What are you doing with that?" you interrogated, having an anxious idea as to how this conversation was going to go.

"You mean what are we doing with it?" you were corrected. "We're going to have a little late night fun, duh." She accentuated her words with a nod towards the dormitory. Your eyes widened in bewilderment.

"You mean vandalize the Hybrid dorm?"

"Obviously," she stated as if it was the most obvious action in the world. "These guys shouldn't even be here. It's only fair we make that known." She outstretched her arm towards you, spray-can in hand. "Want to do the honors?"

You hesitantly took the can, looking down at it in obfuscation. Without thinking, your grasp on it tightened and you threw it into oblivion, specifically into the spanning woods behind the dorm. You were not exactly sure how far it went, but you did know that your "friends" were pissed.

"Y/n, what the hell?!" one of them scowled.

"I'm not doing this," you crossed your arms as you defended your stance. "Sorry, but they have done nothing to us. How is that fair?"

"Because they're-"

"What?" you interrupted your friend's monologue. "They're freaks? Misfits? Imperfect? Because guess what, so are we. Sure, they have scales and fangs and their eyes are a tad scary at times. Other than that, they are no different than we are." Your friends side-eyed one another and then nodded. They walked away from you without saying another word. You turned around to face the direction they were walking in, your mouth agape in pure vexation.

You let out a deep inhalation in the fall air as you glanced up towards the dorm; the sight that greeted your eyes shocked you: he was staring at you, a smile playing at his lips. The two of you locked eyes before he walked away.

He had seen everything.

---

The next morning, your so-called "friends" ignored you like an unwanted phone call from an ex-partner. They purposely sat on the other side of the room from you in your first hour class, whispering no doubt rumors about last night.

'Great. I'm going to be alone for the day,' you had made up your mind on that matter, dropping your head into your hands. It was not for long, though; you instantly felt a tap on your shoulder. You looked up and met the same alluring gaze you had been hyperfixated on for weeks. Your heart skipped a beat as he spoke.

"Can I sit?" he asked genuinely and politely, contrasting the first and only conversation you had ever had with him. If your face did not physically smile, your eyes surely did. You nodded slowly, and he took the open desk beside you. He never turned his head away from you.

"What's your name?" he pondered, finally getting a chance to get a good look at you.

"We've been in class together for weeks, and you don't know it?" you chuckled humorously. "I'm y/n. Your turn." He quirked an eyebrow towards your reply.

"Hyunjin," he held out a scaled hand for you to shake. You smiled slightly, ignoring the heightened whispers from the other side of the room.

"Hey, about last night, because I know you saw me-"

"Why did you stick up for me?" Hyunjin interrupted your ramble before it began. The question had you pause for a moment.

Why did you stick up for him?

Was it because you thought he was attractive? Was it due to your fight against injustice? The miniscule amount of alcohol in your system? What was it?

You could not formulate a proper response to this question; therefore, you shrugged your shoulders.

"I don't know," you spoke earnestly. "It felt right. I don't like seeing anyone being treated wrong." Hyunjin gave a small nod at your words, a sly smile appearing and his fangs protruding.

"Well, thank you," he replied. "Whatever the reason, it meant a lot." You reciprocated the small nod, and for the next hour, you and Hyunjin got a whole bunch of nothing done. You figured out he was an art major, and he smirked at the fact that you were majoring in literature; you pretty much goofed off essentially all class period, making jokes and getting to know each other.

The period ended much too quickly, and you let out a sigh of despair.

"Sit with me at lunch?" Hyunjin asked you optimistically. You nodded, an agreement that, little did you know, would morph your ideology for years to come...

---

You and Hyunjin became inseparable; you spent every waking hour of every day with one another. You sat together in classes, at lunch, and you began spending your free periods with one another. You had quickly concluded that almost everything besides the origin story you had been told about Snake Hybrids was false. The legends about ten foot talk snake creatures, tall tales of them preying at night, and other stories were quickly debunked, some even earning hearty laughs from Hyunjin from how absurd they were.

You were judged harshly by your peers for the time you were spending with him, but you did not mind. As the two of you got to know each other, you grew closer and closer until mutual feelings erupted between the two of you, though neither of you had the guts to confess them in fear of corrupting the fantastic friendship you had just built up. It was an unlikely pairing, a snake and a girl, one being as coarse as venom and the other as soft as velvet.

One fateful day, the two of you had paired up for an art project; you knew Hyunjin's expertise and your fantastic planning skills would get the job done quickly and precisely. Hyunjin had suggested you work on the project at his dorm, so that is exactly where you were headed, catching a couple of off-hand glances as you entered into the building.

You were given access to the building and quickly made your way to Hyunjin's room. You knocked a few times on his door, a plethora of colorful paints in your hand. He opened the door, and the sight that greeted your gaze shocked you: Hyunjin was shirtless, his emerald scales on display, shining under the luminescence of his ceiling light. He took out one earbud and smiled.

"Hey, give me just a minute to set up!" He closed the door gently, leaving you standing there in shock. You knew he was ethereal, but seeing him shirtless was a different tale entirely. You snapped out of your trance when the door reopened; Hyunjin was now in a grey hoodie, matching the color of his sweatpants. He invited you inside his lonesome room, closing the door swiftly behind you.

The next few hours were dedicated to your project; paper was splayed out on every surface with plans sketched on each one, paints of every color were opened and splattered onto a pallette, and those colors subsequently made their way onto the canvas, thanks to Hyunjin's skillfull brushstrokes.

Before you knew it, your project was finished; the prompt you were given was to draw something you thought was beautiful. The point of it all was to contrast every student's differing perspective on the subject. You had opted to paint a sunset, a basic approach but still effective; you had decided, in order to remove the simplicity of it, that would explain in the presentation why the sunset was beautiful. You would go beyond just the mixture of colors and bring in a bit of symbolism as to how the sunset ended the day, thus bringing beauty to a respective finale.

You felt great pride in the progress the both of you had made, and you stared intently at the painting; you were in awe of Hyunjin's talent, how he had made every shade of orange, pink, purple, and red blend together to create an exhilerating portrait. You focused on every intricate detail and how it all came together to make an incredulous scene.

"What are you thinking about, Pretty?" Hyunjin poked your arm with the handle end of the paintbrush; you quickly turned to face him, blushing from the nickname.

"Just how beautiful the painting is. I wish I could look that beautiful." you admitted.

"If you only knew," Hyunjin mumbled in a tone barely above a whisper. You heard what he had said, but you wanted to see if he would repeat it.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"Um," Hyunjin felt a lump caught in his throat; his forked tongue moved from side to side in his mouth from anxiety as he tried to explain himself. "I said I could make you pretty like the sunset."

"What?" Before you could receive a reply, Hyunjin dipped the brush he was holding into a glob of orange paint and smeared a streak of it across your forehead. The motion made you gasp before you bust out into giggles; Hyunjin's antics did not cease.

"Now we have to get the red. And the pink," he described as his faintly-clawed hands dipped the brush into each respective color and repeated the swiping motions; he proceeded to do the same with the purple and yellow paints.

"There," he put his brush down and clasped his hands together. "Now, you look like a sunset!" Hyunjin's fangs were loud and proud as he smiled down at you. Your thoughts were colliding together as you figured out a way to get your revenge.

Suddenly, you grabbed a wider brush and coated it with green paint.

"You know, now that I'm thinking about it, I don't think these scales are necessarily green enough," you lunged towards Hyunjin's collarbone; however, you missed entirely, instead meeting a pushed out hand from the male. The impact caused your brush to fleet backwards and land on your neck instead.

"Awe, you look cute with scales!" Hyunjin complimented sarcastically. You widened your eyes, a jolly glint sparkling under the artificial light. Without thinking, you tackled Hyunjin, landing you both backwards on the bed and smearing the array of paints on his grey hoodie. Hyunjin attempted to free himself from your grasp, hissing exuberantly in between fits of laughter; his attempts were for not as you grabbed both of his hands in one of yours, the scales lightly scuffing your palms.

You lifted his hands above his head and, taking the still-glazed brush, smeared lines of green from the top of his neck down to the indents of his collarbones. The ticklish sensation made him squirm and shut his eyes as he continued to giggle. You threw the paintbrush aside on his study desk and rubbed your hands together.

"There," you leaned down, eyeing Hyunjin as the two of you were almost nose-to-nose. "Now, we're even."

The two of you stayed in this position for a while, grins ever-so-present on your faces. Hyunjin took a long, admirable look at you; he looked at your fair skin, your sparkling eyes, and your snow-white smile.

He had concluded in that moment that you were the prettiest girl he had ever laid his amber gaze upon. Yet, an unanswered question still lingered in his head.

"Why were you staring at me on the first day of class?" he inquired, moving his hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, his claw slightly scratching your ear in the process. Your face flushed a deep shade of pink at the question.

"I thought," you mumbled. "I thought you were pretty. I didn't mean to offend, I swear. I just couldn't help myself."

"You think I'm pretty?" You nodded slowly.

"Beautiful, even."

He was not exactly sure what thought went through his head before his lips were on yours. Perhaps it was your sweet words alone. Perhaps it was the fact that you had attempted to move your head away from his out of embarrassment from your confession, and he had placed a firm yet soft hand in your hair to stop you. Perhaps it was the way you had looked at him after he did just that, a daring yet shy glint present in your stare. He was not for sure what had pushed him to this action.

He was sure that he wanted to kiss you.

So, here the two of you lie, you on top of Hyunjin as the two of you passionately encapsulated one another. Your hands were cupped tightly on his cheeks while his lightly hovered over your waist. His lips were everything you had imagined them to be; they were smooth, soft, and entranced you into a compassionate haze. His forked tongue teasingly poked at yours, and you felt his fangs accidentally nip at your bottom lip a couple of times. The kiss felt straight out of a 1990s romantic tragedy.

You were not aware of how much time had passed before you had pulled away to catch a breath; you felt the swell in your lips and you physically visualized Hyunjin's as he lay, breathless beneath you. Your arms moved slowly down to his chest, and your head fell to the crook of his neck. He moved one hand to your upper back, the other still gently entangled within your hair.

"Woah," was all you could utter at the moment in time. "Who knew snakes were such good kissers?" you jokingly asked, eliciting a soft chuckle from the Hybrid.

"We're romantics, what can I say?" Your heart was pounding as you looked at him beneath you, and his arms went to snake tightly around your middle, no pun intended.

"Y'know," you had regained your composure and began to chatter. "I wasn't sure about you at first. After all the stories I had heard, all the rumors and tales. Even after you had debunked them, there was still some sort of fear present within me," you confessed, mentally punching yourself as you saw Hyunjin's content expression falter.

"But you...you are so different than what I had imagined. You are the kindest person I've met. You're so gentle and gracious and sweet, and I feel absolutely horrible about the things that I believed, so I guess I'm just going about the long way to ap-" Hyunjin cut off your babling by tilting your head up to face him and capturing you another kiss; this one was shorter but filled with just as much care as the first.

"I get it, I like you too," Hyunjin mumbled against your lips.

"Who said I was going to say that?"

"Am I wrong?" He teasingly asked, looking at you and tilting his head in perplexity.

"Not at all," you confessed.

"I wasn't sure about you either, if it makes you feel any better," Hyunjin admitted. "I thought this was just an act and was going to play out into some sort of cruel prank. But having you here, right here right now with me proves me wrong. You're different than the others. I actually like being around you. I just never wanted to say anything in fear that my deepest worries would materialize and I would lose you as a friend."

"Glad to know the feeling is mutual," you softly spoke. "The only thing is I want to lose you as a friend." Hyunjin shifted his head backwards in indecision.

"NOT like that," you clarified. "I don't want to lose you by any means. I just," you took one of his scaley hands in your smooth ones, "want to gain you as something more than a friend, if that's possible." Hyunjin instinctively rubbed his thumb over your knuckles as his golden gaze affectionately made contact with your own.

"You sure?" he inquired, a playful smirk etched onto his features. "What if people talk?"

"Let them," you responded without hesitation. "Who knows, maybe we can start some sort of shift and people will see that Snake Hybrids and humans interacting isn't so horrible." Hyunjin could not help but beam at your confession. He nodded tenderly.

"Alright. Let's try this," he accepted your heartfelt declaration, causing you to grin wide like the Cheshire Cat. You wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him in for a tight hug that you never wanted to end.

Thus, the snake venom was adoringly stained onto the velvet cloth, joining them together as one futuristic reality.

[starryharps]

the veil of love

pairing: rhaegar targaryen/ arryn! reader

summary: rhaegar visits an old flame at the eyrie, determined to do things right this time.

word count: 2,741

part of: heartlines series

tags: angst with a happy ending (smut, fluff in later parts)

a/n: prefacing this by saying that this is a nonlinear series titled "heartlines", many questions about the reader and the nature of her relationship with rhaegar will be subsequently answered. but I will say, the next chapter is smut. haha.

read on ao3 | masterlist |

there was a storm picking up, the prince noted as he cursed his way into the journey across the narrow bridges that connected the formidable fortress of the vale.

you were situated in the last tower of the eyrie, according to jon arryn. the most isolated one of it all. rhaegar grimaced at its height as he entered the reception hall, nodding to the ladies in waiting. the climb towards the top of the tower proved to be endless, but he found himself in front of a grand door of mahogany regardless.

how will you react? will you smile kindly on him, eyes sparkling upon seeing your lover after four years? or would you throw a shoe at him, cursing whatever is left of his scant bloodline and hoping he falls through the moon door? or would you do nothing, ignoring his presence like you always did when he teased your inability to play the harp or when he read a couple of chapters of the romance novel you shared in advance?

his cheeks flushed slightly at the memory, remembering how you once asked him to act out a few scenes with him. oh, the things you had teased out of him.

rhaegar shook his head.

he knocked.

the door creaked on its own, almost inviting him in. he could swear he heard the sounds of pages turning. you were most likely reading, he inferred. the ivory light crept in his vision as he opened the door fully, taking in the blue chambers cloistered at the top of the tower, and gasped at the regality of it.

blue so dark, it was indigo. everywhere. constellations drawn on every bit of the ceiling stretching up and up and up, to the cosmic hand-painted tapestries and scattered paintings, a few left to dry. there were instruments of all types scattered in an organized manner: telescopes, vials, maps, and books. gods above, so many books were pouring out of the shelves. by the glowing white canopy bed was a giant glass-stained window that refracted a rainbow of lights. rhaegar could hear the echoes of the strong wind howling. he marveled at the strength of the glass to hold up at such an altitude.

his eyes shifted to the corner of the room, where a window lay open, and there, in all your glory, alive and breathing, you sat. clad in arryn blue, reading a book, the wind kissing your cheeks as you leaned by the window.

he looks at you. you’ve paled a bit in these unforgiving heights, there’s a certain sense of unease in him as he notes your figure hidden by the loose robes. you’ve thinned out, there’s a lack of something in you that he can’t quite pinpoint.

you raise your eyes at him and quietly lock in a staring contest with the prince regent of the seven kingdoms.

the winds howled louder.

neither of you speaks, rhaegar stands by the door. gripping it like a terrified child, he wants to run to you, do ablutions, prostate, and beg. but your aura is one of quiet lethality. he could do angry, he could do sad, he could do hysterical….but he couldn’t do….whatever this was…an air of nothingness that seemed to emanate from you.

“your grace.” he winced. it was always rhae.

he held back his tongue. watching you put a bookmark and close what you were reading.

“what brings his grace to the eyrie?” he hates this. he hates the tone. the lack of musicality and mirth in your voice. how you would harmonize with his vocals and run around, laughing as he took in the happy tones he wanted to drown in, those memories being one of the few things he remembered from his otherwise somber childhood.

he calls out your name, unable to stop the wavering in his mouth, and takes a shy step forward, boots clacking against the smooth marble. gods, you were so close, just within his reach.

you depart from the reading nest, shuffling towards the solar of the room, and put your hands in front of yourself, almost protective.

“i came…to see you.” rhaegar exhaled.

“there was no need to your grace. i am well. a letter would’ve done. you needn’t climb the eyrie for me.”

he quietly put his sword to the table in front of him, and walked closer. “i had to. letters wouldn’t be able to do justice to what i wished to say.”

he met her questioning gaze, restraining himself from slipping further into them, but the task seemed more and more so arduous.

“you…you fled. that night.” he watched as you took interest in the sword at your table.

“my family had to return sooner or later.”

“lord arryn and his retinue were to embark within a month, yet you rode out on horseback weeks in advance, vanished into the vale…left the palace within hours.”

“the vale cannot be left alone for long.”

rhaegar pressed on, frustrated. “no,” “the royce and lord arryn’s fostered wards were present at the eyrie. you fled. you ran away.” you left me.

he watched you watch the window.

“there was nothing left for me there, in that palace.”

“i was there.”

“the prince of dragonstone was there. but rhaegar wasn’t. to be wed to elia of dorne. for political purposes. with zero fight from the groom-to-be. despite the court knowing he had a lover of three years lurking right next to him as the deal was finalized by the king.”

rhaegar recoiled at the jab, it was as if dragonglass pierced him straight into his heart. the iron tones of your voice hammering him, wounding his chest at the cruel remark.

“n-no.”

“you promised me. underneath the star showers to be mine. you told me over and over in the kingswood, by the waterfalls that i am yours. that we would run hand in hand by the grasslands together, plucking fruit and making play endlessly. rule the realm with peace and prosperity, rebuild the peace your father had ruined brick by brick with me by your side. our song of sky and the dragon.

there is no emotion but a hollowed loss in your voice as you continued, “for years. you promised me. for years of this endless winter, i thought a spring of our love would bloom and i would vow myself to you till the end of my days. you said you were mine. i thought you were mine.”

rhaegar felt tears prick his eyes, he breathed deeply.

“i…” he took your name again. “politics..”

then, rage seethed in your icy gaze.

“politics?” you scoff. “you wish to lecture me on politics? your match was political, yes. but let me remind you dorne is already on good terms with westeros. the alliances with house dayne, yronwood and martells were strong regardless and were stable. viserys showed an interest in doran’s daughter from a young age itself when she had visited. what does the vale lack that the dorne has for us to be cast aside over and over in alliances? your king demands of our warriors but won’t wed one of his kin despite openly knowing that his son has been besotted with jon arryn’s niece for years!”

“you know the girl is weak, you know she is frail! i doubt she’ll be able to handle a child, leave the poor girl alone, let her be in dorne. grant her this mercy. you rejected the tyrell match, the dayne match, the blackwood match, yet you accepted the martell match. but why couldn’t you for once in your life grow a spine and run after the one thing you have claimed to love more than your god forsaken prophecy for once? let me suffer in her place, I am begging you, let me burn with you."

“my father will murder you!” he spoke out, frantic.

“and you’ll let somebody else take in my place?” i gasp out. “are you that cruel your grace?”

“i was trying to protect you.”

“you’re shit at protecting things.”

“from him.” his voice cracked “from myself.”

“..what?”

“the prophecy.”

“shut the fuck up.”

his eyes blazed. “listen to me!”

“no!”

“i didn’t want you to be part of my suffering!”

you gawked at him.

“tread carefully.”

rhaegar put his hands up, breathing deeply before he continued. 

“i didn’t want to hurt you.” rhaegar was on his knees by now, holding your blue robes.

“i know how i can get. i know it. i know i would’ve forced you into a life you didn’t want.”

“so just scurry me to the side under the garb of care, an awfully easy excuse.”

a flash of irritation crossed rhaegar’s face. “you do not understand, the prophecy-“

“your ego is as magnanimous as the oily black stones that make the citadel. your entire sense of self is trapped within the five lines you read when you were a boy and made to believe it was for you and only you. the only time you feel ease with the shadows of your mind is when you take points of your life and bend them to fit the narrative of the eight thousand year old prophecy in a language you don’t even speak properly. did you ever stop to think how many in the past have tried the same? how many of them believe themselves to be azor ahai?”

your chest was rising up and down like a madman as you seethed. “the only time you stood up for yourself and not the identity of the prince who was promised was when you kissed me for the first time near the godswood. i threw a wrench in your plans by existing. and you were frightened by the way we completed each other. perhaps you loved me for a bit, but ultimately you kept me to bide your time with me for three years until you found a suitable match for yourself and sire three heads of a dragon who will save the world and be this all powerful messiah while you overthrow your father.”

“you are a selfish, spineless, cowardly prick of-“ rhaegar didn’t let you finish the sentence, grappling your knees and knocking you down to the myrish carpets, holding you close to him. he smelled like lilac and gooseberries.

“you weren’t a wrench,” he muttered, refusing to let go.

“and i never used you to bide my time until a, so you say, better match came up.” you sighed.

“i swear on my honor. i love you. i didn’t use you. we learned to walk together, played together, i watched you lose teeth and you saw mine, we studied together. hunted together. played as king and queen in the godswood. can a seven-year-old plot that early?”

“i know i hurt you. i know it was stupid of me to agree to that arrangement in front of you. i humiliated you. i should’ve said something. but i had plans.” he shuddered. “we…we were planning on rallying dornish support to remove the king. i intended to…take over.”

“and what does dorne have the vale doesn’t? one word from you and uncle would’ve descended our knights.”

“i didn’t have a choice…the king was set on a dornish alliance, i was merely trying to make the best of a situation. i would’ve joined the vale’s support had..had the match not been forced on me.”

putting the palm to your head. “and then?”

“i…i turned to you, only to see your face, you, you were so distraught, i….followed you, but you were gone. and i didn’t hear from you for months.” his voice broke.

“everybody told me you accepted the match happily and chatted with her.”

rhaegar had tears in his eyes. “poor elia. the…the emotions she’s seen of me. i ..i cried to her. pleaded to her and oberyn. please. to do something. they know about you. they were uncomfortable with aerys as elia’s father in law too. they convinced doran to withdraw the offer but aerys was resolute in watching the match go forth.”

rhaegar continued, “so i….i did the unthinkable.”

your heart dropped. this idiot.

“...what did you do?” 

“i broke it off.” he murmured to the floor. “i couldn’t do it. wrote to all the lords. citing my intentions for the throne. many responded…then, i ran.”

you stilled, aghast.

“did you…don’t tell me…did you start a rebellion against the crown?”

he nodded slowly.

you felt the earth shift under your feet.

what in the seven fucking hells is wrong with you? you wanted to scream.

“why?” you asked instead.

he responded, feverishly. “he burns people to death. he upsets century-long relations. he hurts my mother. he exiles my guard. he sabotages my relationships. the lords are stewing, ready to overthrow, i can’t keep seeing this. i can’t keep watching this.”

“please. besides this, i did for you. i do not want to live out my life without you by my side.”

“-but your prophecy.”

he shut his eyes, as if in pain.

“i,” he takes a deep breath, as if his lungs are shattered with glass. “heeded. to what you said. i lulled on it…when you were gone. i heard your ballads and songs…i….realised that in the quest for a future that may or may not exist, i failed to see the beauty that surrounded me in the very present moment.”

he gathers himself as he continues, “prophecies…may be true, and they mostly come true when one steers clears of them. i remembered this as i recalled everything that i’ve chased at the end has run away from me..unlike things that hold onto me for far too long when i haven’t been paying attention.” he looks at you, smiling softly.

he breathes, burying his face into your lap, “i came to the realization, after years of being away from you that, even if the prophecy doesn’t come true, i won’t base my existence off it anymore, i would, do what the realm needs me to, be a good ruler, and assure happiness..make song and love, and hope of being loved in return by the one i want.”

rhaegar notices you take his hand, and he quivers, as he continues.

he kisses your hand.

“i have come to ask you for your hand in marriage. not just as the future king of the seven kingdoms who would have the privilege of a lifetime to have you as his queen. but as the rhaegar you grew up with and made flower crowns with. who watched me play the harp over and over till my fingers bled, carved stars within the wood of the same. who snuck in food in my satchel when i disappeared to summerhall. who dreamed of running away to lys or pentos with you when all of this is over for a long vacation.”

silence. silence greets him. you seem frozen to him, looking at him with pensive eyes and a neutral face.

he softly calls out the name he had given you, indigo eyes wide, and sad, yet tinged with hope, of longing.

slowly, your face broke. it began with the eyes, slowly melting like a glacier, joining the sea of emotions that colored your face red with tears as you shook. rhaegar couldn’t help himself, his tears followed as you grabbed your robe your free hand, sobbing into your other.

he put his head in your lap, feeling your hands run across his silver-white hair, remembering how often you used to do it those nights in his chambers. and he let himself cry.

he called out your name weakly, “…please.”

you kicked him slightly, muttering a “of course i would, you fool.” before taking him in your embrace, the two of you crying within each others arms as the storm picked up.

“of course i will. i have loved you since for as long as i could remember. how could i deny you? how could i ever say no to you?”

rhaegar chuckled wetly. his dourness subsided a little as he relished in your warmth.

“i don’t have much of good memories, and despite them being only a handful, i know that, my happiness begins and ends in the shape of your face, written in the tongue of your soul.”

the winds rattle the eyrie once more.

[deancaspinefest]

Well, I Never Been To Heaven

Author: SamandDean76 | Artist: xfancyfranart

Posting on Saturday March 30

Dean Winchester is living a plain, ordinary, and boring life. Until one day a new student shows up in the little town of Spain, SD. It’s love at first sight, but then the unimaginable happens and Dean is left alone in his misery. Or is he a student attending Oxford University on a full athletic scholarship who finds a familiar face in his coxswain? Or is he hiking in the desert and attempting to save a known stranger? Or is he a traveler who stops for the night at a cheap motel and finds the pizza man of his dreams? Or is he none of those things? Just an unwitting victim of fate and destiny? Castiel had led the assault on hell, in order to save the righteous man and prevent the first seal of the apocalypse from being broken, lest hell should be allowed to reign on earth. In the aftermath of his disastrous mission, he is being held captive by Alastair, and his image is being used in a final, determined attempt to break Dean. But the profound bond that Castiel feels towards the pure soul won’t allow him to go down without a fight, and he makes a desperate prayer to set in motion a chain of events that might save him and his beloved mortal, or possibly, doom them for all eternity.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

The demonic beast that seemed to be reveling in the pain and misery that he wrought on others smiled cruelly, as his thin, greasy fingers threaded through the short, dark wavy hair and clenched tight before they pulled the bowed head up. “Do you see?” The nasally whisper sounded in Castiel’s ear, as he tried to turn his head away, “Do you see how he suffers?”

Castiel did indeed see, truly he did. There was simply no way that he couldn’t. Chained in the heavily warded stockade as he was, looking on as Dean thrashed and whimpered, as he sobbed and cried out for the angel that he couldn’t even possibly know yet. As he pleaded for Castiel to be returned to him, begged that he might be taken in Castiel’s place.

It was all that Castiel could do not to snarl at the godless monster that held them, knowing that it would change nothing, except to possibly make the torture that Dean was suffering to be made even more heinous than it had already proven to be. Alastair was an old demon, one that had been around since the initial waves of demons had been created by Lucifer all those eons ago. His cruelty knew no bounds, and he was determined to destroy the righteous man. To draw him into his web of ceaseless brutality so that the first seal might be broken, so that the demons might be able to take the first steps towards the apocalypse so that they could raise their Lord and Savior from his prison deep within the bowels of hell.

But Dean Winchester had held firm, refusing to surrender to his baser urges and desires. Alastair had been torturing him for almost forty years already, and still, he had remained stalwart in his refusal to torment another helpless soul. Castiel’s garrison had been captured, and he was the lone survivor. Now held prisoner, his vessel’s image being used to cause untold distress in the almost broken mind of the one righteous man in all the cosmos that could bring about its utter destruction.

Castiel knew that he needed to act, and he needed to do so swiftly. Not only to save the mission from certain failure, but to save the pure soul that was being ravaged right in front of him.

“I know, I could always bring you back, and then let him see you die again. Hmmm. I like the sound of that.” Castiel could only glare at the demon, knowing that he was presently helpless. So, it was with a singular purpose that he issued his desperate prayer, knowing that he had been clearly forsaken by heaven. Choosing to seek assistance from the one who would hopefully be able to rescue them. If he were still alive. But more importantly, if he could be convinced that he was still needed. That the world he had forsaken heaven for was worth his further efforts.

And if he could be convinced that he needed to set aside his unhealthy proclivities long enough to see to the continued existence of all the many glorious works that their father had wrought.

“Gabriel, please. *I beseech you.*”

(continue reading on Ao3 on Saturday March 30)

[fourthousandbooks]

Looks like I’m kickstarting this blog with a post about my favorite genre type - fairy tale retellings.

So recently I had to travel by plane for reasons, and when you’re on a plane flight with nothing to do aside from write fanfic or read, sometimes you continue to procrastinate on all your writing projects and pick up an old favorite for a fresh reread.

The Black Swan by Mercedes Lackey is a book I’ve probably read about a dozen times now, enough that I’m not really picking up anything new from it, but still enjoy the journey back through familiar swamps. It’s a retelling of Swan Lake as told through the eyes of the Odile von Rothbart, along with the prince who is now known as Siegfried and his mother, the Queen Regent Clothilde.

So the main theme of the story is ~*~Misogyny~*~ and how much it sucks. The setting itself is a world in which women have no power outside of the men they are related to and are blamed for mens’ actions as well as their own. Odette, along with the rest of her flock, was turned into a swan by Rothbart due to their perceived betrayal of men and it is seen as their penance for their actions. It’s so prominent a theme in the story that it can be a little hard to read at times, especially before the viewpoint characters put in their character development and start doing things about it. For me, I’ve read the book enough that it has ceased to be shocking and instead is a nice read for a certain mood, though I can certainly see it being off putting to someone who comes to this book for the first time.

To me, it’s an interesting book in that it starts all three of its viewpoint characters in unlikeable places. Siegfried is a prince raised entirely to be hedonistic and selfish, taking what he pleases and acting without respect or care to those around him to the extent that he commits rape, Clothilde has schemed and machinated her way into keeping her son the way he is so that she can continue to rule indefinitely, even planning for such a thing as her son meeting with an accident so that she never loses her position as ruler, whatever the cost to others, and Odile has completely bought into her father’s misogyny and hatred of women and sees his capturing women and turning them into swans as a good thing for them. While each of them get touches of sympathy so that we know they could be better: Siegfried is very much a product of his mother’s manipulations, Clothilde has grown up in a world that has denied her the ability to do or be anything that she did not manipulate her way into because she was female, and Odile has grown up with her father’s poison in her ears and no experience of others to show her how toxic the things she’s internalized is, they still start at a point where it’s hard to really feel for any of them, especially Siegfried.

Siegfried in particular, who I personally think how you feel about his redemption and turn determines whether or not you can enjoy the book at all, is definitely the hardest sell of the three, given that as part of the theme of the book, he does commit a rape of a young woman and society gives him no punishment for it whatsoever, even when he starts having nightmares and believing that he has done something wrong. Whether it’s merely a product of his mind or an actual visitation, the only comeuppance the world gives him is visions of the girl he raped showing him the monster he is becoming in a mirror she holds before an Angel comes to spirit her away and shows Siegfried a more extended vision of a monster destroying and ravaging everything in its path, to which he wakes up, takes stock of himself and considers it a warning that while he is not yet that far gone, he was on that path and he himself has to be the one to stop it now because no one else will hold him accountable in this world.

It’s an interesting take to be sure, but I can definitely see that being a dealbreaker too. I’m not certain myself that the whole plot consistently works for me, but for me, the most important part is Odette and Odile’s story and so I can set aside my feelings about Siegfried’s plot and whether or not it does enough in it’s time to make it feel like it works.

What I do really love though, is the swans. Odile begins the story on the cusp of the realization she will fight for the whole story, as it is a truly painful realization to have - that her father, who she has adored her whole life and has done everything she can think of to please - does not care about her beyond as a tool to use in his schemes, and that the people who will love her are the people who she has currently rejected. Over the course of the story, through her interactions with Odette and the rest of the flock, Odile goes from distant and hostile to the other women, to finding kinship and sincerely rooting for their success in Rothbart’s plot, and devastated when Rothbart forces them to fail. Odette and the other swans are much kinder than Odile believed, and as the story progresses, she finds out why they were cursed and why they did what they did and comes to realize that she was wrong about them, and they welcome her in as one of theirs now. The swan girls are not deep characters, many of them are never named, but their quiet bravery and willingness to be kind to Odile is what really draws me into the story.

The climax of the story does contain Odette and Siegfried throwing themselves to the lake rather than be parted by Rothbart’s machinations again, but the victor and hero of the story is Odile, who finally finds the courage to pull herself free of her father, end his life and save Odette and Siegfried from the heart wrenching end of their fairytale. The moment that she chooses to act again, and again, and again, yanking a happy ending out of the jaws of misery, is my absolute favorite part of the story. I read the whole book from cover to cover just to reexperience the glee and joy I felt the first time around seeing Odile take control and say no to father and fate.

I do wish honestly that there was a book like this that was more about the swans than Rothbart or the prince. Only five of the swans besides Odette are named and many of them never get a chance to do much besides be swans and swan girls and part of Odette’s court. In addition, while the decision to not have Odette be one of the viewpoint characters makes it stand out as we see her strength and heart through the eyes of those she touches, it does sort of also make it not her story in the same way anymore. She is at the center of it, but it lacks a certain something that I think I would have really liked to have. Also, it would be fun to have a subversion of the swan lake plot where by Odette and Odile bonding and falling in love unexpectedly, even though Rothbart intends to trick Odette with the prince’s failure into staying his swan captive forever, it’s the bond he never saw coming that shatters his hold and frees the swans. Misogynists do tend to be bad at spotting lesbians after all.

(Now I wonder if this telling exists yet, there’s got to be more lesbians fairytale options than there were eleven years ago when I first found this book)

Anyway, as far as fairy tale retellings go, it’s well enough. It’s not a mind blowing or particularly original take on the story, and the themes and premise of the book can be a difficult entry. But I enjoy it enough to have given it a permanent spot on my bookshelf and regular rereads whenever I need a snarky heroine who discovers that she’s a much better person than anyone, including herself, ever gave herself credit for.

[everlywindex]

my headcanon for how robin and finney met!

bonus character analysis/rant under the cut

when robin was 7 years old, before he properly met finney, he'd just lost his dad and was a lot more stressed out and emotionally volatile. as a result, bullies liked to take advantage of his temper in order to rile him up and get him to attack them, that way he'd get in trouble even though they were the ones who started it.

one day, one of these kids got robin to shove them during recess, but as they ran off to tell the teacher, he bolted and hid underneath the slide. finney had been noticing this happening and felt bad for his classmate, so when the teacher came near, he went over and lied to the teacher about where robin was hiding, sending them in a completely different direction.

once the teacher was gone, finney made his way to robin's hiding spot under the slide. he sat next to him and they started to chat. finney revealed that he'd lied to the teacher, and thanked robin for finally standing up to those bullies even though it got him in trouble so often.

finney couldn't help but look up to the other boy for being so recklessly determined to stand up for himself, as well as for others less fortunate (whether it be another kid being targeted by older students, or a random spider that one of the other kids was threatening to squish) and that's why finney did what he did.

but robin, meanwhile... in that moment, even if finney didn't think that highly of himself, robin was awestruck at this kid who'd just lied to a teacher for someone he didn't even know. it was a sign of pure boldness, bravery, and compassion, the likes of which were pretty uncommon, especially among their peers.

and yet here finney was, acting like it was no big deal.

that's when they became best friends. decided to look out for each other and have each other's backs, no matter what. this was going to be the start of something special, that was for certain.

(granted they both got found under the slide before recess ended and they were put in detention the rest of the day but they just spent the whole time passing notes to each other with silly doodles on them so it was okay)

☆

prepare for an essay folks. it might even be my longest one yet.

okay. so. i get. SOOO FUCKING ANNOYED BY INTERPRETATIONS OF FINBIN THAT ACT LIKE THEY WERE FRIENDS BECAUSE ROBIN JUST FELT BAD FOR FINNEY AND WANTED TO PROTECT HIM OUT OF PITY OR BECAUSE HE JUST THOUGHT HE WAS "CUTE" OR WHATEVER!!! IT MAKES MY BLOOD BOIL!!!!!!

here's the thing. Guys. this may come as a shocker but robin explicitly states:

"you've always been a fighter, finn! that's what we had in common. why we were friends. you were always afraid to throw a punch, but you always knew how to take one. and you always got back up, every time."

finney never was the type to beat the shit out of those who challenged him or intimidate others with his mere presence. finney is shy. he's conflict avoidant. he'd rather run from his fears than face them head on. but finney is not weak. and robin knows this.

that's why their dynamic is so special! robin understands finney's situation. he knows that finney has a terrible home life and he can't just fight back against that due to the power imbalance between him and his dad. robin knows that all of the relentless bullying that finney had faced has given him issues with his self esteem and confidence.

robin understands that strength does not equal invulnerability.

finney had to practically raise his little sister on his own for what's likely to be nearly half his life due to abuse and neglect while shouldering all this trauma that no kid his age should ever have to deal with. it's fucked up. of course that takes its toll on someone, of course they won't come out of it unscathed and unbothered.

but in robin's eyes, that's what makes finney's strength so obvious. he was forced into being the strong one, he didn't ask to be the strong one, and yet he's still here. even after everything terrible he's suffered through, he still always gets back up.

finney doesn't recognize it, but robin does. robin tells finney that he needs to stand up for himself someday because robin knows he already has it in him, even if finney doesn't recognize that himself.

so when i see an interpretation of finbin becoming friends that states that robin wanted to be finney's friend just because finney needed protection... it feels. so weird and wrong. because it completely takes away that respect and admiration on robin's end that was so present in the original movie

i think you guys forget sometimes that robin does admire finney and not just in the shippy "he's so pretty/nice/cute/sweet!!" way. no. robin thinks finney is just straight up really awesome and strong and cool. and he wants finney to have as much faith in himself as robin has in him!

it's so frustrating how people see this extremely sweet dynamic between an abused bullied kid who has low self esteem and considers himself to be weak despite the fact that he's shouldering more trauma and responsibility than anyone his age should ever have to deal with & his best friend who sees him for who he truly is, thinks he's SO fucking awesome, and wants him to see how awesome he is as well... and then those people just proceed to make it a flat "soft uwu boy x strong tough protector boy" with absolutely none of that incredibly engaging nuance

it just makes me... sad. y'know? i hope one day more people in this fandom can come to appreciate these guys for their actual dynamic instead of shaving off everything about their dynamic that's unique and just leaving us with a pair of cookie cutter generic Gay Boys™ that can be easily molded into any incorrect quotes template that shows up on their dash

because that's just not finney and robin.

and i will die melodramatically in a magnificent blaze of glory on this hill if there is even a slim chance my martyrdom will inspire a change in this cursed hellscape of a fandom /lh. i just want justice for my boys!!! but these weird boring one dimensional interpretations of them are so common!! it drives me insane

anyways i'd love to hear your guys' takes on this. mostly because i just want more excuses to talk about finbin. please talk to me about finbin pl

[acertainmoshke]

Worldbuilding Wednesday: Other Beings’ Gender Systems

I covered the Halaran humans’ genders here. Sex and gender are not the same, but since I figured I didn’t have to explain human sexual biology at all, there will be the basics of differing sexual biologies here.

Orcs

Orcs initially had no concept of gender. Sexually, two orcs are necessary for reproduction in order to mix genetic material, but they don’t have sexual dimorphism of any kind. But when they came in contact with humans (note: there are still isolated orcs who are very different from the ones living in Halara), they noticed that these humans put themselves in categories and they wanted to be categorized, too.

So they came up with and named arbitrary categories for almost everything you could think of: the length of their tusks, the season of their first hair growth, the year of their first growl, their preference of dusk meal, the shape of their claws. Every orc fits into dozens of different categories.

For a while, they used these categories mostly as get-to-know-you lists in introductions. But over time, they came to have more meaning, determining style of jewelry or hair and little social actions that could mean one way or another. No one but orcs could even keep up with all the categories, but they can recognize whether an orc is fast or nimble by the way they greet a host.

Luckily, these genders don’t in any way affect how orcs dress or how one is supposed to refer to them. Halarans only have the one pronoun but people with gendered languages tend to default to he because they’re large and hairy. It makes no difference to the orcs.

Slimes

Slimes are exactly what they sound like, amorphous colorful blobs. Sometimes it’s fashionable to be a certain shape, like a cube, but they don’t have any concept of gender. They don’t even have a sex to dimorph. You could argue orcs have a single sex, but slimes have none. They grow as buds in a symbiotic relationship to elms. The trees they originally grew on have long been extinct, but they can grow healthily on elms and help those beings with healing as they do so. They also have no concept of childhood—they become conscious around the time their buds detach, and they are adults then, although they will still physically grow some. They can tell individual humans apart but not categories of humans, not recognizing the signals that tell us which gender someone is presenting as.

Sprites

Sprites have a trinary reproductive system, requiring the involvement of 3 biological parents. However, they live in romantic groups (though more modern sprites have crafted platonic versions) of many more than that. Often children don’t know for certain who two of their parents are and it doesn’t matter as they’re raised by the whole group. Their gender system is based on that trinary, although they do have a concept of transness.

Elms

Elms, despite the name, are not literally trees. They’re much closer to literally trees than we are, but in the same way that dolphins are much closer to orcas than we are. In the same order perhaps but not sharing a taxonomic family. They are about 7-8 feet tall, much the same height as an orc. They come in various body shapes but have two arms and two legs like we do, only they have 14 fingers and 4 toes. Their skin can be a number of colors but is a rougher texture than human skin, ranging from sandpaper to actual bark. Their eyes are slitted like a goat’s and their hair is essentially long strings of leaves.

Their reproduction does look more like trees than animals but they found a workaround. Traditionally, one tree would make seeds and a tree of another sex would take some of its pollen secretion to pollinate the seeds, which act much like eggs after that. Any elm of any sex could do either of these, but for it to work the two involved had to be of different sexes. Some keep pollinators like bees to do it for them so they don’t need to rely on finding a partner.

Now, gender. Traditionally, it was binary based on the sex of the elm and matches were made between elms of opposed sexes. But long before their first close contact with Halarans, they decided that was too restrictive and now there are a number of gender options, including finding it perfectly normal to borrow presentation from another species. In fact, elms are probably the non-human being who most took to human culture as they all began to live closer together.

Dragons

Dragons do have a binary gender system roughly translatable to man and woman, but based off very different traits. I mean, they’re dragons. Traits most noticeable to us—scale color, wing shape and size, type of fire, number and shape of horns, etc—have absolutely nothing to do with their sex or gender. No one is quite sure how you’re supposed to tell them apart, so if you speak a language where you need to people will, in the abstract, generally just pick at random and, in the specific, wait for the dragon to give a hint. Although, if you’re in that situation you might have bigger problems to deal with.

Starfallen

The starfallen are essentially Fae. They can look like anything, including people, but there’s always a Wrongness about it. Who knows if they understand or care about gender? Do they even reproduce or are they immortal beings born of nightmares? If you run into one you’re probably about to die horribly or give up what’s most precious to you, so no one has ever bothered to ask. They certainly don’t fit into Halaran society, and they still instill terror in a way the other beings don’t.

A note on romance

It is far from the norm for a human to marry any other species—in Halara because marriages are generally arranged and in most other places because other beings are still stigmatized as monsters. The main exception to this are sprites, who look the most human other than being 2 feet tall with long ears and spindly fingers. Still, it is not unheard of for two young lovers who run off to be of differing species—usually humans with orcs or sprites, but there are known cases with elms and even dragons. There have been no known cases of romances with slimes.

Taglist: @blind-the-winds

[tensaiproductionz]

Reuploaded from my DA

Every character that isn’t in the main series has their owner names, and you can find them on DA

Name: Li Feng

Nickname: The Rogue Monk, The Mighty Tiger

Age: 21

Alignment: Neutral Good

Abilities: Chi manipulation

Personality: Is a rather stern and cold person with a real dry and often deadpan sense of humor - if he wants to make you laugh, he will probably hurt your feelings doing so. He will have a strong sense of will and justice but has a funny way of going about it. Everything he does has a double meaning; he doesn't believe in "The ends justifies on the means" but rather "The means determines the ends", which is a good reason why he fell out of favor with the Shaolin and Raiden (and why many fear him because of how shut off he is to others, and doesn't show mercy). He is oddly meticulous and careful, being a good planner and analyzer before he enters into a conflict, or before he takes someone on. His cruelties usually hide his underlying kindness and he does not enjoy fighting people he feels are not trained warriors, who he can tell by the way they either carry or present themselves. Physical Traits: A lean but muscular young man with only a braid of dark brown hair giving sign of hair on his shaven head, the man has dark eyes, certain tattoo markings upon his head, he doesn't have much clothing aside from his pants and the gauntlets at his ankles and wrists that has red tassels, and the neck guard around his neck. He stands at 5'10 ft

Powers: The ability to manipulate his chi; due to his unusually high level of chi he has at his disposal, he can either create an impenetrable shield around himself that allows him to fight without taking any outward damage to his body. Before, this used to waste the use of his chi and tire himself out, but over time he can use this ability almost at instinct, though he can still be fatigued if he's having to multi-task the use of his chi for a prolonged period of time. - Can sense other auras and is basically aware of all things around him. - Can use his high level of chi to create feats like concentrate his chi down to create a blazing ball of light or fire to be thrown at his enemies, or use it to increase his performance in strength and speed, while also enhancing his ability for defense. - Can use a move similar to Liu Kang where he can reach his inner Yin and Yang to create a more devastating set of attacks, but this can quickly drain the use of his chi and leave him vulnerable to any attacks if his enemy wasn't taken down.

Fighting Style(s): Shaolin Kung Fu, but often uses the Mantis technique to utilize his ability to block chi, while having the Tiger and Dragon being his more offensive move sets.

-Acts like a vigilante against the forces of Earthrealm that believes the words of Raiden or his former monk friends despite him wanting nothing more than to save his homeworld.

Backstory: Was one of the children orphaned during the seize by Netherrealm, but he was able to fight back and survive until he stumbled upon the Shaolin Temple, where he would’ve been adopted by one of the masters and raised in the ways of the Shaolin. It would become obvious quickly about how high of a chi level the young lad had, and how he often had trouble controlling all its power, so many saw him as a prodigy - as a possible replacement of the fallen Liu Kang. From that came the warped expectation the monks put onto him growing up - this prodigy, this new savior, the Champion of the Realm, and how some of the monks wanted to dig into him to control him. One day, while in a deep meditative state, he was able to speak to his ancient ancestors - ancestors that had links to the once powerful realm of Edenia - and was warned to not trust the now corrupted Raiden, for he would bring disorder to the realms.

After coming to from his meditation, he warned the other monks of the news that he discovered, only to met by a mix of suspicion and scorn, with many not believing the young boy’s words despite how he kept warning them of this. He figured later one that his connection to the Edenian ancestors was due to one such Edenian having laid with a human mother at one point, then leaving her to care for the baby by herself.

One day, he finally had enough and turned his back on the Shaolin Academy, though his departure was met with resistance by his former master and friends as they tried to keep him from leaving. This act and after effects left him seen as a traitor to the eyes of his brothers, and to the others that would later hear of the story of a monk fighting one of their own, and going rogue. Despite these fictitious tales, Li Feng was determined to find a way to save his doomed home from the hands of the corrupted Thunder God, and these reoccurring visions of an impending future wrought with chaos. While MKX 11 continues, before the time merger, Li Feng had awakened Gaia from her long slumber, and having the visions of the possible future suddenly stopping due to Cetrion killing all the Elder Gods. When the main plot happens, he assists in the uncorrupted Raiden up until Lui Kang had taken over, especially after him and Raiden merge together.

Enemies: Rain, D’Vorah, Black Dragon forces, Red Dragon forces, Cetrion, Corrupted Raiden, Tenma (OC)Concept Redo - Tenma, MK OC by TensaiProductStudios on DeviantArt , Kollector, Erron Black, Kronika, Shao Kahn, Shang Tsung, (WIP/OPEN)</span>

Allies: Rose (OC by Queen-Vampire96), Black Lotus (OC by MilyMileena), an Unnamed Elder God before they were murdered, Taven, (OPEN) Neutral: Hisashi (OC), Sarai (OC), Damion (OC), Kotal Kahn,

Theme Song: www.youtube.com/watch?v=loSj5I…

[jeremy-ken-anderson]

Limiting Names

Imagine you wrote a manga and you named it My Life in Elf Village and then four or five chapters in you realized you wanted it to be a far-spanning travel adventure like "One Piece in Forests" was its elevator pitch.

This is the trouble afflicting Lone Spellcaster on Webtoon. They established almost immediately that he wasn't the only spellcaster in general. And then another five or six chapters in they realized having him be a solo act reduced stakes -

Much like Marvel's "end of the world" scenarios, the audience can't really make themselves believe the author's going to kill off their own main character 7+ chapters in, any more than they can believe the planet will explode in Eternals when there's a new Spider-Man movie coming out later the same year. They can't even have their hero get knocked out, just because if he's fully solo there's nobody to carry him out of combat. So when he's alone the stakes are incredibly low from a narrative perspective because there are a bunch of ways they can't even start to go wrong.

- and also just wasn't as interesting from a writing perspective, because without people actually teaming up with the hero the entire background cast gets flattened into one job: the Greek Chorus, all singing about how magnificent Protag-kun is and how nobody has ever done such things before.

It is interesting to me that I don't find Lone Spellcaster's grading system as annoying as Questism's. The reason is that where Questism was explicitly treating those grades as a measure of power - similar to being able to see a boss' hp bar - Lone Spellcaster had them as signs of rank, and indicators that you'd completed certain tasks. This made it more believable to me that someone could be far more powerful than their grade would indicate, either because of tactical factors ("He's only a level 2 rogue!" "Sure. A level 2 rogue. With a gun.") or just because they haven't bothered to do the mission to raise their grade. Depending on the game, sometimes you want to actively keep scumming in the low ranks for longer access to the easy content.

There is a bit of worldbuilding confusion where people were talking about not being able to comprehend this guy's power at all, even when they hadn't heard of him, but for progression purposes and expanding-the-cast purposes the writer has now determined that high-rank characters are similar in combat ability to our hero. Which means all the people who were shocked his feats were being performed by an F-rank are fine, but the ones who were like, "No human has such power!" are somehow unaware of the most powerful - AND THEREFORE MOST FAMOUS - members of their own guild structure. Whoops.

Overall this falls in the same category as the boilerplate Harem Isekai. It's not awful but the story's a little trashy and there's a lot of information given to the reader via videogame announcement boxes and status windows, which is like an extra layer beyond Telling Instead Of Showing.

[horizon-verizon]

It was a leap for Mirri to make about Rhaego bc Drogo had already been dying with no recourse by the time she was killing Rhaego. She could have let the man die without incident by pretending she couldn't even do a thing for him, have Rhaego raised by Dany (who would single parent and raise this kid under her queen regnant or solo mother authority when she took over the entire khal or whatever), and thus Rhaego would likely have not become a rapist. Why didn't she have the thought that Dany would be the best influence on Drogo? The prophecy of the Stallion that Mounts the World, sure...but she never thought that would be Dany? The girl who despite everything reisked her life saving her, thus showing a bravery and leadership? The girl who has loyal people even after Drogo's death and dying period? Or best yet, how can Rhaego become the Stallion with Drogo dying with no way out and thus no longer being capable of raising his son or raising him in an oridnary khalasar?!

The idea that certain habits and acts or ways of thought are inseperable from the physical body is both an ableist one and a racist one. The fans' insistence on some sort of "inevitablitiy" of Rhaego becoming like or worse than your typical Khal and needing forced abortion from its "host" of an already mad-disposed mother is racist in nature. The argument of "that baby will become a rapist bc it's in his genes from his father" is inspired by or well paired/supported with historical scientific racism. Again, I think Mirri herself wasn't racist per se but it is not a "weak argument" for the fans to be racist by assuming that Rhaego would turn into a rapist or a pillager bc they argue that he being of his father's side AND of Dany's side that they feel will def turn her evil makes Rhaego incapable of escaping the Dothraki-Targ violence loop. As both groups to them are essentially, innately, and irrevocably violent "peoples". Like in their genes. And that pairs and works well with the still-alive-idea that "savage" groups need civilization from the "white savior"--who they say Dany embodies and are wrong bc slavery is not even race-based and she was enslaved and even Westerosi participates in the Essoi slave trade now and again.

Martin writes Dothraki very simply, exotically violent, and it's too easy for people to thus see Dothraki as an innately violent people and carry ideas from scientific racist beliefs that are still used today to justify the "innateness" OR "predisposition" of violence in Black people or drunkeness in American indigenous people, etc.

Finally, thus you can't separate the treatment Dany gets and its "Nature over nurture" race-inspired ideology (again, the idea one's moral value or moral capabilities and predicted actions is mostly or only determined by their mind and body's state/genes...tell me this isn't coming from phrenology?!) from how they argue for Rhaego's death and Mirri's undebatable "heroism". They use the same arguements for Dany for Rhaego and vice versa.

Like this anon points out:

I actually do think it's a CHOICE to use modern indigenous women comparisons to justify Mirri tricking a trafficked, displaced bridal slave into stillbirth and possibly even STERILIZING her all because it's for the greater good and also the baby was made up of two EVIL RACES. Read the room people.

Walk with me here, but I think a big part of this fandom's problem is idpol. It's why you have braindead takes like "Yes Mirri was right to kill the child of another enslaved child." "justice for the brown woman" but they never mention that Mirri's argument for the forced abortion of Rhaego is racially essentialist in nature. "The brown baby boy will grow up to be a huge brown rapist" was Mirri's argument and this fandom eats it up uncritically because they hate the "white slave owner".

Their arguments for mad kween Dany are also essentialist in nature. You can never escape the cycle of generational trauma and violence. She will eventually become like her rapist father because his evil is literally written into her genes. No matter how far you come or how high you go, you will never escape your genetics.

I wouldn't mind criticism of Dany's actions if they dug deeper than just "white girl bad, brown woman good" but the arguments are never that, they want to analyse Dany's actions under the world's largest microscope but never ask the hard questions about Mirri's actions.

They don't care about canonically brown/black characters that have been harmed by white characters in the text. They want to talk about how Tywin has Alayaya whipped and thrown out of the Red Keep or how Cersei has her abducted and beaten to punish Tyrion and how all Tyrion can think is "thank god it wasn't Shae."

How Oberyn purchases sex from the 16-year-old Alayaya. How George has written the Summer Islanders and how that in itself is racist. How Oberyn beat Obara's mother and took Obara from her. Illyrio Mopatis and his horde of enslaved people despite the fact that slavery is outlawed in Pentos.

The fandom would be better if more people bring their metas down to earth. Because we should not be having these conversations all these years later. The first book is older than me, you'd think the fandom would have gotten all this out of their system.

N.B. Until we as a fandom are ready and willing to have a serious conversation about how often a large majority of the fandom slips into fascist talking points to justify their hatred for the teenage girl, we will never have meaningful discourse about these characters or this universe.

empty idpol idiots 🤝🏾 fascists for some reason.

Ultimately I agree with your points about people not analyzing the text for what it presents and how it's written for the sake of taking superifical details and running with them for advocating for whatever identity they are advocating for. I don't think Mirri was necessarily using essentialist arguments for hurting Dany, though and I am confused as to the some of the writing here, and I don't feel I can make any deeper comments otherwise.

This is what Mirri-Dany's exchange (A Game of Thrones -- Daenerys IX):

Dany gestured at Ser Jorah and the others. "Leave us. I would speak with this maegi alone." Mormont and the Dothraki withdrew. "You knew," Dany said when they were gone. She ached, inside and out, but her fury gave her strength. "You knew what I was buying, and you knew the price, and yet you let me pay it." "It was wrong of them to burn my temple," the heavy, flat-nosed woman said placidly. "That angered the Great Shepherd." "This was no god's work," Dany said coldly. If I look back I am lost. "You cheated me. You murdered my child within me." "The stallion who mounts the world will burn no cities now. His khalasar shall trample no nations into dust." "I spoke for you," she said, anguished. "I saved you." "Saved me?" The Lhazareen woman spat. "Three riders had taken me, not as a man takes a woman but from behind, as a dog takes a bitch. The fourth was in me when you rode past. How then did you save me? I saw my god's house burn, where I had healed good men beyond counting. My home they burned as well, and in the street I saw piles of heads. I saw the head of a baker who made my bread. I saw the head of a boy I had saved from deadeye fever, only three moons past. I heard children crying as the riders drove them off with their whips. Tell me again what you saved." "Your life." Mirri Maz Duur laughed cruelly. "Look to your khal and see what life is worth, when all the rest is gone." Dany called out for the men of her khas and bid them take Mirri Maz Duur and bind her hand and foot, but the maegi smiled at her as they carried her off, as if they shared a secret. A word, and Dany could have her head off … yet then what would she have? A head? If life was worthless, what was death?

A)

I could be reading this ask incorrectly. Did you mean "they don't want" when you said: "They don't care about canonically brown/black characters that have been harmed by white characters in the text. They want to talk about how Tywin has Alayaya whipped and thrown out of the Red Keep or how Cersei has her abducted and beaten to punish Tyrion and how all Tyrion can think is "thank god it wasn't Shae."? Because with you saying "They don't care about canonically...in the text", it seems like it, but Idk.

B)

You: "but they never mention that Mirri's argument for the forced abortion of Rhaego is racially essentialist in nature. "The brown baby boy will grow up to be a huge brown rapist" was Mirri's argument and this fandom eats it up uncritically because they hate the "white slave owner"."

Mirri is Lhazareene/Essosi herself, so she is technically a brown person. Her seeming "Dothraki vs Lhazareene"-ism is not white-on-brown crime or violence. Dothraki do perform extreme violence--sexual or otherwise--on other groups and obliterate their ways of life to absorb them as free labor into their own communities for power. So--we're just thinking from her perspective here, not fans--when she is saying that Dany's son will grow up into someone like Drogo and lead more destructive/raping campaigns for "culture" and power, In her perspective, I think it wasn't really about genetics so much as what social environment the boy would grow up in and him being more influenced by the men/bad actors around him than a single girl/woman who saved her. Bc Mirri didn't expect Dany to be able or want to migrate out of a typical Dothraki community.

She's looking at the prospect of a child growing up into the sort of man who would rape and pillage and more than that, she's looking for personal vengeance against Drogo through that child and Dany. Because she cannot get to Drogo through a more direct means, she uses and targets Dany.

This does not mean that Mirri was morally correct and justified, she still targets & harms a child bride/rape victim for her own aims. I'm saying the opposite.

You: "Their arguments for mad kween Dany are also essentialist in nature. You can never escape the cycle of generational trauma and violence. She will eventually become like her rapist father because his evil is literally written into her genes. No matter how far you come or how high you go, you will never escape your genetics."

Yeah, I agree with this--the arguments against Dany are essentialist.

However, whether or not Dany is or is not going to lose her mind (she isn't), the very argument for her becoming that from those essentialist arguments is not equal/same as the idea of Rhaego becoming the worst kind of leader bc there isn't even an "understandable" base reason for them to believe a girl who didn't even grown up as a "typical" Targ--she was born while her brother and mother were fleeing, never to return to Westeros-- would become the worst of them or become exactly like the image of a Targ that is in their heads. Whereas Rhaego would have grown up in a khalasar, it makes sense for someone to assume Rhaego would become that versus Dany becoming a version of an evil queen.

Still, once again, Mirri targeted a child bride/rape victim for personal revenge and refused to accept the fact that Dany's influence might be enough to raise a better child. After the girl actually risked herself and went out of her way to save Mirri.

[nataliaphantomhivesblog]

Newsflash: Dazai cares for Chuuya

Before reading any further, I will be talking about stormbringer, so spoilers ahead!! Translation credits go out to: @popopretty on tumblr, make sure to give this kind human some love and appreciation<3

Also if you want to read the first few chapters of stormbringer: @buraihatranslations is currently translating it, give them much love and appreciation as well, they deserve it!!

Honestly, I have been so obsessed with Soukoku lately and I think the reason behind this is because when it comes to Soukoku, their feelings for each other are not as easy to grasp as love or hate, it is much more profound than that. There is care, hurt, trust, resentment, companionship, bitterness, and consideration...And ironically enough, thats just the tip of the iceberg.

If we break down their individual feelings towards each other, it will be easier to understand their bond.

On Chuuya's end, his feelings are much more clear due to his expressive personality. He wears his emotions on his sleeves, he can try and hide what he feels towards Dazai but his true feelings tend to unravel easily.

He sometimes tries to mask his feelings towards Dazai by throwing insults, but his facial expressions are enough to contradict what he is saying.

Chuuya's feelings towards Dazai can be easier to comprehend. He obviously feels this certain betrayal due to the fact Dazai left the Port Mafia. Not to mention, he and Dazai have always had a rivalry relationship.

In the Soukoku wiki page, it is stated that Chuuya is aware of Dazai not experiencing a proper childhood, therefore allows him to act as childish as he can and lets him tease him relentlessly. I don't know how reliable this source is, but either way I think its worthy enough to add.

In the Dragon head conflict when Dazai was out of sight, Chuuya told Mori to forget about Dazai. That was until Hirotsu mentioned a microscope, Chuuya quickly realizes it was code language because he remembered a previous conversation where Dazai says he needs a microscope to be able to see Chuuya properly.

The moment he figured out it was a tracker, Chuuya did not hesitate to jump in and rescue Dazai. But here is the catch: No one but Chuuya knew about the microscope, if Chuuya really didn't care for Dazai he wouldn't have mentioned the microscope and kept all this under wraps, leaving Dazai in a mess.

Chuuya trusts Dazai with his life. He never hesitates to leave his life on Dazai's hands when it has to come to it. Chuuya and Dazai have known each other for years, for Chuuya to be able to trust Dazai that much is because Dazai also cares for him too, right?

The answer here is yes, Dazai cares for Chuuya. In a superficial level, it doesn't seem like Dazai truly cares, but I can assure you that he does care for him. Weather you like to think of his care in a platonic or romantic manner, the care Dazai has for Chuuya is undeniable and extremely significant for Dazai's character.

I think that stormbringer establishes this idea even further. There is one specific moment in this light novel that shows his genuine concern towards Chuuya's well being:

"There is one problem." Dazai cut off his sentence hesitantly. "It has nothing to do with the sucess rate of the plan. It is a matter we have to overcome in the end but... It may require some time to decide."

"What's with you?" Chuuya raised his eyebrows at Dazai. "Stop dramatizing it. Just hurry up and say it."

"I said earlier about this control spell to open the 'gate' that is used to reset the command inside Chuuya, right?" Dazai spoke with a strangely restrained voice. "If we use that, the logs of the command formula that were written in the past will be erased. That means...even if the memory erasure was used on Chuuya in the past, the traces of that will be erased as well."

"What?"

"I told you before right, the memory erasure command. The only way we can confirm if Chuuya is human or not is to check the history to see if the memory erasure command was ever used. It means..." Dazai looked at Chuuya with eyes that he had never looked at him before. Those eyes were serious. "If we use that control spell, the method to confirm if Chuuya is an artificial personality created by a string of code, or just a normal human being, will be lost. For good."

The time had stopped.

Chuuya opened his eyes and looked towards Dazai but his eyes were not seeing anything. The wind blew between the two of them. Even so, Chuuya did not blink.

"Verlaine became like that because he was tormented by the curse that he was not human. That only is enough of a big problem. The matter of being human or not." Dazai looked at his pocket watch, gave it a glance and continued. "I can delay the time until the plan starts for about two minutes. I will send an order for my men to wait... You can think about it alone for a while. Cuz I guess its hard for you to collect your thoughts with me around."

Having said so, Dazai turned away and walked down the stairs, leaving Chuuya alone.

Dazai fixated in his pocket watch. Two more minutes. Too short for a life decision. But he couldn't afford more than that.

Inside Dazai's head, he was planning a procedure to swith to an alternative plan in case Chuuya refused, at a tremendous speed.

This section in stormbringer is personally one of my favorites, this is a very rare moment between both of them, but especially for Dazai. Like I stated earlier Chuuya wears his emotions on his sleeves, therefore even if he tries to mask his care with insults, its still painfully noticable that he genuienly looks after Dazai. Chuuya also sometimes show a vulnerable side of himself to Dazai, especially after using corruption.

Dazai on the other hand is extremely unreadable. Its hard to understand his true intentions and if he really cares for people or only sees them as a pawn. In this moment though, Dazai was being painfully genuine. Dazai literally prioritized Chuuya over the mission. He was already thinking of coming up with an alternative plan just in case Chuuya refused, obviously the sucess rate of the alternative plan would be lesser than the actual plan Dazai had in mind, he choose Chuuya's wellbeing over a mission.

In this section, Dazai wasn't throwing jokes or witty remarks, he was being serious. Because Dazai knows how desperately Chuuya wants to be human. He knows how important being human is to Chuuya.

Dazai wasn't manipulating Chuuya by giving him the chance to decide, we can see that Dazai was literally showing a lot of hesitation when mentioning this to him, we also get to see what Dazai was thinking, and we can tell he wasn't thinking about manipulative his movements in any way. All of this wasn't coming out of manipulation, it was coming out of pure care.

After six steps, Dazai reached the stair. He stepped on the stair and started walking down. Three steps down the stair, he heard a *clang*, a cool sound of metal echoing behind him. It sounded like the metal was kicked by the sole of someones shoes. The moment Dazai realized what the sound was, Dazai turned around in surprise.

There was already no one at the top.

Dazai was dazed for a moment, then he loosened his lips and laughed.

"Trying to act cool, huh?" Dazai smiled, both annoyed and relieved. Then he turned on his radio and sent out his order. "Chuuya has sallied, everyone get ready for battle."

I personally love this part so much, relief washed over Dazai the moment he noticed that Chuuya was going to go through with the first plan, which proves my point that he wasn't manipulating him and how Dazai was under a lot of stress because he wasn't sure if the alternative plan would be as effective as his original one.

Yet he still was willing to go through the alternative plan if Chuuya refused, because Dazai values him and regards his wellbeing.

Dazai was being surprisingly gentle in this section, he was being honest. There was no ulterior motive behind his actions here, just a boy looking after his partner.

"So i'm going to send an order to my men to prepare for action... Is that okay?"

"Of course it's okay." Chuuya turned to Dazai. "Why are you asking me such a thing?"

Dazai didn't answer right away.

That was an unusual expression. It's like he was trying to say something, but he had to arrange the words in his head to decide where he should start. An expression he rarely shows.

This was right before Dazai drops the bomb to Chuuya about the memory erasure command. He was even asking for Chuuya's opinion on sending his men to get ready, this was the first time Dazai ever showed actual concern without masking it with witty remarks. You can tell that Chuuya isn't used to this.

And when you think about it, when Dazai and Chuuya have missions together, Dazai always uses corruption as a last resort and he always allows Chuuya to make the decision if they will be using it or not.

I personally belive that the main reason Chuuya trusts Dazai with using corruption is because The Sheep used to exploit his powers too much, but Dazai leaves the decision to use corruption up to Chuuya. Dazai understands the physical and mental toll corruption takes on Chuuya and therefore leaves the choice up to him.

Theres another section in stormbringer that I really enjoy, it doesn't necessairly show solicitude but I still think this should still be taken into consideration:

"You seem pretty confident that Chuuya is human, don't you?"

"I am," Dazai laughed with a sigh. "There is no way a man-made code could create such a personality that I detest so much."

Throughout the whole story, Dazai is more than determined that Chuuya is human. The main reason Dazai finds Chuuya so intresting is because of how frighteningly human Chuuya can be, because of the fact that he always wears his emotions on his sleeves, something Dazai rarely does himself. Thats personally a nice sentiment from Dazai's end, even when Chuuya struggles completely when it comes to believing in his own humanity, Dazai still can't help but see him as a human being.

Also I am aware that Dazai literally said he detests Chuuya here but he also sighed and laughed while stating this, showing us that he isn't being serious about hating him.

And its not only in stormbringer were he shows his concern towards Chuuya. In fact, in this following manga pannel Dazai is telling Chuuya that if he is willing to listen him, he will stage his own escape so that Chuuya doesn't get punnished.

Honestly, if Dazai didn't care enough for Chuuya, he wouldn't have mentioned this to him. Chuuya didn't care enough to realize that he literally unwillingly freed Dazai which would get the pm mad at him, so the fact that Dazai is literally helping him out is no doubt out of care for him. If Dazai didn't have any regard for Chuuya he would've not staged his escape or mentioned anything to Chuuya, eventually incriminating him.

There are many misconceptions when it comes to Dazai's feelings towards Chuuya, people think that he doesn't care for him due to the fact that he left the Port Mafia, leaving Chuuya behind. But heres the thing: Dazai's intentions had nothing to do with Chuuya. He left the organization for his own good, he left it to fullfill Oda's wish.

"If Dazai cared for Chuuya then why didn't he take Chuuya with him?" the reason is simple, he knows how much the PM means to Chuuya. In stormbringer it is shown that Chuuya feels as if his humanity is attached to the people he is loyal to, in this case its the port mafia. Verlaine wanted to get rid of the pm because he believed that the pm is what kept Chuuya's humanity, eventually making Chuuya believe that he is only human if he stays loyal to the pm. Dazai knows this. Thats exactly why he didn't take Chuuya with him or even explains to Chuuya why he left, he knows it would be selfish to basically rip Chuuya's sense of humanity apart.

I have a feeling that if Dazai told Chuuya about the real reason he left the Port Mafia, Chuuya will not only feel conflicted about being in the pm, but he would also have an inner conflict with himself as a human.

People also think Dazai may not really care for him because of the fact that after the fight against Lovecraft he actualy deserted him, maybe that part was truly just supposed to be seen as simple humor, but either way I want to talk about it. Chuuya's only request to Dazai was to take him back to base safe, so why did Dazai leave Chuuya behind?

I mean he has carried Chuuya back to saftey before with no problem, for example in stormbringer when Chuuya uses corruption for the first time Dazai carries him back to the billiards bar and not to the mafia’s base so that he could say goodbye to his passing friends.

The reson behind this is because Mori needs to know that unlike Dazai, Chuuya is absolutely loyal to him. Leaving Chuuya the way he did will make Mori believe that these two really are at each others throats and that Dazai is insignificant to Chuuya. Making it seem that for Chuuya, the mafia comes first before anything else.

Therefore Dazai established Chuuya's saftey within the mafia since not only does Mori want these two to be hostile with each other, he doesn't want Chuuya to eventually turn against him if he truly found out more about Dazai's true reason of departure. Then again, this isn't canon but it is a logical assumption.

Not to mention that although Dazai did leave him behind, he folded Chuuya's coat and hat before taking his leave. There is also an an extra chapter where Ozaki Kouyou was talking with Chuuya but when he left he forgot his coat, which made Kouyou came across the coat; where she noticed a badge sewed inside saying "Name: Hatrack", she smiled fondly thinking to herself that some things just never change, in this case, Dazai and Chuuya's bond.

Dazai literally took his time to sew this into his coat just to tease him, it was a simple gesture but it shows us how their dynamic will never change. No matter what these two go through, they will always share a bond that consists on teasing, trust and underlying care.

All of this actually makes that theory of Dazai planting a bomb under Chuuya's car for the sole reason that the PM doesn't find Chuuya as an acomplice who aided Dazai on his escape much more feasable.

For Dazai to just plant a bomb under Chuuya's car with no motive makes no sense because if Dazai's true intentions were to simply mess with Chuuya, he would've most likely made it clear at that time. Dazai always has an underlying motive behind his actions, and in this case it is very likely that he did that for Chuuya's sake.

Don't get me wrong, I am aware that the bomb incident could've just been a comedic moment and I shouldn't look too much into it, but there is still a posibility, right?

These two hold so much trust and care for one another, yet they also hold a lot of bitterness and resentment. In the end the good aspects of their dynamic outweighs the bad.

Either you see these two in a platonic or romantic way, you can't tell me that their bond isn't significant.

Thank you so much for reading!! I wanted to talk about this for a while because I feel like people misinterpret Dazai's feelings towards Chuuya a lot so I hope this clears up things a bit<3

[sissikuk]

Do not use change.org petitions

Hey, just a reminder: Most governments cannot legally respond to change.org petitions. If you want to do activism to get a specific government to do or not do something, do not use a change.org petition. It will not work. They do not have to respond to those because they can’t check that the people signing it really are their constituents (the only people whose opinions they care about). Instead, use the official petition service of that government, because then it will have to be debated/acted on if it gets a certain number of signatures. 

For the UK: https://petition.parliament.uk/

For Australia: https://www.aph.gov.au/petition_list

For the US: https://petitions.whitehouse.gov/

For the EU parliament: https://petiport.secure.europarl.europa.eu/petitions/en/home

There are literally hundreds of different petition systems - at least one for every government. You can also just literally google your country of residence + petition.

These petitions legally have to be acted on if they reach a certain number of signatures. Change.org petitions do not, because there’s no way to verify where the signatories come from or how seriously members of parliament should take these signatures. Change.org (in addition to being an “unofficial” petition channel) is also a for-profit company that only uses your money to boost petitions within its own website. 

“(Change) is a multimillion dollar for-profit private company, not a nonprofit public charity as many falsely assume. The company began as a nonprofit that connected charities to donors, but has transitioned into a for-profit company that makes money by selling advertised petitions on its website, Change.org.” -Activist Facts 

It is additionally misleading - the number of signatures you actually need to have a petition debated/acted on/reviewed by the government will vary from place to place and the population size of the country you’re petitioning. Change.org does not have that information. Have you ever noticed how the number of signatures keeps getting extended? That’s because none of the goals actually do anything actionable. They are not legally binding.

Anyone can sign a change.org petition. Usually with petitions you need  to at least be a resident of the country you’re petitioning. The reason for that is that the democratically-elected representatives should act on their constituents’ desires. It is very easy to not act on a change.org petition from their perspective because they have no way of verifying if you’re actually a constituent and could vote them out. Having a petition that anyone can sign is a very easy way for the entire petition to be discredited. 

Please, I am begging you. I am thrilled by your enthusiasm for activism, but I am exhausted from having to jump onto every post that tries to petition a government through this fraudulent website. This matters because if faced with the option of signing a real petition or a change.org one, the change.org one is going to be more popular because fewer people know how this works, but we really need to boost through channels that work right now.

Examples for what not to do under the cut.

[image description: “A change.org petition with 185′535 signatures. The next goal is 200′000 signatures. It reads “Petition to take down all statues of slave traders in the UK” followed by a picture of a toppled statue. The petition is made by BLM - Statues Down and aimed at the UK government. The text under the image reads: “We want all of the statues of Slave Traders removed. They represent the painful history of Slavery by uplifting the disgusting British Slave Traders that stole people from all over Africa.” [end ID]

This is not a good petition. Why?

- It’s a petition for the UK government, but with no way to be received by that government. Go through the official UK government petition channel instead.

- It cannot be verified as being a political push from within the place that is being petitioned rather than outside interference that elected representatives don’t need to care about or interact with. This is because change.org does not have information about your zip code or other identifiable information that representatives would need to prove that this is something they should care about. 

-It’s very unspecific. It mentions “all the statues of slave traders” without specifying where they are or how many they are (i.e. how expensive this will be for the government). Do you have a list of statues that you want to have removed? Include it. Otherwise you need to figure out how you’re going to establish how many there are and what their locations are and how difficult they are to remove. It doesn’t mention a place - all the statues in all the UK? I don’t know if the UK government (England) is able to take down statues in Wales or Northern Ireland or Scotland, for instance, because those countries have some level of autonomy, but still operate under Westminster. How does this apply to UK territories? What are you asking for specifically? Ask for those things as specifically as you can. Only ask them for things they can actually do: achievable and specific. 

-> It is easy to say an unequivocal “no” to a petition asking for something that is not possible; in this case, the unspecificity of the request makes it almost impossible for the government to act on this, especially not in the way that we want. The fact that it’s aimed at the “UK government” but wants statues removed in the whole UK also raises issues of legality of asking England to enforce action in Scotland, Northern Ireland and Wales because you were unspecific in your petition, when you should probably be making separate petitions for each of those places. Make sure that the institution you’re asking for a favour actually does have jurisdiction over what you’re asking for. 

So basically, it’s bad as a petition because it is not addressed to the people it needs to be addressed to (the UK government) and doesn’t contain information that they need to act on the demands (a list of which statues should be involved or a separate petition to set up a committee to determine which statues need to be removed). It is technically a document, but it is not possible for that document to achieve any of its ends and if there are real petitions that ask for the same thing, they won’t be signed by people who think they’ve already made a difference on change.org. 

[kkodzvken]

suit up - hawks x f. reader

the one where keigo marries the girl of his dreams, and then takes her home and shows her just how loved she is. title cred/inspo: suit up by jonghyun

notes/warnings: smut and fluff (your teeth may rot and fall out, you’ve been warned), soft dom!keigo, praise kink, slight size kink, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex + creampie. reader and kei use the traffic light safe word system and they review it beforehand, and he checks in with her at one point but she’s green, so everything is 100% consensual. they flirt + kei says explicit things at the reception but nothing /actually/ happens in public. mentions of alcohol

wc: 5.3k

a/n: this idea’s been bouncing around my head for a while bc i wanna marry this dumbass so bad :’) my first full hawks fic!! im so happy hehe

Beautiful.  

You’re so beautiful.

Keigo’s always known, of course. He’s found you beautiful since the very first moment that he laid his eyes on you, all those years ago. He tells you that you’re beautiful every single day, no matter how much you roll your eyes or jokingly tell him to shut up.

You’re beautiful all the time, but there are certain moments that leave him especially breathless. The day that you foolishly challenged Rumi to an arm-wrestling match. The determined look in your eye as you clenched your fist, sweat dripping down your brow and arm muscles straining (you lost, of course – the rabbit hero was ridiculously jacked). The brilliant smile that graces your face whenever he brings you flowers or little souvenirs from his work trips. The very first morning after you moved into his penthouse, when he woke up next to your peaceful sleeping form, and realized that he’d have mornings like this for the rest of his life.

The day that he flew you up to the mountains for a starlit picnic. The smile on your face as you polished off your meal, and the way that your hand flew up to your mouth when he got down on one knee. Your teary-eyed look of pure love as he slipped the ring onto your finger, the diamond gleaming like one of the stars that shone down on you. The way that your eyes rolled back and your legs wrapped around his waist when he took you home and fucked you for hours.

And right now. Keigo swore that his heart damn near burst at the sight of you. The organist was playing, but he couldn’t hear the notes, couldn’t hear anything besides the blood rushing in his ears. Your hands clasped an elegant flower bouquet, and Keigo was sure that the blossoms were pretty, but he couldn’t spare even a second to glance at them. No, his entire focus was trained on you. You, with your beautiful dress that perfectly accentuated the body that he loved so much. When your eyes raised to meet his, and that perfect smile worked its way across your face… he had to bite his inner cheek to try and hold the tears back.

In a simultaneous eternity and heartbeat, you were handing off your bouquet to a bridesmaid and clasping Keigo’s large hands with your much smaller ones. The officiant was speaking, but Keigo didn’t process any of it. The sight of your eyes shining up at him, more beautiful than any of the stars in the night sky, was the only thing anchoring him to the world. He felt like he was floating through a dreamscape with only you, the happiness in his chest powerful and all-encompassing.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You’re talking to a group of your old friends from high school when a tap against your shoulder grabs your attention, and you turn to see your fiancé – no, your husband – smirking down at you. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close. “Excuse me, ladies,” he says to your friends. “Mind if I steal her for a moment?” His amber eyes glint mischievously, and you swear that a whole swarm of butterflies take flight in your stomach.

Your friends giggle and nod, and then Keigo’s spinning you around so that you’re face-to-face. He’s stunning, in his black suit and red dress shirt, the shade of crimson matching his wings perfectly. “Dance with me, dove,” he says, before leaning down to press a quick kiss against your lips. You nod, and he leads you towards the center of the venue, where most of your guests are dancing to some cheesy pop song. Keigo nods at the DJ, who nods back and switches to the music. Soft synth notes travel through the speakers, before the singer’s dreamy voice floods your ears.

Your hands find their way to his broad shoulders. His wings move to wrap around you protectively. You’re not sure if he even realizes that he does it – it’s such a normal thing, now, for him to shield you, to create a little cocoon for the two of you. You frown as you feel his muscles moving underneath your fingers. “You’re too tense,” you say, fingers gently kneading at the parts of his back that you can reach. “Let me give you a massage once we get home.”

He chuckles, one of his own hands coming up to capture yours. He laces your fingers together before bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss against your skin. The look he gives you is so tender, the love radiating off his body so palpable, that it makes your knees feel week. “Sweet, but I’m the one who’s going to be taking care of you tonight.” You open your mouth to protest, but he tuts, and a feather flies up to shush at your lips. “No, listen. You’re driving me crazy. Every time I turn my head, I see you looking so damn beautiful that my heart stops. Makes me wanna just pull you away and rip that pretty dress off.”

You gasp at his words, a pretty blush dusting your cheeks. “Kei! People are gonna hear you!”

He shrugs, pulling you even closer and swaying your bodies lightly to the music. “Let them,” he says nonchalantly, but the glint in his eye is pure sin. He leans down so that his lips brush against the shell of your ear. You can’t help the shudder that wracks through your body as his warm breath hits your skin. “You’re so cute when you’re blushing like that. Did I make you flustered, baby?” His fingers release yours, instead gripping your chin and forcing you to meet his eyes. “Answer me, love.”

You nod, feeling small. Only Keigo can affect you like this, can reduce you to a trembling mess with just a few words.

You love it.

He smirks at your confession, pressing a kiss against your cheek before leaning his forehead against yours. “What do you say we jump ship, babe?” Your confusion must show on your face, because he continues. “I think I might die if I have to wait much longer to get my hands on you. And judging by the way you’re acting… I’d bet good money that you’re already dripping for me.”

“Kei!” You swat at his chest before burying your face in it. He laughs, one of his real, genuine laughs that makes your heart soar, before kissing the crown of your head.

“I don’t see you denying it.”

“Shut up.”

“Aw, is my cute little wife flustered?”

Wife. The word sounds so pretty rolling off his lips that you can’t resist retreating from the safety of his chest to press your lips against his. He cups your face with one of his large, rough hands and kisses you back. His wings shift to cover you up before the hand on your waist moves down to pinch at your ass – or, at least, it tries. The layers of your dress obstruct him, and he growls in frustration.

You can’t help but whine as well. You want him all the time, of course. Years of being together haven’t changed how fucking badly you want him all the time. You’d used up all your willpower behaving for the ceremony and the reception so far. You’d been good, had kept your hands to yourself throughout dinner and the toasts. But now, the mix of his body against yours, the dirty words that he’d whispered into your ear, and the cocktails running through your bloodstream were making it very hard for you to ignore the pooling heat between your legs.

You wanted him. You wanted your husband.

“Please,” you whisper. Under normal circumstances, you’d hate how whiny and pathetic you sound, but you’re too far gone to care. “Please, let’s go, Kei. Need you.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A few whispered words to Rumi, and a knowing smirk from her, and you were gone. It was surprisingly easy to slip out the venue. You’d expected to be stopped by some nosy family member, but it seemed that everyone was too tipsy and having too much fun to care. Nevertheless, you had to be careful once you stepped out into the fresh night air. The number two hero’s wedding was perfect paparazzi bait. You didn’t even want to think about the feeding frenzy that the media would go into if they caught sight of you now.

The night sky was like a shield, though, and it protected you from prying eyes. You’d been discreet when picking the wedding and reception venues, and even more discreet in choosing your honeymoon destination. Tomorrow morning, you and Keigo would fly up to the mountains, where he’d rented a little cabin for the two of you. By some miracle, he’d managed to get a whole week off work – a whole week where you’d have him, entirely to yourself.

But right now, you aren’t thinking about tomorrow morning, or the lovely, peaceful honeymoon that you were about to embark on. Right now, the only thing you can think about is Keigo. Keigo, with his beautifully messy hair that moved like ocean waves as you soared through the air. There’s nothing in this world that you love more than flying with him, pressed against his sturdy body with his strong arms wrapped around you. Light pollution makes it hard to see the sky from the ground, but up here, the moon and stars are breathtaking.

Almost as breathtaking as your husband, who’s eyes are prettier than any stars could ever hope to be.

He looks down and catches you staring, taking him in with your wide, wondrous eyes. You can barely hear anything through the noise-cancelling headphones that he makes you wear whenever you fly, but his words reach you, clear as day – “I love you.”

“And I love you.” Your voice comes out small, stolen away by the rushing wind. You try again, louder this time. “I love you!”

He chuckles, chest shaking as he tries to keep his laughs contained. “You trying to one-up me? I can be loud too.” He takes a deep breath, before tipping his head back and shouting an I love you up into the heavens.

His lips are soft and sweet as candy when they dip down to meet yours. “I’m just so happy,” he whispers against you. “You make me so happy.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The moment that you set foot into the penthouse, you gasp.

“Oh, Kei,” you breathe, hand flying over your mouth.

He bounces nervously as he locks up the balcony door, not meeting your eye. “Do…do you not like it?”

You march up to him and grab his face in your hands, before standing up onto your tip-toes and planting a kiss on his forehead. “I love it, baby. Really, you’ve outdone yourself.”

He perks up at the praise, kissing your lips once before his hands move down and he picks you up, clean off the ground. You can’t hold your shrieking laugh back as he spins you around, a smile lighting up his face like a god damn Christmas tree.

The house is beautiful. Really, he did outdo himself. Back when you’d first started dating, he’d had to call off your six-month-anniversary date because of a mission. You’d assured him that it was fine, that you understood, but you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t upset. He promised that he would be back in a week at the latest. You’d spent the night with your friends, eating ice cream and watching shitty movies, and left for work the next morning. You weren’t expecting him back for a few days at least, but when you opened your door after an exhausting day at work, he was there, waiting for you. Scratches on his face and bandages on his arms, but he was there. And he’d decorated your apartment with flowers and fairy lights, centered around a haphazardly made blanket fort in the center of the living room. Little candles were placed across the room, each with a red feather standing guard, making sure that the flames didn’t accidentally get knocked over and grow. After you’d gotten over your initial shock – how the hell did you get in here, Kei – you ran into his arms and squeezed him, tight. He didn’t let go of you for the entire night – his body always pressed against yours, fingers constantly entwined, even as he made you cum so many times that you forgot your own name.

It was one of your fondest memories, one that always brought a smile to your face. You’d mentioned it offhandedly last week, while you were in the weeds with wedding planning. Honestly, you didn’t think that he’d even heard what you said, with how stressed and busy the two of you were. He was picking up extra patrols to make up for his honeymoon vacation time, and you were working your ass off to get your overbearing boss off your back.

But he had heard. He heard, and he listened, because that’s just the kind of lover – the kind of husband – that Keigo is. Attentive, sweet, and intuitive. You swear, he spoils you beyond belief. You don’t even know when he got the time to decorate the apartment today, but it’s beautiful. Even more beautiful than the decorations from your six-month-anniversary, because this time, the sight is sweetened by the knowledge that this is your shared home. This isn’t just your apartment, that your friends helped sneak him into so he could fancy it up. This is your shared space, where you’ll spend the rest of your lives together. Where you’ll wake up in his arms every morning, his wings wrapped around you protectively, fragmenting the morning light into shards of red. Where you’ll make meals together and laugh at his bad cooking, where you’ll take sanctuary from the harshness of the world. This place is your home. Keigo is your home.

He finally stops spinning, but refuses to set you down. Instead, he readjusts you so that he’s carrying you bridal style. You almost laugh at how cliché it is. It feels like something out of a cheesy rom-com, but you’re so happy that you feel like you’re in one of those rom-coms.

You do laugh out loud when you see the trail of petals leading to your bedroom. Keigo feigns disappointment, dramatically sighing. “Don’t laugh, princess, you wound me.” That just makes you laugh even more, and soon, he’s joining in, burying his face in your hair as he walks the two of you towards the bed. “C’mon, I’m trying to be romantic! Quit making me laugh!”

“I can’t help it,” you giggle as he gently places you onto the bed. Thankfully, he had the common sense to not put any petals on the actual bed, but the floor is absolutely covered. Blossoms line the walls as well, along with candles that bathe the room in their gentle glow. You take a second to admire how beautiful your husband looks in the soft light. The shadows make his wings seem that much bigger as they unfurl to their full size. He looms over you, looking like the most delicious mix of devil and angel that you’ve ever seen. There’s still a playful smile on his face, but something mischievous simmers beneath it.

“Hope you didn’t forget what you said at the reception hall, baby,” he says, eyes glinting. “What was it? Hmm, something like, need you, Kei, need you to take me home and fuck me, I’m already so wet for you.”

You groan and try to bury your face in your hands, but he’s too fast. He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head, easily wrapping them with just one of his large hands. “You’re making shit up,” you pout. “I only said the first part.”

“So you admit you said it? That you need me?”

“Shut up.”

“Mm, no thanks.”

You groan again, trying to suppress your smile. There are plenty of times that you and Keigo have had “serious” sex, but you mostly find yourself like this, devolving into giggles and teasing. There’s something about him that makes you feel so safe and at ease, and you can’t help yourself from giggling at his stupid remarks. He laughs, and releases your wrists to cradle your face with both his hands. He shifts so that he’s properly on top of you, his thighs on either side of your hips, and bends down to press kisses all over your face.

“My wife,” he breathes, in between kisses. “My sweet, beautiful, amazing wife. This dress is so pretty, but let’s take it off, my love. You don’t need it anymore.”

It takes a few minutes of awkward wriggling and tugging to finally remove the lace monstrosity, but at long last, the dress ends up on the floor. Keigo’s hands are on your body in an instant, fingers trailing over the curve of your waist and snapping the waistband of your panties. “God, you’ve got such pretty little lingerie on.”

“Wanted to dress up for you,” you say, pawing at his tie and trying to loosen the knot. It makes you feel small, to be so exposed while he’s still fully dressed. Normally you love to savor in that feeling, but right now, you need to feel his bare skin against yours. “Now take your clothes off, please.”

You finally manage to loosen his tie enough to pull it over his head. After stopping for another deep kiss, your hands continue their path over his body. His suit jacket comes off next, although he has to help you gently maneuver it off his wings. His cuff links clatter to the ground as you almost viciously rip off his dress shirt, and you moan when you finally feel his warm muscles.

You’re practically grinding into each other by now. Little whines leave your lips as you shamelessly roll your hips, seeking any friction you can get. You can feel his hardness, even through his thick pants, and you chase it with vigor. He’s not much better, a light blush dusting his face as he meets your rolls with shallow thrusts of his own. “Off, off, Kei, need to feel you,” you babble, fingers desperately trying to undo this belt buckle. Breathlessly, he pushes your fingers aside and pulls his belt off, unceremoniously throwing it across the room. You half expect it to collide with a candle and set the entire building on fire, but a few feathers fly out to catch it and gently set it down.

You don’t waste a second in pulling his pants down and throwing them as well, trusting that a feather will keep it from crashing into anything. Your fingers try to pull down the waistband of his boxers, but he tuts and grabs your hand.

You look up at him with pleading eyes. “Please,” you whine.

The smile on his face is gentle beyond belief as he answers. “I told you that I was going to take care of you tonight, baby. Let me make you feel good, okay? Can I make you feel good?”

You want to protest, want to beg him to stuff your face or your cunt and fuck into you until you’re lightheaded, but Keigo’s insistent about making you cum at least twice before even thinking about his own pleasure. And you can’t deny that you’re aching for him. You’re certain that you’ve soaked through your flimsy panties by now, and your mind is hazy with want.

You nod. Keigo takes your face in his hand, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Can you give me your colors too?”

You force your mind to push through the fog, force your heavy lips to move and form words. “G-green for good, yellow for slow down, red for stop.”

“Good girl.” The praise goes straight to your core, and you whine. “Oh, baby, I know I just vowed to give you everything you could ever want, but you’re so damn needy. Be patient for me, okay? Let me touch you.”

You nod obediently, but you can’t fight the urge roll your hips and feel him again. With a soft, scolding noise, he presses one of his hands into your hipbone, effectively pinning you to the mattress. Try as you might, you can’t squirm away. He’s so ridiculously strong, his muscles toned from years of training and hero work, that you’re no match for him. But it’s not so bad. You love the dominance that oozes off his body as he moves down, his hands and tongue exploring every inch of skin that they can find. His teeth nip at the sensitive spot on your neck, the spot that always makes you melt for him. You shamelessly sigh and tilt your head to give him more access.

His right hand, the one that isn’t currently pinning you to the mattress, plays with the lacy edges of your bra. He palms you through the thin fabric, making you groan and arch your back into his touch. It’s not enough, you need more, need to feel more of him before you lose your mind. He seems to read your mind, because he doesn’t even bother to unclasp the bra, electing instead to rip it clean off your body. The snap of the straps breaking makes you gasp, but you revel in the sting of the elastic bouncing back against your skin.

“Couldn’t wait,” he says, not a hint of shame on his face. “You know how much I love to tease, but fuck, I need you now.”

He’s a bit more ceremonious when he removes your panties, choosing to use a hardened feather to slice through the fabric instead of just ripping with brute force. He fucking moans at the sight of you, wet and needy for him. It sounds like absolute heaven, but you don’t have even a second to revel in it before he’s diving into you. The sudden rush of pleasure is electrifying, and you go to instinctively slam your legs shut, but Keigo’s hand is too fast again. His tongue doesn’t falter for even a second as his fingers dig into your thighs and push you open. His lips wrap around your clit and suck, and he’s outrageously loud as he moans into your sex. It’s all so much – he’s licking at you like a man on death row, coaxing little whines and gasps from your lips.

His beautiful eyes are trained on yours, pupils blow out with love and lust. He memorizes every little expression that flits across your beautiful face as he eases a finger into you, eyes only leaving your face to admire the way that your little cunt sucks him in. But he can’t tear his gaze away from you, and the way your mouth falls open, or the way that your eyes flutter and roll back. The way that your hands ball up into fists, alternating between grabbing the bedsheets and lacing through his hair. Fuck, he loves how you pull at his hair when his fingers curl up against that spongy spot inside of you that makes you see stars. Loves the little curses and gasps of his name that spill past your lips as he scissors and thrusts his digits deeper and deeper into your perfect pussy.

“Cum for me, princess,” he groans. “Please, cum for me, need you to be a good girl and cum for me.”

And, well, you did just vow to give him everything that he could ever want.

You throw your head back and almost sob as you gush all over his face and fingers. He’s insatiable, licking and fingering you all through it, desperately trying to lap up every single drop of your juices. Your body is shaking, and you whimper, the overstimulation building until it’s too much, until you’re crying out too much, Kei, ‘s too much!

“Give me your color, baby,” he says, slowing his assault against your body.

“G-green,” you stutter out, the words as shaky as your legs. “Green, don’t stop, it’s just – ah! Kei!”

Your verbal confirmation was all he needed to dive back in, sucking at you with even more vigor than before. His fingers twist and curl against your spot, and his tongue lashes at your clit. He doesn’t stop for even a second, burying himself in your heat. It’s all you can do to maintain your grip on his hair, tugging at it just the way that he loves. You’re thrust headfirst into your second orgasm of the night, crying out his name and positively sobbing at the onslaught of sensations.

When he finally pulls away, the lower part of his face is soaked with your cum. He makes a show of licking his lips clean, not breaking eye contact with you, no matter how much you blush and squirm. He saves his fingers for you, though. A gentle tap at your lips is all it takes for you to obediently open your mouth and take in his digits. You swirl your tongue around, eyes lidded with the afterglow of your pleasure.

But you’re not finished, are nowhere near finished. You suppose that you are being needy, but how could you not, when your husband looks like an absolute fucking god? The candlelight makes your cum on his face glisten beautifully. You whine and pull him in for a kiss, mashing your lips against his and greedily swiping your tongues together. It’s sinful. You can taste yourself on him, and it makes you shudder, makes you need him that much more.

“Please, please fuck me,” you beg, wrapping your legs around his slim waist and trying to pull him closer, closer, closer. “Please, Kei, need you inside me, need my husband inside me.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, so quietly that you would’ve missed it if you didn’t feel the word formed against your lips. “Fuck, baby, okay.” His hand slides between your bodies and quickly pushes his boxers down. He uses a feather to pull them all the way off, because he can’t be bothered to focus on that, not when you’re practically drooling at the sight of his cock.

Your fingers twitch, and you aren’t able to hold back any longer. Your hand finds his cock, marveling at how heavy and perfect he feels as you wrap your fingers around him and guide him towards your sopping cunt. You pause before you slide him in, though, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Can I ride you? Please?”

He curses again under his breath, practically shivering at your words. His strong hands reposition the both of you, until you’re sitting on his thigh and he’s leaning back against the headboard. He cocks an eyebrow and smirks. “Well, then? Get to work, princess.”

You roll your eyes, trying not to laugh at his antics. “What happened to Mr. Let-Me-Take-Care-Of-You?”

“He’ll come out later. If my pretty wife wants to ride me, she gets to ride me.”

You laugh for real this time, but it quickly turns into a moan as you sink yourself down on his length. No matter how many times you take him, he always overwhelms your senses, always stretches you so deliciously. You lean your forehead against his and give yourself a second to adjust, and then you’re rolling your hips, little whines leaving your lips.

“Feels so good, Kei.” You throw your head back, your fingers digging into the strong muscles of his back to anchor yourself. “You always feel so good.”

His eyes are half-lidded and dark as he takes you in. He’s memorizing every inch of your body, every detail and movement that he absolutely fucking adores. “You’re the most beautiful thing in the world,” he whispers, seemingly more to himself than you. “So beautiful. I’m so lucky.”

Your thighs burn, but you force yourself to ignore the pain. You’d rather die than stop right now. His strong arms encircle your waist, and his wings surround your bodies, ruffling with every one of your movements.

You want to ignore your exhaustion, but your husband is perceptive as ever. His hips raise up to meet you, and it sends a fresh wave of pleasure through your body. You’re shaky, though, and you’re getting sloppy.

Before you can even process what’s happening, you’re being spun over and pinned to the mattress. A gasp leaves your lips, and you whine as his cock slips out of you. Your hand reaches out and paws around wildly, searching for him through your haze. Keigo’s quick to kiss you and shush your protests, entwining his rough fingers in your searching hand and stroking his thumb against your palm.

“Relax, angel. Let me take care of it.”

He slides into you again, making you both moan. Your pussy sucks him in greedily, clenching and fluttering around him. He pauses once he bottoms out. His face buries into the crook of your neck, and he presses sweet kisses all over your skin.

You wrap your legs around his waist and squeeze, trying desperately to make him move. “Keigo, baby, please,” you whine, fingers digging into the strong muscles of his back.

He coos, cupping your face and kissing you before he readjusts himself. “Of course, pretty girl.”

His thrusts are deep and hard, so hard that they make the entire bed shake. Your eyes flutter shut, but he grips your jaw and begs you to keep them open – please, baby, look at me, need to see my pretty wife fall apart.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he moans, teeth nipping at your lips. “So perfect, and all mine.”

“All yours,” you agree. You’re practically babbling by this point, unable to stop the noises slipping past your lips. You’re floating on a cloud, soaring through the sky, anchored only by his body against yours. “You’re so deep in me, Kei, can feel you so deep in me. Please, ‘m so close, just a lil’ bit more, Kei.”

He coos again, hand slipping down to toy with your clit. You wail, sinking your teeth into his shoulder as the coil in your stomach snaps and you gush uncontrollably. You can’t do anything but cry out for him, can’t do anything but cling onto him and shake and twitch. The feeling of you clenching around him is too much, and with a broken fuck and a cry of your name, he spills inside of you. He fucks you through it, the obscene sounds of your combined release making you feel lightheaded and weak.

He holds you for a few minutes, just like that, bodies entwined. You both pant and try to catch your breath. The weight of his body on top of yours is comforting, so you protest when he finally pulls out and sits back to admire the way that his seed drips out of you.

“Come back,” you complain. “What kind of husband doesn’t give cuddles to his wife?”

“The kind of husband who needs to clean her up,” he says with a chuckle. “C’mon, let’s go take a bath.

Your body feels boneless with exhaustion and the hazy afterglow of your three orgasms, so you’re grateful when he scoops you into his arms. You tuck your face into his neck and hum contentedly, unable to stop the giddy smile that blooms across your face.

“I love you, Kei,” you say, planting little kisses over his neck and jaw.

“I love you too, princess,” he says, grinning and poking your nose. He laughs when you scrunch it up and scowl at him. But, with how cute he looks, you just can’t hold the scowl for long. Soon, you’re giggling too.

You look up at him with so much love that it makes his heart ache. His eyes grow a bit more serious, and he dips his head to kiss at your swollen lips. “I mean it, baby. I’m so happy to spend the rest of my life with you.”

[kpopfanfictrash]

Raise the Barre (Ch. 1)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Creative Content Contributor: @baebae-goodnight​ (WHO MADE THIS PERFECTLY GORGEOUS MOODBOARD)

Pairing: Jimin / Reader

Rating: 18+ (Eventual Smut)

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Dance Academy!AU 

Word Count: 7,003

Summary: You and Park Jimin have been rivals for as long as you’ve known one another; ever since he tripped you in the front row of your first dance convention. When you graduate from high school and enter Russet Ballet Academy, you tell yourself you’re leaving all past quarrels behind. The main problem with this though, is that your past seems determined not to leave you alone.

Worse still, the obstacles you face while out in the real world might prove more challenging than anything your enemy has to offer.    

Thumbs hooked beneath the straps of your backpack, you paused on the sidewalk to tilt your head up. A sign reading Russet Ballet Academy hung from the building above, detailing the location of the next four years of your life.

It was the dream of many to attend and yet, few ever came to walk these halls as its students. Only eighty dancers were accepted to their dance program each year; the fiercest competition from all over the globe.

Somehow, you were amongst them.

The day you’d received your letter still felt like a dream but here you were, standing under the sign and knowing you’d made it. You stared at it a second longer before your mom came up and squeezed your shoulder.

“Wow,” she said, also reading the sign. “Seems like just yesterday you fell on your ass at Hall of Fame, huh?”

“Mom!” You laughed, the moment effectively broken. “Why would you bring that up now? I was twelve!”

She grinned and glanced in your direction. “You just had such enthusiasm! Picked yourself right back up and kept going. I should’ve known then you would make it.”

Despite yourself, you felt your insides soften again. It sounded like something your old dance teacher, Miss Katie, would’ve said. She’d always had faith in your perseverance and ability. You hadn’t started competing until the age of eleven; in dancer years, this was considered late and yet, you grew quickly through the ranks. By the time you reached high school, you were known on the competitive dance circuit as one of the elites.

Your parents joked it was your contrariness that kept you going. Growing up, you’d never much liked hearing the word no – something your parents applauded and bemoaned in equal measure.

Hiking your bag higher, you turned to face your parents. “So, are you going to take a photo, or what?”

“A photo! Great idea.” Scanning the sidewalk, your mom found your dad. “Honey, come here! Honey! Hone – honestly,” she huffed, waving both arms overhead.

Finally, your dad noticed and hurried in your direction. “Have you seen the gargoyles?” he asked, clearly impressed. “The architecture of this building is incredible, Y/N. When you get settled, maybe you can find out for me who the builder –”

“Take the picture, darling,” said your mom, handing over the camera.

She moved beside you, hugging you tight enough to make breathing difficult. You were happy though, smiling brightly as your dad took the shot.

“Okay, okay,” you said, laughing after the tenth frame. “I think you guys have embarrassed me enough for one day, don’t you?”

“Debatable,” said your dad, grabbing your luggage to haul up the steps. “We’ve got to make up for all the days we won’t see you. You’re not coming home until the holidays, right? That’s a long time!”

At this, a small pang went through you and you nodded. He was right – your parents lived a plane flight away and you’d never been the wealthiest of households. You wouldn’t be able to return until three months from now, which was the longest you’d ever spent away from your family.

It was such a strange thought, you didn’t know what to do with it. As crazy as it was, since they often drove you crazy, you hadn’t ever lived far away from home and the thought made you sad. It was just another way your life was being upended.

As you entered the arched door of Grace Hall, your soon-to-be home, your head spun from the newness. In your small suburban town, you’d had a reputation. The best dancer, the straight-A student, the person with her act together – never mind what you did behind the scenes to make it appear that way. The point was, you were known.

Here, you were just another small fish thrown into the big pond. It wasn’t that you were a bad dancer – far from it – but here, everyone was the best. Everyone at Russet had passed the same bar, which meant the stakes would be higher than ever before. You had never danced under that kind of pressure and scrutiny.

Stomach churning, you once again wondered if you’d made the right choice. You’d been accepted into other Universities; ones without dance programs where you’d have a more secure future. Instead, you chose to pursue dance as a career.

It wasn’t that other majors were without risk or difficulty, but there was a certain physical and mental exhaustion associated with dance which most found to be a deterrent. You once had a teacher who said if you needed to think twice about dancing, you shouldn’t do it. Way too many people never made it to the top; if you weren’t prepared to make sacrifices for what you loved, then this wasn’t the path for you.

At the time, you hadn’t thought twice about your decision, but that was before the events of Senior year.

A week before the final dance competition of the season, your tendonitis grew so bad, you physically winced whenever you landed a jump. Your teachers finally caught on and forced you to see a doctor, who forbade you from dancing in the upcoming competition.

It had been the last one of the year; your final chance to compete and show everyone – well, someone – why you were considered the best. You went to the competition despite your injury, determined to cheer on your teammates, but something hollow settled into your chest as you watched, realizing your time on the stage would someday come to an end.

You realized how tenuous your body was and, by extension, your career. Of course, you’d known this before, but it had been your first time to face this knowledge head-on and it scared you. Tendonitis wasn’t something that went away, although it was a condition you could work through and manage. Still, your body would only get worse and although you knew you wanted to dance, now you had doubts.

As you stepped through the doors of Russet Academy, these doubts reared their ugly heads once again.

Hiking your bag further up on your shoulder, you plastered a smile on your face and pushed these thoughts away. That was last year. You were better now, fully recovered and approved to dance by your doctors. So long as you took care of yourself, there was nothing to fear.

More suitcases waited in the trunk of your dad’s rental car, but your roommate had already texted her arrival, so you headed upstairs. Noelle Carmichael was from California, a Sagittarius, had begun dancing at the age of three and loved caramel popcorn more than anything else in the world. All this information had been thrown at you during your first text conversation, which might have seemed like a lot, but after a summer of talking, you knew it to only be Noelle. 

As you lugged your bag from the elevator – the singular service vehicle had been repurposed for move-in – a head poked itself from a room down the hall.

“Y/N?” 

When you nodded, your roommate whooped and leapt into view. 

“It’s me – Noelle!” she called.

She rushed to help you with your bags, chattering excitedly as you walked down the hall. Noelle’s move-in time had been yesterday, and her parents had already left, but they couldn’t wait to meet you the next time they visited.

You found her enthusiasm contagious and before long, most of your worries had been banished to the sidewalk outside. It felt like you’d known Noelle for much longer than the few months you talked over the summer. This greatly relieved you, since you’d been worried about making friends at Russet Academy.

Dancers weren’t always the friendliest, especially when it came to institutions like this. So much of dance was competition – competition for that ranking, that medal or that place in that dance company. It was hard to make teamwork a priority when so much of success was judged on the individual.

Noelle didn’t seem to think this way though, which helped ease some of your fears. You had both entered the ballet track at the Academy. You weren’t naturally a ballerina, but Russet recommended those who wanted to go into jazz or contemporary start with ballet. Smaller majors existed for tap and hip-hop, but those had never been your forte.

Meeting Noelle was enough for minimal tears to be shed while saying goodbye to your parents later that night. Your dad ended up crying, which of course set you off, but by the time they got in their rental car and turned the corner, you’d managed to mostly pull yourself together.

Noelle remained in the dorm while you said goodbye, lounging on her bed with a book in her lap. 

You paused on the threshold of your room when you returned, taking in the strangeness of all your surroundings. Your old comforter on a lofted bed, your laptop perched on a strange desk, your clothes hung in an armoire. It was both strange and familiar; the sight of it brought tears to your eyes.

“Oh, no!” Noelle said, hopping down from her bed. “Don’t cry, Y/N! I only just stopped crying this morning. If you cry, then I’ll cry and people will think something terrible is happening here.”

You laughed when she hugged you, hugging her back in the middle of the room. It was comforting to know someone else felt this way; after a moment, you pulled back to wipe your eyes.

“I’m fine,” you groaned, shaking your head. “Damn. I didn’t expect that.”

“I know.” Noelle smiled. “I was so excited to leave I forgot that deep down, I’m a gigantic baby. Huge mama’s girl.”

Stifling a laugh, you crossed the room to grab a Kleenex.

“If it helps,” Noelle said. “Some girls down the hall are having people over tonight. We could go and meet some of our classmates before orientation starts tomorrow. It should be fun!”

“That does sound fun,” you said, and you meant it.

A few hours later, you found yourself seated on equally horrible carpet in a room down the hall. Several other freshmen were seated beside you, sharing similar parting stories, which lifted your spirits.

“I bawled,” said Irene, clutching her chest. “I’ve had this giant countdown in my calendar all summer. I crossed each day off with a marker and then suddenly, I’m here and I miss my sister. Pathetic.”

Noelle laughed. “I’m just glad I was part of yesterday’s move-in day. It means only half of you heard my gigantic breakdown last night. Mad embarrassing. Pretty sure I told my brother I love him.” She shuddered. “He’s only supposed to get that honor on his birthday!”

The room cracked up, another girl chiming in and you swirled your cup, happily buzzed from the drink in your hand. You hadn’t had alcohol many times before, but it seemed appropriate for a night of new experiences. No one here was drinking to get drunk, since orientation began tomorrow, but some social lubricant tended to help in times like this.

Ballet wouldn’t start until Monday morning, so this was your last chance for a while to indulge. It wasn’t that you couldn’t drink during the semester, but you’d learned the hard way hangovers made for terrible class the next day. You’d only done it once before deciding to ban the idea of alcohol the night before dancing.

The other girls on your floor did their best to put you at ease. Aside from your roommate, there were five other girls who’d congregated in the room.

Ari and Jasmine lived in the room you all sat in. Ari lived within driving distance of the city, had the largest collection of gel pens you’d ever seen and had started dancing later in life (at age ten), which made it all the more impressive that she’d gotten in. Jasmine was from a tiny city in the south and was also a studio dancer; you recognized her the moment she spoke, having run into her as a teacher’s assistant at a dance convention you went to.

Also present were Irene, a ballerina from Chicago and Lia, who was on the hip-hop track. They were also roommates and although you probably wouldn’t have many classes with Lia, orientation tomorrow would be the same. As you got to know them better, the bubble of trepidation in your chest slowly deflated. Everyone here seemed nice – intense, but not as though they were out to get anyone.

As though conjured into being by your very thought, a girl appeared in the door.

She was tall, slim and had her hair pulled back in a French twist. Everything about her screamed ballerina, from her light blue warm-ups to her arched expression. The moment she appeared on the threshold, several people in the room quieted.

Noticing this, you glanced at her with renewed interest. It seemed the girl’s reputation preceded her, but you honestly had no idea who she was. Rather than introduce herself though, the girl merely sighed.

“I thought I heard something,” she said, her tone piqued.

Forcing a smile to her lips, Jasmine rose from the floor. “Hey, Sabrina!” she said, making her tone bright. “We were just getting to know one another. Did you change your mind about coming? We have room if you want to join.”

Despite her forced smile, you detected a glimmer of want beneath Jasmine’s words. Clearly, this Sabrina was considered a big deal. Jasmine’s hopes were immediately crushed the second Sabrina opened her mouth.

“No, thanks,” she said, her gaze sweeping the room. “I need to get to sleep soon. I want to wake up early and get in a quick barre before breakfast.”

Noelle, seated beside you, stared at Sabrina in amazement. “You already have access to rooms?”

Sabrina turned; a faint, amused smile crossed her lips. “Yeah. I went to Russet Prep. I’ve known most of the teachers here for years.”

Hearing this, your stomach sank to the floor. You’d known, of course, there was a feeder school into Russet Ballet Academy. You’d received the same audition letter many years ago, but the cost and distance had been too much for your family to consider.

While you’d understood the fact that you’d be amongst great dancers, you hadn’t thought specifically about Russet Prep ballerinas. Sabrina’s presence instantly dampened your mood, since the way she glanced at you confirmed what you already knew. 

She had a leg-up, she knew it and she wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

Leaning back on the futon, you slowly sipped your drink. “Did you just come here to say that?” you asked. “Or did you want something else?”

Multiple heads turned to face you. Irene’s lips twitched and beside you, Noelle let out a laugh. Based on their reactions, you got the feeling that Sabrina wasn’t very well-liked by her peers. 

Smile vanishing, Sabrina met your gaze. “That was all,” she said. “Just wanted to ask if you could keep it down. Some of us are trying to take this opportunity seriously.”

With that, she turned and stalked from the room. The door slammed shut behind her and silence lingered – until Noelle snorted and others began to laugh.

“Some of us are trying to take this opportunity seriously,” Noelle mimicked, rolling her eyes. “Give me a break. Like we all didn’t bleed into our pointe shoes to be here.”

The rest nodded in agreement and slowly, the conversation shifted to other topics. Although you joined in, uncertainty lingered in the back of your mind. It seemed some of dance’s cattiness had followed you after all. You weren’t truly surprised by this; after all, you were barely three months older than you’d been in high school. It was too much to expect people to become adults overnight.

Still, at least there was one cause for celebration this evening. The fact that you’d arrived at Russet meant you no longer had to compete against your most fierce rival.

For the next four years, Park Jimin, utter bane of your existence, would be nowhere in sight.

Early the next morning, you stood in line for registration at Danley Hall and awaited your schedule.

“Honestly.” Noelle stood on her toes to peer down the hall. “Why do they insist on handing these things out in person? We could easily get them online and skip all this nonsense.”

“We need to take our ID card photos,” you pointed out. “But yeah, it sucks. You’d think they could’ve at least assigned us time slots.”

“Dancers.” Noelle shook her head. “Great at conceptualizing abstract choreography – not so great at administrative tasks.”

You laughed, facing forward as the line started to move. It stopped shortly thereafter, as did you, rearranging the bag on your shoulder. You recognized several people from last night and waved hello to them all, receiving greetings in turn.

When your phone vibrated in your pocket, you jumped in surprise. Pulling it free, you smiled when you saw the name of your boyfriend.

“Oooo.” Noelle peered over your shoulder. “Who’s that? Boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” you laughed, swatting her arm as you opened his text. “It’s my boyfriend, Finn.”

“Finn’s a good name.” Noelle moved forward in line. “Strong. Noble. Damn, though – are you two doing long distance? Brave souls.”

“No – thank god. Finn’s at Redfield University. His orientation was last week, so we’re planning to meet up later tonight.”

“Redfield? That’s so close!” Noelle gushed. “Wow, you two are so lucky. And Redfield is a great school, too. I wholeheartedly approve.”

“Well, as long as you do,” you laughed. 

“What’s he saying? Wishing you luck with registration?”

“That, and asking where I want to get dinner tonight.”

“Sickeningly cute. I’d be jealous if I weren’t such a great person.”

You snorted, about to respond when someone called your name.

“Y/L/N, Y/N?”

Head jerking up, you saw a man at the office waving you forward. It seemed your time had finally come.

“That’s me!” you said, stepping from line.

The first stop at registration were two, tiny desks set before the main office. Past these, you could see someone finishing up their student photo. A bright flash went off, momentary blinding as you winced and faced forward.

“Here you go!” you said, placing your paperwork down. “Everything should be in order.”

The paperwork man barely nodded, grabbing the folder to rifle through. He seemed content to take his time and you quickly grew bored, glancing around the lobby. Much of your class was waiting in line, looking amusingly enough like a middle school dance. There hadn’t been general orientation yet, so most people had only met those in their (single-sex) dorm last night. Groups of boys and girls awkwardly faced off from across the hall.

While you waited, you began to size people up. It was unintentional, but you knew you’d be paired with someone for ballet and it seemed better to get a head start than not. Most people were unfamiliar to you, and you’d made no meaningful progress when a new voice said your name.

“Y/N?”

Freezing in place, you continued to stare at the hallway before you.

You knew that voice. It was one you could’ve identified in the depths of Tartarus itself – which honestly, was the only place you’d imagined hearing said voice again, since it belonged to Park Jimin. Top hellion of the underworld.

Slowly, you turned and had your worst suspicions confirmed.

Park Jimin stared back at you in the hall.

He wore a jean jacket, white t-shirt and golden sunglasses perched on his head, despite being indoors. Every part of his attire screamed pretentious, but no one around you seemed to notice. Instead, a buzz spread over the crowd as more and more people realized who you were talking to.

Before you could compose yourself, you demanded, “What are you doing here, Park?”

Jimin’s smile disappeared. Slowly, he walked forward and closed the distance between you.

“So, you’re not even going to try and be pleasant?” he asked, coming to a stop. Casually, he looked you up and down. “Surprised to see you here. Thought you’d stopped dancing, or something.”

Subconsciously, your hands balled into fists. Jimin had a way of getting under your skin that no one else did – even though admittedly, you could’ve just said hello. You didn’t have to act like he was the anti-Christ, even if he was.

“I didn’t stop dancing,” you said to him through gritted teeth. “You know that perfectly well.”

Jimin shrugged. “How was I supposed to know that? The last time I saw you, you were limping around like you were on your last legs. I just assumed.”

“I… was not limping,” you said with as much dignity as you could muster.

“Weren’t you on crutches?”

“My doctor made me use those!”

“Aha!” Jimin grinned, triumphant. “So, you were injured.”

“I had tendonitis,” you shot back. “Hardly fatal, Park. I’m fine now.”

“Right.” Jimin glanced at your feet. “Hope it doesn’t come back.”

From anyone else, you might’ve taken the words at face value, but this was Jimin. He’d never wished for your success before, so it would be foolish to imagine otherwise now.

Gaze hardening, you took another step forward until you stood nose-to-nose. Well, nose to chin was more like it. Jimin had grown since you first began competing against one another. You remembered a time when you both were the same height. This had once been a source of great amusement for you, choosing to stand directly before him at awards ceremonies.

You opened your mouth to tell him off when the paperwork man said your name again.

“That’s me!” you blurted, spinning around.

Jimin would have to wait, you decided as you strode forward. The paperwork man looked at you in alarm, clearly not used to having such enthusiastic participants.

“Uh, I know,” he said slowly. “You confirmed your name earlier. The photographer is ready,” he added, nodding towards the room Jimin had vacated.

Cheeks burning, you accepted your paperwork and nodded. Although you purposefully didn’t look at Jimin as you left, you could feel him smirking at you from behind.

Refusing to give him the time of day, you brushed past – or you would’ve, but the space was too small for dramatics. You nearly elbowed him in the spleen as you went, forced to squeeze against the wall in an undignified fashion.

Still, you didn’t look back as you entered the ID office. Some of your anger became transparent in your photo-taking, though – this much was obvious when you were handed your ID. Staring at this in horror, you remained frozen in the hall when Noelle finished and joined you.

“Oh, shit,” she said, glancing at your ID. “I feel a lot better about my photo now.”

“Hey!” you said, hand curling around the photo.

Despite this, you laughed, since she was right. On a scale of model to mug shot, your ID was definitely on the latter end.

As you walked away, you shook your head and shoved the ID in your bag. In the corner of one eye, you could see Jimin lingering while he talked with other students. You recognized no one in his group, except for a guy you thought you’d seen on YouTube. Hope on the Street, or something. Probably on the hip-hop track.

“Seriously, though.” Noelle looked at you sympathetically. “What happened? Photographer tell you he was going to murder your family?”

“Ugh, no,” you groaned. “Just got in my own head.”

“Uh-huh. And the fact that you were talking to Park Jimin right before had nothing to do with it?”

Blinking, you glanced at her in surprise. “You saw that?”

“Kind of.” Noelle looked a bit guilty. “I mean, it’s hard not to notice Park Jimin wandering the halls.”

You couldn’t help but scowl at this.

It was unprofessional, but your feud with Jimin went back so far, it was hard for you to be completely impartial. Your rivalry had begun when you’d both been picked to demonstrate the combination at NUVO dance convention and Jimin had tripped you while in the front row. He’d apologized afterwards, claiming ignorance, but you’d seen enough of his dancing by then to know Jimin didn’t make mistakes.

He’d tripped you on purpose.

Jimin was known on the competitive dance circuit, like you, but he had an almost cult-like following on YouTube and TikTok. Rumor had it, he’d been asked to join Ariana Grande on tour the previous summer, which was why you’d thought for sure you were rid of him. It seemed this was no longer the case.

“Yeah,” you grumbled as you neared Jimin in the hall. “He’s here, alright.”

Noelle hid a smile. “You don’t like him.”

“He’s an ass.”

“Yeah, he does,” said Noelle, gazing wistfully at his butt as you passed.

“Noelle!” you snorted. “That’s not what I said.”

“Huh?” Blinking innocently, she returned to you. “Oh, you said – oh. Sorry. Though you said something different.”

The smile she gave was incorrigible though and, despite your best interests, you laughed.

“I mean, he does have a nice butt,” Noelle argued. “Come on, Y/N. You have to admit that,” she continued once you were out of earshot.

“Hadn’t noticed.”

“Liar.”

“I mean, he’s a dancer!” you sputtered. “We all have nice butts.”

“Valid counter-argument,” Noelle said as you walked outside. “But seriously, he’s not a good guy?”

Paused on the sidewalk, you turned to glance at the building. Danley Hall rose above you; the location of class every day for the foreseeable future. Some of that now felt tainted by the prospect of seeing Jimin every day, as well.

With a sigh, you met Noelle’s gaze. “No,” you said at last. “We were rivals all throughout high school and believe me, there aren’t enough terrible superlatives to describe Park Jimin. He’s the most annoying, most childish, least humble–”

“–biggest suck-up, least trustworthy, mind-numbing idiot,” you finished, stabbing your salad with a fork.

Finn laughed at you from across the table. By this point, your feud with Jimin was old news to him. Shaking his head, curly brown hair flopped into his gaze.

“Damn, Y/N,” he said sympathetically. “That sucks. Can’t believe that jerk had the audacity to follow you to Russet. Sounds to me like he can’t get enough of you.”

Ignoring this, you rolled your eyes. “Believe me, it’s not that. Park Jimin doesn’t care about anyone but himself. It’s just Russet, you know? The most prestigious dance academy in the country. I just don’t understand how I didn’t know this,” you sighed, still troubled by the thought. “How come I didn’t know he’d be in the freshman class?”

“I don’t know.” Finn shrugged. “Maybe he doesn’t have a Facebook?”

Most of the freshman class had connected on Facebook, at least before someone made a What’s App chat for the group. Finn was probably right about Jimin not giving out his social media.

 “That’s probably true,” you grumbled. “But still.”

Finn laughed at your expression. Reaching across the table, he squeezed your hand in his. “Hey,” he said gently. “You beat him for what – four years? So, this is just another four years of putting him in his place. You’ll be fine.”

He was right, although in all honesty, Jimin had won about fifty percent of the time against you. It was one of the reasons you’d pushed yourself so hard in high school.

“You’re right,” you said, somewhat mollified.

“Of course, I am,” Finn said, letting go of your hand. “You’re talking to a man who put his loft bed together alone. By hand.”

You looked at him in alarm. “Did you at least use the manual?”

“Please, Y/N. Men don’t use manuals. We don’t believe in them, much as we don’t believe in cleaning, cooking, or coming in second.”

“Gross,” you groaned, throwing a cherry tomato at him. “Worst ad ever for the male sex. Besides, it’s not true – I beat Jimin in dance plenty of times.”

“Oh, come on,” Finn laughed. “He doesn’t count.”

Something about the way he said this made you sit a bit straighter. Finn resumed cutting into his steak, but you continued to stare at him across the table.

“What do you mean by that?” 

Finn looked up in surprise. “Well, you know. It’s not like he’s super manly.”

You stared at him, bewildered.

“I mean, he wears tights, Y/N.”

At this, your eyes narrowed. It wasn’t like you were Jimin’s biggest fan – you despised him, actually – but Finn’s argument was just stupid, even if he meant it as a joke.

“And?” You tilted your head. “He also bench-presses women above his head for fun. Are you being serious? Just because he –”

“Whoa, wait – I was kidding,” Finn said, looking stricken. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I just meant it as a joke, you know, since you hate the guy. Truce?”

You hesitated, still miffed, but ultimately deciding it wasn’t worth it. Finn truly looked sorry and this was Jimin, after all. Not that this made it better, but sometimes you grew tired of lecturing your boyfriend. Sometimes, it was just easier to let things go.

“I – yeah,” you said after a long pause. “Fine. Truce.”

“Come on.” Finn smiled and reached for your hand again. “You’re not really mad, are you?” He looked hopefully at you from beneath his curls. “Jimin’s the worst. What’s got you this upset?”

Sexism and toxic masculinity, you wanted to say, but he was right. This was Jimin and you hated that guy. It felt kind of weird to want to defend him to your boyfriend.

Still, though. Finn’s comment was annoying; it was one thing for you to insult Jimin. You did it based on Jimin’s merit, his talent, and the way he kept beating you. You’d never once insulted Jimin because of his gender. In the oddest of ways, it felt like your boyfriend had insulted you when he put down male dancers.

“I’m just annoyed by the whole situation,” you said at last, settling on a half-truth. “I hate the fact that Jimin won our bet.”

Finn nodded in sympathy, settling back in his seat to eat the rest of his meal.

You stared at your salad, no longer as hungry as you had been before. Remembering the bet had thoroughly ruined your appetite.

The bet had been made Senior year, a consequence of years of competition with no real declared winner. Jimin had been the one who suggested it, albeit after you goaded him into it. 

It had been your first competition of the season and you’d taken home the top trophy – First Overall in the Senior solo category. Jimin had come in second and when you met backstage, both holding your awards, you’d come to a stop to size one another up.

“Nice trophy,” Jimin said, his tone dripping with derision.

“Right?” Turning it over, you examined it. “Not sure where I’ll put it, though. My shelves at home are pretty full.”

“I think you’ll be fine,” Jimin said. “Competition is pretty stiff this season. I doubt you’ll win again.”

“Are you referring to yourself as my competition, Park?”

“Who else?”

“I wouldn’t worry about me,” you said, stepping closer. “After all, I beat you today. I can do it again.”

“Really?” He smirked. “What competitions are you going to this season?”

You told him, listing them off one by one without looking away.

Jimin listened and nodded. “I’ll be at four of those. How about a bet, then? Whoever wins First Overall at three of the five competitions declares themselves the winner.”

“Hm. What’s the catch?”

“No catch.” 

You paused, considering the implications of such a bet. “I don’t get it, though. What does the winner win?”

“Uh, our rivalry? Bragging rights for eternity? Pride? Take your pick, Y/N.”

“Pride,” you said with a snort. “Like you have any of that.”

“I don’t. Let me win it.”

You had to clamp your lips together to keep from laughing; it would’ve ruined your image to laugh at your declared enemy’s joke.

“Alright, fine,” you said with a shake of your head. “But here’s what I want in return – are you listening, Park?”

“Trying to.”

“At the end of this season – when I win – I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me I’m the better dancer.”

Jimin’s smile widened. “And what if I win?”

“Impossible. But if you do,” you allowed. “I’ll tell you you’re the better dancer. Deal?”

“Deal.”

And that had been that.

Shaking your head, you returned yourself to the present and took another bite of your salad.

“We were tied,” you said, the same anger returning. “Jimin had won twice and I had won twice. It wasn’t fair that he just got to win because I forfeited the last competition. I was injured!”

Finn nodded in agreement, just as he had every other time you’d told him this story.

Feeling a little bit guilty, you pushed your tirade aside and tried to focus on dinner. A bet from Senior year wasn’t really important in the long run. All that mattered was that you and Jimin had ended up at the same place.

Still – you couldn’t help but worry he’d pop up one day to make good on the promise. You still hadn’t told him he was the better dancer; it’d be even more humiliating to do so now, surrounded by all your classmates from Russet.

“Anyways,” you said with a sigh. “Enough about him. How was your day?��

Finn began a story about the supposed shower-caddy thief on his floor and you settled back, nodding and laughing at all the right times. Listening to Finn talk was comforting. He reminded you of home, of family dinners and long drives and date nights at the movie theatre.

Being in his presence felt like second semester Senior year – that invincible feeling of knowing where you were headed and feeling unstoppable. Having him in the city made the transition to Russet slightly less terrifying. He was your single known in a future of unknowns.

Well, except for Jimin. Jimin was also known, but in the opposite way. The thought of him was anything but calming; he made your jaw clench, blood pound and heart start to race. 

Even in looks, Jimin was the complete opposite of Finn. Where Finn had floppy, brown curls, Jimin’s blonde hair was usually swept back from his face. Finn was a light-hearted guy, always talking with his hands and laughing at nothing, whereas Jimin was nothing but intense. Every time you saw him at competitions, he was either practicing or sleeping. There was no in-between.

Finn took things one day at a time, which was something you envied. You always felt you were hurtling towards something, the days passing by too quickly to do everything that you wanted. It was part of what made you a good couple, you decided. Finn took things slowly and you sped him up.

Aside from his major, Finn’s future was wide open. He had no real direction other than to learn and have fun, which you also envied. As much as you wanted to have fun at Russet, you knew there wasn’t much time on your chosen career path. Each second counted and you couldn’t afford to waste one.

Starting that night.

Finn walked with you back to campus, dropping you off at Grace Hall with a lingering kiss. It became more heated than you anticipated, each of you panting when you broke things off to head inside. It had been a week since he’d come to Redfield, which was the longest you’d been apart since you lost your virginity to Finn at the start of the summer.

The sex had been good as of late, but Noelle was inside and you had no desire to hook up with your boyfriend in the bushes outside your dorm.

Once you’d returned, you collapsed on your futon and groaned when you read the schedule for tomorrow.

Noelle laughed from her bed. “Copson’s ballet class?”

“Copson’s ballet class,” you agreed with a sigh.

Vlad Copson was known, even to the incoming freshmen. He was a brilliant dancer and choreographer, but utterly terrifying as a teacher. Rumor had it every freshman was assigned to him their first year just to lower the class number from eighty to seventy.

You didn’t believe this, of course, but that didn’t keep your insides from churning. As you tried to fall sleep later that night, you realized with certainty that this was a beginning. Everything you’d done before now, everything you’d once achieved no longer mattered.

Everyone at Russet was on the same foot and all that mattered was what lay before you. Not at all cheered by this thought, you pulled up your covers and eventually fell asleep.

Vlad Copson turned out to be exactly what you had pictured; an immaculate man with a stern demeanor, wearing the exact same dress code he expected of his students.

He stood before the class the next morning, next to the stereo with both hands clasped before him. 

“Welcome,” he said, looking over his students. “I’m Vlad Copson, but you may call me Mr. Vlad for the duration of class. This is Ballet, Level 1.”

Approximately twenty faces stared back, caught in a mixture of certain awe and terror. You knew yourself to be among them, standing at the back of the room with Irene and Noelle. You’d been relieved to find them both in your classes, since there were two other schedules they could’ve been sorted into.

Unfortunately for you though, prep school Sabrina and hellion Jimin were also part of your schedule. They stood at the front on the opposite side and you did your best not to look at them, knowing no good would come from it.

Everyone in class was dressed exactly the same. The women wore leotards, buns, ballet belts, tights and pointe shoes. By this stage in your career, you were expected to do the entirety of ballet class on pointe. There had been much rosin-ing and banging of shoes before the class had started.

“Thank you to those who were on time,” Mr. Vlad said, casting a pointed glance at a boy near the front. Said boy had entered the room a few seconds after 8:00 AM. “For today, I’ll be lenient and let everyone stay. From now on though, class will start promptly on the hour. Those who aren’t ready will be asked to leave and come back when they can respect my time. Understood?”

A ripple of voices chorused yes.

“Good.” Mr. Vlad arched a brow. “You may have heard I’m a tough teacher. This is true. I am hard on my students, since you’re expected to be the best. Do you know how many applications Russet received this year alone? Nearly two thousand, and these were only from those who felt qualified to apply. Russet is a once in a lifetime opportunity, so I expect everyone who enters my classroom to act like it.”

Listening to him speak sent a bead of sweat down your neck. Although he didn’t say it specifically, you knew what Mr. Vlad meant. There were two thousand qualified individuals waiting to take your place if you failed. And that didn’t even include other students at the Academy, or even other dancers who waited out in the real world.

“For those who make it to the end, this will be a life-changing event.” Mr. Vlad paused. “There are teachers here who are far better than I – and I’m considered to be one of the best in the world. You’ll be pushed to your limits, but you’ll also grow at a tremendous pace. We gave you a spot because we believe in each of you. Prove us wrong, though,” he warned. “And that will be that.”

A lingering silence fell and in that quiet, you and Noelle glanced at each other. Again, you were glad for a friendly face. The entire speech would’ve been unbearable without one. 

The boy who’d been late was as red as a tomato, clearly embarrassed at having been singled out. You would’ve felt bad, except you knew it wouldn’t be the last time Mr. Vlad put someone on the spot. The attention could easily swing to you before the end of class.

“That’s enough chit-chat, I think.” Mr. Vlad turned towards the stereo. “We’ll start at the barre.”

No one moved and once he’d reached the music, he arched a brow. “Why is everyone still standing in the center, gawking? Barre!”

Had you been watching from outside, it might’ve seemed comical how quickly everyone scattered. You and Noelle chose a barre near the front, setting water bottles down and moving to stand at the center.

Placing yourself in first position, you turned your head and surveyed yourself in the mirror.

“Eyes on me, not the mirror!” Mr. Vlad called, forcing your gaze his way. “Before we get started, I’ll assign your ballet partners for the semester. You won’t do anything with them until across the floor, but I hate to disrupt our flow later on. When I call your name, raise your hand.”

Your heart sank as you turned to face forward.

This was something you’d known was coming. Ballet partnering was part of the set first year curriculum, but you’d been under the severe misimpression you’d be allowed to choose your own partner. Information on the process had been limited and you’d heard conflicting accounts from upperclassman before your arrival. Apparently, the teachers did something different each year.

“Ahn, Irene!”

Irene raised her hand, waiting awkwardly to hear her partner’s name.

“Olson, Brian! You two are partners.”

The red-faced late boy looked at Irene in alarm, then nodded. Irene nodded as well, lowering her hand and Noelle winced.

“Sucks,” she muttered beneath her breath. “Already paired with trouble.”

Privately, you agreed. It’d be unfortunate to be partnered with someone who’d already been singled out. You could only hope your assigned partner would be better than that. 

Mr. Vlad turned. “Y/L/N, Y/N!”

Your hand immediately lifted, waiting for what seemed like forever, until –

“Park, Jimin!”

 Author’s Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JIMIN! Thank you for reading 😊 New chapters of Raise the Barre will be posted weekly; dates are listed on the series Master List. Requests for updates will be deleted. 

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