#that’s the only part of our culture we still practice but yes we absolutely deserve the same rights as dragon riders who killed everyone

[matt-murdick]

aegon targaryen they could never make me like you

[sweetchup]

Bi•valve

Noun

an aquatic mollusk that has a compressed body enclosed within a hinged shell, such as oysters, clams, mussels, and scallops.

AKA

The Most Common Seashell in the Ocean

————————

Vol. 1: Just Keep Swimming // Ch. 2

Type: Poseidon x reader

Word Count: 4,000+

Masterlist

————————

Sounds of horns and shouting filled the air outside as you stood on the packed bus. Cramped in from every side, it was hard for you to tell where you were going. Not as if you were paying much attention anyways.

“Okay, you left fish and pasta in the fridge… he could use the tv or read a book for entertainment while you are gone…what about…” You ramble incoherently to yourself.

Even though the storm hit Athens hard yesterday, your studio art professor was still having classes today. Forcing you to leave Triton alone at home. You shouldn’t be nervous. There was no reason to. After all, Triton is a god, he was hundreds of years old.

But…, he was still a child. No matter how old or what type of being he is. He could still possibly injure himself or get into trouble. And that single fact alone made you feel sick to your stomach.

“Is this how parents feel leaving their child alone for the first time…?” You groan to yourself, leaning your head forward so it hits the window in front of you.

“Now Approaching *Athens International School of Art*. I repeat, Now—“ The robotic voice announces over the intercom. At the familiar name of your college, you squeeze your way through the other patrons on the bus to make your way to the doors.

Sweet, sweet air, you think to yourself as soon as you exit the bus. It was starting to get way too cramped in there. So much so, you wondered if it was a safety hazard. Though it wasn’t as if you were one to talk, you left a little boy alone—

“Argh!” You scream out, slapping the cheeks of your face. You needed to stop thinking of Triton. He was going to be completely fine. But, what if…

“I’m getting too attached already…” You groan to yourself. It had only been a day. One singular Day. But you were already smitten by the blonde haired child. “It doesn’t help that he's absolutely adorable as well…”

“Who’s adorable?” A voice calls out from behind you, making you jump in surprise. Whipping around, you let out a sigh once you identify who it was.

“Bryce… how many times have I told you not to sneak up on me like that…”

Bryce Kroger. He was studying abroad at Athens International School of Art for a year just like you except he was instead an architecture major. You met him by coincidence while taking art history so you didn’t know much about the guy, the only thing being the few stories he told you about his home country of Australia.

“Oi! It’s not my fault you're so skittish!” Bryce banters back with a huff.

“Whatever…”

“Eh? Wait, where you heading?” Bryce questions as he watches you walk away, “I thought you had Studio Art on Fridays?”

“I do. I’m heading to the library first though.” You yell back to the tall male who stayed put where he was standing. Not even bothering to follow you.

“You need to stop studying so much!”

“Shut up!”

“IT’S THE TRUTH!”

“SHUT UP!” You scream back with one final huff before storming off. So what if you studied so much. You just wanted to get good grades in the classes that counted. It’s how you got here in the first place. By working your ass off.

Unconsciously, you feel your hand twitch as you open the library door. So what if you spent hours studying. So what if you didn’t go out with friends that often. So what if you didn’t have a social life. So what—

You feel yourself pause, your expression turning sour. Lonely. That’s what you were. You were lonely. A miserable lonely girl.

“Miss!”

Startled out of your thoughts by the sudden call, you realize you were no longer standing at the front door but instead standing in front of one of the librarians. You must have unconsciously walked up to the front desk while you were lost in thought.

“A-Ah. Sorry, I was just looking for books on Leonar—“

You feel your voice trail off at the end as a book on the counter catches your eye. It wasn’t the gold detailing nor the leather texture. No. It was the simple words of “Greek Mythology: Tales of Zeus” printed neatly on the front.

“…Actually, Do you perhaps have any books about Poseidon?”

You just found something better to do with your time.

—.—.—.—.—

“Damn… this is extremely confusing…” You mumble to yourself as you glare at the pages of notes in front of you. Each book seemed to be a little bit different from the last. “Perhaps I should recap…”

Okay, so what makes sense to you is that Poseidon is the second eldest of three brothers and is the ruler of the seas. The things that don’t make sense are… practically everything else…

You weren’t sure if you wanted to cry or scream out of frustration right now.

According to the books, Poseidon has had many consorts over the years. One of them being Triton’s mother, Amphitrite…

“My mother… can be quite mean to other women. Even to some of the female servants around the palace. She believes that they are trying to seduce my father…”

…but that doesn’t match up with what Triton mentioned last night. According to him, it sounds like Amphitrite scared away any women that would even come near Poseidon. This also leads to another flaw in the mythology books. You doubted that Poseidon would be able to have an affair with any other women with Amphitrite antics, nevertheless have 10 other children with them.

“Triton also never mentioned having any other siblings…”

Letting out a groan, which you seemed to be doing a lot today, you banged your head against the table. It seems like these mythology books weren’t going to be of any help after all. Though…. you couldn’t help but wonder why the books were so off in the first place.

Lifting yourself back up from the table, you glare down at one of the book covers. It was blue, almost silvery in a way, with a giant black silhouette of Poseidon right smack dab in the middle. Or, at least, what Poseidon might look like…

“Well, my father is extremely strong and handsome. All the sea nymphs stare at him with big heart eyes half the time. Oh! B-but, father doesn’t pay any attention to them. Father is not a cheater like uncle Zeus…”

“…Is Father…? Oh. He’s alright… He’s nowhere as bad as my mother. He’s never hit me or anything. He’s just… cold. Extremely cold. He really just ignores me half the time…”

“…I do love my father…I just wished he would at least spare me a glance…you know?…Acknowledge his own son…”

“God damn jerk!” You hiss out in anger as you push the book aside. Your blood practically boiling at even the slightest thought of Triton’s father, Poseidon. He doesn’t deserve to have such a good and nice son like Triton.

However, as much as you want to curse out Poseidon more, you realized class would be starting soon and you really had to get a move on.

“Shit. I can’t afford to be late again.”

—.—.—

“Ugh. Why did the professor have to assign me this type of painter…?!” You whined to Yuri. Class had already ended by then with the professor long gone. The only people left were students that were conversing with others or trying to get a head start on their paintings.

“Well, it didn’t help that you barged into class late for the second time this week, (y/n).” Yuri explained with a sigh as she continued to set up her palette, not even sparing you a glance.

Yuri Saito, Or rather Saito Yuri, was an abroad student from Japan. She was the closest person you knew at the college as you both were similar in many ways. Especially since you were both homebodies.

“I get that but at least I showed up in the fir—“

“(Y/n)!” A voice shouts out interrupting your talk with Yuri. You turn around to see Bella Woods, a student apart of your major, approaching you. “(Y/n). You were part of your student council back in high school right?”

“Uh, Yeah. Why?” You answered hesitantly. You weren’t sure why, perhaps instincts, but you were already having a bad feeling about this situation.

“Well I need your help on something…” Bella explains, her voice trailing off at the end as she grabs something from her bag. It’s a piece of paper, a flier to be exact.

“A…A Cultural Festival?”

Bella nods her head at your words, “Yeah. The college wanted to put something on for the public to show what our art school is all about and Mrs. Yamamoto suggested this. A-Apparently, it’s something schools and colleges do back in Japan.”

“B-But how can I help? Wouldn’t it make sense for someone like Yuri to do this? Since she’s from Japan and all.”

It was the truth. You didn’t know a single thing about japanese culture festivals.

“Hey don’t drag me into this, I’m busy.” Yuri counterbacks with a glare before returning back to her painting.

“Well… you see… The school wanted to change Mrs. Yamamoto’s idea a bit since they really didn’t know anything about Japanese Cultural festivals either. So it’s like a Cultural festival, kind of not.” Bella rambled. You could tell all this information was scrambling her brain as well. “Basically, it’s like a Greek version of a Cultural festival where each major picks a Greek god and plans an event or booth around it.”

“…Okay… So it’s just like a school festival in a way?” You questioned cautiously. This was a lot for you to take in at once.

“Yes. Precisely. We are just taking inspiration from Cultural festivals.”

“Okay. Okay…” You answer as you rub the back of your neck, “I still don’t understand why you need me though?”

“Well, I kind of… kind of saw you reading the mythology books in the library today and we need more people on the planning committee…” Oh, god. It seems like everything is coming back to bite you in the ass, “…Just. Please (y/n), We need your help!”

You let out a small sigh as you watch Bella give you a pleading look, “Fine…”

“Yay—!“

“But…“ You start cutting off Bella’s cheers, “But I’m taking care of something really important right now at home so I can’t always make meetings and things like that. I can help with planning but that’s it. Okay?”

That was correct. As much as you wanted to help Bella and your department out with this festival, Triton was your top priority right now. His care and needs were above all else right now, even your own. So if this would get in the way of that then you would drop this project instantly. Instantly.

“Of course! Oh, thank you (y/n)!” Bella cheers, her body visibly relaxing now that a stress has been taken off your shoulder, “Well, I’m not sure if you're busy right now but… the committee is currently planning two classrooms down… so if you could…”

“I’ll go…” You sighed out. Damn, what’s with you lately. Less than two days ago, people hardly approached you. Now you are as busy as a bee. A person magnetic… Well, more like god magnetic as wel—

Wait, a minute. You feel yourself tense up as a thought flies into your brain. If Gods could travel and spend time on earth, could they live here as well? Just like how Triton wants to?

Shit. What if some that live here are able to identify Triton? You could be in big troub—

“(Y/n)? Are you coming?” Bella calls, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Y-yes.”

It seemed you would have to worry about that later. Not that it mattered right now, you could always just ask Triton when you got home. And even if he didn’t know the answer you would just have to be careful bringing him out of the house. Yeah… you would just do that.

“Guys, I would like to introduce you to (y/n). She’s a fine arts major just like us and knows about mythology. I think she would make a great addition to our group.” Bella introduces you as you enter the room. As you looked around the group of only 4 other people, you realized you really didn’t know anyone.

That is until everyone started to introduce themselves. You never heard of the first three—Brian, James and Kyle—but you found the last name, Marissa Samudra, quite familiar. You wonder if she was that Marissa.

Who you were talking about was Marissa, the hottest girl in school Marissa. Well, at least that’s what all the boys in your major told you. The girl in front of you at least seemed to fit the part. With white silk like skin, light green eyes and dyed coral pink hair, she truly was a sight to see.

“Okay. So shall we get started.” James suddenly spoke up, seeming to want to get the meeting started. You nodded your head in agreement before taking a seat next to Holly. As well as across from Marissa. “Well, I think we should first decide which god we should do. Culinary, Music, Visual performing arts and architecture already have chosen Aphrodite, Hades, Ares and Zeus. (Y/n)…”

You lift your head up at the call of your name.

“…as you know the most about Mythology, who do you think we should pick?”

“Well,…” You feel yourself pause, your palms growing sweaty out of nervousness. You really didn’t know that much about Greek Gods, only the class you took last year and the books you skimmed this morning. You also didn’t expect so many of the main gods to be taken already.

“…How about…”

You needed to think of someone fast. Someone that would satisfy all parties here. Someone that would bedazzle people coming to the festival.

“…Poseidon…?”

Why… Why was that what your brain had come up with? Poseidon? The very god that you were cursing out this morning. Wishing near death upon.

“Fish man?” Brian questioned, letting out a small chuckle at his own joke, “You really want to go with Fish man as our god? Isn’t there anyone better?”

“I think Poseidon is pretty…cool.” You feel a shiver go up your spine as you compliment the man. It was official, you might actually puke. “…He’s the king of the seas. It gives us a lot to work with for his character. Especially since most Fine Arts students are good at realistic elements, we could really do well on painting or using sea life.”

“True… but—“

“I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

You are shocked as you hear Marissa cut Brian off. When you first sat down, she seemed totally uninterested in the topic at hand. Caring more about her hair and nails than anything else. But now, now, she was paying attention to every little thing. You couldn’t help but wonder why. “Oh sorry. I really like the sea. It holds a special place in my heart… you know?”

Oh, that makes sense. You totally forgot Marissa’s paintings were mostly about the ocean and sea. Never drifting off to other topics.

“N-no. That’s actually pretty cool. You know what, we should totally do Posedin… or whatever the dude’s name is. He sounds really cool.” Bryan agrees as he bashfully rubs the back of his neck. Gross, could he make it any less obvious that he was smitten by her. And not in a nice way either.

You feel yourself shiver as you watch him sneak small glances down at Marissa’s chest area. Disgusting pervert…

“Well, with that decided let’s move on…”

…Great… You could already tell this was going to be a long meeting…

—.—.—.—.—

Again, for what felt like the hundredth time today, you banged your head against the wall. This time however it was against the door of your apartment.

“Seriously… a Café…?”

Yes, a Café. That’s the brilliant idea your group came up with. An under the sea type themed café.

In hindsight it didn’t sound all that bad. You could have a couple of students paint some props and decorations. Then another couple of students who know how to cook plan out the menu. Maybe even borrow some culinary students if you were lucky.

But,… there’s that.

Outnumbered three to two, the boys of your group insisted the girls that are serving customers should wear togas. Togas. They stated it was to bring in more customers but it was pretty obvious they had other intentions behind it. Especially since they didn’t even bother waiting a couple of minutes afterwards to ask if Marissa wanted to be part of the waiting staff.

“Poor girl… I feel bad for her.” You mumble to yourself as you pull out your keys, finally unlocking the door to your apartment. You wished you could just beat all those men senseless with a baseball bat. “That’s actually not a bad idea… Could I bring a wooden club and say that it's part of the character? They seem to not know that much about—“

“Miss (y/n)!” You hear shouted as something comes barreling into you. Knocking you onto the ground right as you enter your apartment. “O-oops I meant to only say (y/n)…”

Even though you got the air literally knocked out of you, you still let out a small chuckle as you reached up to run a hand through the perpetrator’s locks. Triton’s blonde locks. “It’s okay. I only told you this morning to stop referring to me so formally. It will take time for you to get used to it.”

Suddenly, you wince at a feeling of pain as you move slightly. Triton sure was strong. You, honestly, wondered if he held back some strength when he jumped at you. If so, you wondered how strong Triton was nonetheless an adult god.

Speaking of an adult god…

“Hey Triton.” The boy lifts his head up at your call, “Do any gods live on earth?”

The boy seemed to take a moment to think, “Well kind of? Not really Greek Gods though. Most of them are too proud to live with humans.”

“Oh well that’s goo— Wait, a minute! Other gods are real as well!?”

Triton nods his head furiously, “Yeah pretty much all gods. As long as it is considered as one, it exists. There’s Nordic gods…, Indian gods…, Oh! Even Buddha. I like Buddha, even though I’ve only met him once. He introduced me to salt water taffy! It’s delicious.”

“I-I see…I’ll try to get you some then. Another time.” As much as you wanted to hide your surprise you couldn’t. Learning that Greek Gods actually existed was one situation but learning that All Gods existed was a whole nother ball game. Did that mean demons existed as well?

“Hey (y/n). Could I ask you a question?” Triton asks, suddenly seeming bashful all of a sudden.

“Sure. What’s up?”

“Could I…” Triton pauses for a moment, “Could I call you…”

You leaned closer to Triton as his voice slowly got softer and softer at the end. His ears and cheeks were bright red as he waited for you to answer. However, you couldn’t answer him as you didn’t hear the last part of what he said.

“I apologize. Could you repeat what you said, Triton? I couldn’t hear the end of it.” You felt bad for asking him to repeat it as his face only seemed to get even more red when you asked.

“I-I… Could I call you… Mom?”

It was silent as his question, or rather request, fell upon your ears. You thought about it for a moment. Especially whether it was morally right for you to have him call you ‘mom’. Even if his true mother was a terrible person, she was still his mother.

Though, then again, She really didn’t act like his mother. Especially in all her hundreds of years of existence of having him. At least from what you’ve heard from Triton. She’s had plenty of chances to show her love for him and she never did.

“Of…Of course you can.”

You feel yourself smile as Triton’s face lit up. And you knew, Deep down inside, that you did the right thing. You would show this boy the love he deserved.

“Hey (Y— Mom.” You giggle at how Triton seemed to practically beam with happiness once the title left his lips.

“Yes, Triton?”

“Could we have dinner right now?”

You feel yourself jump up a little in surprise. Since you stayed later than what you usually would, due to the meeting, you didn’t have anything prepared ahead of time for dinner.

“Ah, yes. Do you think you could wait in the living room while I prepare it?”

“Of course!” Triton answers as he scrambles up off of you. As you make your way to the kitchen—which was technically in the same room as the living room—to start dinner, you find yourself drifting off into your thoughts.

You realized you really hadn’t thought this through. Taking care of Triton and all. Your apartment was small, he didn’t have his own room, he seemed to eat a lot more than a human boy his physical age and so much more.

You wouldn’t be able to buy a bigger apartment right now. Going through college and all. But you could take more shifts at work. After all, it was literally down the street. You were also good friends with the owner of the toy shop next door. You bet he would allow Triton to play with a couple of toys while you worked.

As you continue to list things you would need to take care of Triton especially if it was long term, Triton was watching cartoons on the couch.

“…Wonder cats will be right back!…”

As the show goes to commercial break, Triton feels himself let out a sigh. Television sure was awesome and all, much better than the plays and coliseum matches used to entertain gods, but he despised ads more than anything.

“Who in the world created such a malicious thing…”

Triton’s voice trails off at the end as the ad changes to another. As he stares at the screen, he feels a shiver shoot down his spine. As quickly as he could, Triton changes the channel to another before shakily dropping the television remote. A cold sheen of sweat breaks out all over his skin as he collapses back onto the couch.

To anyone else, the commercial before looked like any normal hair dye commercial seen on Tv. But not to Triton. Especially when he saw something oh so familiar.

“T-that hair color…” Triton feels himself shiver at the thought, “L-looked too much like Aunties. Mom’s…No…

…Amphitrite’s Sister.”

Author Note: Ahhh this chapter contained so much but I knew I couldn’t split it up. Especially if I was doing posting Tuesdays and Thursdays. I was worried that the time frame in between would mess my readers up. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this Chapter. I know there wasn’t a lot of Triton moments but I wanted to get the ball rolling on the plot so that things and certain characters (*cough* Poseidon *cough*) will appear soon. Well that’s it for now, see you next time :)))

Taglist: @angeli-fucking-cat @marixxhq

[96thdayofrage]

What is Critical Race Theory?

Basically, Critical Race Theory is a way of using race as a lens through which one can critically examine social structures. While initially used to study law, like most critical theory, it emerged as a lens through which one could understand and change politics, economics and society as a whole. Richard Delgado and Jean Stefancic’s book, Critical Race Theory: An Introduction, describes the movement as: “a collection of activists and scholars engaged in studying and transforming the relationship among race, racism, and power.”

Kimberlé Crenshaw, one of the founding members of the movement, says Critical Race Theory is more than just a collective group. She calls it: “a practice—a way of seeing how the fiction of race has been transformed into concrete racial inequities.”

It’s much more complex than that, which is why there’s an entire book about it.

Can you put it in layman’s terms?

Sure.

Former economics professor (he prefers the term “wypipologist”) Michael Harriot, who used Critical Race Theory to teach “Race as an Economic Construct,” explained it this way:

Race is just some shit white people made up.

Nearly all biologists, geneticists and social scientists agree that there is no biological, genetic or scientific foundation for race. But, just because we recognize the lack of a scientific basis for race doesn’t mean that it is not real. Most societies are organized around agreed-upon principles and values that smart people call “social constructs.” It’s why Queen Elizabeth gets to live in a castle and why gold is more valuable than iron pyrite. Constitutions, laws, political parties, and even the value of currency are all real and they’re shit people made up.

To effectively understand anything we have to understand its history and what necessitated its existence. Becoming a lawyer requires learning about legal theory and “Constitutional Law.” A complete understanding of economics include the laws of supply and demand, why certain metals are considered “precious,” or why paper money has value. But we can’t do that without critically interrogating who made these constructs and who benefitted from them.

One can’t understand the political, economic and social structure of America without understanding the Constitution. And it is impossible to understand the Constitution without acknowledging that it was devised by 39 white men, 25 of whom were slave owners. Therefore, any reasonable understanding of America begins with the critical examination of the impact of race and slavery on the political, economic and social structure of this country.

That’s what Critical Race Theory does.

How does CRT do that?

It begins with the acknowledgment that the American society’s foundational structure serves the needs of the dominant society. Because this structure benefits the members of the dominant society, they are resistant to eradicating or changing it, and this resistance makes this structural inequality.

Critical Race Theory also insists that a neutral, “color-blind” policy is not the way to eliminate America’s racial caste system. And, unlike many other social theories, CRT is an activist movement, which means it doesn’t just seek to understand racial hierarchies, it also seeks to eliminate them.

How would CRT eliminate that? By blaming white people?

This is the crazy part. It’s not about blaming anyone.

Instead of the idiotic concept of colorblindness, CRT says that a comprehensive understanding of any aspect of American society requires an appreciation of the complex and intricate consequences of systemic inequality. And, according to CRT, this approach should inform policy decisions, legislation and every other element in society.

Take something as simple as college admission, for instance. People who “don’t see color” insist that we should only use neutral, merit-based metrics such as SAT scores and grades. However, Critical Race Theory acknowledges that SAT scores are influenced by socioeconomic status, access to resources and school quality. It suggests that colleges can’t accurately judge a student’s ability to succeed unless they consider the effects of the racial wealth gap, redlining, and race-based school inequality. Without this kind of holistic approach, admissions assessments will always favor white people.

CRT doesn’t just say this is racist, it explains why these kinds of race-neutral assessments are bad at assessing things.

What’s wrong with that?

Remember all that stuff I said the “material needs of the dominant society?” Well, “dominant society” means “white people.” And when I talked about “racial hierarchies,” that meant “racism.” So, according to Critical Race Theory, not only is racism an ordinary social construct that benefits white people, but it is so ordinary that white people can easily pretend it doesn’t exist. Furthermore, white people who refuse to acknowledge and dismantle this unremarkable, racist status quo are complicit in racism because, again, they are the beneficiaries of racism.

But, because white people believe racism means screaming the n-word or burning crosses on lawns, the idea that someone can be racist by doing absolutely nothing is very triggering. Let’s use our previous example of the college admissions system.

White people’s kids are more likely to get into college using a racist admissions system. But the system has been around so long that it has become ordinary. So ordinary, in fact, that we actually think SAT scores mean shit. And white people uphold the racist college admissions system—not because they don’t want Black kids to go to college—because they don’t want to change admission policies that benefit white kids.

Is that why they hate Critical Race Theory?

Nah. They don’t know what it is.

Whenever words “white people” or “racism” are even whispered, Caucasian Americans lose their ability to hear anything else. If America is indeed the greatest country in the world, then any criticism of their beloved nation is considered a personal attack—especially if the criticism comes from someone who is not white.

They are fine with moving toward a “more perfect union” or the charge to “make America great again.” But an entire field of Black scholarship based on the idea that their sweet land of liberty is inherently racist is too much for them to handle.

However, if someone is complicit in upholding a racist policy—for whatever reason—then they are complicit in racism. And if an entire country’s resistance to change—for whatever reason —creates more racism, then “racist” is the only way to accurately describe that society.

If they don’t know what it is, then how can they criticize it?

Have you met white people?

When has not knowing stuff ever stopped them from criticizing anything? They still think Colin Kaepernick was protesting the anthem, the military and the flag. They believe Black Lives Matter means white lives don’t. There aren’t any relevant criticisms other than they don’t like the word “racism” and “white people” anywhere near each other.

People like Ron DeSantis and Tom Cotton call it “cultural Marxism,” which is a historical dog whistle thrown at the civil rights movement, the Black Power movement and even the anti-lynching movement after World War I. They also criticize CRT’s basic use of personal narratives, insisting that a real academic analysis can’t be based on individually subjective stories.

Why wouldn’t that be a valid criticism?

Well, aren’t most social constructs centered in narrative structures? In law school, they refer to these individual stories as “legal precedent.” In psychology, examining a personal story is called “psychoanalysis.” In history, they call it...well, history. Narratives are the basis for every religious, political or social institution.

I wish there was a better example of an institution or document built around a singular narrative. It would change the entire constitution of this argument—but sadly, I can’t do it.

Jesus Christ, I wish I could think of one! That would be biblical!

Why do they say Critical Race Theory is not what Martin Luther King Jr. would have wanted?

You mean the Martin Luther King Jr. who conservatives also called divisive, race-baiting, anti-American and Marxist? The one whose work CRT is partially built upon? The King whose words the founders of Critical Race Theory warned would be “co-opted by rampant, in-your-face conservatism?” The MLK whose “content of their character” white people love to quote?

Martin Luther King Jr. literally encapsulated CRT by saying:

In their relations with Negroes, white people discovered that they had rejected the very center of their own ethical professions. They could not face the triumph of their lesser instincts and simultaneously have peace within. And so, to gain it, they rationalized—insisting that the unfortunate Negro, being less than human, deserved and even enjoyed second class status.

They argued that his inferior social, economic and political position was good for him. He was incapable of advancing beyond a fixed position and would therefore be happier if encouraged not to attempt the impossible. He is subjugated by a superior people with an advanced way of life. The “master race” will be able to civilize him to a limited degree, if only he will be true to his inferior nature and stay in his place.

White men soon came to forget that the Southern social culture and all its institutions had been organized to perpetuate this rationalization. They observed a caste system and quickly were conditioned to believe that its social results, which they had created, actually reflected the Negro’s innate and true nature.

That guy?

I have no idea.

Will white people ever accept Critical Race Theory?

Yes, one day I hope that Critical Race Theory will be totally disproven.

Wait...why?

Well, history cannot be erased. Truth can never become fiction. But there is a way for white people to disprove this notion.

Derrick Bell, who is considered to be the father of Critical Race Theory, notes that the people who benefit from racism have little incentive to eradicate it. Or, as Martin Luther King Jr. said: “We must also realize that privileged groups never give up their privileges voluntarily.”

So, if white people stopped being racist, then the whole thing falls apart!

From your lips to God’s ears.

[newtonsheffield]

Hello again!!!! I'm the Spanish girl back in here!

Firstly, I'd like to send you my best wishes for this tough week of work, and I bet we're going to miss you around here this week. But duty calls! And, look, how many people can say they've got a whole week for relaxing after a week of work? 😌 (Perhaps I've misunderstood the whole thing; I've read your posts quite quick and I've understood sth different to what you wanted to say lol)

Well, what can I say with one of the last prompts you have gifted to us...? Kate, Anthony (and his Spanish!!!!!!) and Spain; you got me there. 😂 I even cried the famous "Ole!" when I read all of it (curious note: not all Spaniards use the expression "ole" in daily contexts; it is more like a regional expression that became worldwide famous bc of several reasons that are too long to post here, lol) and I think it's needless to say I loved it... isn't it?

And, I LOVED a lot Edwina's POV and story (well, I've loved everything you have posted and gifted to us, but Eddie has a special place in my heart)! I don't know, but sometimes I get the impression that, in romantic literature, relationships between sisters are not addressed at all and kinda force them to be friends (if they're not rivals... which I find stupid, tbh), not really deepening in the bond between them. Like, they're sisters and they behave more like "my next door neighbour and friend to whom sometimes I'm distant bc life happens" instead of "this person and I share much more than many people can imagine that's beyond friendship and she's more important than anybody else" -idk if this makes sense anymore... I rewrote it a couple of times bc I got the impression I can't express my idea very well 😂-. And that's something I think both of you, JQ and yourself, have achieved and gifted to all of us! We see Edwina and Kate as sisters: they fight, they tease the other, they can't stand each other sometimes, but always, ALWAYS, they care for and love the other just as sisters do. Because of this, I think TVWLM is one of my favourite books in this genre: they give us a two fantastic love stories, not only between a -heterosexual- couple but also between sisters; which is as important as any other kind of relationship.

After my TED Talk (sorry if it's been too much... 😅), I cannot help but imagine an escapade between Anthony and Kate (sans children) and Matthew and Edwina (oh, Matthew... I love you) to Spain just for Anthony, in his stupid one-side battle against Matthew (I love this, tbh; it's sooooo fun 😂), demonstrate Matthew he can speak fluently another language... Just for Matthew be oblivious to this and enjoy a little escapade to Spain with his girlfriend and her family. 😂

Anyways; I hope you're alright and, again, I wish you all the best for this week.

Besos!!! 🥰 (Spanish equivalent for the "Love!" farewell expression; it means "kisses")

Hola! You’re back again! And I’m so glad! 

I do have a week off once I finish work tomorrow (Saturday)!! Very Exciting! I have a scarf to knit, and lots of writing to do so that’s very exciting. 

Oh Anthony on a Spanish beach in tiny little flamingo shorts? Ole! indeed! That is a curious note, I literally love learning things about other cultures and languages so if anyone wants to share a curious note about their culture, hit me up! I will in turn tell you about the curious culture of The Land Down under, and our propensity to butcher the English language!

I agree, Sister relationships are a very curious thing in media. I’m not a huge fan of very contentious relationships between sisters, I’m not saying they don’t exist in real life, they definitely do, I just think having them as constant rivals is exhausting. And Yes! I Love the relationship between Edwina and Kate very much because I see it as a mirror of my relationship with my own sister. My sister drives me more insane than any other person on this planet. We fight, we bicker, I get absolutely enraged when she steals the last property I need for a set in Monopoly, and yet, She is my favourite person. She can say whatever she wants about me, but were anyone else to? It’s fight on sight. I’ll be honest, that all I’m doing is basing their relationship in these fics  on my own with my sister. Nothing special! 

Okay! Here we go! Anthony and Kate + Goose and Edwina +Spain

Kate Bridgerton was many, many things, but she liked to think an idiot, was not one of them. And so, when Anthony had said, in a tone she was sure he thought was casual. “I think we deserve a holiday, you’ve been working very hard to grow the little broad bean after all and your sister and her little gander should celebrate their engagement.” She had known exactly what he was up to. And she wasn’t really sure why she played along along with it. Perhaps something in her thrived on the chaos she knew Anthony would would create, perhaps part of her just really wanted a decent paella. Surely it didn’t matter, the result was the same: Kate fixed an innocent expression on her face and said  “Where did you have in mind?” 

 And so, surprise, surprise, here she was: back on a beach in Spain. She had to admit, eyeing Anthony appreciatively as he paddled demonstratively in the shallow water, his plan had its merits. though thus far his attempts had been... unsuccessful at best. Matthew Bagwell seemed absolutely thrilled to be in Spain, on holiday with his fiancée, giving them helpful facts he knew about the architecture as they walked through the city, a wide smile on his face, Anthony practically purple when he corrected a fact Anthony himself had said.   “Do you speak Spanish, Goose?” Anthony had said dryly in the hotel lobby shortly after they’d arrived. And Kate had rolled her eyes at Anthony, though Matthew was not paying attention. He had his arms wrapped tightly around Edwina’s waist, whispering something in her ear that made her nose crinkle in delight, the sapphire of her engagement ring glinting in the sunlight. And the beautiful picture they made gave Kate’s heart a little stutter. Anthony tutted. “Matt!” He said sharply, getting the man’s attention, Matthew’s glasses slipping down his nose as his head shot upwards in surprise.  “Do you speak Spanish?” Edwina was rolling her eyes now. And Matthew, for his part was completely unbothered  “oh, no. Sorry Mate, might have to lean on your pretty heavily this week.” He said, and Kate caught the smug smile on Anthony’s face and bit back a groan Damnit Matthew.  “I’m pretty fluent in French, German and Mandarin though!” Matthew said smiling happily, turning back towards Edwina, completely oblivious to the scowl Anthony tossing his way. “Of course you fucking are.” He muttered, fixing Kate with an irritated glare as a laugh escaped her!   

The water surely must be a little cool in early October but Anthony showed no signs of it, Beckoning Kate into the water. She groaned and made her way towards him, laughing happily as he tugged her in, his hand resting on her stomach, still no sign of her pregnancy. “Is he watching?” Anthony whispered in her ear as he wrapped his arms around her waist, spinning her through the water So she had a brief image of her sister smiling brightly at her fiancée who appeared to be... bless him building a sandcastle. 

“No. He’s not.” Kate said batting her husband’s hands away irritatedly as he scowled.  “Are you really trying to look more in love than they are?” Kate scoffed, disbelief at her husband’s idiocy rising with in her. Anthony looked indignant. “No! A man can’t take an interest in his wife now? Very poor show Mrs. Bridgerton.” He said, but his eyes, darted towards the shore at the last second.  “Oh I cannot believe you! You’re absolutely manic!” She replied as Anthony attempted to pull her back towards him, Kate putting up very little fight as she tumbled against. him, his voice hot in her ear. “Insufferable I hear.” Kate scoffed. “Ugh! If Anyone’s insufferable it’s him!” 

Kate turned to follow Anthony’s gaze to find Matthew waving at them, grinning broadly, completely unbothered. And Kate couldn’t keep from laughing as Anthony went on another muttered tirade.

Besos! 

[bogkeep]

hmmmmmmmmmm maybe i’ll write an Introspective Musing Post about my relationship to religion and their depiction in stories because i’ve pondering about this topic lately

so for those who are reading this and DON’T know what’s been going on...  there’s this webcomic i fell in love with some years ago, about six years actually, that depicts a post-apocalyptic fantasy/horror adventure set in the nordic countries. it had, and has still, some very uncomfortable flaws regarding racial representation, and the creator has historically not dealt very well with criticism towards it. it’s a whole Thing. my relationship with this comic has fluctuated a lot, since there are a lot of elements in it i DO love and i still feel very nostalgic about, and like idk i felt like i trust my skills in critical thinking enough to keep reading. aaand then the creator went a teensy bit off the deep end created a whole minicomic which is like... a lukewarm social media dystopia where christians are oppressed (and also everyone is a cute bunny, including our lord and saviour jesus christ). which is already tonedeaf enough considering there are religious people who DO get prosecuted for their faith, like, that’s an actual reality for a lot of people - but as far as i can tell, usually not christians. and then there’s an afterword that’s like, “anyway i got recently converted and realized i’m a disgusting human being full of sin who doesn’t deserve redemption but jesus loves me so i’ll be fine!! remember to repent for your sins xoxo” and a bunch of other stuff and IT’S KIND OF REALLY CONCERNING i have, uh, been habitually looking at the reactions to and discussions around this, maybe it’s not very self care of me but there’s a lot of overwhelming things rn and it’s fantastically distracting, yknow? like, overall this situation is fairly reminiscent of the whole jkr thing. creator of a series that is Fairly Beloved, does something hurtful, handles backlash in a weird way, a lot of people start taking distance from Beloved Series or find ways to enjoy it on their own terms, creator later reveals to have been fully radicalized and releases a whole manifesto, and any and all criticism gets framed as harassment and proving them right. of course, one of them is a super rich person with a LOT of media power and a topic that is a lot more destructive in our current zeitgeist, and the other is an independent webcomic creator, so it’s  not the same situation. just similar vibez ya feel as a result of this, i have been Thinking. and just this feels like some sort of defeat like god dammit she got me i AM thinking about the topic she wrote about!!! i should dismiss the whole thing!!! but thinking about topics is probably a good thing so hey lets go. me, i’m agnostic. i understand that this is a ‘lazy’ position to take, but it’s what works for me. i simply do not vibe with organized religion, personally. (i had the wikipedia page for ‘chaos magic’ open in a tab for several weeks, if that helps.) i was raised by atheists in a majorly atheist culture. christian atheist, i should specify. norway has been mostly and historically lutheran, and religion has usually been a private and personal thing. it turns out the teacher i had in 7th grade was mormon, but i ONLY found out because he showed up in a tv series discussing religious groups in norway later, and he was honestly one of the best teachers i have ever had - he reignited the whole class’ interest in science, math, and dungeons and dragons. it was a real “wait WHAT” moment for my teenage self. i think i was briefly converted to christianity by my friend when i was like 7, who grew up in a christian family (i visited them a couple times and always forgot they do prayers before dinner. oops!), but like, she ALSO made me believe she was the guardian of a secret magic orb that controls the entire world and if i told anybody the world would burn down in 3 seconds. i only suspected something was off when one day the Orb ran on batteries, and another day the Orb had to be plugged in to charge. in my defense i really wanted to be part of a cool fantasy plot. i had no idea how to be a christian beyond “uuuuh believe in god i guess” so it just faded away on its own. when i met this friend several years later, she was no longer christian. i think every childhood friend of mine who grew up in a christian family, was no longer christian when they grew up. most notably my closest internet friend whose family was catholic - she had several siblings, and each of them took a wildly different path, from hippie treehugger to laveyan satanist or something in that area. (i joined them for a sermon in a church when they visited my town. my phone went off during it because i had forgotten to silence it. oops!) ((i also really liked their mother’s interpretation of purgatory. she explained it as a bath, not fire. i like that.)) i have never had any personal negative experiences with christianity, despite being openly queer/gay/trans. the only time someone has directly told me i’m going to hell was some guy who saw me wearing a hoodie on norway’s constitution day. yeah i still remember that you bastard i’ve sworn to be spiteful about it till the day i die!! i’ve actually had much more insufferable interactions with the obnoxious kind of atheists - like yes yes i agree with you on a lot but that doesn’t diminish your ability to be an absolute hypocrite, it turns out? i remember going to see the movie ‘noah’ with a friend who had recently discovered reddit atheism and it was just really exhausting to discuss it with her. one of these Obnoxious Atheists is my Own Mother. which is a little strange, honestly, because she LOVES visiting churches for the Aesthetic and Architecture. we cannot go anywhere without having to stop by a pretty church to Admire and Explore. I’VE BEEN IN SO MANY CHURCHES FOR AN ATHEIST RAISED NON-CHRISTIAN. i’ve been to the vatican TWICE (i genuinely don’t even know how much of my extended family is christian. up north in the tiny village i come from, i believe my uncle is the churchkeeper, and it’s the only building in the area that did not get burnt down by the the nazis during ww2 - mostly because soldiers needed a place to sleep. still don’t know whether or not said uncle believes or not, because hey, it’s Personal) i think my biggest personal relationship to religion, and christianity specifically, has been academic. yeah, we learned a brief synopsis of world religions at school (and i remember the class used to be called ‘christianity, religion, and ethics’ and got changed to ‘religion, beliefs, and ethics’ which is cool. it was probably a big discourse but i was a teen who didnt care), but also my bachelor degree is in art history, specifically western art history because it’s a vast sprawling topic and they had to distill it as best they could SIGHS. western art history is deeply entangled with the history of the church, and i think the most i’ve ever learnt about christianity is through these classes (one of my professors wrote an article about how jesus can be interpreted as queer which i Deeply Appreciate). i also specifically tried to diversify my academic input by picking classes such as ‘depiction of muslims and jewish people in western medieval art’ and ‘art and religion’ when i was an exchange student in canada, along with 101 classes in anthropology and archaeology. because i think human diversity and culture is very cool and i want to absorb that knowledge as best as i can. i think my exchange semester in canada was the most religiously diverse space have ever been in, to be honest. now as an adult i have more christian friends again, but friends who chose it for themselves, and who practice in ways that sound good and healthy, like a place of solace and community for them. the vast majority of my friends are queer too, yknow?? i’ve known too many people who have seen these identities as fated opposites, but they aren’t, they’re just parts of who people are. it’s like... i genuinely love people having their faiths and beliefs so much. i love people finding that space where they belong and feel safe in. i love people having communities and heritages and connections. i deeply respect and admire opening up that space for faith within any other communities, like... if i’m going to listen to a podcast about scepticism and cults, i am not going to listen to it if it’s just an excuse to bash religion. i think the search for truth needs to be compassionate, always. you can acknowledge that crystals are cool and make people happy AND that multi level marketing schemes are deeply harmful and prey on people in vulnerable situaitons. YOU KNOW???? so now’s when i bring up Apocalypse Comic again. one of the things i really did like about it was, ironically, how it handled religion. in its setting, people have returned to old gods, and their magic drew power from their religion. characters from different regions had different beliefs and sources. in the first arc, they meet the spirit of a lutheran pastor, who ends up helping them with her powers. it was treated as, in the creators own words, ‘just another mythology’. and honestly? i love that. it was one of the nicest depictions i’ve seen of christianity in fiction, and as something that could coexist with other faiths. I Vibe With That. and then, uh, then... bunny dystopia comic. it just... it just straight up tells you christianity is literally the only way to..?? be a good person??? i guess?? i’m still kind of struggling to parse what exactly it wanted to say. the evil social media overlord bird tells you the bible makes you a DANGEROUS FREETHINKER, but the comic also treats rewriting the bible or finding your own way to faith as something,, Bad. The Bible Must Remain Unsullied. Never Criticize The Bible. also, doing good things just for social media clout is bad and selfish. you should do good things so you don’t burn in hell instead. is that the message? it reads a lot like the comic creator already had the idea for the comic, but only got the urge to make it after she was converted and needed to spread the good word. you do you i guess!! i understand that she’s new to this and probably Going Through Something, and this is just a step on her journey. but the absolute self-loathing she described in her afterword... it does not sound good. i’m just some agnostic kid so what do i know, but i do not think that kind of self-flagellating is a kind faith to have for yourself. i might not ever have been properly religious, but you know what i AM familiar with? a brain wired for ocd and intrusive thoughts. for a lot of my life i’ve struggled with my own kind of purity complex. i’ve had this really strange sensitivity for things that felt ‘tainted’. i’ve experienced having to remove more and more words from my vocabulary because they were Bad and i did not want to sully my sentences. it stacked, too - if a word turned out to be an euphemism for something, i could never feel comfortable saying it again. i still struggle a bit with these things, but i have confronted these things within myself. i’ve had to make myself comfortable with imperfection and ‘tainted’ things and accept that these are just, arbitrary categories my mind made up. maybe that’s the reason i can’t do organized religion even if i found one that fit for me - just like diets can trigger disordered eating, i think it would carve some bad brainpaths for me. so yeah i’m worried i guess! i’m worried when people think it’s so good that she finally found the correct faith even if it’s causing all this self-hate. is there really not a better way? or are they just trusting she’ll find it? and yeah it’s none of my concern, it’s like, i worry for jkr too but i do not want her within miles of my trans self thANKS. so like, i DO enjoy media that explores faith and what it means for you. my favourite band is the oh hellos, which DOES draw on faith and the songwriter’s experience with it. because of my religious iliteracy most of it has flown over my head for years and i’m like “oh hey this is gay” and then only later realize it was about god all along Probably. i like what they’ve done with the place. also, stormlight archive - i had NO idea sanderson was mormon, the way he writes his characters, many of whom actively discuss religion and their relationship to it. i love that about the books, honestly. Media That Explores Religion In A Complex And Compassionate Way... we like that i’ve been thinking about my own stories too, and how i might want to explore faith in them. most of my settings are based on magic and it’s like, what role does religion have in a world where gods are real and makes u magic. in sparrow spellcaster’s story, xe creates? summons? an old god - brings them to life out of the idea of them. it’s a story about hubris, mostly. then there’s iphimery, the story where i am actively fleshing out a pantheon. there’s no doubt the gods are real in the fantasy version of iphimery, they are the source of magic and sustain themselves on slivers of humanity in exchange. but in the modern version, where they are mostly forgotten? that’s some room for me to explore, i think. especially the character of timian, who comes from a smaller town and moves to a large and diverse city. in the fantasy story, the guardian deity chooses his sister as a vessel. in the modern setting, that does not happen, and i don’t yet know what does, but i really want timian to be someone who struggles with his identity - his faith, his sexuality, the expectations cast upon him by his hometown... i’m sure it’s a cliché story retold through a million gay characters but i want to do it too okay. i want to see him carve out his own way of existing within the world because i care him and want to see him thrive!!! alrighty i THINK that’s all i wanted to write. thanks if you read all of this, and if you didn’t that’s super cool have a nice day !

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas]

We need something with that new tattoo thing you just reblogged, like now

Oh you mean the one I just recently reblogged? done by @gspaepro? lets fucking GO. Also this shit is now canon in design, since I have the permission from them

Yiga rituals were very intricate. Motions and actions done in silence, motions done underneath candlelight and in the shadows. It was why traditional romance just. Didn’t suit their style, their way of life. Stuff like coffee dates, stuff like retiring in a farm, even wedding rings were not very common. It was one of the MANY reasons why it boggled Kohga’s mind, why he thought buying him an expensive ass wedding ring was the way to his heart. Don’t get Kohga wrong, it was a sweet gesture, but it was so...solid, so finite. It made Kohga feel like he’d be boxed in, like a cow behind a fence. He didn’t like it. 

“But you still shouldn’t have done that.”

He told himself. It had been years since Sooga attempted a proposal, and just yesterday, he tried again. Kohga was mad at first, but now that he sat here, in his bed, thinking about it, he realized that it wasn’t fair to Sooga. poor guy really poured his heart out to him, only to have it be rejected. It was why he avoided him all day, and had Von watch him in the meantime (usually he reserved that for Cil, but he REALLY didn’t feel like getting hit on right now). He needed to make it up to him. He needed something that wasn’t so ridged as those stones. Then it clicked. He went to the door, and turned to Von, who was laying the flirts on THICK to some foot soldier.

“Von, grab ass later. I need you to summon Sooga for me.”

“Yes, Master Kohga. You, me, your quarters. Tonight.”

He shot the flustered foot soldier a wink, and went off to go get Sooga. Wherever the hell he was. Kohga set everything up, just in time for him to knock at his door.

“Come in.”

Sooga opened the door slowly, helping himself in, and just. Standing there. Poor guy looked so stiff, as if he didn’t practically live in this room.

“Master Kohga, I just wanted to say-”

“Shh. Sit down for me, right here.”

Sooga sat down on the stool right by the bed. There was a silence as Kohga sat down on the bed.

“Sooga, I’m not mad. Okay? I get it. You really, really thought I was ready, after who knows how many years-”

“Three.”

“W-really three years ago? Fucking hell time flies. Anyhow, I’m sorry. I snapped because I was uncomfortable. But you didn’t deserve the way I yelled at you. So, I want to make it up to you.”

Sooga hesitated. He put his arm on the small table, as Kohga motioned for him to do.

“Master Kohga...are you...?”

“Yes. I’m going to give you something better than some stupid ring. Not that it’s stupid, It’s beautiful really. I just. Sooga, it’s not me. I want something that’ll let us BREATHE you know? So. I’m going to SHOW you what you are to me. Not with some rocks. Not with some gold and silver and something you can buy. It’s something I need to show you. Take off your sleeve for me.”

Sooga obeyed. Tattoos were a very intimate, very special part of the Yiga culture. You had to have one JUST to be a Yiga. Anything else done after that were usually done in bouts of passion, to show brotherly connections, to show a friendship unlike any others, or in this case, love. And to get such a sign of affection from his Master? His body was already his to play with.

“You are an artist, Master Kohga. I already boast that I have the most respectable brand out of everyone here.”

“Sounds like you. Idiot.”

He chuckled. Kohga wiped down the arm, just so nothing would get infected. Using a very special type of Yiga ink (that only Kohga was allowed to give for the clan to use. He made it himself, afterall), Kohga seemed to already have an idea in mind, and started to work. Tattoos were painfully slow to do, especially with the design Kohga had in mind. But Sooga didn’t mind. A few hours of pinpricks were worth it, just to be near his Master.

“May I ask...what made you decide to give me such a gift?”

“It felt...feel. The ring kinda...sorta...doesn’t. Feels restrictive. Like a bedazzled leash.”

“That sounds like a gift you WOULD like, though.”

“Shut up, you.”

They both chuckled at that. Sooga sat still, watching as the needle pricked his arm over and over, watched as the needle pushed the ink into his skin. Sooga always LOVED watching him tattoo people, on the rare chances he did so. Such careful, so caring of a touch.

“You know. This reminds me of when I first fell in love with you.”

“How so?”

“When you gave me my first tattoo. The one right on my thigh. I was so...transfixed. Such a strong man, with such a gentle touch.”

“Pfft. I remember that. You were such a string bean back then!”

Kohga chuckled. Those arms weren’t always so huge and bulging, and the rest of his body wasn’t always so meaty.

“I was. I saw nothing wrong with it. That is, until I noticed the man I had affections for, was constantly surrounded by big, bulky men. Suffice to say I was...jealous.”

“Even of Cil?”

“ESPECIALLY of Cil. You two looked so close back then. He was constantly at your hip. I always thought you touched him like this.”

“I mean, I DID do his tattoos. One of them anyway.”

Kohga was careful as he worked, making his motions slow, as if he’d startle Sooga if he moved too fast.

“One? What of the other?”

“He copied the one I did, put it on his other hand.”

“No wonder they always looked so different to me. It lacked the warmth of your style.”

“God you gotta make shit romantic all the time, eh?”

Sooga was so awestruck by the pattern. Lines and curves started to decorate his arms, slowly finding rhyme and reason against his skin.

“I can’t help it. When I’m near you, love is all I think about. You’re...the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I get that a lot. Usually four times a week.”

He chuckled. After the lines, Kohga painted what looked to be almost like serpents. He was curious.

“What is the meaning of this design?”

“These lines and shit? They represent stability.”

“And the snakes?”

“Means ‘ties that bond’, essentially. It’s...stupid. But my dad had tattoos like these, kinda.”

“I’m honored to share in the resemblance.”

“I’m gonna add more to it though, If I'm gonna be railing that ass, I don’t wanna think about my old man. Old MEN sure, but not mine.”

Sooga chuckled, shaking his head. His Master had SUCH a way with words. he watched as the lines and curved and snakes soon gave way to the classic Yiga symbol. Done as carefully as the first one had been done. He watched as Kohga carefully, and slowly, added what looked like sickles to the symbol.

“Sickles?”

“It’s more or less Yiga branding. To show where your ties are. Case you somehow forget where you belong.”

“Wouldn’t ever. Even if I had amnesia. I would know in my heart where I belong.”

“Sounds like something stupid you’d say. That’s all your stupid, mushy gushy bullshit.”

Kohga added dots, little criss cross designs, and of course-

“Bananas?”

“....because you’re sweet.”

“And you call ME mushy!”

Sooga threw his head back in laughter, which was cut short as Kohga smacked his arm, making Sooga wince.

“Ow! It’s TENDER, dammit!”

“Then quit makin’ me wanna do it! You moron! And it’s...more than just some stupid lovey shit. See how its one, two, and then one?”

“Yes?”

“That’s...us. Us together. We’re more together. Plentiful. That and I might be kinda hungry.”

“Do you need a break?”

“I’m already being romantic, if I stop now I’m not gonna finish, and this tattoo is gonna look ugly as shit.”

“Unlike you.”

Kohga shook his head, scoffing. Absolute idiot. More criss crosses, more dots. Then something Sooga knew immediately.

“Yeah, it’s your weapon, big guy. You remember when you got it?”

“Yes. You gave it to me, upon announcing my new duty of protecting you. It was such an honor. Such blades being crafted, and for ME.”

“You know, I designed it myself.”

Sooga looked at the blades at his hip, then at the red ink. Bright, like the spilled blood of their enemies.

“You did?”

“Yep. You’re...different, Sooga. You needed something that was more than them. I-woah, you okay?”

“Yes, s-sorry. You just. Touched me and...sometimes it makes me jump.”

Kohga chuckled, lightly strumming his thumb over the spot he just touched.

“Right here?”

“....yes. You’re just. You have very soft hands. Always so delicate. It’s why I...I wanted to put a ring on your finger.”

“This again.”

“I’m s-sorry! I just. I just really. Really love you. With all that I am. I wanted to show it to you. But...I think I see what you mean.”

“How so, big guy?”

Sooga paused as Kohga continued his work, cautious as ever. 

“You don’t want the traditional means of matrimony. You want to be free. You want to do as you please, and you feel as though a ring in a confine. I make you feel restricted. And for that I’m...sorry.”

Kohga put the needle down, lightly blowing at the ink. He looked down at his work, and even though his ass hurt from sitting down for so long, he was in fact, VERY proud of himself. Long sleeve of red, detailed, careful designs and patterns. Something that meant something to them.

“You know what those last two slashes are?”

“I...no.”

“It means instead of just one strike, you have two. Two weapons, instead of one. It means...you have me. Ring be dammed.”

“Does this mean i...understand you properly?”

Kohga looked up at him, before grabbing his face, and pressing his lips against his. It was an out of the blue kiss, one rough and full of affection Kohga had for him. It lasted only a second, and Sooga missed it right when Kohga pulled away.

“Yeah. You did. I need YOU. I need our lives. I need to exist with you. I don’t need this other crap. I need...what I show you, right here.”

Kohga’s soft fingers slid over his work, and it almost made Sooga shuddered. There was something so tender, so sweet and loving about the touch. Even the way his skin felt raw and sore, it made his heart thud in his chest. Sooga caught Kohga’s hand in his own before it could pull away.

“What if I sold the damn thing, and we went on a vacation? A long one.”

“I’m listening.”

“To some far off land? I’ll pack, I’ll even carry you over every mountain and hill.”

“Hmmmm...not QUITE convinced.”

“I’ll make every beauty of the world feel hideous in your presence.”

“Now THAT’S what I’m talking about. Let’s do it. After THIS has healed, of course.”

“This might heal. But my heart will never, not so long as your gaze stabs it so.”

“This...is gonna be a long vacation. I can’t wait.”

Kohga chuckled, holding onto his shoulders and kissing him again. Just one more time.

[our-heroes-rise]

slip of the tongue

pairing: todoroki x bilingual! reader

request:  Hi, I want to request a scenario for Todoroki. It’s about a reader who is actually his gf, but she talks portuguese as maternal language. When she got nervous, she start to panic in Portuguese, and she’s nervous to meet Shoto’s mom. How he will help her( something like that). I hope you like this idea. 🇧🇷🇧🇷✌🏻✌🏻

hero name: @todoroki-vivian

a/n: hi, lovely! omg yes, you can aboslutely have a todoroki request, i adore this boy. and i loved this idea so much! it was so darn cute. as someone of mixed race who grew up with a heavily hispanic family i think it’s always fun to imagine bringing home one of the bnha boys/girls. seeing how they’d react to be introduced to the sort of music, food, and p a r t i e s that i grew up with. i’d be completely useless teaching them any g o o d spanish though cause my mother never taught me when i was a kid :’). i only know a couple of phrases and the bad words lol. i don’t touch on any of that here because i’m not too familiar with portuguese culture and i don’t want to offend anyone by getting something wrong because i am uneducated on the subjectttt. there’s only like two words of real portuguese in here and they are from google translate because i wasn’t sure what the difference was between the spanish pronunciation and the portuguese pronunciation. OKAY after that whole thing i hope you enjoy this little scenario, i had a lot of fun writing it and it was super duper cute. thanks for requesting baby hero!

word count: 1,717

warnings: none! this is all fluff :)

Your knee bounced with the subtle rocking of the train cart, heel occasionally tapping against the floor when the wheels ran over a bump in the tracks. No matter how hard you tried, no amount of slow deep breaths or mental reminders that everything would be fine, it would go well, would calm the ever growing bundle of nerves buzzing within the pit of your stomach. It crawled beneath your skin, flinching at the tips of your fingers which picked at the worn plastic seal of your seat, pinched at your bottom lip.

You watched the blur of winter barren trees whirl past the window, not really watching at all, thinking of every way not to mess up this very important day. This very, very important day on which absolutely nothing could go wrong because this was - it was his -

A comforting warmth pressed into your shoulder, calloused fingers wiggling their way through the gaps between yours, bringing a halt to your incessant fidgeting. Striking blue and grey find your gaze, softened by the unspoken question of concern knotting his brows.

What’s wrong?

“I’m just - It’s dumb, really,” you laugh softly, able to recognize how terribly ridiculous you would sound now that the words sit at the front of your mind. “I’m just overthinking things. I’m okay.” For extra reassurance, you give his hand a small squeeze, offering a smile.

Your boyfriend doesn’t seem to buy it.

“You’re not okay if something’s worrying you,” Todoroki says, head dipping to catch your eyes as you try to look away to hide your apprehension. “It might help if you talk about it.”

Bottom lip caught between your teeth once again, a soft sigh blows through nose, and you lean further into his shoulder, grateful for the gentle heat that bleeds through your jacket sleeve, soothing your nerves. You drop your attention to the spot where your fingers are now intertwined sitting atop his thigh, his thumb tracing over the ridges of your knuckles, saying he’s content to wait for as long as you need.

Well, at least until the arrival of your last stop where you would inevitably have to step off the train and face the anxiety tearing through your head.

It’ll be fine, stop worrying so much. It’ll be fine, it will be fine, it will be -

“What if she doesn’t like me?” You blurt suddenly, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as the eyes of a few curious strangers flicker over to you. Your face sinks further into the protective cocoon of your scarf.

His thumb pauses briefly before picking up its mindless pattern again. “What do you - ?”

“I - I mean, what if I say something wrong and end up sounding really stupid in front of her.” And the dam came crumbling down. “Your mother. The - like - the most important person in your life! I’d end up making a fool of myself in front of the most important person in your life. Then she might think ‘what’s Shoto even see in her? he could do so much better’. Which, you could, by the way. You could do worlds better but you’ve settled for me and sometimes I don’t really get it because - well - I’m me - “

“I don’t see a problem with that. I like you for you and if you are what settling is then I will gladly never settle anywhere else.”

“But what if she - “ your fingers tighten around him at the thought “- what if she doesn’t think I’m good enough for you? What if she thinks we should break up because she thinks I’m rude and annoying and uneducated?”

“Uhm. . . Y/n.”

“What if she thinks I’m a bad influence on you? I don’t want to make her hate me forever, that would be the worst feeling ever because I know she means so much to you.”

“Y/n. . .”

“That would just put so much strain on our relationship and I wouldn’t want you to feel guilty about what happened, ever. You don’t deserve that. You deserve so much better than that, Sho. I just - “

“Meu Amor.”

The name strikes a chord in your throat, catching you breathless, butterflies swooping in to replace the recoiling knot in your stomach. You whip your head around to find the corners of Todoroki’s lips pulling up in a small fond smile, eyes light with amusement. To begin with, Todoroki wasn’t big on pet names, preferring to use your given name, claiming it was sweeter than any silly nickname could be. Though throughout the seven and a half months you two had been together, he had referred to you with the occasional ‘love’ or ‘hon’. However, the number of times he had used that name could be counted on one hand.

Three. It was three times including right now.

He asked you how to say it while you were teaching him random phrases, goofing around in the middle of what was supposed to be a study session, the question being enough to make your face burn. His pronunciation had been rocky the first time, mouth working awkwardly around the words, throwing you into a fit of flustered giggles that had him pouting adorably at you, mumbling not to make fun of him for trying. But, now? Now his near perfect pronunciation left you wondering how many times he had practiced by himself. 

Meu Amor was the Portuguese phrase for My Love. His love. His love. 

“Y-Yeah?” It’s at that very moment that realize you have slipped out of your usual Japanese tongue, rolling through the tumbling hill syllables of your maternal language. “Oh, s-sorry. I. . . I did the thing again,” you mutter, flipping back to Japanese.

Todoroki huffs a short laugh that makes your heart flutter pleasantly as the sound reverberates through your own chest. “It’s okay, I think I got the gist of what you were saying. It’s cute when you do that, anyway.” He says the last part softly, meant for himself. You press your cheeks further into your scarf, hiding your own shy smile.

Todoroki takes a minute to speak, gazing at the same window you were just a moment ago, lost in thought. 

“Y/n,” he finally says. “Meu Amor, -” four times “- frankly, my mother could care less about who you are. I think you could introduce yourself as a high school drop out with a criminal record and her main concern would still be; do we make each other happy? Do you make me happy.”

You allow yourself to absorb the impact of his words.

“And. . . I make you happy?”

He shoots you an incredulous glance, then snorts when he sees you peaking earnestly above the edge of your scarf. “Irrevocably so. Do I make you happy?”

“It’s impossible for me to think about you without smiling.” You give him a bright cheeky grin when his cheeks flare with a noticeable shade of scarlet that crawls all the way up his neck to the tips of his ears.

“Good. Then that’s more than enough.” He squeezes your hand, pulling you closer into his side. “There isn’t a doubt in my mind that she won’t absolutely adore you the same way I do once she meets you. If she doesn’t already, of course.”

The statement piques your curiosity and you arch one brow at him. “What do you mean if she doesn’t already? Have you. . . Told her about me already -- In your letters to her?”

“I thought you already knew that,” Todoroki says, frowning in confusion. “She’s always asking about you and how you’re doing. I was pretty sure I mentioned it before.”

“What the heck? Shoto you’ve never told me that!”

“Oh.”

“So - So then she’s okay with us being together?”

“I think she’s more than okay with it,” he replies, his quiet smile returning. “It’s possible that she’s more excited than I am for you to meet her, which would be saying something.”

“That would have been nice to know before I rambled off the entire Portuguese dictionary to the whole train,” you grumble, rolling your eyes.

“Sorry,” he says, but it sounds like he’s trying to suppress another laugh. And you really can’t stay upset with him for long.

Rough fingertips push gently at the tips of yours to splay your palm out over his, pressing them together. Lightly you run your nails down the long runs of his fingers, memorizing every bump, scratch, and scar, sweeping your forefinger along the wrinkle of his lifeline, then across his heart line. This - the way you were touching him - may not seem like much at all to anyone else, but it was worth worlds to you. It had taken Todoroki months to comfortably hold your hand, even longer while in public, then some to kiss you for the first time. PDA wasn’t what bothered him (not entirely, at least), it was the displays of affection part. Because of the way he grew up, physical affection was a foreign concept, often leaving him lost and a mess of rigid limbs and awkward apologies. But now, he could easily seek your hand in the middle of a crowded train, or wrap his arm around you in the common room, or press a kiss to the top of your head before the start of class. To know that he had made an effort to open himself up to you, allowing you to see this side of him, the side he had only shared with his mother before, made your heart melt and your eyes swim.

Shoto was right, this was more than enough.

A calm voice announces the arrival of your stop and you two stand as passengers begin to climb off the train. 

“Still nervous?” Todoroki asks, threading his fingers through yours once more now that you have both stepped into the morning rush, not wanting to lose you amongst the chaos.

Letting him guide you through the thick crowd, you smile softly, raising your conjoined hands to press your lips to the back of his.

This would always be more than enough.

“No, I think I’ll be okay now.”

[schrijverr]

Famous Husband

Dean is a pretty famous YouTuber, who is happily married to Castiel, a normal teacher, who doesn’t like the spotlight. He stays behind the scenes, but when someone offhandedly comments that some people believe the Husband doesn’t exist, he starts to rethink his decision to stay unknown.

On AO3.

Ships: Destiel

Warnings: Cas has two students, who go digging into his private life, so if you are sensitive to that, be careful. I do NOT condone their behaviour and if you do I reccomend you rethink some of your choices. WHat they do in this fic in wrong, but I needed it to further the plot, so apoligies :)

1  2  3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

~~~~~~~~~~

Castiel Novak-Winchester was a normal high school History teacher known as Mr. Novak. He was a bit of a dork who was lenient with his students and sometimes surprised them with his meme or pop culture knowledge. This last fact was not because Castiel was secretly hip or up to date with the kids, no this was because Castiel was married to YouTuber Dean Novak-Winchester, with as handle: Dean. Nothing fancy, just simple, like he was.

Castiels students of course didn’t know he was married to the popular YouTuber, he had never starred in a video or even spoken or appeared in the background, because Castiel was a private and shy person and Dean loved him and would do anything for him. So, no matter how much Dean wanted to show Castiel off, his angel was carefully edited out of every single video.

~

On Thursday Castiels Junior AP class streamed into the classroom for the last lesson of the day with bored expressions on their faces and all sagged into their seats. Castiel shook his head as he decided that these kids deserved a bit of a break today. Then he started the lesson, but fifteen minutes before the end of class he closed his book and announced: “We have some time left, so we’re going to watch a fun YouTube video to relax. Any suggestions?”

Immediately their faces perked up and one girl, Rey, said: “Just before class Dean uploaded a video, can we watch that one? I really want to, but I don’t have the time today otherwise, please.”

Castiel hadn’t expected that, he of course knew that his husband was a well known star and that kids in his classes watched him, but it somehow still came as a shock. He hid his feelings though and instead asked if anyone had any objections, when none came he looked up the video under the careful instructions of Rey.

Then his husband showed up on the board, he was sitting in his car, the beloved Impala that all his fans knew from his video series on how to take care of her and his rants about her on his streams. While he drove he told the camera: “Today Sam is off from doing boring lawer-y stuff, so we’re going to drive over to our uncle, Bobby, you might know him, but it’s a pretty far drive, so when I’ve picked him up we’re going to do a Q&A while we ride. See haters, I’m efficient. This is YouTube-ing at it’s finest.”

He then laughed and it cut to two people sitting in the car. Sam said hello, before grabbing his phone to look up the questions the people send in. Castiel remember that this weekend the two brothers had taken a trip to Bobby’s place, so they must have filmed it then. Sam started off: “So, @Deansgirlnumber1 asked: “how do you feel being so close to 7 mil subs?””

Dean made a turn while he answered: “Good question, I don’t know man. I never thought in my wildest dreams that anyone would even watch, so the fact that all this happened is crazy. I am very grateful for it, so I think I’m gonna have to go with that, incredibly grateful.”

A few more questioned followed, about annoying habits, special interest, or embarrassing memories. Then Sam said: “@MysteriousHubby asked: “can we at least get a description of your husband, please!!!!”, yes it has four exclamation marks.” Sam looked over, “I know you love waxing poetry about him.”

Dean got a dopey smile on his face and a dreamy look in his eyes that made Castiel go soft as he saw it, that was his favourite Dean-smile, the smile he only used for him.

Then Dean shook himself out of it and frowned as he said: “I do love to do that, but it’s not my fault that his eyes are absolutely stunning and he’s very sexy, but as you know my sunshine is private and I respect that. I would never want to push him to do something he doesn’t want, we have boundaries and we believe in consent, as should all of you. So sorry @MysteriousHubby, but all I can tell you is that he is beautiful.”

The girls in the room squealed and Mary gushed: “Isn’t it adorable how much he loves that man, you can see it in how he talks.”

Another girl swooned and said: “I wish someone talked about me like he does about his husband. He never gives anything away, but he always manages to turn it into a complement about how sweet and gorgeous his sunshine is.”

Castiel paused the video and with faked confusion he asked: “I’m confused, why doesn’t he talk about his husband?”

Rey was quick to explain: “Well, he’s been married for a year now and he’s been dating this guy since forever, but he’s very shy and he doesn’t like camera’s apparently, so Dean edits him out and never mentions him by name, only calling him cute nicknames like angel or sunshine, or he just calls him ‘my husband’. It’s very cute how he seems to melt every time the man is mentioned, but a lot of people are curious about this mystery guy, some don’t even believe he exist, I do though, you can’t fake being that madly in love.”

Some girls agreed and Castiel nodded as he let the video continue. He mulled Rey's words over and mused, I didn’t know people didn’t believe I existed. Dean must have hidden it, because he thought it would hurt my feelings, how sweet of him.

He watched the brothers do Deans sign-off: “Bye hunters, see you on the road!”

Then the screen faded to black, before anyone cold break the silence the bell rang and the kids were out of the room with a quick goodbye to their teacher. When Rey walked by she said: “Bye, Mr. Novak, thank you for letting me watch the video. I’ll make sure to do my homework.”

Castiel laughed and said: “That would be a first.”

Rey shot him a quick grin and a wink over her shoulder then she was gone with everyone else. Castiel shook his head to himself as he whispered: “Teenagers.”

He left the building and left in his tan-colored car for home. There he walked to the door and was greeted by Dean with a kiss on his forehead as he took Castiels stuff of his hands and helped him out of the trench-coat. After he was done he asked: “So, how was your day, sunshine.”

“It was pleasant, Dean.” Castiel told him with a smile, “I watched your video with one of my classes, you have fans at the school. You were very handsome in it. How has your day been?”

“Good, but it got better when you walked through the door.” Dean smirked.

Castiel gave him a slight shove as he said: “Sap.”

Dean batted his eyelashes and said: “You love me for it, darlin’.”

With a quick peck Castiel said: “Yeah, I do.” then walked to the kitchen with a happy Dean trailing behind him.

When they were sitting at the table with homemade burgers Dean started up the conversation again: “So, I have fans at your school, maybe I should come and say hi to them.”

“Dean.” Castiel said with a glare, “I know you want to, but they’ll never leave me alone after that. I have to be an authority figure and I can’t do that if I’ve done dumb shit like getting covered in whipped cream on camera.”

“That was one- well, not one time, but come on. Please, Cas, consider it.” Dean whined.

“I am.” Castiel told him.

Dean perked up, like a puppy near a bone. Castiel rolled his eyes fondly at him and said: “I have recently been informed that people believe I don’t exist and I don’t want them thinking they have a chance when you’re mine, right sweetheart?”

Dean swallowed, Castiel hardly ever used nicknames and the possessiveness was kinda hot. Dumbly Dean shook his head, but when he had found his words and tried to ask him about it Castiel steered the conversation to another topic.

~

Three weeks later and Cas hadn’t mentioned it again, so Dean had let it go, sadly enough, thinking it had been a one time thought that had been discarded after more consideration. However, the opposite was the case. Castiel had been planning proving he was real carefully and now it was time.

Dean was doing his Sunday live show in the living room, this usually meant that Castiel would hide, uhm, grade papers, in the office until Dean brought him a coffee to inform him he was done. Dean always chilled the same way on his life streams, so Castiel knew exactly from where he would be in frame and he had even checked before he left.

So, when Dean was thirty minutes into his stream, Castiel entered the room. When Dean saw him his eyes went wide and he quickly said: “Babe, I’m live.”

While the chat practically blew up, Castiel played his part, giving his husband startled eyes as he asked: “Am I in frame?”

He knew he wasn’t, but having Dean confirm it soothed him. He held up the mug of coffee he had made Dean and said: “I completely forgot, but I made you coffee, it’s black just the way you like it, wait I’ll bring it over.”

He carefully made his way around the edges of the room with Dean guiding him, so he was certain he wouldn’t be spotted. He was lucky they didn’t have any mirrors or that would have been tricky. As he was doing that Dean was ignoring his stream as he followed Cas with his eyes, when his husband came up on the other side of the laptop he gave him a smile that Castiel shyly returned. Deans gaze softened with that and he gratefully took the mug out of Castiels hands. Handing over the mug happened just above the frame, but when Dean had put it aside carefully he stood up to give his husband a quick peck and without thinking he said: “Thanks, Cas, I love you.”

Cas didn’t mind and he answered: “Love you too, Dean. Good luck with your stream, sorry for interrupting.”

Castiel walked away just as carefully as Dean said with a grin: “You can never interrupt me. Have fun doing boring adult stuff.”

“Having a normal job, isn’t boring, it’s called being a productive member of society, you should try it sometime.” Castiel sassed as he closed the door behind him, through the wood he could hear Deans laughter.

He quickly hurried to the kitchen to watch the stream. He was just in time to see Dean wipe the laugh tears out of his eyes as he said: “I love that man, he’s the best. You look at him and  think, ‘oh what a sweetheart’, but he can be a little shit if he wants.”

In the chat people were rioting: “AAHHH HE’S REAL!!!!” “OMG DID YOU HEAR THAT VOICE SO FUCKING DEEP!” “WHAT JUST HAPPENED!?!?!?!?!?” “Ahw, look how soft Dean got when his husband walked in” “DID I HEAR IT RIGHT, DID HE CALL HIM CASS? GUYS WE HAVE A NAME!!!” “IS HE GONNA APPEAR MORE?”

Castiel rolled his eyes, he didn’t mind that the abbreviation of his name was out there. It might be easy to connect with his first name, but most students didn’t know his first name and it was a major gap to link.

Dean ignored most of the comments, but he did say: “For all you non-believers, you just got converted. A real life angel just blessed you with the truth.”

He laughed some more at his own silly comment, before getting serious and saying: “For the record, this was a mess-up, not a promise for more husband content. He stays my sweet, dorky, shy, angel, so don’t make a big deal out of.”

He tried to talk about some other things, but nothing stuck, all the comment section was interested in was Castiel, which the man found kind of flattering. After ten minutes of trying Dean gave up and said his goodbyes before ending the stream.

A few seconds later he came into the kitchen and was surprised to find Castiel there. “I thought, you’d be up in the office grading your papers.” Dean said.

Castiel shrugged and said: “That was originally the plan, but then I thought about you doing the live stream and the people who didn’t believe I existed, so to make myself feel better I started watching, but then there were all these comments about how sexy you were, which are true, but you’re mine and before I knew it I had entered the room and now that all happened.”

Suddenly the realization of what his actions had meant came over him and he had to lean against the counter to keep upright. Dean was with him in a flash, letting Castiel lean on him while he petted his hair and whispered soothing words into his ear.

When Castiel had calmed down a bit and was sitting at the counter with a mug of tea Dean said: “Let’s first see how everyone reacts to this and if they’re very intrusive I’ll make a video telling them to back off, yeah? Maybe they’ll be chill and cool about it.”

Castiel rubbed his face and said: “I hope so. I also hope that none of my students recognized my voice, I’ve never been so happy that they never listen to me.”

Dean barked a laugh at that and soon the stress of the day was forgotten in front of a nice movie with popcorn, blankets, giggles and kisses.

~

Monday morning his Junior AP class got into the building and his classroom. Rey and Mary were loudly talking about what had happened the day before. Rey said: “I still cannot believe that just happened!”

“Yeah, I know right. Seven years and nothing, then suddenly a whole conversation and a name!” Mary answered, “He sounded a bit gruff, like he had swallowed a lot of gravel, but he was funny and sweet, so Dean hasn’t been lying.”

Castiel walked up behind the unsuspecting girls and asked: “What might be so important that I cannot start my lesson until the news is shared?”

Both jumped a bit, but Rey quickly explained: “Yesterday Dean was doing a live show and his husband walked in!”

“Yeah,” Mary added, “It’s like major, because of the mysteriousness surrounding the guy. He was bringing Dean coffee, which is so sweet, but now there are theories everywhere about who it could be.”

Rey nodded frantically: “Some claim it’s a big celebrity, who’s trying to hide he’s gay and there are sound bits comparing the voice of the husband to some those of celebrities. I personally think it’s someone like me and you, just a shy everyday Joe, you know.”

“Me too.” Mary said, “Oh and we also got a name, or so we think, Dean said: “Thanks Cas, I love you.” So the name must Cas or it’s a nickname, so people are looking all over social media for people with that name.”

Castiel nodded along, he had never been more grateful that he had decided that social media was too much work for him to understand, so he’d never gotten it. But he had a job to do so he told them: “I’m sure it’s all very intriguing and interesting, but you know what’s also interesting? The Civil War, which is what you will spend your time discussing this hour. When the lesson is done you can get back to your mystery man.”

The two girls groaned, along with the others who were listening to the interaction.

Castiels strict start soon mellowed out and by the end of the lesson most kids were on their phone or slowly working through the questions for the homework for next lesson. Rey and Mary were watching a theory video about the stream. They were distracted by Mr. Novak, who clapped in his hands and said: “The bells will almost ring so you guys can put away your stuff and go be a productive member of society.”

The two girls gasps were drowned out by the noise of people packing, but they had heard it clear enough, their teacher had repeated the words of Cas on the stream from yesterday at exactly the same time it played on their video. There was no difference in the voice, their dorky teacher might be Deans husband.

~

Castiel groaned into one of their couch pillows and Dean smirked: “Rough day, buddy?”

“You don’t even know, it seems like all anyone could talk about was that stream of yours. I didn’t even know people at the school watched it, but even some staff members were talking about it.” Cas told the pillow.

“Ahw, darling.” Dean said as he sat down next to his husband and massaged Castiels hair: “It’s gonna be okay, soon it will blow over and everything will be normal again, I promise.”

Castiel rolled over to face his husband and said: “I hope so, two of my best Junior AP students, Rey and Mary, are obsessed with it and I am very bad at keeping secrets. It’s surprising, honestly, that I’ve managed to get this far without slipping up.”

“Don’t be self deprecating, honey.” Dean said as he kissed his face, “I hate it when you talk shit about my favourite person.”

The sweet words and the tickling of Deans hair made Castiel giggle. When he did that Dean made such an adoring face at him that Castiel couldn’t help but melt, this was his Dean, his husband, his world, his everything. Dean had made sacrifices for him, helped him through dark times and now he was still here as adoring and beautiful as ever and all his. He whispered: “Dean, I’ll love you till I die.”

Deans eyes widened a bit, before he blushed and hid his face I his arm. When he removed the arm he was still red, but he was smiling softly as he said: “I’ll love you for my whole life as well.”

They stared at each other for a minute, just taking each other in, Castiel had his head in Deans lap and Dean was looking down to him. Castiel was counting Deans freckles, he had never manged to count them all, but damn did he love to try. Meanwhile Dean was trying to figure out how eyes could be that blue and how he could drown in them.

The moment was ruined by the rumbling of Deans stomach that send Castiel back into a fit of giggles. Dean smiled as well and said: “Shall I get our pizza’s out the freezer and into the oven? Then you can find us something to watch.”

Castiel got up and said: “I saw a documentary about bees, would you like to watch that with me?”

Dean smiled and said: “Of course, Cas. I’d love to.”

And that was the truth. Dean couldn’t care less about bees, but Cas did, he got that adorable intense look in his eyes as he would focus on the facts and images that played. When something particularly interesting or new came by he’d look at Dean with a sparkle of excitement in his eyes, which was just too precious. All that made watching a boring bee documentary completely worth it.

~

Mary and Rey were doing a live stream on their quite popular, joined Instagram account named @Deanmustbeprotected, here they posted drawings from Mary and edits from Rey about Dean, but today they were not talking about that, but about their recent discovery. They had a pretty big following for a fan account and a few hundred people were watching the stream. Rey began: “So, I know we don’t really talk about like theories or that stuff, because we respect privacy in this house, but-”

Mary interrupted: “But this is too big not to share, because we think our teacher is-”

Together they finished the sentence: “Deans husband.”

“Now I know this looks like everybody who claims they know this Cas,” Mary said, “but we have some serious evidence.”

“Their voices are exactly the same for example.” Rey said, “And I mean creepily the same.”

“Yeah, yesterday in class he said “go be a productive member of society” which is exactly what Cas said and it was the same.” Mary pipped in.

“Like the same, the same.” Rey said.

“So, we did some digging and according to our school mail, his name-” Rey started, but was cut off by Mary who said: “No, you got to explain that first. So, if you mail a teacher via school-mail you can type in the last name and their mail will pop up, but also their first name, so we looked up-”

“And his first name is Castiel!” Rey squealed.

Mary nodded enthusiastically: “Which fits perfectly into the theory that Cas is a nickname, therefore our teacher must be Deans husband.”

Rey said: “He’s also one of the best teachers ever and mega sweet, so that’s also proof if you want to believe what Dean says about the guy.”

“Uhhu, he’s the best, so no shit talking him if it ends up being wrong.” Mary warned.

“Or right.” Rey added.

Mary nodded: “Or right, yeah.”

People in their comments went wild, but there were also skeptics, which was pretty fair since there were two teenage girls claiming that they knew the mysterious husband of their idol. Mary didn’t care, but Rey didn’t really let that kind of things go easily. She said: “We’ll investigate some more and come back to you all, but this time with solid evidence.”

Then they ended the stream. Soon after the clip had been uploaded by a popular theory fan YouTube account and the video spread through the fanbase, ending up in Deans sphere.

Dean was going through videos to monitor what people were saying about his husband when a video popped up of two girls claiming their teacher was his husband. That set off alarm bells in his head, a teacher was in the realm of possibilities.

He quickly made his way to the office where Cas was bended over a stack off papers. He looked calm and in his element and Dean almost felt bad about disturbing him, but this was important. So he knocked on the door frame to get Castiels attention and said: “Two girls uploaded a video claiming their teacher was my husband. Do you want to check if they’re your students?”

Castiels face turned tense as he nodded, so Dean showed his the screen. Once he had identified Mary and Rey he let his head thunk on the desk is despair. Dean winced and said: “I take it they’re yours?”

Muffled the reply came: “Sadly. Remember those two obsessed Juniors I told you about yesterday?”

“Rey and Mary?” Dean asked, “You adore those girls, right?”

“Yeah, I do. They’re hard workers, who are fun to work with and good people to have in the classroom, so I want to be mad, but I can’t.” Cas said.

Dean rubbed his back and said: “They were nice about you in the video. Here watch.”

He played the part where they talked about how sweet their teacher was, then paused it and said: “This might be a good thing. You can talk to them, maybe tell them the truth and ask them to leave it alone. I feel like they would understand, they seem like nice girls.”

“You’re probably right.” Castiel sighed, “I see what I can do.”

~

End Wednesday was terrible, because by that time most of the school had heard about the video, but Castiel managed to avoid talking about it luckily. That Thursday he was in a terrible mood and most people seemed to have picked up on it and left him alone.

When his Junior AP filed in that last hour, he was done. He said: “I am not really in the mood for fun today, so everyone be quiet and work on your sheets. I do not want to see phones or food and I don’t want to hear you talking. I’ll be grading papers over here, so if you have any questions you can come here and ask.”

The class shared looks, Mr. Novak must be in a really bad mood. He always allowed music, because he found that music could be soothing while you worked. Food was necessary for energy and concentration. While talking and working together led to discussions that helped with studying. He found them essential, so canceling all of that was bad news.

Rey and Mary looked guiltily at each other and quietly got to work. They had been looking forward to this lesson to investigate more about their hunch, but making their favourite teacher mad like this, they hadn’t planned for or wanted that.

No one dared to ask a question that lesson and when the bell was about to ring Mr. Novak stood up and said: “You can pack up now, make sure to finish those worksheets before our lesson on Monday. Rey and Mary, can you two stick around for a bit.”

It was phrased like a question, but it was said like a statement. The two girls swallowed and sat back down in their seats with heavy hearts. When everyone else had left the room they came forward and waited for Mr. Novak to start the conversation.

Castiel leaned back into his chair and rubbed his face. He said: “You know girls, I’m angry with you, but I’m mostly just very disappointed in you. I expect this from others, trolls or stalkers on the Internet, people who like conspiracies, but not you two.”

The words felt like punches and they couldn’t find it within themselves to even try and defend themselves. Castiel went on: “But, I am soft and I believe in giving second chances, so I want to know what you two have to say for yourself.”

He looked at them expectantly as they tried to find their words. Mary was first: “I’m so sorry, Mr. Novak. I really didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah,” Rey agreed, “we didn’t think this would happen at all.”

“Can I ask what you did think would happen?” Castiel asked.

“Uhh...” the two girls blanked.

Castiel nodded and said: “I thought so, I know excitement can sometimes overpower rational thinking, but at least try to get a few braincells to work before you make important decisions.”

Rey snorted as Mary blushed. Castiel then let his frown and stern look fall and took on a more gentle look. He told the two: “Like I said, I believe in second chances and I understand why you two did what you did, even though it turned my world a bit around and soured two of my days so far. So, I want to ask you two, why you want to know so bad? How will it impact your life?”

Both seemed to think about it and Mary spoke up first: “It’s kind of being invested, I suppose, we know so much about Dean, his brother, his uncle who raised him, his friends, his history, his hobbies, everything basically, so not knowing something is weird, makes you curious. And I get that a person wants privacy, so I can’t blame him really, but Dean is really influential with a pretty young audience. He helped me with a lot of stuff, like cheered me up when I was down and made me happy when things were rough, you know. But not knowing his husband makes that connection less real and seeing him would fix that small disconnect you have when it is a pet name instead of a real name.”

Then Rey spoke up, a bit hesitant: “Well, my answer is kind of the same, I guess, but it’s just that Dean always seems so happy when he talks about his husband and that always helps me believe that I have a shot at that as well, you know, that me being bi isn’t something that can stop me from being happy and having someone that loves me for me, so seeing his husband, knowing that he’s real and out there, that he really is as sweet as Dean let us to believe, well it would give me hope, I guess...” she trailed off and shrugged.

Castiel nodded at their words as he thought them over. He was kind of convinced that he should just do a video with Dean and get it over with, not this theorizing bullcrap people were doing now, he knew Mr. Shurley, the principal liked him and because of his investment in the GSA it was kind of known that he was LGBTQ+, so he wouldn’t get fired over that.

While he was quietly thinking the friends awkwardly looked at each other, when it became clear that Mr. Novak was too deep in thought to break the silence any time soon, Rey broke it first: “So, were we right, sir, are you Deans husband?”

That earned her a slap from Mary and a tired look from Mr. Novak. She cringed a bit and apologized, but Castiel waved it away as he said: “Sorry for drifting away on you, I was thinking about your words and you’ve convinced me.”

Mary and Rey shared a shocked look, was this really happening or were they reading the situation wrong? Castiel sighed: “I am Deans husband and I’m doing the video.”

Both girls squealed and jumped up and down, Castiel just shook his head fondly at their antics. When they had come down from their excitement, Rey breathlessly said: “Are you really gonna do it?”

“Yeah, I just want to walk up to my husband in the store to give him the milk without having to worry about the group of teens that have surrounded him.” Castiel said, “But the video is probably not going up until later, so please don’t shout this from the rooftops until it is out. Can I trust you with that?”

He gave them a stern look and they practically fell over themselves to assure him that they wouldn’t fuck up this second chance he had given them. When that was done Mary shyly asked: “I know this is weird, but can we take a selfie, so that we an post it on our insta to prove we were right? It’s weird, sorry, but some people were getting really mad at us for lying, so if we can clear this up maybe they’ll leave us alone.”

Castiel looked kind of awkward, but he wouldn’t let his students get bullied, so he sucked it up and agreed, he would have to get used to it. After that the girls wished him good luck and Cas decided that he wasn’t going to come in tomorrow.

~

On Sunday instead of a live-stream a video popped up on Deans channel called: ‘Husband reveal!! No click bait, it’s actually happening!!’

It started off with no one on screen and a camera adjusting, you heard Dean first: “You wanna sit with me already or come in later?”

“Already sit there, I don’t want to awkwardly shuffle into frame.” a deep voice replied, that most recognized from the stream.

Then Deans intro rolled, it was a drawn impala that came down the road, it stopped in the middle of the screen and the drawn Dean gave a wink to the viewers, then he sped off again and the smoke was bridge back to the video.

Dean and the mystery man were sitting next to each other and Dean excitedly started the video: “Hi Hunters, welcome back to the channel! Today we have a very special guest, and can I get a round of applause for him… my husband, Castiel or Cas! Jup, your eyes are not deceiving you, this beautiful man right here is my husband, because he finally agreed to do a video with me!”

The man in question stopped with lovingly staring at his husband to blush at the introduction. When  he didn’t say anything Dean said: “Want to say hi to everyone?”

Cas blinked and said: “Uhm, hi human people audience watching…”

Dean giggled, he had never giggled on his channel before, and when Cas heard the sound he smirked, but when he looked at Dean he plastered a confused look on his face and asked Dean what was wrong. Dean fondly shook his head and without any bite he said: “You are ruining my badboy-nothing-fazes-me image I created here, dude.”

It cut and they were looking at the camera again. Dean started the off again: “So first Cas is just going to tell you about why he didn’t want to be on camera. The floor is yours.”

Castiel said: “Well, at first it was because I was looking for a job and being an openly gay man in a relationship meant that I might not get hired.”

“Because people are assholes.” Dean cut in.

“Yes, Dean, because of that.” Castiel agreed, “But then I got a job here and we moved to LA and I know now that I’m not going to get fired over it, because I told my boss I had a husband and I help with the GSA at the school I work at, so I’m good on job security. But as a teacher, I realized that these kids I teach watch YouTube and therefor also Dean, so if I showed up here and did weird stuff like eating pie until I vomit or-”

“Hey, that was actually one time.”

“Hm, sure. Or participate in ‘never-have-I-ever’ none of them would ever listen to me again. So I decided that staying off the channel was for the best if I wanted my students to actually learn something.”

While Cas was talking you could see Dean was listening intently, even making comments, but overall he was focused most on staring at his husband like he was the most beautiful thing ever.

Castiel finished: “But it was actually two of my students that convinced me that this was a good idea to do, so here I am.”

Dean snapped out of his trance and said with fake indignantly: “I thought your love for me was your only true motivation. Have you lied to me?”

Castiel frowned and replied: “That is always my first motivation, but this was an extra, and currently more relevant, explanation.”

Dean dropped the act to smirk at Cas and asked: “How is that also your motivation when you leave your dirty dishes for me to do?”

“Well,” Cas started to explain seriously, “you have very nice arms that can only be truly appreciated when wet and lathered in soap.”

Dean blushed and laughed, then Castiel started laughing as well, also with a blush. Between gasped Dean said: “Dude, are you serious.”

Castiel looked mortified and said: “Are you going to keep that in?”

Dean shrugged and said: “I don’t know, Sam wanted to edit this video because, and I quote, “An insider could never do justice to the sweet Destiel romance that I had to suffer through in real time”, so you have to ask him.”

The screen went white and in black a message appeared: ‘I am not sorry for that, it took them four years to get together and I was present for all of them, so you can imagine how I suffered. Besides, I want to bet that they would have edited adorable moments like this one out, because they are idiots. ~Sam’

Then it was back to the video. Dean said: “So since this is a video about us I thought we could tell you about how we first met. So, you might know my roommate Rick that I talk about from time to time, yeah, well, he isn’t real, well he is, but he dropped out after a month, so none of the stories about him happened with him.”

“You are being very confusing, Dean.” Castiel told him.

Dean glared at him and said: “You can try later, see if you fair better.”

“I assume I will, want to bet?” Castiel challenged.

“Winner does the dishes next week.” Dean said.

“Deal.”

They shook hands and Dean went on: “Anyway, after that first month there was a mishap at another dorm and Castiel moved in with me. It was kind of awkward that first day, because he came late at night and I was in the dark room alone watching a horror movie when I heard the lock wiggle. Turns out this idiot had forgotten his keys and was picking the lock, but I didn’t know that at the time, so I was scared shitless. Then the door swung open and a dude was standing there with the hallway light from the back only making him a dark figure, a hallway light that chose that exact moment to flicker. So, I screamed and jumped him.”

“I had a bruise on my chest for weeks, you know.” Cas complained.

“Well then you should have knocked.” Dean shot back.

“But there was no light coming from the door, I thought you were asleep and I didn’t want to wake you. I was being considerate.” Castiel defended himself.

“It was creepy, but anyway we fought, I won.” a cough, “It was a draw.” and eyeroll that was ignored, “And we became good friends after that!”

“Now, Cas is going to tell our first date. It was the last month at college and I was planning on moving back into Uncle Bobbys house and help him with the cars until YouTube picked up some more, this is all relevant background information, by the way.” Dean said.

“Yes, so I had gotten a job teaching in LA and I realized that I didn’t want to say goodbye to Dean at all, so I talked to Sam who said that I had to get my head out of my ass and ask Dean out because we had loved each other for the entirety of college and apparently he was suffering. I went up to Dean and gave a very embarrassing speech and we-”

“Wait, you’re not going to retell the speech?” Dean asked.

“No, like I stated before, it was very embarrassing, Dean.” Cas said.

“Pleeeeease.” Dean gave him The Eyes and Castiel broke like he always did.

“This is what I said, keep in mind that I was very nervous, “Hello, Dean, I have found a house in LA and this is were YouTubers live so it will help in your career, so I hoped you would buy the house, with me that is, I don’t want you just to buy the house alone because that would be dumb. The house is actually more of an apartment and it only has one bedroom, I tell you this, because it is relevant and I only looked for houses with one bedroom, because I’d hoped you would share it with me, because I really love you and I want you to be my boyfriend, please.” See, super embarrassing and dumb.” Castiel pouted.

“Nooo, angel. It was the sweetest, you were the cutest little dork ever, it was very nice and I liked it.” Dean reassured him.

“Really?” Castiel asked, Dean nodded enthusiastically.

“So, after that, I took him stargazing in the impala, because he likes to drive and I like the stars. I brought pie and burgers and beer and it was very lovely.”

“It was a very good date, did anyone help you with it?” Dean asked.

“Yes, Sam was very eager to help, he even gave me your ring size, so he was dreaming a little bigger than me, but he was helpful.” Castiel said.

“Did he really do that.” Dean wheezed.

Castiel chuckled: “Yes, yes he did.”

A new note appeared: ‘Like you didn’t find that information very useful a year and a half later, Mr. Denial (and yes, I was suffering, a lot)  :( ~Sam’

“I’m probably gonna end the video here, wedding talk comes later, maybe even with footage.” Dean said with a look to Cas.

Cas raised an eyebrow and said: “I thought you had a “badboy image” to maintain, can’t really do that when you post hours of footage of you crying.”

“I didn’t cry, you cried.” Dean said, “Maybe you thought I cried, because you couldn’t see through your own tears.”

“No, you were the one who cried, it started the moment I walked down the isle with Bobby, admit it.” Castiel said.

“No, I didn’t, I swear I didn’t cry.” Dean said.

“Okay, that’s it, I’m grabbing my laptop and I’m proving this.” Castiel started to get up.

It cut and they were looking at the laptop. You could hear the wedding march swell and Dean moped: “Yeah, ‘kay, so you were right, whatever. It’s not my fault you looked way too pretty to be human.”

“Ahw, sweetheart.” Cas gave Dean a peck on the cheek.

Then it cut to the end card and Dean was sitting alone. He said: “So that’s this video, Cas is not here, because he is setting stuff up so we can watch out wedding videos again, because we felt like it after this. If you liked the video, please leave a like and comment, to subscribe click over there, to watch more click right there and maybe you will see Cas in a beautiful wedding gown, but for now: Bye hunters, see you on the road! Oh yeah, and comment I was better than Cas at my actual job.”

Then the video was over.

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

Omg they’re sooooooo cute!!!!!!!

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

Get yourself a lover who looks at

you like they look at each other

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

Is anybody going to talk about

how hot Cass is? Like wowwww

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

Did you see that little smirk that

he hid when Dean looked? That

is love people. Confirmed Deans

Hubby is a little shit in love

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

so… he’s real…. great another

hot guy of the market…

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

hahahaha I died at 3:35 when Cas

talked about Deans arms 100%

agree

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

Castiel was better, like to agree

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

Sam little comments had me in

stitches

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

Dean cried on their wedding day!

My heart <3<3<3

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

Destiel!!! They named themselves

iconic

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

All…. The… Stares…  

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

Wait did he say wedding gown,

we stan one QUEEN!

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

~

Soon after the video went up a picture appeared on @Deanmustbeprotected with the two girls known from the insta stories and stream smiling and doing peace signs with a confused Castiel in the background. The caption read: ‘Did we lie though?’

The top comment was from certified Dean: ‘You be nice to him on Monday, girls’

With a lot of freaking out underneath it.

~

That Monday the Junior AP class practically ran into the classroom to question their teacher thoroughly, but Castiel refused to answer any of their questions and just started the lesson: “So, the Civil War brought many changes to America, which is what your homework was about. I will collect it now, so please put it on the table and while I do that can so someone tell me what those changes were? Yes, Jule.”

“Are you really not going to talk about Deans video from yesterday?” Jule said instead of answering the question.

Castiels shoulders sagged and he said: “This was exactly what I feared when I agreed to do that, guys I am your teacher, I am getting paid to teach you and make you into a functioning adult and I am not here to talk about my personal life.”

“Tell that to Mr. Delaney.” a boy yelled, which earned him some laughs.

Castiel smiled and said: “I know, Mr. Delaney loves his fishing stories, but I am not Mr. Delaney. I am trying to tell you about the Civil War and how it impacted America, something that will be on your test, which is far more important in this setting than me and my husband.”

“Please, sir, just a few questions.” Shelly asked.

“Will you stop after and concentrate, because this is a two way route.” Castiel said.

When he got a chorus of yes he sighed and sat down on his desk. “I’m answering five questions so, hands up if you have one.”

A dozen hands shot up and he picked the one closest to him. It was Nate, who asked: “How is it to be married to a celebrity?”

Castiel chuckled and said: “I never thought of Dean as a celebrity really, when I got to know him he was eighteen, still couldn’t grow facial hair and a gigantic dork, who filmed himself doing a bunch of weird sh- stuff with his laptop web cam. So, I would say like any other marriage.”

He pointed at a girl in the back who asked: “Dean said you got married in a gown, is that true and do you have pictures.”

Castiel knew this was coming and he wasn’t ashamed or anything, so he calmly answered: “Yes, I did, I think that how different genders present themselves is a social construct and I thought a wedding gown would be neat.”

He looked up his favourite wedding photo, it was Dean holding him in his arms bridal-carry style and they were both grinning like idiots at each other, he had it printed and framed and it hung above their bed. He projected the photo and a lot of the girls awh-ed, but before anyone could get out their phone he warned: “No pictures.”

He then pointed at Mary who asked: “How would you describe Dean?”

Castiel thought about it and then said: “Kind, handsome, charming, loving, maybe a bit self sacrificing. He really is just a lovely person, who is good at cheering people up.”

Some people ahw-ed and Castiel blushed, so he quickly moved on to the next person. It was Kevin who asked: “So, how is your relationship with Sam? You must know him, right?”

“I do know Sam, yes.” Castiel answered, “He is a great person and we are close friends and he is also a great team mate in prank wars.”

People laughed at that and before he could point out someone else for the last question someone, he didn’t see who, called out just loud enough to be heard: “We’re probably not allowed to ask who tops, lol.”

Castiel pulled a tired face and said: “And that was the last question, which I will not be answering. Now back to Jule who was going to tell us about the changes in America after the Civil War.”

Some groaned and others chastised the person who ruined their last question, but they did follow up on their promise to pay attention and actually do something that lesson.

Castiel untied the knot of tension that had formed in his chest that hadn’t been as bad as he had imagined. He only had to repeat that every lesson that was to come and after that it was mostly back to normal, only he could kiss his husband whenever he pleased now without worrying, which was a definite plus.

[salamandersofftheclock]

Principles You Can Use From Rowling’s Philosophy of Writing 

by Ruthanne Reid

If you’re like me, you loved the Harry Potter series. Maybe you watched the movies or even visited the theme park, and you wondered about JK Rowling’s writing process and the strategy she uses to write her best-selling books. If you’re like me, though, you’ve also been deeply hurt by things Rowling herself has said. On Twitter, on her website, in interviews, and more, Rowling has promoted harmful views of trans people, and you might be one of her many readers who find it painful, or even impossible, to return to the Harry Potter books you once loved.I understand. Before I dive into the wisdom we can draw from Rowling’s writing process in order to write our first draft (or others), allow me to share a principle with you. Death of the Author: Or, How to Love the Book, Not the Author In 1967, a French literary critic named Roland Barthes wrote an essay called La mort de l’auteur, or Death of the Author, in which he states that any piece of writing should be separated from the author that wrote it. In other words, he believed in judging the written work completely on its own merits, without involving personal beliefs or actions of the author in question. Sometimes, this is possible to do. Sometimes, it isn’t, and we readers have to apply discernment to what we read and the lens in which we view things.I have two examples for you. HP Lovecraft First, HP Lovecraft, whose incredible work literally created today’s modern horror genre. Do you enjoy any kind of tale with Elder Ones, or chaos gods, or even just good old Cthulhu? (I know I do!) His work was so creative, so new, that you’d be hard-pressed to find any horror story that doesn’t show at least some of his influence.Unfortunately, Lovecraft was also an extremely xenophobic racist. Now, I enjoy a good chaos god, and I’ve made the decision to separate his xenophobia from his writing. That means, of course, that I must view critically anything he wrote that implies white English people are somehow the pinnacle of humanity.It means I purposely do not allow his racism to infect my way of thinking. By doing so, I am practicing la mort de l’auteur. JRR Tolkien Here’s a second example: JRR Tolkien, whose work defined modern fantasy. Do you enjoy anything with elves and dwarves or made-up languages? We owe Tolkien for that. He redefined and polished the fantasy genre so well that everything from movies to MMORPGs still use his templates. Unfortunately, he also described his orcs as “squat, broad, flat-nosed, sallow-skinned, with wide mouths and slant eyes: in fact degraded and repulsive versions of the (to Europeans) least lovely Mongol-types.” Yowza. Now, was Tolkien a racist? Not exactly. In fact, according to the standards of the time, he was absolutely liberal and anti-racist. So then what do we do with this bizarro and racially horrifying description? We see it and choose to discard it. Generations of artists and authors have done exactly that, turning orcs into anything but“least lovely Mongol-types,” and aiding this genre.Again, it’s important to see the problem so you can avoid letting it influence your work. We enjoy the good parts while consciously discarding the bad, rather than being influenced by it. So What About JK Rowling? She’s not dead. In fact, she’s still saying harmful things, even as we speak. Instead of listening to her readers, who (at least initially) approached her in love, trying to help her understand, she doubled down, rejected their experience and their words, and in the process, caused an unbelievable amount of pain. Here’s the thing about la mort de l’auteur: it is entirely up to you whether to apply it to what you read, or to simply discard the whole thing and find less troublesome authors. Both roads are valid. In no way do I condone her attacks on the trans community, or her persistent sharing of misinformation. I choose to apply la mort de l’auteur for the simple reason that I benefited from the good things she’s written, and I wanted to share them with you. However, if you aren’t comfortable doing that, you are absolutely welcome to walk away. In fact, I’d suggest these writing articles instead: Neil Gaiman’s rules of writing, or how to create your own rules of writing. Okay. Awkward stuff done. Ready to dive into the process stuff instead? Let’s go! 9 Rules From JK Rowling’s Writing Process Over the course of her writing career, Rowling shared a lot of solid writing wisdom, and in my opinion, eight writing rules stand out—along with a ninth we can apply from her choices since. Whether or not you’re writing your first book like Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone) or last book in a series (like Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows), I think these rules speak to Ms. Joanne Rowling’s philosophy on writing.They are great writing tips for you to reflect on in your spare moments and then apply to your writing process, for short stories, novels, bestsellers, or even the first time you’ve ever attempted a book. Rule One: Protect your writing time “Be ruthless about protecting writing days, i.e., do not cave in to endless requests to have “essential” and “long overdue” meetings on those days. The funny thing is that, although writing has been my actual job for several years now, I still seem to have to fight for time in which to do it.” This is especially hard for those of us with family. Our loved ones come first, and while that is important, our loved ones also need to understand that we need time to write. Setting reasonable boundaries is a crucial step for a writer—even if they’re as simple as, “Mommy needs fifteen minutes of quiet time, okay?” If you have trouble setting boundaries with loved ones, try setting a reasonable boundary for one week. See how it goes. If it’s too much time or too little, tweak it. Establish a routine that signals to others that it’s your writing time, but also lets them know that outside of your writing space, you’re there for them. Not only will this teach the importance of flexibility and discipline to others, but also that your writing is valuable. It’s your work, and your dream! Needing quiet time to write doesn’t mean that you don’t love your family. Your writing deserves your time, too. Open communication about this can help everyone understand and respect that. Rule Two: Treat your writing like a job “You’ve got to work. It’s about structure. It’s about discipline.” It’s easy to forget that writing is a job. We don’t always feel like doing our job. We certainly don’t always feel inspired. To be writers, we must train ourselves to sit down and write even when we don’t feel like it. Those moments are the ones that really matter, even more than the shining, flying, muse-kissed moments.Writing when we don’t feel like it is what turn amateurs into professionals and rough drafts into polished manuscripts. “The muse works for you. You don’t write at her beck and call—you train her to show up when you’re writing. “ Rule Three: Believe you ARE a writer “I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me.” Yes, writing is possible with another job. Yes, writing is possible with other responsibilities. Are you a writer? (I know your inner critic snarled no, but I also know a tiny candle-flicker of unquenchable hope in you whispered yes with so much longing you could cry.) You ARE a writer. That means you write. A runner runs. A painter paints. A cook cooks. You are a writer. You write. Accept this, fight to believe it, and be amazed at how far that takes you. Rule Four: Write what you know “Write what you know: your own interests, feelings, beliefs, friends, family and even pets will be your raw materials when you start writing.” This doesn’t mean you need to experience aliens in order to write about them. It means that all good stories have universal application. A great example is this Google Doodle. (Trust me. I’m going somewhere with this.) Take two minutes and thirty-six seconds to watch this: Halloween 2017 Google Doodle: Jinx’s Night Out It’s adorable, right? Without a single word, this video told an effective story. You felt for the little ghost, both when it was sad and when it was happy, right? News flash: you’re not a ghost. That was universal application. It doesn’t matter what culture you’re from or what language you speak; all human beings know what it is to be lonely, to feel left out, to be frustrated, determined, and to finally be with friends. That story works because the creators used their interests, feelings, beliefs, friends, family and even pets to tell this story. (I’m fond of the kitty, myself.) I’m greatly oversimplifying, but here’s the gist: you already know how to tell a moving story because you live one. If you’ve ever had emotions, ever responded to anything, then you already know what universal application looks like. Listen to the people around you, and apply empathy. You don’t have to be a ghost to write a good ghost story. Rule Five: Read “I always advise children who ask me for tips on being a writer to read as much as they possibly can. Jane Austen gave a young friend the same advice, so I’m in good company there.” Read. Read. Read some more! The more you read, the bigger your arsenal of words will be. The more you read, the better your grasp of metaphor, poetry, beauty, passion, and empathy will be. The more you read, the greater you will be as a writer (and probably human being). It’s like learning more dance moves or impressively difficult notes on an instrument. The more you learn, the better you’ll be. So read in your genre. Read outside your genre. Get in the habit of finding time to pick up a book instead of your phone (unless it’s to open up another book.) You DO have the time to read. Even if that’s just ten minutes a day. Any time counts. And the more stories you read, the more likely you’ll start to implicitly develop the skills you need to become a great writer. Rule Six: Persevere “Perseverance is absolutely essential, not just to produce all those words, but to survive rejection and criticism.” This is one of those unpleasant truths about publishing: you’re gonna get rejected. A lot. I wish there were a way around this. Harry Potter was turned down again and again because that’s just the way it goes sometimes. And it isn’t only publishers: when you get published, and your work is out there, you’ll get bad reviews, too. Mostly, they’ll just be people who don’t understand what you’re doing. Intellectually, you’ll know that. Your heart, on the other hand, is going to break into a thousand pieces. But here’s the secret: you can’t stop writing because of push-back. You MUST NOT stop writing because of push-back. Keep going. Don’t stop. When you get rejected, pick up your pen and keep going (and use the way you feel to put more universal application into your work). And when you’re feeling really discouraged? Remember that when someone doesn’t like your book, they might also just not be your ideal reader. That person just wasn’t your target audience.If your book isn’t to someone’s taste, that’s all right. It will be to someone else’s.Keep writing your book, because your ideal readers need it. Rule Seven: Bring your whole self to the page “What you write becomes who you are … So make sure you love what you write!” Writing is a little like a Mobius strip, in a way: Your beliefs and experiences and feelings all help craft your writing. However, your writing clarifies, corrects, and often reveals your beliefs, experiences, and feelings. As you write, you’ll discover things about yourself. You’ll clarify things, too, because it’s only as you come to write them that you realize they needed clarification in the first place. Now, understand: this means that if you haven’t given yourself a good look to find your biases (we all have them), you will bring those to the page, too. It’s important to see who you are as you bring your whole self to the page. Writing is a brave, bold venture, and life-altering discovery is part of the journey. Rule Eight: Accept that failure is part of the process “Failure is inevitable—make it a strength. You have to resign yourself to the fact that you waste a lot of trees before you write anything you really like, and that’s just the way it is. It’s like learning an instrument, you’ve got to be prepared for hitting wrong notes occasionally, or quite a lot. I wrote an awful lot before I wrote anything I was really happy with.” Failure is normal. Also, it is okay. You’re going to write a lot of crap. You’re going to push past those things and write more crap. It may take you twelve years. It may take you a million words. If it does, then you’re on the right path—the same one your favorite authors walk. Accept that it will take time, and that sometimes, your pencil won’t be your friend. If you accept it, then when it happens, you won’t throw in the towel and set the house on fire. Instead, you’ll be able to go, “Well, dang; that sucked, didn’t it? Knew it would happen. Time to write some more.” Rule Nine: Respect Your Reader Sadly, this rule doesn’t come from writing advice she’s given, but in a way, it’s the final conclusion of the previous eight. This involves bringing your whole self to the page. This involves empathy and universal application. This involves perseverance, never quitting, and willingness to tackle your writing troubles. If your readers value what you created, they will listen to what you say. Your words have the power to uplift or hurt others. None of us can ever really know where someone else is coming from, and it’s essential that both our stories and our interactions reflect respect. Respect yourself enough to be a better person. Respect your readers enough to hear what they have to say. This sounds scary, I know, but I promise you, it’s worth it.

[loveissupernatural]

    “The Man Behind the Mask”

                     Pt 8

Peter Parker x reader

Warnings: Slight sexual-ness

Summary: You’ve recently moved to Queens, New York after your father finds a new job with the U.S. government handling alien affairs in the city. You’ve grown up in a small town, and it’s your junior year of high school; culture shock takes a whole new meaning when you’re saved by the famed new web-slinging Avenger - and when you meet a new group of friends at Midtown High that seem to always be hiding something. But things quickly get personal.

Masterlist / Pt 1 – Pt 2 – Pt 3 – Pt 4 – Pt 5 – Pt 6 – Pt 7

 You sat in the small waiting room outside of the principal’s office, picking absentmindedly at the ugly green material covering the arm rest of your chair. Ned and Peter sat in identical chairs beside you. They looked mildly terrified. You sighed, wondering what your mother would say if she knew that you were here. Guilt crashed over you like a tidal wave, knowing that the last thing she needed was more stress at a time like this.

You snuck a glance at Peter, an apology burning in your throat. If he hadn’t felt the need to defend you, he wouldn’t be here. If you’d tried to shake off Flash for a moment, just long enough to grab Peter’s elbow and drag him down the hall, none of this would have happened. Why didn’t you do something? Why did you just stand there?

“Peter…” you began, voice small.

“This isn’t your fault,” he said immediately, cutting you off before you could even begin to apologize. He was nervous, but his words were strong. “I let Flash get to me.”

“You shouldn’t have even had to defend me,” you pressed. “I should’ve walked away from him, I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”

“It’s Flash’s fault,” Ned piped up from his seat. “If he wasn’t such a dick, then—”

“Mr. Leeds.”

The principal had opened his office door to usher the three of you inside, catching the end of Ned’s sentence. The color drained from Ned’s face as Principal Morita stepped back from his doorframe and motioned for all of you to join him.

“I just said dick in front of the principal,” Ned murmured to Peter in despair.

You all grabbed your backpacks from the floor and trudged inside to sit in equally uncomfortable chairs. As Principal Morita stepped around his desk, you wondered idly if the terribly hard seating was an intimidation tactic for misbehaving students. You exchanged anxious glances with your friends.

“So,” your principal exhaled, taking his sweet time sitting down and getting comfortable, “You three have some explaining to do. Especially you, Mr. Parker.”

You gulped. Guilt blossomed in your stomach like a poisonous flower.

“Mr. Morita, sir, please let me explain what happened,” you begged, beating Peter to the punch. “It wasn’t our fault.”

“Is that so?” he asked dubiously. The man leaned forward, resting his elbows against the surface of his desk. “So, Mr. Parker didn’t punch Flash Thompson in the face?”

Your protests caught in your throat. “Uh, well—”

“That’s what I thought,” he cut you off. Principal Morita began to play with a pen on his desk, clicking the back against the hard surface repeatedly. You cringed at the annoying sound.

“But, Peter had a good reason!” Ned added hopefully.

“A good reason for assaulting another student?”

You all were silent for a moment, the only sound in the room the incessant clicking of the principal’s ballpoint pen.

“Sir, I’m sorry,” Peter said softly. He sat up straighter in his chair, scooting forward to catch Principal Morita’s eyes. His gaze was imploring. “I know that I shouldn’t have done what I did, but—but Flash, he wouldn’t leave Y/N alone.”

Principal Morita’s eyes darted to you and you nodded enthusiastically, backing Peter’s statement.

“In what way?” the man asked, and Peter jumped on the opportunity.

“He was grabbing her arm,” Peter said quickly, as if he couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “She—she was uncomfortable.” Peter turned to catch your gaze, and his soft eyes were so concerned for you that it made your heart skip a beat.

“And—and he was calling us names!” Ned chimed in.

Principal Morita rolled his eyes at Ned’s comment. “While I’m sure your intentions were nothing but noble, Mr. Parker, there is no excuse for a physical altercation. I’ll talk to Mr. Thompson about his less than kind way of interacting with others, but he wasn’t the one who threw the first punch… the only punch, from what I understand.”

Peter sighed through his nose, running his hand through his chocolate waves.

“Please, Mr. Morita, he was only defending me,” you pleaded. “Flash wasn’t backing off and—and I’m so glad that Peter was there.” You smiled softly at a defeated Peter, slumping in his seat.

“Know that I’m aware that Mr. Thompson isn’t blameless in this incident,” he said to you, his eyes softening the slightest bit. “But we have an unconscious student with the school nurse and some very upset parents that will be marching into my office any second now. I simply cannot tolerate violence of any kind, it’s school policy.”

Peter’s voice was as vulnerable as a child’s. “Mr. Morita, please don’t call my Aunt May.”

The principal sighed, and he seemed to take pity on him. “Mr. Parker, you’re a good student—one of our best, actually. You spent a little time in detention last year from skipping class, but besides that, we don’t ever have any problems out of you.” He finally stopped playing with his pen and folded his hands across his stomach. “You’re a good kid, I know that. Tony Stark doesn’t give an internship to just anybody.”

Peter sat up slightly, a glimmer of hope dancing in his eyes. Would he be saved by Mr. Stark again, however indirect?

“If it were up to me, I’d let you off with a warning, kid,” he said apologetically.

“But… isn’t it up to you?” Ned asked.

Mr. Morita shook his head. “If the school board realizes that there was a knock out in the hallway and no one was punished for it—and believe me, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson would make sure they knew—that’s a bad look for everybody. You gotta understand that.”

The hope disappeared from Peter’s eyes as quickly as it had come. All you wanted to do was hold his hand and apologize, knowing that he didn’t deserve to be the scapegoat for this.

“Tell you what, Parker,” Mr. Morita said, scratching at his broom-like mustache. You could see the wheels turning in his head. “Since it’s your first offense, and I know that this won’t happen again—” his eyes bored into Peter’s, and Peter nodded frantically, “—then I’ll only give you one week’s detention. Anyone else, and it would’ve been at least two.” He exhaled. “But I’ve gotta call your aunt.”

Peter deflated, but nodded his head, knowing it could have been much worse. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Mr. Morita rose from his seat and walked to his office door, signaling to the three of you that this meeting was over. Peter’s head was hung as he walked through the doorway. You and Ned exchanged sad glances. You both thought that this was unfair.

“Oh, and Parker,” your principal said suddenly, causing all three of you to turn. He leaned forward conspiratorially and lowered his voice. “Nice punch.”

 _______________________

As much as Peter having detention sucked, the amount of positive attention he got from the incident almost seemed to make up for it. Random senior guys would walk by you three in the hallway and raise their hands to Peter for a high-five. Gaggles of girls would occasionally laugh, making Peter blush pink (you weren’t a fan of this). The best part, however, was that a swollen-faced Flash avoided all of you like the plague. The moment he would see Peter coming down the hall, he would jump to the other side and practically hide behind taller students.

As soon as you had a moment alone with Peter, you hugged him like your life depended on it. The fact that he’d knocked out an asshole with a single punch, all for you, still made the butterflies in your stomach rebel and heat rush from your cheeks to your toes. Peter had walked you to your History class, and before he could say goodbye, you practically jumped on him.

He seemed taken off guard by your sudden burst of affection, but it was only a second before his strong arms encircled you and returned your enthusiasm. You rested your blushing cheek against his, arms around his neck, breathing in his scent.

“What’s this for?” Peter asked you softly, barely chuckling. You tightened your arms at his sweet voice.

“For everything,” you answered simply, and he knew what you meant.

Knowing that you both had classes to get to, you slowly pulled away, but you couldn’t stop touching him; your hands settled at his arms. You gazed at Peter with adoration, and he returned it with a shy, flustered grin. Peter Parker was a magnet drawing you in, and all you wanted to do in that moment was take his beautiful face in your hands and kiss him until you both ran out of air.

But you wouldn’t. Not when he was such a good friend—the best—and you didn’t want to scare him away.

You took a deep breath for courage and leaned in, gently pressing your lips to Peter’s cheek. You were a little ashamed at how long your lips lingered there, loving the softness of his skin. When you backed away, your heart skipped a beat at the look on Peter’s face and the deep red hue that covered his ears. He lightly touched where your lips had been only moments before, a bashful half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“My hero,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. You shoved his shoulder.

Poor Peter seemed absolutely overwhelmed. “Uh, I… maybe I should punch Flash more often…?”

You giggled and started backing into your classroom. “See you later, yeah?”

Peter broke into a full smile and it was glorious. You were absolutely, irrevocably smitten. “See you at l-lunch, Y/N.”

You didn’t pay any attention in History. You just doodled hearts on the margins of your notebook, replaying the moment before class in your head over and over again. Peter was quite a breath of fresh air in the midst of your chaotic personal life, even though he’d become such an integral part of it in such a short time.

You wondered what would’ve happened if you’d kissed him — not on the cheek, but really kissed him. Your face grew hot at the mere thought. You’d be lying if you said that you hadn’t been dreaming of kissing Peter since the moment you first saw him in the cafeteria. He was supportive, intelligent, kind, funny, and oh so cute. But he was also one of your best friends. Peter was your link to Spider-Man and to finding out more about what was happening to your father. Complicating your relationship with Peter wouldn’t only make things awkward for your friend group, but could stomp the brakes on your investigation. Not to mention, you were still new to this school, and if Peter and Ned no longer wanted to hang out with you, you’d be completely alone with a bed-ridden father and emotionally-spent mother. You weren’t sure if you could handle that.

There were many potential pros to letting Peter know how you felt, but there were infinitely more cons. If he didn’t feel the same way, Peter might not be in your life anymore, and that simply wasn’t an option for you.

That reality didn’t stop you from daydreaming, though, or scribbling Peter’s name inside a few of the hearts you’d drawn. Had Peter had his first kiss already? Girls weren’t exactly lining up at his door, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d had a girlfriend before. He had a reputation for being a bit of a nerd, and so did Ned, so you’re sure that their experience in the dating department was limited. However, anyone with eyes could see that Peter was attractive, and you absentmindedly worried that if you didn’t eventually make your move, another girl would.

You licked your lips, drawing an extra thick outline on one of your doodled hearts. What would kissing Peter be like? Would his lips be gentle and loving, like his personality? Or passionate and rough, like the way you wanted to kiss him when he’d punched Flash that morning? You’d never seen Peter angry before — frankly, you didn’t know he was capable of it. When you’d gotten over your surprise, you realized that it excited you. The clenching of his sharp jaw, the vein popping in his neck, the flash in his normally-gentle eyes…

You crossed your legs.

You cleared your throat awkwardly at the direction your thoughts had taken. You’d see Peter and Ned at lunch in an hour, and you did not need to be thinking of Peter that way when you did. Your face was an open book and they’d be able to tell if something was… off.

Your next class passed quickly as well, since you were having issues stopping the daydreams centered around a soft pair of lips and chocolate, curly hair.

You strutted to the cafeteria a bit more eagerly than usual, ready to get your hot lunch and to see the object of your morning fantasies. After getting a questionable-looking burger and a side of fries, you tried to hide your enthusiasm as you approached your friends at the lunch table. Stop staring at Peter, damn it!

“Hey,” Peter greeted you with a smile, his voice sweet. You let the sound pour over you and settle in the base of your stomach. The butterflies loved it.

“Hey, guys,” you smiled at Ned and Peter in turn, trying desperately not to let your gaze linger on the latter. You subconsciously crossed your legs. Peter swallowed.

“So…” Ned began a bit awkwardly, apparently sensing something in the air, “what’s our plan with, ya know…?” You raised your eyebrows at him. He lowered his voice. “Arachnizilla?”

Peter rolled his eyes and ran a hand over his face, obviously still not a fan of Ned’s nickname for the escaped science experiment. You bit back a giggle.

“Yeah, what is our plan for… Arachnizilla?” you asked, your lips turning up at the ridiculous moniker.

Peter groaned exasperatedly, throwing his head back. “No, not you too!”

“I knew I liked you!” Ned laughed triumphantly, fist-bumping you with a satisfied smirk. You winked at Peter in an apology. His suddenly seemed a little less annoyed.pet

“So, what did Spider-Man say after I left?” you asked them, popping a ketchup-covered fry in your mouth. Ned looked at Peter expectantly.

Peter leaned in, lowering his voice. “He, uh… he said that he’d check it out. I showed him what we’d found in those files. He’s going to look for it.”

You swallowed thickly. “He said that?” Your brow furrowed with worry. “Not that I don’t think Spider-Man can handle this, but… I mean, you saw that thing…”

Ned gulped too, again looking at his friend for confirmation. Peter straightened, pride in his posture. “Don’t worry, he’s got this.”

Part 9 is coming soon!

Tags: @rivaea @starksparker @its-nikki-bitch @martinafigoli @castawayclaires @rintheemolion @redheaded-hobbit @a-miserable-hufflepunk @eridanuswave

If you’d like to be tagged, DM me!

[thetravelerwrites]

Sorka (Bugbear) Lemon

Rating: Lemon Relationship: Female Human/Male Bugbear Additional Tags: Exophilia, Bugbear, Interspecies Romance, Sex Content Warnings: Babies, Children, Infants, Mention of Birth Words: 4301

A super sweet commission for @floral-and-fine​ based on her monster match featuring the same characters! A single mother returns to work after giving birth to her first child, and uses a professional caregiver service to take care of her daughter while she works. The person they send is not exactly who, or what, she expected. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

Despite the difficulties, I really enjoyed my job.

It can be hard for a bugbear to work in childcare, a little because of our imposing physical appearance, but mostly because of the old tales about my kind back when our existence wasn’t widely known to the public, before the secluded monsters decided to integrate into mainstream society. There used to be bedtime stories about us that said bugbears ate children, that we took them away and devoured them if they were bad or disobeyed their parents. We were a cautionary tale.

The thing about fables like those is that there is usually a seed of truth to them. Back then, bugbears did take children, but we took them from bad homes and abusive families, protecting and often raising them as our own. In bugbear culture, children are the most precious creatures and our top priority, even if they were not our own children. It’s one of the reasons why so many of my kind went into childcare after the Integration.

But prejudice often prevented us from getting jobs as caregivers. Many humans still believed the old stories and are distrustful of us around their kids. Some bugbears worked in monster-only childcare programs for this reason, but I wanted to prove to people that though we were monsters, we weren’t villains. I wanted to work with humans and be an example.

It took me some time to find a childcare program that would allow me to work with humans, but Ironblood Interspecies Caregivers jumped at the chance to take me on. My extensive education in child psychology and fifteen years experience with non-human children was something that made me highly sought after in the field, and Jukah, the owner, was excited to have me working for him. He’d recently expanded onto his daycare with an in-home care service for infants and special needs children. He was just as passionate about children’s welfare as I was, and becoming part of his team gave me a wonderful feeling, as though I was finally doing what I’d set out to do.

Even then, it wasn’t smooth sailing. The first few humans who had interviewed me turned me down almost immediately. Several wrote on the rejection form that the sight of me would scare their child, which was something I’d heard many times before, but it was still kind of a punch to the ego.

Eventually, I was hired on to take care of a non-verbal five-year-old human boy with autism named Liam, and I loved it. He didn’t care what I looked like and nor did his parents. In fact, petting the fur of my arms was one of his favorite stims, often falling asleep in my arms as he did so. He had hyper-fixations that he loved sharing with me, and though he couldn’t communicate, he was very smart. He did have violent episodes of self harm, and he was incredibly strong and could be difficult to manage during these episodes, so my size combined with my thick fur was crucial in helping restrain and calm him.

I worked with Liam’s family for six years until they moved away to Philadelphia for his mother’s work. God, I missed that boy. Keeping a professional distance was all well and good in theory, but it was impossible not to love a child one had devoted six years of their life to.

After they left, I had to go through the arduous task of finding a new family that needed a caregiver. Jukah sent out my resume’ to parents needing help, and to my surprise, I was selected within a week. Jukah had a policy of not sending pictures or mentioning race on the resume’ to prevent bias, but I still expected the first interview to go just as poorly as they usually did. I still went, hoping for the best.

Liana McAvoy was a single mother about to return to work after giving birth to her first child and daughter, Ruthie. Ruthie was seven weeks old and had laryngeomalacia, which concerned Ms. McAvoy to the extent that she wanted one-on-one care in her home. Laryngeomalacia was a condition in which the larynx was a little too big and caused the baby to make wheezing noises as if they were struggling to breathe or suffocating, but from what I knew, it was actually completely harmless and didn’t hurt the baby at all. It was still distressing to listen to, so I could understand Ms. McAvoy’s worry.

The day of the interview, I arrived at the apartment rather anxious. I was fully expecting Ms. McAvoy to reject me outright and just wanted to get it over with. The door opened and I saw the same expression I always saw when prospective clients first saw me: shock and alarm. She even took a step backward.

“Hello,” I said, ignoring the reaction and pressing forward. “I’m here for the childcare interview.”

She jumped a little as if goosed. “Oh, yes,” She said a little breathlessly. “Of course, please come in.”

I instinctively bent down to pass through the doorway; human residences were definitely not built with people like me in mind. As I made my way in and before I could speak further, I heard a high-pitched squawking.

“Oh, excuse me,” Ms. McAvoy said, looking apologetic. “She must have woken up.”

“No problem at all,” I assured her, smiling a little. This, oddly, seemed to ease her, and she smiled in return before she went to retrieve the little one.

In the moment she was gone, now that I was less anxious, I had a moment to realize something: she was gorgeous. Thick thighs, big butt, cute belly, small on top. Taller than average, for a human that is. She had most of her wavy brown hair pulled back into a pony tail with the ends bleached. She was wearing a flirty floral sundress that ended at the knee with a matching cardigan that complimented her skin tone perfectly and wore very little makeup on her adorable face, only a light mascara that brightened her eyes and a blush pink gloss that accentuated the pout of her lips. I gulped a little. She was exactly my type, physically at least, and I didn’t know how to unpack that information.

Attraction to clients wasn’t uncommon; there were company policies specifically because of it. As long as one could ignore the attraction, be professional, do their job, and not do anything inappropriate, then there shouldn’t be a problem. I was nothing if not professional.

She returned with the most adorable little baby girl, and any residual anxiety I had left evaporated. Ruthie looked a lot like her mother, though her eyes were blue rather than brown.

“She’s adorable,” I said. “Seven weeks, right?”

“Yeah,” Ms. McAvoy said, gazing down at the wiggle bundle proudly. She looked up at me. “Would you like to hold her?”

I was taken aback. Clients were always so guarded around me with their children, especially parents with infants. I could feel my face split into a wide grin.

“Absolutely!” I said, perhaps over-enthusiastically, but I was excited. This was going much better than I anticipated. I could see she was still a little nervous about it, but I held my hands out for the baby anyway.

She put Ruthie in my arms, and I cradled her carefully. “Well, aren’t you beautiful?” I said to her. She squealed and squeaked at me, waving her little fists. “Aren’t you sweet? You’re such a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

“Do you have kids?” Ms. McAvoy asked me.

“No, no,” I replied, still playing with Ruthie, tickling her chubby cheeks. “But I was the oldest of twelve. Practically raised my youngest siblings.”

“Well, she certainly likes you,” Ms. McAvoy commented with a smile. “And you come highly recommended.”

I nodded. “I really care about my work,” I said. “Kids deserve the best.”

Her smile began more appreciative. “When can you start?”

My head popped up in shock. “Really?”

“Yeah,” She said, her smile widening to show her pearly teeth. “Ruthie’s taken a shine to you, so I gotta listen to the boss.”

I laughed in relief. “Thank you! I’m really excited to work with you. When do you go back to work?”

“In a week, and I’m dreading it,” Ms. McAvoy admitted.

I nodded. “That’s normal, especially considering this is your first child. It’ll be hard, but you’ll be okay. And so will she,” I said, bouncing Ruthie to make her squeak. “I promise to look after her as if she were my own.”

“That’s definitely a relief,” Ms. McAvoy said, sighing. “Would it be okay if I asked you to come a day early so that I could observe you with her? Just for my own peace of mind. I would pay you for the extra day, clearly.”

“Of course. I want you to feel as comfortable as possible. I’ll be here bright and early Sunday morning.”

“Thank you so much,” She said, holding out a hand.

I transferred Ruthie to my shoulder and to the hand took shake it. “You’re very welcome, Ms. McAvoy.”

“Please, call me Liana,” She said with a smile.

After the trial day on Sunday, during which Liana watched me with Ruthie, changing her diaper, putting her down for naps, listening to her breathing, doing a small check up to make sure when she inhaled that her chest wasn’t struggling to take in air, which would be an indication of breathing obstruction, but she was fine. After Liana was satisfied with me, she returned to work the next day, still anxious but less worried about Ruthie’s well-being in her absence.

For the next few months, things went smoothly. Liana came to trust me implicitly and was happy to leave Ruthie in my care when she worked. Liana was also in childcare, being a elementary school teacher, and it seemed to give us both an innate understanding of each other.

Liana was patient and kind, and my attraction to her was still there, especially when she wore those cute floral dresses and let her hair fall free to frame her face. I did my best to stamp down the attraction, but I couldn’t help admiring her beauty in silence.

A few months in, I got a call from Liana saying she was sick and staying home, but that she’d need me to come anyway. She wanted me to care for Ruthie so that she didn’t accidentally get her sick. She left a key in a hiding place for me to let myself in.

I unlocked the door and called, “Hello? Liana, it’s Sorka. Are you home?”

“Yeah,” A hoarse voice called from the back of the apartment. Liana’s room. I’d made it a point never to go in there, but I headed toward it. The door was open.

Inside, Liana was laying on her bed, looking pale and miserable, and Ruthie was in a covered bassinet, asleep. Liana was wearing a surgical mask and doctor’s gloves. I smiled a little at the sight.

“I hope this is okay,” Liana said, a little bit of a wheeze running through her speech. “I’d feel better if you were taking care of her while I’m sick. I’m scared to death of passing it on to her.”

“It’s no problem at all,” I assured her. “Would you like me to move her out of this room?”

“Yes, please,” Liana said. “I put her in here so I could watch her, but I don’t want her picking up any germs from me.”

“I gotcha,” I said, taking the bassinet and moving it gently outside of the room. “Can I get you anything?”

She laughed, which ended in a cough, and waved her hand at me. “It’s not your job to take care of me. Go on, you two. I’ll be asleep for most of the day, anyhow. It’ll be like I’m not even here.”

“If you say so,” I said with a smile. “But seriously, if you need anything, give a holler, okay?”

“Mm-hmm,” She said sleepily, taking off the surgical mask and gloves and getting as comfortable as possible. She was asleep within seconds, and I stood in the doorway, watching her breathe in and out. I felt a soft smile on my face. Even all snotty and sick, she was lovely. I covered her with her blanket up to the chin and closed the door.

I moved Ruthie to the other end of the apartment, playing with her and keeping her occupied. She was four months now and was able to sit up with support and I was working on teaching her some basic sign language. It was still too soon for her to be able to comprehend or make the signs herself, but starting early meant she could recognize the signs early as well.

It was nearing lunchtime, and after feeding Ruthie her bottle and putting her down for a nap, I looked in on Liana. She was sitting up in bed, mask and gloves on, going through paperwork on a lap table.

“What are you doing?” I asked. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I still have to provide the substitute with my curriculum,” She said. “It’ll only take a few minutes. Where’s Ruthie?”

“Down for her nap,” I replied. “Well… I’ll leave you to it, then. Still, get some rest.”

“I will, I will,” She assured you.

I ordered lunch from a local sandwich place and made a split second decision to add some soup to the order as well. Looking in the cupboards, I found some tea, and there was lemon and honey I could add, as well.

When the food arrived, I put the soup in a bowl and added the tea and a glass of water and took it into Liana’s room. She was asleep again, the papers strewn across her torso. I smiled again and shook my head. Moving the papers, I set the tray down on the lap table and gently shook her.

“Liana,” I said softly. “Wake up. Lunchtime.”

Her eyes opened and she groggily looked down at the spread in front of her. Sitting up a bit, she looked up at me blearily.

“Did you make this?” She asked.

I laughed. “I wish. I’m a terrible cook. I ordered it. I did make the tea, though. I thought this would be good for you.”

“I said you didn’t have to do this.”

“You did,” I agreed. “But I did it anyway.”

She laughed, a sweet smile on her face, as she picked up the spoon. “I wish you had been Ruthie’s dad. He never did stuff like this for me.”

My heart did flip-flops in my chest. “You don’t talk about him much. And I’ve never heard you mention visitation. I hope you don’t think this is out of line, but is he involved much with Ruthie?”

“Not all that much, actually,” She said sourly. “He’ll come and see her once in a blue moon, but he never stays long. If it were for the fact that he had to pay child support, I doubt I’d ever hear from him.”

“I’m assuming it ended badly?”

She nodded. “He was cheating and got another girl pregnant,” She said. “His son, Ruthie’s half-brother, is almost the same age as her. They’re only about a week apart in age.”

“Oh, god,” I replied, wincing. “What an asshole.”

“Yeah,” She said, sipping the tea. “He didn’t seem to think he’d done all that much wrong, but I was willing to give him a second chance. Except that he chose her. Five years of my life, down the drain.” She sighed. “Well… at least I got a really pretty baby out of it. She’s definitely worth it.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She shook her head. “It is what it is.”

I talked to her while she ate, and afterward, she grew tired again. I took the empty dishes and closed her door, washing them before going to check on Ruthie.

She was sick for a full week, and I stayed for as long as I could each day, making sure that both Ruthie and Liana were well cared for. Liana finally gave up her protests on the third day and let me nurse her back to health. Eventually, she went back to work and the routine reasserted itself.

Another few months passed. Ruthie’s laryngeomalacia faded to nothing, and I expected Liana to put her in a normal daycare, but she insisted on keeping me around, saying that Ruthie was used to me and that she didn’t want to introduce her to a new environment that might distress her. I didn’t mind: I loved Ruthie and reveled in any excuse to stay close to Liana.

My attraction was growing into more than that and I knew it. I didn’t want to admit that I was falling for her, because that meant I’d have to quit working for her. And I didn’t want to tell her the reason for my resignation because I didn’t want her to think I was disgusting or a pervert. I knew staying was dangerous,  but I kept telling myself that I was a professional. I would keep it under control and not do anything that would put my job or position at Ironblood’s in jeopardy. I would ignore my feelings and keep a professional distance.

Even still, there were things that were hard to ignore, like the curve of her small breasts visible beyond the low neckline of her dress as she bent down, the sway of her hips as she moved and swished the hem of her dress, the sweet loving smile reserved only for Ruthie, the lilting sound of her voice when she sang a lullaby, the way the sunlight haloed her hair as it touched it early in the morning. I had to mentally shake myself every time I caught myself staring at her, hoping that she never noticed.

School was close to being done for the semester, and Liana was more busy that normal preparing for the end of the season. One day, she surprised me by coming home early.

“Half-day?” I asked as I was feeding–well, attempting to feed–a jar of string beans to a wiggling Ruthie.

Liana looked harried. “No, I forgot some of my tools here and it’s been a hell of a day. I’m using my lunch break to just get out of there and take a breath.” She sat down heavily in the opposite chair and kissed Ruthie’s head.

“Hungry, then?” I asked. “I can make us some sandwiches.”

“Sounds great, I’m starving,” She sighed. “Is Ruthie done eating?”

I snorted. “I think she’s eaten all she’s going to.”

“I’ll put her down for her nap, then.”

Liana emerged from Ruthie’s room, closing the door behind her, just as I was putting the top piece of bread on both sandwiches. “Roast beef okay?”

“Anything would be okay,” She said.

I didn’t realize she was directly behind me until I turned and walked right into her, knocking us both to the ground. The plates with the sandwiches clattered onto the floor and the food went in all directions.

“I’m so sorry!” I said, pulling myself up on my hands so I didn’t crush her. “Are you okay?”

But she didn’t answer. Her eyes were trained on her lips, her pupils blown wide. She was breathing heavily and her hands clutched the fabric of my shirt over my chest, as if she didn’t want me to get up.

At that moment, I was standing on the precipice of a dangerous cliff, and without hesitation, I jumped.

My mouth came down on hers, kissing her hard, all the pent-up tension I’d been feeling over the last few months finally being released. She kissed me back just as hungrily, grasping the fur around my ears and holding me in place. Her pelvis moved underneath me where I lay between her legs, and my cock immediately began to stiffen. This was going very fast, but I couldn’t stop it. I wanted her so badly.

She reached between us and unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my pants, and unzipped the zipper, reaching inside to touch me, and I gasped in her mouth. As soon as I opened my mouth, her tongue slipped inside and she moaned. I broke apart for just a moment to slip off her panties, and I was back down, kissing her lips and face and neck as I pressed myself to her dripping entrance.

“Yes, yes, yes,” She chanted. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“So have I,” I said as I slicked myself down before pushing myself inside. She moaned loudly, but still tried to keep her sounds low. I had wanted to start slow and ease into it, but I couldn’t. I went hard and fast right out of the gate, desperate and needy. She seemed to appreciate it, though, wrapping her legs around my waist and spurring me on. I braced on one arm and palmed her breast over her dress with the other, my lips on her neck. She reached down and pushed the back of my pants down with both hands so that she could grab handfuls of my butt, squeezing and digging her fingernails in.

I could feel her having the orgasm underneath me even though she was trying hard to stay quiet. Her inner walls spasmed and her body went rigid, her eyes closed and her mouth open. I couldn’t slow down, I needed to get to that crest myself. It had been a while, and I had wanted her so badly.

I popped up onto my hands and looked down at her, and she gazed up at me, opening my shirt and running her fingers down my fur as my body slapped against hers, moving her back and forth against the floor a little aggressively, but she seemed to enjoy it, judging from the wide smile on her face. I could feel myself close to cumming just as her eyes rolled back again, her legs tensing around me. I felt myself release into her and my body locked up over her. All I could do was ball my fists and ride the wave back down until I collapsed over her, and she put her arms around me.

After the euphoria had worn off, my immediate next though was: What have I done?

A little awkwardly, I climbed off of her and helped her up. She went into the bathroom silently to clean up and I wiped myself down with a wet paper towel before straightening up my clothes. Liana came out of the bathroom just as I had finished cleaning what would have been our lunch off of the ground.

“So,” She asked sheepishly. “You’re in a lot of trouble now, aren’t you?”

I leaned against the counter. “Quite a bit, yes.” I sighed and took her hand. “I didn’t intend for this to happen. I meant to stay professional.”

She shook her head. “I think this was a long time coming, honestly. I’ve liked you for a really long time. I tried to stay distant,  but it’s hard when you’re such a sweet guy.”

I laughed a little. “I’ve liked you, too. But I can’t be with you and keep my job.”

“I know,” She said. “I know how important your work is and I’d never do anything to jeopardize that. Well…” She trailed off and gestured to the spot on the floor where the two of you had made love. “I mean, not on purpose.”

“I know,” I said, pulling her into a tight hug. “I guess this is my notice of resignation from this position.”

She sighed shakily and clung to me hard before letting me go and giving me a kiss. “I’m sorry to see you go.”

The same day, I went to Jukah’s office and knocked on the frame of the open door. “Boss?”

Jukah was an orc, a little guy even by human standards due to a condition he had, but he had a very strong presence. He was the kind of guy people wanted to listen to. A leader.

“Hey, Sorka, what can I do for you?” He asked, shuffling papers to the side to devote all of his attention to me.

“Well,” I started reluctantly. “I need to quit the McAvoy job.”

Jukah cocked his head to the side. “Why? You love that position.”

“I have feelings for the mother,” I said, a little hesitant to meet his eye. “I can’t ignore them anymore.”

“Oh, I see,” He said, linking his fingers together. “How far has it gone?”

I scrubbed my face and was unable to answer.

Jukah sighed. “Look, I… I understand your position, but I have the reputation of the company to think about.”

“I know, sir.”

“You’ll be removed immediately from the home and reassigned.”

“I understand, sir.”

“And for god’s sakes, give it a week at least before you go back to her. And bring her flowers.”

My head popped up. “Sir?”

Jukah was shaking his head in a don’t push it kind of way, but continued. “No contact for a week. Then go back with flowers. And take her to a nice place. That’s an order.”

A wide smile broke out on my face. “You’re the boss.”

A week later, I followed orders and showed up with flowers in my hand. I attempted to apologize, but she kissed me before I could. Then she, Ruthie, and I went out for a nice dinner. Then, after laying Ruthie down for the evening, we spent a proper night together, just like we’d always wanted, only this time I planned to stay.

I was home again.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience!To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[minstrophywife]

Masque

⇢Pairing: Art thief!Taehyung x Museum curator!Reader  ⇢Genre: Thief!AU  ↳[PWP] [Smuuuuut] ⇢Word Count: 7,536 ⇢Warnings: PWP -  dubcon, sleeping drugs, abduction, objectification, mirror kink, orgasm denial, oral (female receiving), light bondage, praise kink, objectification, lots of teasing, cumplay, dirty talk, no protection (please practice safe sex okay) !!! Seriously if those warnings trigger anything, please don’t continue. This is just a smutty fic and is not worth your anxiety. !!!  

⇢Part One of the Masqued Universe. [Part Two] ⇢Masterlist

⇢Summary: World infamous thief Vante only steals the most valuable and exquisite of art.

⇢A/N: So… I was working on my other fic, and while cute high school fluff is fun, this suddenly popped into my head and………. (It’s not like Taehyungs very glamorous outfit had -anything- to do with this PWP… right? It’s not like him laying on the bed for the concert had anything to do with this…right??????  Its not like him in the VLIVE all sexy in his black shirt had absolutely anything to do with this… RIGHT?!!) the thirst is real y’all. I only meant for this to be a quickie but no…

MASQUE -Just in on Action 7 News- World famous criminal art thief Vante has left his calling card yet again. We interview owner of Seoul National Museum of Fine Art and Craft, Park Se Hoon. Now live with reporter Kim Seokjin. Kim Seokjin: Yes, thank you Min Yoongi. Can you hear me in the studio? Min Yoongi: Loud and clear. Kim Seokjin: How are you preparing for the art thief Vante? Park Se Hoon: Our museum is fully equipped to the latest state of the art laser alarm systems, including other secrets that we cannot divulge for security reasons. Just because infamous thief Vante has suddenly decided to choose our museum is Seoul as his next target, does not mean we will not be prepared.  Kim Seokjin: Even though he has never failed yet? Park Se Hoon: Based on the evidence from his last theft in Venice, Italy, the art gallery there has provided ample guidance and assistance so that this never occurs again. Kim Seokjin: Could his calling card have anything to do with the recent announcement of the exhibit ‘Rare Treasures of the Dynasty Royalty’? Park Se Hoon: Most likely, yes. The items we are presenting have been in tight, government security for many decades. Kim Seokjin: What item do you think he will be targeting? Park Se Hoon: *clears his throat* I am not at liberty to say yet, for security reasons all information of the contents of the exhibit will not be released to the public until opening day. Kim Seokjin: Could it be that he has decided to steal the rare jade jewelry set worn by the Joseon Dynasty queens? Doesn’t it include a rare hair pin and necklace?  Park Se Hoon: No comment. That question was not included on the interview packet that your news station provided. Kim Seokjin: But how are you going to deal with the thief Vante? Sir? Could we see the calling card? Sir?  Min Yoongi: It looks like the interview is done. Kim Seokjin: Well, it seems like the general public is going to have to wait for opening day of the exhibit. Once again, titled ‘Rare Treasures of the Dynasty Royalty’. Now back to the studio. Min Yoongi: That was Kim Seokjin with Action 7 News.

The museum had been in a state of constant flurry ever since the calling card of Vante, world infamous art thief, was attached dramatically on the entrance of the Seoul National museum of Fine Art. The card itself was extremely plain you thought, when you and the museum staff crowded around it. The card was a dark black card stock, with a fancy ‘Vante’ inscribed with a shining silver ink. 

Vante’s calling cards had never changed over the years- even from his first heist, all that the thief provided was his name. No matter how long he had been in this game, a whopping five years, art thief Vante had continued to be just as elusive as he was an enigma. 

As much as Vante’s calling card had caused the constant state of stress in the museum, you viewed it as a challenge. 

You had gotten hired at the Seoul National Museum of Fine Art and Craft right out of university- you thanked your art history professors that had connections with various museums all over the world, and to your surprise, you were able to apply for an internship at the museum your third year, which naturally led to your current position as a curator. 

Some of your fellow curators had suggested to you and your boss to not include the jade set- 

but the government was endorsing the exhibit this time, confident at providing unlimited amount of resources to you and the museum to keep the national treasures safe from Vante.

Plus, you are stubborn. And your boss is stubborn. You know that he was more interested in the prestige associated with displaying works for the government, but for you it was a dream come true. How could you ever pass on the opportunity to curate some of South Korea’s oldest and most precious items? Your drive to showcase the history and culture to the public was strong. Art deserves to be seen by others. To be appreciated. 

...Which is why you are walking through the exhibit yet again with your handy clipboard, making sure everything makes sense and flows correctly. Even with a week until the exhibition, things were still being carefully curated and put into place- and you had to make sure that as many pieces as possible were put on display for all of visitors to see and enjoy.

You wander through the exhibitions space, being careful to move out of the way from people placing a beautiful celadon vase from the Goryeo Dynasty safely on the pedestal, the beautiful green shining under the display lights. Every time you see something new being put away, your heart flutters in its chest in excitement. What was once pictures, now is a tangible object for you and the public to fully appreciate.

You snap yourself out of your little daze, bringing your wrist up to check your watch. It’s about ten minutes until the secret delivery of the ornamental jade hair pin and necklace set, arguably the showstopper of the collection for its delicacy and elegance, you anxiously begin to head to the receiving bay of the museum, your steps quick.

Park Se Hoon, your boss and owner of the museum stands very rigidly by the door, clearly just as anxious (if not more) as you. You hurry towards him, and the sound of your arrival makes him jump slightly. He covers his embarrassment with a glare, but you don’t feel any animosity behind it. 

“It’s only five minutes until you arrived, why weren’t you here sooner?” You can tell its his ‘I’m going to be your boss, but I’m just as nervous voice’.

You clear your throat and bow your head slightly in apology. “I was observing the installation of one of the Goryeo vases. I apologize for my delay, but I am here now.”

Se Hoon wrings his wrists slightly, not bothering to respond. His eyes aren’t even looking towards you, just trained towards the door and his watch.

A phone alarm rings, and Se Hoon struggles to get the device out of his pocket. 

“Yes sir, I understand. I am here with chief curator Y/N to handle the delivery. We are waiting at the door.” He motions at with his head, and you walk forward to open it. You’re met with the stereotypical scene of four men in black suits, with a perpetually grumpy face. He hands you the large briefcase, and waves his hand towards Se Hoon. 

Se Hoon scrambles forward. Clearly, the passcode is being whispered. Why you aren’t allowed to know it, you’ll never understand, but soon enough the sour faced looking man is motioning for you to the hallway that leads to the exhibit area.

You get the hint.

By the time you reach the display case for the hairpin and bracelet set, your hands feel sweaty, briefcase heaving in your hand. You walk towards a temporary table to place the briefcase down slowly, and step to the side so Se Hoon can open it. He has shaky fingers as he switches the numbers to their correct code. You glance away, you already feel the imaginary daggers from the guards.

When you hear the click of the briefcase open, you turn back, reaching in your blazer pocket to fish out a pair of white gloves that you put on quickly. Se Hoon doesn’t even have to motion you over before you stride towards the pieces.

When you see them, you stop for a moment just to appreciate the beauty.

Honestly, if you were Vante, this is the piece you would steal. The lavish phoenix design with its beautiful inlay jade feathers with flowers lining the phoenix, the detail a sight to behold. The necklace really showcases the jade, the large piece of jade in the front is being embraced with the phoenix, the wings and tail spread outwards, with a fluttering of engraved jade floral beads to hold the piece all together. 

It’s breathtaking. 

This is the reason you decided to become a curator- just so you could have the opportunity to really be up close and personal with each piece of art- and you’re soon swept away in your own world.

Se Hoon clears his throat. 

You delicately lift the hairpin first, and walk slowly and carefully towards the stand for it, placing it gently onto the display. The necklace is next, and the pair together are bewitching with how they demand your attention. No wonder the queens of Joseon wore this - it draws viewers in, mesmerizing them, and even when Se Hoon closes the glass display cases and locks it, you still cannot take your eyes away.

Se Hoon leaves you to staring to escort the four guards away, letting you have your own space to appreciate the piece. 

Maybe Se Hoon does understand, even just a tiny bit.

EXHIBITION DAY.

It’s launch day, and you feel extremely nervous- you stayed at the exhibition extremely late- an entire evening passing you by before you were startled by the sounds of chirping birds greeting the sun.

With every exhibition comes nervousness, and you can’t help but feel the weight of expectation this time- as all eyes and from the high and flighty politicians who promoted this event were on you and your execution of this exhibition.

As there was going to be masses amount of press today, you decide to dress very simple, but classy- you never could go wrong with a classic black dress and heels. Your dress is sleeveless, however you decide to layer a simple sheer black long sleeve underneath. You want to go for a professional look that showcases your position as a curator of the exhibition, yet you also want to shy away from the attention, as you know the swanky politicians and government officials will want the spotlight. It’s a combo you know makes you look good, and feel just a teeny bit more confident (even when your heart is pounding against your ribcage like crazy). 

Museum badge ID slung around your neck, you grab your small purse and head out the door of your apartment to the car.

The drive to work is the same as usual, but you can’t help but feel extremely distracted, your eyes half paying attention to the road in front of you. You go through your checklist in your head once again, trying to remember if you missed anything from your walkthrough last night.

All of the security features for the exhibit had been installed in segments over the week, and the most amount of effort went towards the the jade piece. The pressure plate system, seemed to be convincing enough… however you can’t help the unsettling feeling that lingered from last night. 

Your mind wanders to Vante. Would a pressure plate and a fingerprint locked display case really be enough to stop him?

You hope so.

The day is progressing smoothly- so smoothly in fact that you get lost in how well the public reaction is to the exhibit, the impossibly shiny smiles from all of the politicians and government officials have given you enough handshakes to last you for a while. You are surprised when Se Hoon pulls you into his office with a sharp tug. 

“Have you seen anything suspicious?” He whispers harshly, but you don’t know why he’s whispering in the privacy of his office. You blink owlishly in response. The shine of silver lettering catches your eye from behind your boss, glittering on his desk.

Oh right. Vante. 

“Surely he would not attempt anything in the middle of the day, during peak hours. If Vante has any decency, he would at least wait until the evening, allowing for the public to at least get one day to appreciate the exhibit in full.” 

“Are you suggesting that he will be successful?” 

“No, I am merely answering your question as to why I haven’t seen anything suspicious yet.” 

Typical- your boss has a very nervous personality. You think it’s because he always aims to please the sponsors of the exhibits. Oh well, he manages to provide you opportunities like this one. You can’t help but dwell on his worries though, and you chew on the inside of your cheek. As the exhibition continues onwards, you know there is going to be a time when he makes his move. When though, is a mystery. 

Se Hoon sighs, rubbing his forehead in defeat. “Make sure you check in with security as the opening day draws to a close.” 

You simply nod, and turn away to walk back towards the door. You barely hear Se Hoon, mumbling under his breath to himself. “He’s going to steal them, isn’t he?”

The opening exhibition event comes to a close, and does so without a hitch. You and Se Hoon have just checked with the security team for this meeting, and things seem to be going okay.

“So far, no word from Vante. The police and guards are here, and the alarm systems are fully set into place. Don’t stay here too late Y/N- enjoy the rest of your evening and celebrate the success of your curated exhibit.” Se Hoon looks drained from the events of today, and you can tell how badly he just wants to return home. You bow politely. “Of course sir. Have a good rest of your weekend.” He smiles warily back, and then swiftly moves to the exit of the building, and you when you see his figure retreating, you quickly kick off your high heels.

A sigh of relief escapes your lips, and you return back to your own office. You wish you would have brought some extra clothes with you. As much as it would be great to get out of this dress and back in the comfort of your own home, you feel like it’s your responsibility to triple check the numbers of today, as well as make some notes about opening day for future reference.

Walking to your office, you stop at the shared drink dispensing machine in the small lounge, pressing the button to brew yourself a cup of tea- you need some warm tea to ease the tension you had built up for the day. 

You make your way to your small office, ready to compile the analysis of today on your computer, and when you sink into your desk chair, you can’t help but sigh in relief. 

You take a moment to pause in your typing to take a sip and you stretch your arms above you. A yawn tumbles from your lips, and you realize you should maybe take a break. You slip on your heels begrudgingly again, deciding you need to make a quick trip to the ladies room.

When you step outside your office, you notice how it’s almost eerily quiet in the museum. You can’t help the increasingly unsettling feeling beginning to manifest from deep inside your gut. You hear the hum of the lights, and the click clack of your heels sounds almost jarring as you make your way down the hall. You feel on edge, sensitive to every sound- the closing of the bathroom stall, the flush of the toilet, the washing of your hands… everything seems off. You make your way back down the hallway as quickly as possible, your steps fast.

When you from the bathroom, you happen to glance at the small clock on your desk. Your eyes widen. It’s really that late? 

Your eyes sweep back to your document on your computer. Perhaps you should try and shake off your feeling of uneasiness by refocusing on your work. You take another sip of tea- it seems to have cooled down a bit since your trip to the restroom. You settle into a rhythm again, distracting yourself with your work. The longer you type however, you begin to feel extremely drowsy, and the text on the screen blurs a bit in front of your eyes. Your hands hesitate over the keyboard as you feel your eyelids droop, but you shake yourself out of it. You at least need to finish this paragraph, but once again, you catch yourself, this time your head droops to the side.

You haven’t felt this tired in ages. Perhaps its all of the stress and anxiety leading up to this day, you think, and even though you are stubborn, you barely have enough energy to save your document and log out of the computer. Thank goodness you have the day off tomorrow. You sit back in your chair, and exhaustion begins to take over you, the result of the long day. 

Your eyes flutter close and like a strange pull, sleep overtakes you in a heavy wash, and you are powerless to say no.

When you open your eyes, they feel hazy and unclear, and it takes you a moment before you can focus on anything in your surroundings. 

You attempt to try and rub the bleariness from your eyes, but you feel restraints on your wrists. Looking towards your wrists, you are quickly shocked at your lack of clothing on your body- not a scrap of clothing on you - including sheets. Just what is going on? You attempt to curl in on yourself, as some sort of cover for your exposure- however there seems to be restraints on your ankles as well. You feel panic begin to bubble in your chest. 

You look at your wrists again, eyeing the soft material that inhibits your movement. Your restraints are elegant, if you can call them that- silky black ribbons are tied snugly around your wrists and your ankles-it seems as if there is enough movement to where you can prop yourself up, but your arms are pulled back so you cannot untie the ribbon with your fingers. Desperate, you extend your mouth to your wrist, perhaps you can loosen the ribbon with your teeth? 

Your captor seems to know what they were doing- you can’t even reach your wrists with your mouth.

Putting your escape from your restraints on pause, you decide to assess your surroundings. Now is not the time to panic, its time to think with a clear head so you can get out of this predicament that you have found yourself in (if you just keep telling yourself it, you’ll be able to keep your hands from shaking from distress).

It’s an unfamiliar place - but it’s extremely grandiose, and sickeningly so - its a large room with cherry hardwood floors and cream walls, you think, but from the dim overhead light, its a bit hard to discern completely. You seem to be positioned in the middle of the room, the bed against one of the walls. You notice many framed pieces lining the walls, but from the dim light you can’t quite make out what they depict. You close your eyes for a moment and your nose is filled with a soft floral scent that floats amongst the room, tickling your senses. 

You shiver, and you feel cold - you are finally realizing how your exposed skin is sensitive to the cool air in the room. 

A chuckle. Your eyes widen at the sound. “You’re finally awake?”

You turn your head frantically, eyes searching for the hauntingly baritone voice, and then you see him- a figure with a dark velvet mask shifts in the armchair, legs uncrossing to sit forward, elbows leaning to rest on the arms of the chair, chin cradled in a slender right hand as you feel him appraise you, though you cannot see his eyes, as they are hooded from the shadows of the mask. 

You begin to feel heat blossom from your chest, spreading to your neck, cheeks and ears, your body reacting to being surveyed at such intensity.

You know it’s him without even asking. “Vante?” You don’t mean for your voice to sound as timid as it did, and you wince a at how weak you sound, even to your own ears.

“Ah, so you know me? I’m flattered.” You can feel his voice perk up in happiness. 

You scoff, glaring at the figure who still casually waits in the chair. “Don’t act so bashful- everyone knows who you are. Thief.” 

He laughs at he venom that laces in your voice. You ignore how velvety his voice sounds. 

“That I am my dear. Welcome Y/N, art curator, to my humble abode.” Your eyes widen in realization that he knows your name.

“This is your home? Why am I here? And how do you know my name?” Your words tumble from your lips a lot more rushed than you had intended. 

“So many questions. I suppose I’ll humor you.” You see a flash of white teeth as he smiles in amusement.

“This is just one of my hideouts, but yes. This is my home. You should feel honored, only a select few have ever had the opportunity to come here.”

You grimace. “I don’t feel honored one bit.”

He continues to answer your questions.

“I knew that I needed to steal you for my collection the moment I saw you while I was canvassing my target.” You continue to glare at him. 

“Originally, I was only going to collect the jade set, but to think, that I could have both you and the jade set makes this particular job the best one yet. And like with all my research and planning for any of my targets- of course I know your name.” 

“I’m not a piece of art to steal, world wide thief Vante.” You muster up the iciest glare you could muster, trying to pierce through his mask.

Vante begins to tut, with small shakes to his head.“My dear, look in the mirror. You are the finest art that any thief would die to steal.” His hands gesture to his side, and It’s hard to see, but you attempt to prop yourself up on your elbows to glance at what he’s talking about.

You tremble at the naked form that reflects back at you, legs open to reveal the folds of a very exposed core. It feels like a dissociative experience- you don’t recognize the dilated pupils that stare submissive and wide with worry back at you, and you struggle to clamp your legs in some sort of decency.  It doesn’t work.

It’s then when you notice the elaborate bronze work surrounding the mirror. How did you not notice it before?

“Is that a mirror from Versailles?” Your eyes widen in shock. 

“Of course, I needed a mirror for this particular location. So I stole it.” 

After you get over your initial shock in seeing a grand mirror stolen from Versailles, you then do a double take- you notice the beautiful splashes of green against your neck, and entwined in your hair.

“Is this…?” Vante chuckles deeply at your slow comprehension. 

“I told you- on this job I took the most valuable pieces of this collection of display- the jade set and you.” 

Panic now floods your system full force, and you tug on your arms and legs against the restraints in roughly, ignoring the bite into your as they tighten further. “I shouldn’t be wearing this! This needs to be properly preserved and on display! Let me go this instant!”

Vante shakes his head, his smirk deepening.

“I was worried how I was going to display the jade set, but now I see how it encircles your graceful neck and nestles amongst your lovely hair.”

Ignoring your pleas, Vante finally stands from his position from the chair, and he slinks towards you- reminding you of a panther that creeps towards its unknowing prey. He sits next to you on the bed- but does not touch your figure at all. “Don’t struggle too much, I wouldn’t want either of my precious pieces of art being ruined.” He says, and you freeze at his proximity. He stares at you through the mirror, eyes ensnaring your own from behind the mask. You’re caught. 

His voice lowers now that he is closer to you. “This jade set was begging to be worn again, and what a splendid return back to society- art displayed perfectly on art.”

You do not dare to even blink.

“You and I are very similar, don’t you think? We aim to collect the most exquisite of arts.” You angrily glare at him. “Not at all. I’m not selfish like you- I like to share with the public.” You spit back, hissing through your teeth. “Now, now.” Vante raises his hand from his side, reaching over to touch you to trail a single, slender finger down the curve of your side, leaving a path of goosebumps on your skin. You involuntarily begin to quake, and you hear him chuckle lowly in response. His eyes still does not leave your own.

 “While you are perfect, we need to put you in a state of perfection.” Vante says, mostly talking to himself, in a hushed voice. His finger pauses at your hipbone. You feel your throat begin to close up, too terrified of the possibilities of what he’s going to do next. You want to yell in protest, but no sound leaves your lips.

He must have taken it as a sign of acquiescence, because he hums, sounding like a purr of a satisfied cat. He finally breaks eye contact, only to lower himself to replace finger with soft lips. Your hips jump upwards in surprise, and he uses a free hand to graze his knuckles on your hip in comfort. “Shh… nothing to worry about. I always treat my artwork with the upmost care.” You feel the fabric of the mask nudge against your skin, as he begins to press languid kisses up your stomach. The action is soft and gentle, tricking your body into relaxing under each press of his lips to your heated skin. Your mind is working overtime, processing your conflicting emotions.

He continues upward, kissing the valley of your breasts, and upwards still, until he pauses to gaze down at the necklace that lays across your neck. You feel the warm puffs of his breath hitting your skin and you want to squirm- the hovering almost worse than the direct kisses from before. Your breaths are becoming shorter, the longer he stills. 

Perhaps you should have taken deeper breaths in preparation, but Vante leans forward, dipping his head to nip slightly under the space near your ear. You feel your eyes widen, and that’s when you feel his tongue, the warm and wet sensation too much all at once. You let out a  small moan, and you instinctively pull your wrists forward to grab something, anything to ground you- but your restrains hold you back.

The sound of your moan seems to embolden him, and he presses his tongue harder into your neck, only to pull the skin into his mouth to suck gently and the skin. Perhaps the sleeping drugs Vante slipped into your tea has made you lethargic, or perhaps its just been too long since your last sexual encounter- but your back arches at the feeling, your eyes closing to concentrate on the growing desire coming from the pit of your belly. 

He raises from your neck, only to whisper into your ear. “If you keep reacting that way my dear, I’m only going to have to decorate you with the most pretty of colors.” You release a shuddering breath, labored and uneven. 

And then he’s found your neck again, his tongue searching for your most sensitive of spots, flesh pulled between teeth to create the most beautiful hues of deep reds. And when he finds it, almost at the junction between neck and shoulder, your whimpers deepen into a low moan of longing. Longing for what, you aren’t sure, but it’s there where he stays the longest, just to hear the sweet song of your voice.

You hardly notice, but his hands hand has begun to knead your breast, the weight filling his hand nicely- you notice the growing need from between your legs- your juices pooling onto the sheets below. Your thighs tremble in earnest- you desperately want him to relieve the pressure there. 

“Please…” The second that word escapes your lips, Vante stills his mouth, only for you to feel his lips smirk against your neck.

He drags his tongue down your body, only for his mouth to latch onto a nipple. You are so overwhelmed by the sensations of your chest that you don’t notice wandering hands massaging your inner thighs, fingers dancing across your legs.

It’s when his finger teasingly traces the lips of your pussy do you react- eyes flying open while you tug on your legs and wrists. You whimper at his soft pets, his fingers occasionally dipping into your folds, teasing you further. Your legs strain against your bindings, and you push your pelvis forward just to have more.

He lets go of your breast with a pop.“I’ll make sure to paint you until you have a lovely glisten, don’t you think?” And with that, he dips two of his fingers in, only to pull them out again, spreading your juices onto your thighs. “Look how much paint you’re making, we’ll be done in no time!” He continues to spread your slick, but infrequent plunge of his fingers make you whine- your hands squeeze the sheets beneath you, knuckles turning white. You wish you could grab his hands to force them to the place you need the most.  

You find tears prick your eyelids in frustration. “Vante…” What else do you call him? You need to grab his attention, you’re slowly losing your mind, begging for his touch.

“I suppose you deserve a reward for painting yourself in such a pretty, pretty sheen.” His fingers finally stay inside, beginning to pump them in and out. You try and clench your thighs together, just to keep him there. 

Messy moans tumble from your lips as he hooks his fingers upwards and twists. You’re getting close, your walls are a vice around his fingers, begging for them to help you reach the high you so desperately crave. Vante clears his throat, and his velvety smooth voice touches your ears.

“How would you feel? Being displayed in public, at the museum? The audience would be grand- oh how they would live for begging for attention- your glassy eyes, your trembling hips, the way your nipples peak in excitement, your pussy glistening prettily with your own mess!”

His fingers don’t stop their ministrations, the lewd, wet, sounds of your pussy greedily sucking in his slender and long fingers and he continues to pump them inside of you.

You shake your head in embarrassment, biting your lower lip between your teeth to prevent further moans from slipping out. You don’t want to admit how much his dirty praise is effecting you, or the idea of your wanton body on display, shameless for everyone to see.

“I thought you like to share?” Vante says, his voice coy- dripping with saccharine sweetness.

You let out a frustrated and needy groan.

He’s relentless, and you feel him add a third finger. The squelching sounds only intensify. You can feel yourself wanting release- you’re so close- clenching around his fingers desperately, angling your hips just so you can reach your high. But Vante has yet to press down to what you really want- your clit swollen in desperation for the attention it really needs.

Your lips feel bruised from them being abused between your teeth- As if he can feel your need, his hand decides to still and he removes his fingers, and you whimper at the loss.

“Not yet my dear. You haven’t reached a state that I want to capture yet.”

Through hooded eyes you watch him as he lifts his fingers to his mouth. You hear him groan as he tastes you, and you feel yourself flood with your slick as you watch how his tongue laps around his fingers, the pink muscle teasingly on display. 

“Now that I’ve tasted you, I don’t think I can stop myself.” 

You feel yourself clench around nothing, already anticipating his suggestion. You try to alleviate your pressing needs- his denial of your release makes you impatient and needy. You feel the mess you’ve made onto the bed beneath you, the sopping puddle is slippery, but does not provide you the relief you are so desperately are seeking.

His breath fans across your abdomen as he lowers, and he begins to kiss a path of sloppy kisses that starts at your navel and continues downwards toward your thighs. Once his kisses reach your slick, you can feel him hum in bliss, your taste sweet and addicting, his tongue lapping up what he can. As he continues to close onto your cunt, the nose of his mask bumps into your clit, and your hips push forward. He’s pulled into your trap of your taste, and without further thoughts he licks a stripe, from the base of your cunt to your clit. He finally flattens against your swollen clit, and the feeling is overwhelming. The groan you held back is released, and you whine - you can’t do anything but continue to pull helplessly on your restraints.

He continues to swirl his tongue around your clit, and he has to push your hips down with one hand to keep you still. “I thought,” he says in between licks - his voice muffled, “that the pretty ribbon would keep you nice and in place…” You barely register his words, you try to come up with a response but all that spills from your lips are your incoherent cries.

He’s toying with you leaving your clit to tongue your folds, but it seems he’s in a good mood because he plunges his tongue, and the wet muscle entering inside to try and lick you dry.

You find yourself reaching your to the point of an orgasm once again, much faster than the first time when he was just using his fingers. It’s so close, and you know that just a few more thrusts of his glorious tongue will leave you in shambles. But he knows your telltale signs the second time around, and he pulls back- a string of your slick stretches from your cunt to his lips, breaking when he peers up at you, a smirk displayed on the edges of his lips.

Your groans transform into whimpers, and you blink tears of frustration. Through your tears, you see his lips and chin covered in you- a shiny contrast to the dark velvet mask. Vante reaches a hand forward to brush your tears away, leaning forward to kiss you, the mask bumping against your face. At first all you feel is the soft pecks, attempting to comfort you. You grow impatient- and when you are impatient you are bold. You lean forward, swiping your tongue at the seam of his lips, tasting the remnants of yourself tingling your tastebuds. 

A low chuckle escapes his lips, and the soft comforting kisses morph into sloppy teases of small nips and tongues that rub against each other, sharing your taste from you back to you again via his tongue.

You long to thread your fingers through his hair, to pull him closer and deepen the kiss, just so you can explore fully the planes of his mouth, but you are once again met with frustration.

It’s all becoming too much. You pull away, panting as you catch your breath.

“Please Vante…” You say, your voice sounds so needy and broken that it sounds foreign to your own ears-  “Don’t tease me anymore. I need to…”

His hand lifts from where it was resting beside you to brush your cheeks, the pads of his fingers wiping away the tears that fell from your lashes.

“I know just what I need to put the finishing touches to my masterpiece.”

 Vante moves off of the bed, and your eyes widen- he’s not going to leave you like this, is he?

“Wait…!” You plead, your voice sounding frantic. Did you say something wrong?  

He hushes you softly, his hand ghosts down your thighs, only to end up at the bindings of ribbon on your right leg. His fingers tug at the constraints, and soon enough your right leg is  free. You must have tightened the knots quite a bit as you strained against your bindings- your ankle begins to throb.

“In order to achieve a masterpiece, we must have better angles.” He says, moving to work on your left leg now. Once he pulls it free, he stills.

Instead of drawing your legs into yourself, you feel wound up with desire. You pull your knees up to your chest, providing Vante a clear view of what you want. Your eyelids lower to half mast. Are you making your needs clear enough for him? A small moan pulls from your lips.  

Vante says nothing in response, no indication with what he’s about to do next. You’re frustrated- even though your legs are free, you can’t grab onto him to get his attention. Your eyes stay glued to his form, watching him as he positions himself between your legs. Suddenly you hear the sound of a zipper being pulled- it echos in the room, the sound feels amplified by your anticipation. Your legs tremble.

He still makes no move to touch you, instead he pulls his underwear down slightly, letting his cock spring free from its confines, and he hisses at the fabric brushing against it. You intake a wavering breath as you eye his length. You don’t know what you were expecting, but he’s big. 

Vante doesn’t shift any more clothes out of the way, and that’s when you realize he intends to fuck you still clothed. The image is almost more delicious that way, even though you would love to see the expanse of his skin, you hold your breath in anticipation of his cock.

The tip of it is weeping with pre-cum, swollen and red, and it twitches in expectation as it knows its final destination. He grabs his cock with one hand, and steadies himself with the other hand gripping your thigh. His hips moving forward to have him tease your slit and your clit, the blunt head of his cock slipping easily amongst your slick, dripping down to make his hand messy once again.

As he’s teasing you again you feel your toes curl, and you push your pelvis closer to have more friction, but you don’t think he’s going to last much through this teasing either- his breath is becoming uneven and labored as he continues to grind against your sopping folds.

He can’t take it any longer- gripping your thigh even tighter, he enters you slowly sliding in, but taking no breaks to pause and let you adjust. As he fills you, you feel complete. Why didn’t he enter you sooner? It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

When he is buried inside of you to the hilt, he gives his hips an experimental push, and the two of you let out groans, your voices mingling together. Leaning forward, he cages you in- his arms on either side or you head. 

It’s then he decides to move. Slow and deep, Vante pushes into you as your moans continue to spill from your lips. “Please-” You manage to finally say between each thrust of your captor’s hips. “I-I want to see your face. I d-don’t even know what name to s-scream.”

“I’m sorry my dear, but that would be the end of my career. It’s already bad enough that you’ve heard my voice.” You aren’t sure how he manages to maintain a calm voice, especially compared with your own wanton cries. The only thing that gives him away is the slight strain in the low baritone of his voice, you didn’t know that his voice would lower that deep. 

You let out a frustrated sob- he’s still teasing you- you want more, harder, rougher- but he’s continuing his pace. He’s got you in the palm of his hand, under his control. Your cry must have caused him to feel some sympathy- because he leans forward to bring his face to your neck, wet tongue dragging over your skin.

“My perfect masterpiece.” His whispers between thrusts are becoming guttural, and he sucks another layer of purple on your neck.

“You are mine to ruin…” Voice rising, His rises from your neck, quickly grabbing your legs to swing them over his shoulders. The new position allows for deeper entry, and his thrusts become rougher as he slams into you. You let out a strangled cry- your wishes becoming fulfilled as he pounds into with force. You’re beginning to see white, your world filled only with pleasure and Vante.

“…And you are mine to create!” He shouts, voice raw, fingers pressing amongst your folds to abuse your clit, and you finally orgasm, shouting at the overwhelming sensation.

Your orgasm is what it takes for him to break, as he pulls out at the last minute. He sits even further upright onto his knees, left hand gripping the headboard of the bed whilst his right pumps furiously, until he releases, painting you with his cum.

Warm strings falls onto your chests and stomach, and he doesn’t stop until he milks himself dry, the last bit of his cum dropping into the pool of your bellybutton. 

As you look up to him, and you feel slightly smug at the fact that you’ve had just as much of an effect on him just like he to you- you see his sweat dripping down his neck, his loose, flowing top now sticking to his torso, slightly see through from his perspiration a tease of his body underneath.

You don’t even know if there is going to be a next time, but your hands twitch it response, begging to be able to touch the planes of his chest and abs- and your breath hitches in your throat when you feel a finger begin to run through the cum on your stomach. You shiver at the cooling sensation of his cum. 

“Now the curator has finally created his own masterpiece.” Vante says, as he continues to lazily paint abstract images, swirls of paint against the canvas of your skin. You can feel his eyes watching you- and you stare right back- now that you’re eyes are not misty from pleasure, you begin to see long lashes, and dark pupils.

You feel your stomach begin to re-inflame, your pussy begins to wet again in anticipation of another round.

The mask he has on slightly askew, and after a brief moment, Vante breaks eye contact, stilling his hand to raise from his crouched position over you. He turns his back, and you can see him readjust his mask in the mirror, but he still doesn’t spare you even a tiny glance of the rest of his face, his long fingers keeping the mask securely in place. 

This whole time he’s kept his clothes on- and you are no closer on figuring out who Vante is. You try and memorize as much as you can, filing it away in your mind. 

But your eyelids feel heavy, your limbs feel like lead. Even your legs which he untied before splay out in front of you, like they are still tied down by invisible ribbon.

The last thing you hear is his signature chuckle, and a cool hand covers your eyes with long fingers.

When you come to, you open your eyes to a familiar scene- warm light dances through the curtains of your bedroom, settling softly across your comforter. Your head begins to pang, deep throbs against your skull. Just what did you do last night? Memories fade in and out, panting breaths, heated touches, soft lips, powerful thrusts. 

Your throat feels dry and scratchy, so you slowly untangle yourself from your sheets. The cool bedroom air hits your skin, and you realize you’re bare. You look to your wrists and ankles. Lines of purple and blue brand you, reminding you of him. Your heart quivers, a warm flush spreading throughout your body.

You stumble for a large hoodie, passing by the standing mirror as you fumble towards your closet.  

You see that the hairpin and the necklace is gone. You see more swatches of blues and purples that is painted onto your skin, flowers blooming on your neck. Your hand flies to your neck- and you swear you can feel his lips there. You shake yourself out of your own trance- he still has you even though he’s not here. 

Slipping the hoodie over your body, you exit your room to go get a glass of water, to quench your thirst.

  You don’t see the demure calling card on your desk until later. 

To be continued…? Time to read DeMasqued...

© minstrophywife.

[lynningham]

How About That Resume?

Series Overview:  2020 was quite a year.  We’ll be talking about it forever.  Right now, however, it is time to get everyone back to work.  Job searching is a uniquely reaffirming personal journey to reclaiming one’s rightful place in the workforce, and this is the second installment in a series designed to support and strengthen your efforts.  Feel free to reach out personally (lynn@digitaltalentguide.com) if you have any questions or ideas about the kind of information you would find helpful.  

 Week Two:  The Importance of a Strong Resume

In our rapidly-changing world, few things are as relevant today as they were a few years ago. Resumes however have stood the test of time.  While there might be new formats to consider, new (and mostly unwritten) rules about what to include, what to leave out, etc., the bottom line is that you need one of these to move forward in your job search. So let’s figure out some ways to ensure that yours stands out from the crowd.  With a small bit of thoughtful work, you can enter 2021 with a strong profile that represents The Very Best You.  

Your resume is you on paper. It is sometimes the only thing a hiring manager will see as they decide whether or not to move you forward.  So this part deserves your deepest attention.  Yes, by all means list all those amazing roles and duties you have performed with an eye to showcasing your skills and experience. But don’t forget all those other myriad accomplishments that make you … well … You!  

And what are some of these, you ask?  For one, it is helpful if a bit of your personality and values shine through.  Hiring managers are looking for people who will fit well into their companies almost as much as they are looking for people who can do the role.  This is not discriminatory.  This is an accurate understanding that some environments (for example - small, nimble, all-hands-on-deck, fast-paced vs. larger, more silo’d, less chaotic) are more desirable to and for some candidates than are others.  And that’s what you want – to find a professional and cultural home that fits well with who you are and which aligns with your best self.  When that match is properly made, the role will last.  And it will be the best environment for learning and growing in your career.  

So let’s look at some practical tips:

1.       To “One Page” or Not?  Somehow it became conventional wisdom that resumes should always fit neatly on one page. Is that accurate?  The correct answer is sometimes.  But not always.  If you have extensive experience and skills that you want to showcase, I have never, and I mean absolutely never, seen a hiring manager throw out a resume because it was longer than a page.  Perhaps a few applicant tracking systems are trained to discard those (although I can’t imagine why), but humans are not.  So take the space you need.  I promise.  

2.       To Write Your Own Resume or Not?  OK, I was once just like you.  A journalist by degree and training, I was confident of my own writing skills, and I misplaced that confidence when I extended it to resume writing.  I truly felt that all a resume needed to be was well-written.  Pretty. And of course, complete.  But somewhere along the line, a wise friend advised me to seek professional help.  For the resume, I mean, although during job hunting, we could all probably use a dose of therapy as well.  But I digress.  

 I broke down and hired a resume writer, who also helped me match my LinkedIn profile to my resume so that I would present all my professional stories in the same professional way.  And here was the payoff:  I did of course expect that resume writer to help me with form and function.  What I didn’t realize was that the added benefit of her ability to distance herself from my work and from my ego and from my waxing and waning confidence level as I trudged through the job search process would help me develop a much stronger story.  The real benefits of hiring a resume writer are that they have some distance from your experience and that they do this job day in and day out.  They study the current trends, they understand the formatting needed to get through applicant tracking systems, they know how to pick up on key words, and perhaps most importantly, they know how to draw from you all the accomplishments and skills and experiences that will help you move to the front of the line.  They know much more than you or I about what this piece of paper should include, and they will guide you through a process you didn’t even realize existed.  They are typically not expensive (they will cost less than the outfit we used to have to wear - before Zoom - to an interview), and you will be repaid handsomely with callbacks that might never have come otherwise.

A couple of services I recommend:  

               Aisha Spearman - https://workinggirlsresumeservice.com/

               Blue Sky Resumes - https://www.blueskyresumes.com/

3.       To LinkedIn or not to Link?  Definitely link.  Link your resume to LinkedIn, link your signature to LinkedIn, just link.  Which means that once you have your resume in the beautiful new shape and format you want and need, make sure your LinkedIn page gets that same refresh.  Whether you like it or not, LinkedIn is still the preferred candidate search tool for most recruiters, and the editing interface is really very simple to use. Take a nice professional photo (again I recommend spending a little money here if you can but if you can capture this piece on your own, that’s fine).  A profile with a photo gets more attention than a profile without one, something I don’t really understand but I know it is true.  And start liking other people’s posts, start building your network (500+ is the magic line you should definitely plan to cross), and start actively engaging with the community.  This is a great place to gain exposure and to let people know you are open to work. The new LinkedIn designation that surrounds your photo is a high alert to recruiters to reach out to you.  It is not visible to your company network but it is visible to recruiters across the country so there is minimal risk in adding that designation.  

 4.       To be Transparent or Not?  Covid has unexpectedly upended so many lives this past year.  In years prior, a gap in a resume could be a red flag to a recruiter or a hiring manager.  Why that is, again, isn’t totally clear to me as we all know that ending a job and finding a new job doesn’t always enjoy a speedy transition, but nonetheless, we’ve all been trained to view that quiet period of down time with at least a small degree of suspicion.  The good news is that this year and well into next year, the gaps are not presenting any significant challenges or degrees of job hunting difficulty, as there is widespread and well-warranted understanding about the upheaval we’ve all been through. Tell the truth.  Your story this year is not your fault, and your story is not unique.  

 5.       To Wait and Wonder or Not?  Choose not. During the down time, when many of you are so overwhelmed with working from home, helping children with schoolwork, navigating a world on Zoom, try to do just one great thing for the professional you.  Choose one piece of your professional life that you always felt needed some TLC - and brush it up!  If your writing skills need buffing, take a writing class.  If you have industry certifications you always wanted to achieve, try to work on that now.  You’ll be surprised at how good this feels.  And then – in your new transparency you learned to embrace in #4 above - you have an achievement to talk with hiring managers about, you have something to add to your skills, and you have a new piece to polish up your resume. It’s a win win because whenever you move from inaction to action – in any way – it frees you at least momentarily from anxiety.  That is worth its weight in gold.

 There are a million more things I’d love to say about this, o.k. maybe a hundred or possibly ten, but the real goal of this piece is to focus your attention to how you are presenting yourself.  The resume is a strong piece of this story so don’t skimp here.  

And as you write this stronger representation of the work you’ve done and of who you really are in our professional world, I’d be surprised if you didn’t begin to feel a warm glow of accomplishment spread through your weary Covid-year bones. You’ve worked hard to get this far in your life, and with a little dedication to the process, you will soon be rewarded with a brand new and exciting job.  You know what they say.   Don’t give up before the miracle! You’ve got this.  

[christoefur-uncaged]

Adventure as a Value

Adventure as a value

Our lives are shaped by our values, whether we know what they are or not. We may not know at all what a value is in the first place, which was the position I was in until recently. But every decision we make, logically or following your gut, is made while drawing on our values and so, next to your physical body and all its functions, they are probably the most important parts of you that create your life and all its elements. At 27 years old, I am now finally aware fully of what value means, and am becoming aware of what ones I hold.

Luckily, we actively choose our values, but many of them we choose accidently as kids when we were under control of parents, family members, friends, teachers, and TV. We weren’t taught what a value is, let alone that we may choose them for ourselves. So, they just develop with little awareness on our ends, and because we are young and impressionable, the values we form are not always helpful and are poorly put together.

One of my strong core values is to adventure and has been developed and lodged in my blueprints before I had any knowledge or any say in the matter. This means I developed this value to adventure as I binge watched Steve Irwin wrestling crocodiles, the Krat brothers swimming with Sea lions and sharks, while Miss Frizzel and the gang were getting baked into a pie. Needless to say, my idea of what an adventure was may have been a little dramatic and while I have of course matured in thought processes, the importance of the adventure to me has not subsided.

Because this value remains so strong in me, when I am “adventuring” I am enthusiastic and my natural state throughout the adventure is excited and accepting with little expectation because I am feeling balanced. Unfortunately, “real life” doesn’t allow for my dramatic definition of an adventure every day and so each day I don’t head out to swim with marine life, I am neglecting this value and neglecting one of these, is a great way to become depressed. I have basically set myself up to fail to fulfill this value and so it’s power to boost me up cannot be harnessed and it’s use as a shield against the sharp edges of negative thoughts is diminished.

When you set these standards, and don’t quite meet them, you become less capable of dealing with unexpected events that may fall into your lap on some dull Tuesday afternoon. As each day passes you become more and more unbalanced due to lack of fulfillment. With no end in sight to the monotony, you become unmotivated. This lack of motivation leaves you nearly incapable of making any future plans and so the vicious cycle continues as you become so unbalanced you slip and fall, defenceless into a dark pit full of sharp negative thoughts and emotions.

A full gown adult now, with new knowledge of values, I am actively pursuing change. As a naïve youth, I set myself up for degradation, but my internal lust for new self-growth as an adult has allowed me to evolve.  My value that was once “to be adventuring” I choose now to be “to adventure at every opportunity that arises”. The idea that I need to be always adventuring has let me feel like a failure for far too long and since the rule is that we may choose our values, I choose to alter this one. Adventuring will always be important to my spirit, but I know now how to better harness the power of my own values.

As I go about my most average days, not adventuring, I may wish to be out travelling the world but instead of resenting every day that I am not, I will be looking forward to future opportunities where I can. This is not going to be easy of course, but when all else fails I will remember that I have freedom of choice.

I choose to feel free from the burden of my own high standards.

Each day as an adventure

So now I have established in my life that adventuring is absolutely necessary for me to feel balanced. As I have been putting some thought into adventure and what exactly the word means to me or what it can possibly mean, I have come to some realizations.  

When someone says “I’m going on an adventure!” with a gleam in their eyes and an optimistic look on their face, they are using this word to describe an action, they are about to take which may or may not have a step by step plan but they do have a purpose. That purpose is to simply head in the direction of what they want with their expectations set low. The only expectation they have in mind is that many unexpected things may occur along the way.

A person may set out to canoe down an unnamed river, or hitchhike across the country, or one may even decide that their new plan to end an addiction may too be labelled an adventure. What is for sure, is that the events that may take place between their start point and their finish point are unknown and that’s the way we humans like our adventures. It is not however, how we like our daily lives.

On a regular day, perhaps at our regular jobs and usual daily activities, an unexpected event that alters our expectations for the day, may absolutely send us off the deep end. It may be something as simple as our normal commute route being disrupted by construction and we must follow a detour. We get to work a little late, our boss frowns, then suddenly the world owes us everything and everybody must feel our wrath all day.

On an adventure, a simple detour will not phase us, but rather it may be exactly what we wanted, an unexpected change in our bare bones plan. We head down the detour excited like a kid on Christmas because it’s what you do on an adventure even if your headed straight for a flat tire, a rainstorm or a sinkhole that swallows you whole. It may take an extra 2 days to get to our location, miss our flight 2 days in a row, run out of food and water, wear through our only pair of shoes, get blisters the size of light bulbs break our tibia and still manage to shove our fulfilment in all our friends faces when we finally get home, claiming how amazing our adventure was. How?

As far as I can see, the only difference in these unfortunate events is that some happen when expectations are low, and others are happening on regular days when expectations are not exactly high but precise and calculated.

Many yoga teachers will say at the beginning of their practice, “go ahead, set an intention for your practice”. We do this every day and in our normal routines our intention is to stay very normal. Our intention is to follow our step by step plan from your morning alarm to bedtime. It may be first to get ourselves to work on time, then to have a stable but productive day of work so that we may deserve the bottle of wine we’re going to consume when we finally get home. The problem with these intentions is that they are so vulnerable to change by outside forces. If your first intention is to get to work on time and your late because of construction, you have already failed your intentions once and it is barely breakfast time. How many more times will you let yourself down by lunch break?

Enlightened people always tell us to live in the moment, but this is not a good enough direction by itself. It’s not like we can just hit a switch and change our setting to “in the moment”. We just aren’t wired that way, no matter how many videos you watch barking at you insisting you live in the moment, you cannot simply switch the way your brain has been thinking your whole life. We are however, capable of rolling with the punches, we must employ the same mindset we take when heading out on an adventure. Each day must to be an adventure.

We may need some practice of course and it will not just come easily. Your first day attempting to live an adventure you may wake up in the morning, decide to slurp down some licorice for breakfast and run barefoot to your workplace wearing soccer cleats and a belly top. This is overkill, and yes that sounds adventurous but that’s not what we require and your boss is going to suggest you carry on straight to the hospital to be checked out.

It will be hard at first, but to slowly train ourselves to approach each day with less expectations will be so much easier than trying to force yourself to “live in the moment” while our foreheads wrinkle deeper as they day progresses and our ability to maintain gentle conversation with others dies.

My adventurous spirit longs to climb mountains, find the headwaters of rivers, camp under big spruce trees, experience other cultures, and experience the world. It is a value of mine, be that a newly constructed one, to go on these types of adventures when I have the time or to set aside time to allow them. I understand the value now more deeply after some examination of my behaviour and a deeper look inside to what makes me tick, but why stop there? I choose to live my “every day’s” as adventures, start my mornings with an intention to approach the day openly with little to no expectations so I may be accepting of unexpected events that will occur. If I choose to feel and live each day like it was an adventure imagine then what it may feel like to climb one of those mountains, or camp under a tree when real adventure time comes.

Remember, things take practice, and not every day is going to feel like an adventure, some days are still going to suck, but if we set our intentions and put our hearts behind it, maybe our new predictable will be the unpredictable. Our new routine will be to accept changes, take things as they come, learn from them, and be living in the moment without even trying.

I choose adventure.

[scotiaeire]

SHAPESHIFTING

“Out of the numerous terms associated with shape-shifting in Old Norse-Icelandic literature, the most common one must be hamr, a rather obscure and multi-faceted concept that needs to be presented and explained before going further. On a practical level, the word hamrhas been defined by Finnicist Clive Tolley as referring to the pelt of an animal or a bird (Tolley, 2009: I, 193). However, it differs from the word serkr(“animal pelt”) in that it is most common used to describe much more than a simple animal skin. As shown by Icelandic scholar Aðalheiður Guðmundsdóttir, there are numerous instances where the word hamrrefers not strictly to such pelts but also to the shape, the appearance and form of someone who is able to change shape (Guðmundsdóttir, 2007: 280). Within the Norse-Icelandic corpus, the word is found both in narratives set in historical, legendary, mythical and even fictional times, ranging from 10th-century skaldic poetry to late-Medieval rímurpoems. In these tales, the hamris most-often described as a physical garment that can be worn and removed and which in and of itself can be a cause for transformation. A good example of the physicality of the hamrcan be found in the prose introduction of the Eddic poem Vǫlundarkviðain which human-looking women are in possession of swan-pelts (álptarhamir) and later leave the narrative’s protagonists by flying in the air (Vǫlundarkviða, 2014: 428).4This narrative is, as will be demonstrated later on, only one of many in which saga characters assume the appearance of an animal or a monster by donning a supernatural pelt.”

SOURCE: “SHAPESHIFTING IN OLD NORSE -ICELANDIC LITERATURE” BY LYONEL PERABO.

THIS IMMEDIATELY BROUGHT TO MIND THE SELKIE OF CELTIC MYTH. IF YOU GROW UP IN SCOTLAND OR IRELAND, THE ORKNEY OR SHETLAND ISLES, YOU’RE SURROUNDED BY THE SEAS AND THE MYTHS THAT ACCOMPANY THEM.

ONE OF THESE IS SELKIES, OR SEAL-FOLK. TRADITIONALLY WOMEN (BUT SOMETIMES ALSO MEN) THEY ARE SEALWIVES. THEY WILL COME TO LAND, HAVING FALLEN FOR A HUMAN MALE, SOME OF THEM TRUSTING ENOUGH TO HAND OVER THEIR SEALSKIN TO THEIR NEW LOVE TO KEEP SAFE FOR THEM (WITHOUT WHICH THEY CAN’T SHIFT BACK INTO SEALFORM). USUALLY THE STORY ENDS WITH TRAGEDY, BECAUSE THE HUMAN, WANTING TO KEEP HIS BEAUTIFUL WIFE, WILL HIDE THE SEALSKIN FROM HER. IN MOST TALES, SHE FINDS AND OR RECOVERS IT WITH HELP AND ALWAYS LEAVES HER LOVE TO RETURN TO THE SEA, SOMETIMES TAKING ANY OFFSPRING WITH HER.

A GOOD INTRO TO SELKIE FOLKS IS HERE: http://www.orkneyjar.com/folklore/selkiefolk/

THE ORIGINAL SHAPESHIFTING ARTICLE ALSO BROUGHT TO MIND THE OLD CELTIC RITUAL OF YOUNG MEN BEING SEWN INTO BULLHIDES, TO BIDE THERE FOR A SPECIFIED LENGTH OF TIME. THIS ALSO REMINDS ME OF THE MORE MODERN SENSORY DEPRIVATION TANKS. IN THOSE, PEOPLE REPORT ACUTE SHIFTS IN AWARENESS, LOSS OF THE PASSING OF TIME, AND A SHARPENING OF OTHER SENSES THAN THE ORDINARY SIGHT AND SOUND, TASTE AND TOUCH. IN OTHER WORDS, BY DEPRIVING THE HUMAN OF THE MUNDANE SENSES, THEIR MINDS ARE FREED TO WANDER. AND WANDER THEY DO...

WELL, A FEW DAYS INSIDE THAT BULLHIDE...DARK, QUIET, WARM, THE SCENT OF THE BEAST IN YOUR NOSTRILS...THE RELEVENCE OF CATTLE TO THE CELTS IS WELL KNOWN. BUT OTHER CULTURES SUCH AS SOME STEPPE TRIBES HAVE USED HORSEHIDES FOR SIMILAR RITES.

SO, WE HAVE SACRED BEASTS BEING USED.

WHEN IT CAME TO THE OLD ARGUMENT ABOUT WHETHER VIKINGS WORE HORNED HELMETS OR NOT (I *THINK* ONLY ONE HAS EVER ACTUALLY BEEN FOUND, BUT CAN’T FIND THE SOURCE FOR IT SO PLEASE DON’T QUOTE ME ON THAT...GENERALLY THEY HAD NO HORNED HELMETS) THERE IS A FAMED STONE ENGRAVING OF WHAT’S CONSIDERED TO BE AN IMAGE OF ODIN. SIMILAR TO THE GUNDESTRUPP CAULDRON, HE WEARS A HELMET WITH HORNED APPENDAGES..I SAY THAT BECAUSE THE TIPS ARE BLUNTED, ALMOST ROUNDED OR WITH SOMETHING ROUNDED ATTACHED.

IS IT POSSIBLE THIS WAS PART OF AN OUTFIT OF A SACRED BEAST WORN BY THE GOD ODIN WHO WAS HIMSELF A KNOWN SHAPESHIFTER?

EVEN TODAY, FOLKS NEW TO PAGANISM AND HEATHENRY ARE DRAWN TO IMAGES OF “HUMAN-BEASTS”...AND DECORATE THEMSELVES WITH STAG ANTLERS, FURS, NECKLACES OF BONES, TEETH, ETC. I POSTED RECENTLY THE MUSIC VIDEO BY THE GROUP FAUN, “WALPURGISNACHT” AND YES, IT’S A MUSIC VID. BUT...THE IMAGES OF THE CLOVEN HOOFED, RAM HORNED MEN, THE OBVIOUS MATING OF THE MOON GODDESS WITH THE STAG GOD OF THE FOREST..WELL, POINT IS, PAGANS AND HEATHENS *DO* GENERALLY FIND THESE IMAGES APPEALLING. EVEN THE BIG BRAWNY VIKING BERSERKER TYPES WANT TO DRAPE THEMSELVES IN BEARHIDES OR WOLF PELTS.

I’VE DONE IT MYSELF...THERE’S A PIC OF A COUPLE OF DECADES AGO OF ME SOMEWHERE ON MY HARD DRIVE, A HELMET I’D MADE OF SADDLE LEATHER, WOOD AND RAM’S HORNS, WEARING A FUR CORSET (YES, IT *WAS* BONED,) AND LEATHER BREEKS AND BOOTS. I CAN FISH IT OUT BUT HEL, I WAS TWENTY YEARS YOUNGER AND A GOOD DEAL SKINNIER BACK THEN. CAN’T FIT INTO THAT NOW. (THAT IS “REAL” SHAPESHIFTING FOR YE...AS WE AGE, OUR BODIES BROADEN. IT’S A BUGGER.) I STILL OWN MY WILD BOAR’S TEETH NECKLACE, SEAL TOOTH NECKLACES AND RABBIT BONE HAIRPINS.

ANYWAY, IN ALL MY STUDIES HITTING ON SHAPESHIFTING, ONE COMMON THREAD RUNS THROUGH IT. THE SHAPESHIFTER MUST RELINQUISH HIS OR HER HUMANITY.

SEE, MANY FOLKS HUMANISE ANIMALS. “CUTE” THEM UP. APPLY HUMAN QUALITIES TO THEM THAT SIMPLY DON’T EXIST. LIKE THOSE PHOTOSHOPPED IMAGES OF HUGGING CATS AND DOGS, OR GRINNING PUPPIES ETC. OR THE HORRIBLE ONES OF DANCING CATS (WHAT IS SEEN CAN NEVER BE UNSEEN..SHUDDER...)

AND YOU SEE IT IN THE LITTLE HANDBAG DOGS, BRED SMALLER AND SMALLER TO SUIT THE NEED FOR EASE OF CARE, SAT IN HANDBAGS OR CARRIED OVER A CROOKED ARM, BEDECKED IN JEWELLED COLLARS OR, GODS FORBID, TUTUS AND OTHER EQUALLY RIDICULOUS OUTFITS.

THE SHAPESHIFTER MUST TRULY, GENUINELY, *KNOW* THE BEAST, TO IT’S CORE, THAT THEY’LL CHANGE INTO, THAT THEY’LL EMULATE TO THE POINT THAT THEIR AUDIENCE WILL *BELIEVE* WHAT THEY’RE MEANT TO SEE.

AND THAT TAKES TRAINING OR A SENSE OF KNOWLEDGE OF ANIMALS ABOVE AND BEYOND THE NORM.

IT TAKES A KENNING OF THEM, IN THE OLD SENSE OF THE WORD. AN INTIMATE KNOWING OF HOW THEIR MINDS WORK, OF WHAT IT’S LIKE TO *BE* ONE OF THEM, AND AN ABSOLUTE DETACHMENT FROM THEIR OWN HUMANITY WHICH HAS A HABIT OF “TAINTING” EVERYTHING IT SEES, HEARS AND EXPERIENCES BY DEFAULT.

SHAPESHIFTERS, I BELIEVE, HAVEN’T GONE AWAY. BUT WE LIVE IN A WORLD IN WHICH WE ARE INCREASINGLY DENIED ACCESS TO THE CULTURE OF OUR ANCESTORS IN MEANINGFUL WAYS.

MY DAD USED TO TELL ME (HE WAS A POACHER BTW, FOR THE DINNER TABLE, NOT FOR PROFIT) THAT EVERY MAN SHOULD HAVE THE *RIGHT* TO FEED HIS FAMILY FROM THE LAND OF HIS BIRTH.

HOW MANY OF US ARE PERMITTED TO HUNT FOR OUR DINNERS THESE DAYS? UNLESS YOU PAY EXHORBITANT FEES FOR GUN LICENSES, UNDERGO INTENSIVE POLICE SCRUTINY AND IN MANY CASES, OBLIGATORY TRAINING, IN PLACES BOW HUNTING IS FORBIDDEN, AND SO WHERE I USED TO SEE MANY AN AULD FELLA WALKING ALONG WITH A BRACE OF PHEASANT UNDER HIS JACKET OR A BUNDLE OF RABBITS SLUNG OVER ONE SHOULDER, YOU NEVER SEE IT NOW.

AND THEN THERE’S THE ECO LOT, WHO, IF YOU SO MUCH AS DON A LEATHER SHOE, WANT YOU SHOT.....

WELL, I WAS LUCKY TO BE TAUGHT MY TRADE IN LIFE, AN ANIMAL HIDE TANNER. I STILL HAVE A SMALL STASH OF DEER AND SHEEP HIDES, CALF HIDES AND RABBIT PELTS. ANTLERS AND HORNS.

AND I CAN CONFIRM THAT THE APPEAL OF THEM IS STILL AS STRONG AS EVER.

WHATEVER THE REASONING BEHIND THE ORIGINAL SHAPESHIFTERS, TO HAVE THE ABILITY TO “GET UNDER THE SKIN” OF ANOTHER SPECIES AND TRULY UNDERSTAND THE CREATURE, TO COMMUNICATE THROUGH IT TO OTHERS OF YOUR KIND, MUST BE A PARTICULARLY SPECIAL ABILITY AND SKILL.

FROM SHAPESHIFTING SWANS IN NORSE AND IRISH MYTHOLOGY TO THE SELKIES OF THE NORTHERN ISLES AND NORTHERN SCOTLAND, TO THE BULLS, BOARS AND STEPPE HORSES OF OTHER PLACES, WE SEEM TO HAVE AN INHERENT DESIRE TO BECOME THOSE CREATURES AND KNOW AND RETAIN THEIR QUALITIES OR AT THE LEAST, TO CREATE A BOND WITH THEM THAT CAN BE USED IN RITUAL TO HEAL AND CURE, CURSE AND KILL OR SIMPLY BEGUILE. IT HASN’T LEFT US.

BUT WE’RE ALLOWING IT TO BE TAKEN FROM US.

INDIGENOUS PEOPLES STRUGGLE TO KEEP THEIR CULTURE AND HERITAGE ALIVE TODAY.

SAY THE WORD “INDIGENOUS” AND MOST THINK NATIVE AMERICAN, AFRICAN, ANYWHERE EXCEPT EUROPEAN. YET OUR CELTIC, NORSE, AND GERMANIC ANCESTORS WERE PAGANS TOO, HAD THEIR RITUALS AND PRACTICES TOO.

AND THOUGH I’M NOT ADVOCATING A RETURN TO THE DAYS OF THE HEAD HUNTING CELTS (THOUGH, IF ANYONE’S UP FOR THAT I’VE A LIST BEGINNING WITH THE ENGLISH GOVERNMENT, JUST SAYIN’...) WE TOO DESERVE THE RIGHT TO RE-DISCOVER OUR ANCIENT ROOTS, AND TO KEEP ALIVE THOSE FEW PRACTICES THAT STILL REMAIN.

WHEREVER YOU’RE FROM, LEARN YOUR HISTORY. NOT JUST THE RECENT HISTORY BUT THE ANCIENT. KNOW THE LANDSCAPE YOU BELONG TO THROUGH IT’S ARCHAEOLOGY AND IN THIS WAY, COME TO KNOW A LITTLE MORE ABOUT WHO THE PEOPLE THAT TROD THE GROUND BEFORE YOU WERE, HOW THEY LIVED, WORKED AND COMMUNICATED WITH THEIR NATURAL WORLD, THE SEEN AND THE HIDDEN. AND KEEP IT ALIVE. THEY SAYING GOES, “WALK IN ANOTHER’S SHOES FOR A WHILE”. MAYBE THE SHAPESHIFTER WOULD SAY “DON ANOTHER’S SKIN FOR A WHILE”.

[setaripendragon]

Ursakoda Soulmates - Part 2

So, predictably, this drabble I wrote for my ATLA soulmates series completely ran away with me, because Ursakoda is my OTP for Avatar and I love them so much I just couldn’t help myself. I don’t actually know how many parts there are going to be to this, but... a few more, at least.

Ursa has no idea what to do with this strange Water Tribe man who is, apparently, her soulmate. She can’t help the way her eyes are constantly drawn back to his fingers, now forever mottled with haphazard splotches of gold from her own fingers. With the celebration in full swing as dusk gives way to true night, there’s nowhere quiet enough for them to speak honestly, not that Ursa would have any idea what to say if there was. She had long ago given up on the idea of soulmates, so finding hers now, here, like this, feels a little like a smack in the face. There’s a tiny, wounded fragment of her soul that wants to hit him and demand to know where he was twenty years ago.

But she doesn’t. And she doesn’t ask how he knew, why he wasn’t surprised to find his fingers stained gold by her touch, because he wasn’t. And he walked up to her and asked if she was Fire Nation. Sure, he’d played it off as a joke, but he hadn’t been surprised at the soulmark her touch had caused, so it was clearly more than just a joke. She tries to remember if she ever learned how the Water Tribes identify their soulmates, but she doesn’t know, and she can’t ask. Not here, in front of all the village, her friends, who all think she’s Earth Kingdom, just like them.

Instead of doing or saying anything, Ursa finds herself just staring at him, holding his hands in hers, trying to put the pieces together herself. He knew who she was, probably knew right from the start, which is why he’d looked at her like that after she spilled the stew. He knew, which meant, at least, that this is unlikely to be a one-sided bond. Ursa hopes to Agni that this isn’t a one-sided bond. She’s seen first-hand how ugly those can turn.

Hakoda clears his throat, and Ursa abruptly realises she’s been staring for far too long. She gives herself a small shake, internally berating herself. She ought to know better than to get caught up in her own head and forget that she’s being watched. She goes to let go of Hakoda, because that is certainly going to get people talking – Ursa has generally done her best to avoid touching people for exactly this reason – but before she can, Hakoda turns his hands over under hers and catches hold of her in turn. He offers her a smile that she can read a dozen things in; understanding, comfort, hope, caution, amusement. Ursa abruptly realises that he has no idea what to make of her, either. It’s backhandedly comforting.

“Would you like to dance?” He asks, glancing over at where a small crowd of dancers have gathered. Ursa can’t help but smile, watching as the Water Tribe warriors show the more daring and romantic young women of the village their traditional paired dances, while others have gotten dragged into the local group dances. “If you can be spared, of course.” Hakoda adds, drawing Ursa’s attention back to him, and then on to where he’s looking over at Gen and Biyu, the elderly couple who own the local inn where Ursa works.

Gen snorts at them. “It’s about time Xia had a little fun. Go on.” He encourages.

Ursa gives him a quelling look that has absolutely no effect at all, so she relents and moves out towards the area the dancers have claimed, tugging Hakoda along with her. “You’ll have to show me how.” She tells Hakoda, looking back at him. “I’m afraid I don’t know any Water Tribe dances.”

“Perhaps you can show me some of the dances you have where you come from.” Hakoda counters lightly.

Ursa looks down and away, but she’s smiling faintly. “We… didn’t have many. It’s not… It’s no longer a social thing, in my home. It’s more of a skill, occasionally a profession.” She explains, and then waits to see how he’ll respond.

“Losing a part of your culture like that seems… kind of tragic, to me.” Hakoda muses, and Ursa’s breath catches as she turns to stare at him, smile growing. He’s much sharper than his introduction would have led her to believe, to have understood so easily all that things she’d implied with her answer, and she thinks, maybe, she’s beginning to see why Agni picked him for her.

“Yes.” Ursa agrees.

They dance, with Hakoda showing her the steps, and her learning as they go. She’s a quick study, but that doesn’t stop her from stumbling and bruising his toes in the beginning. She hardly notices, though, because Hakoda never makes her feel clumsy, and she doesn’t think she’s laughed this much since she was a girl. She’s still conscious of the eyes on them, not just of the villagers but the tribesmen, too. They’re watching Hakoda with raised eyebrows, the same way the villagers look surprised to see her… well, flirting, like this. She’s always been so careful, before this, to discourage any of those with bare wrists – or those who don’t care to wait – from taking an interest in her. After her last marriage, she hasn’t wanted to risk so much again.

Until now.

They give up dancing when they’re both out of breath and then they find a tree to sit under and rest. There’s still far too many people about, but Ursa decides she has to try and get some answers out of Hakoda. It takes her a moment to decide on her best approach, but then she leans over and taps at Hakoda’s wrist. “You don’t have a name.” She says, in question.

It takes him a moment to catch up, but then it dawns on him what she’s talking about, and he looks around at all of the Earth Kingdom people around them, and the array of wristbands most of them are wearing. “No.” He agrees, glancing at her with a conspiratorial sort of grin. “It doesn’t work like that, in the Tribes.” He tells her, and then waits.

Ursa has to bite down on the smile threatening to spread across her face. “How does it work?” She asks obligingly.

Hakoda’s grin softens into a smile that Ursa struggles to read. Wistful, perhaps, a little bit wry, and very tender. “We can feel it.” He says, returning her gesture of a moment ago, and tracing his fingers over her sleeve where it covers her otherwise bare wrist. No, Ursa realises a beat later, he’s tracing the edges of the new – and thankfully very faint – stain on her dress. “When our soulmate is in pain.” His fingers tap one, two, three spots up near her elbow, and she remembers that, yes, she had splashed herself that far up. Then he taps the exact location on her other arm where she got her worst burn during fire-bending practice, foolishly distracted during a spar with a classmate. She still has the scar.

“Oh.” Ursa breathes, because that… that explains a lot. She’s not sure whether she feels relieved to discover that all those times she was hurting, someone knew and cared, or… horrified, that all those times she’d been hurting, someone had known. She feels at once both comforted and terribly exposed.

“What about you?” Hakoda asks, and Ursa blinks, drawn out of her whirling thoughts, before frowning when she realises she has no idea what he’s talking about. He raises his eyebrows at her, and taps the bare skin of her wrist, just beyond the hem of her sleeve. “You don’t have a name either.” He prompts, carefully.

He’s not asking about Fire Nation soulmarks, because he’s seen how those work, and he’s not asking about whether she has a soulmate, because he knows she does, because he is, so… Oh. Ursa can feel herself going pale. If he can feel it when she’s in pain… Well, he’d certainly know that she has children, and she couldn’t have very well done that on her own, but he probably also knows… Her hand jumps, protectively, to cover the mark on her upper arm. The first time Ozai had touched her, it hadn’t hurt. The last time, it had.

“No, I don’t.” She agrees coolly, lowering her hand and sitting straighter, unwilling to show any more weakness right now.

Hakoda is far sharper than his introduction would have suggested, Ursa thinks, because he only looks at her, his expression mild but touched with sorrow, before he says “I’m sorry. You deserve better.”

It makes Ursa want to laugh, because it’s a lovely thing to say, but she’s really not sure that she does. It also makes her angry, because he’s her soulmate, and she could read so much subtext in a statement like that from her soulmate. “And that better is you, is it?” She asks him, sweet and challenging, watching him from the corner of her eye.

Because the truth is, she wants him to be the better that she deserves. Wants him to be a hundred times better than what she’s known, and wants to deserve it. And she knows from painful, bitter experience that wanting is dangerous. Letting other people know that you want something? That’s like tying a collar around your neck and handing them the leash.

Hakoda looks startled by her sudden attitude change, but to Ursa’s surprise, he doesn’t take offence. Instead, he snorts a laugh. “It’d be a lie to say it couldn’t be worse, but I think I’d have to be trying pretty hard to make it worse.” He points out, darkly amused. Then he sobers, and glances at her. “And I wouldn’t.” He adds, with all the weight of an oath. “I’m not perfect, but I’d do my best to treat you well.”

Words are never a guarantee, but… Ursa finds it a lot easier to believe that promise than any sweeter, prettier words. She relaxes despite herself, and offers him a faintly apologetic smile. “Once burned, twice shy.” She murmurs, by way of an explanation. Hakoda just nods, understanding without struggle, without ego, and it helps Ursa relax further, enough to lean into him again, shoulder to shoulder.