#this is a man that has been beaten down and traumatized

[riickgrimes]

[tiredtriedfailures]

through all of it, after all of it, ill still be mulling over Bella Swan. unlike other parts of smeyers writing where the glaring issues take the front seat to parts that are well written or interesting, bella remains special to me. genuinely worlds most boring girl, meant to be a mormon self insert but her humanity fleshes out so nicely its hard not to think this is an interesting character who is stuck in a bad premise. i dont know if many fanfics have it in them to do her justice but i be Wondering.

[justbelievinginmagic]

like a waltz⎯ part 1: brisé.

pairing(s): ateez ot8 x fem!reader; this chapter is seonghwa x reader focused & wooyoung x reader focused! series summary: when 8 mysterious bachelors arrive to town and fall for your charms, will you be able to reach your goal to be prima ballerina or be dragged into a selfish waltz between love and obsession? glimpse: the worst night of your life makes you recall what you thought was one of the best nights of you life - meeting jung wooyoung at the cromer opera house. warnings/tags: inspired by Ateez’s Ice on my Teeth MV & Teasers, Mafia AU, Ballet AU, early 1900’s AU with some divergences in tech advancements (i.e if i think itd be cool to include, this world has it earlier than irl), 3rd person POV, use of YN, mxm, polyteez, mature topics, strong language, ballet lore, angst, fluff, flirting, suggestive topics, violence, traumatic foot injury, unequal power dynamics, allusions to exploitation in ballet, pain, fear, injuries, alcohol mention, reader discretion advised. word count: 5.7k -> next chapter series masterlist

brisé ; french pronunciation: [bʁize]; literally 'broken'

All she had wanted her entire life was to be the ballerina prima. It was all she worked for. Every day she woke up to dance; she lived, breathed, ate for ballet. And she almost had it. It had been so close. The shining lights, the praise, the private dressing room, all for her. An escape from the shame of the petit rats, the groping from patrons, the reliance on a man’s wealth. She was going to be a star – in her own right. She was going to be a star.

Now, she laid in the dirty alley way, beaten and broken.

Through the torn bits of her hosiery, she could see her ankles were a purple-red color, splotched, like a gruesome Impressionist painting. The bones were at odd angles, too sharp, too extended for them to be not broken. Her hands shook as she tried to move them, tried to push at the pain that crept up her legs in a deafening manner. She could barely move them, roll them, anything without crying out in pain.

And cry she did. Wails escaped her chest in a mournful song. Her coal-mascara dripped down her rouged cheeks, melting into a mess and staining her mink fur coat. Their fur coat – their gift to her - that now felt suffocating around her, strands of the fur stuck to her sweatied skin and making her skin crawl with the feeling of maggots. She struggled to take it off, fighting with it as if it the animal had come back to life and was biting at her. Shoving it off and onto the alley floor with a huff, she moved to wipe her eyes with the backs of her hands. They too were injured. Her dainty fingers were scraped and cut up from the harsh cobblestone beneath her. Phalanges dripped ruby red, and most likely had been smudged over her face with a false rouge. If someone had caught a look, they’d be afraid her face was bleeding. Luckily, that had been spared; everything had been except for her feet. Just her legs were mangled, beaten, bludgeoned with bats, and crushed into the ground ‘til the bone creaked and shattered. Her poor dancing feet.

She hadn’t thought they would do it; she thought…

Jongho had cried for her the night before, pleaded with her as she told him her decision.

She should’ve known then.

Wooyoung advised against it after dinner, hissing out in fear that Hongjoong wouldn’t be happy.

She should’ve known then.

Yunho refused to see her that evening, locked away in his study.

She should’ve known then.

Seonghwa had even grabbed her hand this morning before she left the mansion; he had said nothing but his eyes were dark and cautioning as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

She should’ve taken his warning.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. His footsteps were heavy as he approached her. The familiar scent of his cologne that was once reassuring, exciting even, now made her face scrunch up into despair. She tried to shift away from him, wriggling away like a worm. Each bend of her ankles made agony crawl up her spine. Her throat flexed in pain and a whine escaped her chest unwillingly.

She couldn’t go far and Seonghwa easily pinned her down with simply a cold look in his eyes.

His eyes were always serious, a shadowy thing that only lightened around his lovers. But they did not lighten with her tonight. In fact, she swore they were the coldest she had seen them like a cold star staring back at her.

Seonghwa stopped in front of her with his feet straddled her legs; his perfect new shoes smelled of polish, expensive and shining. With a tilt of his head, he stared down at her with his handsome face shadowed by a large brimmed hat. She stared up at him, her mouth a scowl-like grimace.

His cool gaze carefully left her tear-sodden face to graze over her ankles. Blood coated her nylon tights, her knees rubied and torn. Her ankles looked worse for wear, twisted, mangled, and beaten. He could see the bone pressing into her bruised flesh, painting it ivory white.

“My dove,” he hummed out in a coo. He knelt. “My pretty dancer. Poor thing.”

Poor thing, he tutted. Poor thing, they all tutted. The same pathetic words from the matching mouths of rich folk who wanted to play with her like she was nothing but a ballerina doll spinning on a music box. Watching her spin around and around like a chicken with no head, whirling, out of breath for their amusement. All she had been was a marionette for them to play with. That’s what she realized she was even to him, even to them.

She stared up at him with a glower. She thought they were different.

“You did this.” She growled.

Her tone was low and vicious unlike anything he had heard from her before.

Seonghwa simply smiled. His carved lips twitched up on one side of his beautiful face, forming a wicked half-smile. His diamond-inlayed teeth glinted in the gas-lamp light that dripped into the alley way from the main road. A leather-gloved hand reached out to grasp her jaw, not unkindly but certainly with a firmness familiar for him. He directed her gaze his way, taking in the dripping stage-makeup. Surely it would leave oily remnants on his fingertips. Surely his touch would leave watercolored bruises on her jaw. He tutted again at her swollen waterlogged features. A smear of blood cut across the bridge of her nose. With the utmost care, firm and slow, he brushed away the grime. Blood seeped into his leathered gloved. Her blood.

“This is why Wooyoungie likes you so much,” he chuckled lowly. “You’re both brats at heart.”

Her mouth sneered in annoyance, mimicking a sneer she had seen him flash far too often. He thought this was nothing. That she was being disobedient for fun. Like this was just a horrible, horrible game. Despair filled her eyes as she tried to shift her jaw out of his hand with that, baring her teeth like a mongrel would. He caught her chin between harsh, gloved fingers again.

“But, like Wooyoung, I love you nonetheless,” he confessed. “Would do anything for you.”

His eyes were dark, inky, like tar swallowing her whole. But they were serious. Deadly so. Just like Hongjoong was when he had promised she’d regret her decision if she followed through with it.

Still, it ached like a lie. It ached bone-deep like her injuries. (She had seen the attackers’ tattoos on their skin. The word ‘A T E E Z’ inked onto their knuckles; ‘BLACK PIRATES’ on some of their bared arms. Their suits they wore were of the men at the mansion. The ski masks covering their features from view didn’t make them ghostly attackers like they had wished. She had seen the masked men before creeping out of the mansion’s office at the order of Yunho or Mingi.)

She wasn’t dumb.

His thumb caressed her cheek fondly. Expensive, freshly cleaned leather smooth and soft against her make-up muddied features.

“Let’s go home, hm?” he hummed. “You look like you need a warm bath and plenty of rest. We’ll have a doctor come assess your injuries, dove.”

And in a mimicry of a gentleman, he shrugged off his long coat to wrap around her – rather than grab her now-dirtied fur coat from the cobblestone floor. In fact, she bet he’d find it so filthy he’d leave it for the rats. Maybe another petit rat of the ballet would open the doors of the backstage only feet away and steal it away. With words of ‘oh, a patron gave it to me’ after she scrubbed and scrubbed the blood, the makeup, the grim away. Just as he’d do with her, wash it all away until she was shiny and new again.

With ease, he lifted her up into his arms, cradling her close as he rose to full height once more. There was no discussion. No mention of her apartment on the far side of town, her home; no, they would be heading to the strange mansion the Kim clan called home. His grip was firm on her as he exited the alley way of the Cromer Opera House.

It was on this day YN wished she had never met the charming second-youngest of the Kim clan that day in the foyer de la danse. Then, her life and livelihood wouldn’t have been stolen by the ones who had once admired her.

-

The foyer de la danse was known as simply the ballet boudoir to the ballerinas. While it was a sort of dressing room, sort of practice room all-in-one, it was also dreadfully unprivate. The intricately decorated room of gold and glamour was the perfect frame for a pretty picture. Tall mirrors enclosed the room on all sides as new gas-powered chandeliers high above lit the room in a bright golden glow, highlighting each of the girls in view. There were no dark corners, no privacy screens, just mirrors, gold, light, and pretty girls.

None of the male dancers were allowed here. None of the female patrons either. But men who had high-status or who scraped up enough money to spend to stare at the young girls prepare for the show would promenade around. Freshly pressed fine linen suits, luxurious watches on their wrists or in their breast pocket, expensive cologne mingling with the aroma of their expensive liquor. Greedy eyes scanning up and down the ballerina’s half-naked forms as if they were just meat at a butchery.

They’d sip their bourbon leisurely, and approach the girls no matter what they were doing. If they were warming up at the barre, lacing up their shoes’ ribbons with patience, pressing fine powder over their face, or even mid-adjusting their costume with a costumier, they’d drop everything to smile coquettish and bite back the annoyance of disruption. In the ballet boudoir, the men were king, and the ballerinas were nothing but jesters for their amusement. The boudoir - it was a cruel nickname to taunt the young dancers who didn’t know any better. This was no private place. No, it wasn’t a dressing room like they’ve heard of.

If it was a less-than-full audience at the Cromer Opera House, there would be only familiar men in the room – who oftentimes already had their eyes on their prey. Lord Frederickson favored Julia with the red hair. Mr. Takahashi was leering after Mina. Kim Dohyun had been pursuing Imara for a year now; she had saved almost enough money to be out of the boudoir and have her own personal dressing room, maybe by next season! They were unfortunately lucky.

Now, YN had been the fortunate unlucky girl. Throughout her time at the Cromer Opera House, she had only a few male admirers. All who had little money and would spend most of their wealth getting into the boudoir and have none left to ‘woo’ with gift-giving or patronage. Even so, she had to act friendly. Smile with your cheeks, YN, an older ballerina had advised once. They can tell when there is nothing behind your eyes.

YN had been part of the corps de ballet for over a year now because of this. A petit rat at her age was mocked. She had no debut, no prospects. It wasn’t from not trying. She had practiced since she was three after all. She was an urchin with a seamstress mother and forgotten father who had passed in the war. It was typical of girls like her to try to seek fame - the easy-way - her mother claims. But there was no easy way in ballet.

Decades of training resulted in swollen purple toes, aching muscles, millions of destroyed ballet shoes, and countless inquiries to the choreographer to let her have a chance. The choreographer who had something against her. Maybe it was from when she was a child and would rather play than practice on the barre or maybe it was when she was a teen and had begun to read at breaks rather than continue to strain her muscles like some of the girls. The Madame hated her.

Regardless, she had never danced on stage alone, never was stand out. Her golden hour had yet to come. And with that, she wasn’t pursued by patronage suitors seriously. A blessing and a curse. She avoided wandering hands, wet mouths, and nasty tongues. But every costume had to be commissioned with her own coin (most often, she would sew it in the dark of night, icing her feet as she snipped at scrap fabric her mother owned.) Each ballet shoe’s cost was taken from her meager wages. The fee of practices, the fee of using the opera house’s rehearsal room, the fee of utilizing the boudoir’s accommodations like powder and rouge and candlelight if they could charge for that, all laid on her shoulders.

A true petit rat, lowly and searching for scraps. Digging her nails into opportunities where she can shine. But not from another’s assistance. No, her pride was too heavy on her back now for that.

“YN, YN, YN!”

There was a chatter – giggling and chittering between the younger girls – as they came padding into the boudoir before show-time. Tip tap, tip tap, tip. Around the corner of the opened grand doors, they came waddling in like a flock. Their swan costumes made them truly look like little ducklings; white feathered tutus leaving stray feathers onto the wooden floors as they scurried her way.

The one yelling her name was young, not even ten years old yet. She was short for her age too, a thing she despised. Only tall girls were prima ballerina her fellow ballerina friends taunted. She slid to her knees beside YN.

She smiled up from her spot on the ground, one pointe shoe on and the other resting beside her.

“Tiny, hello,” she greeted, finishing tying the ballet shoes’ laces up her legs.

“Have you heard? Have you heard?” Another of the young ballerinas chimed as she rushed forward as well, her dark hair tumbling from her half-up bun.

“Jane, your hair,” YN half-scolded, half-warned.

Her eyes glanced away from the youngers towards the grand gold-gilded doors of the boudoir, half-expecting their Madame to walk in and lash at them for looking so untidy. Despite this being a dressing room.

Pausing in tying up her laces, she gestured for the girl to join her on the cold wooden floor (they didn’t utilize the radiator heaters until mid-act 1, so it’d be warm for the patrons during intermission.)

Jane was thirteen and, with a huff, she plopped down, bony knees clanking as she did so. Her costume splayed out in a feathered mess. Her little fingers began to pick and fluff the costume. Her head lolled back, and YN began to untangle the pins from her curls.

“YN,” the one she called Tiny whined.

“Okay, okay,” she chuckled. “What’s so exciting?”

“There are new young bachelors in town!”

“What?”

Cromer wasn’t a tiny coastal town anymore. It was bustling with people and money and trade. New buildings were popping up more and more, growing taller and taller by the day. The high society they were aware of was growing larger and larger until the folk they thought were rich and powerful weren’t all that rich and powerful anymore compared to the new conglomerates. But unfortunately, these millionaires were often married, unhappily.

“You know the Ateez House?”

YN laughed at that.

Everyone in town did. It was their most favorite ghost house. It was the largest sprawling estates in Cromer with the spooky story that all knew. The story went it was once owned by a pirate captain, the only Captain of the Black Pirates. They pilfered and ravaged ports one by one until they were known across the seas as a brutal blood-thirsty crew. No coastal town was safe from them. Until one day, they stopped sailing mysteriously. The story goes that the captain settled in the town of Cromer under a false name and built Ateez Mansion – a sprawling estate built with blood-soaked gold and diamonds. Some say its haunted with the deaths of the captain’s victims; others say the entire house was cursed from the stolen treasure hidden within.

All just tall tales to try to explain why a beautiful mansion remained unhoused yet perfectly taken care of. Sometimes you could see candlelight flickering in the foyer through the grand stained-glass windows or even ghostly figures with no faces walking about.  

“Yes,” she replied. “I’m the one who told you the ghost story about Ateez House.”

One of the youngest curled closer to her side, shivering a bit as she thought of the scary story. 

“They moved into the Ateez House!” Tiny exclaimed, slamming her hands down on the wooden floor in excitement. Tiny loved to gossip and this was like Christmas. New bachelors meant new flings which meant new gossip!

“Was there a sale of the estate?” YN wondered as she finally got all the pins from Jane’s hair out and in a small pile on the floor beside her.

“No,” one of the other young teens said. She wasn’t even among the clambering youths around her; she was on the nearby barre stretching out. “No sale had been published in the papers. I heard from June who heard from Martha who heard from Wendy who heard from Lorelai who heard from her current suitor that the bachelors already owned the house but never stayed there.”

Now, that was news. YN’s brows rose in surprise.

“It’s been their house?” she repeated as she paused in gathering Jane’s hair into a bun. Another ballerina warming up nearby nodded enthusiastically.

“Do any of you tattletales know their names? How many are there?” YN asked.  

Across the sea of swan-costumed girls, sparkling in gems and beads, their faces fell.

“That’s a no then… has anyone seen these mysterious bachelors leaving the mansion?”

There was a silence.

“Any proof of these men at all?”

Nothing.

YN sighed out. “Who would own that mansion and never live there? It’s been empty for decades now. None of us have known the owners. I don’t—I think it’s just gossip, girls.”

Jane wiggled in her grasp, bratty as she whined. “But YN,” she complained. She had been so excited to imagine and pretend and think of handsome suitors.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, hm,” YN encouraged as she finished wrapping the girl’s hair tight into a perfect bun. Pin after pin was slid in with precision. “For now, no more gossiping about ghostly bachelors in an abandoned mansion. Practice calls – Tiny, have you warmed up?”

Tiny furrowed her brow, her lips falling into a pout. Embarrassment heated her face as she curtly shook her head ‘no’.

“Go on,” YN encouraged the other with a smile before patting Jane’s shoulders to indicate she was done with her now-pristine hairdo as well.

“She acts like she’s the Madame,” Tiny mumbled under her breath as she stomped to her feet. “She’s not even a featured ballerina.”

The snide remark stung but YN tried to remember that they were young. Young and unaware of the hardships that awaited them. It wasn’t just dancing here. It was far more than that. YN returned to her shoes, tying them once more.

New bachelors in town. . . that’d be something. Far too often was it old men with oily money. But there is no way anyone truly owned that estate for all these years and no one in town knew it. No way. Somebody would know who owned it. It wouldn’t have become a ghost story. It was just silly gossip. Wishful thinking for a man to come sweep you off your feet.

She sighed and stretched her limbs before hoisting herself up to prepare for tonight’s show.

-

Swan Lake: a princess turned into a swan by an evil sorcerer's curse. She’d watch the prima ballerina, Odette, dance about gracefully from the wings each night. YN’s toes flexing at every movement, as if she were dancing it herself. She yearned for it. Ached to be the one performing. Instead, she was simply one in the crowd. The corps de ballet, the ensemble. She’d spin about in the back, pirouette perfect, leap lovely. Awe and comfort the lead throughout her struggle as a swan as she, YN, remained the ugly duckling.

Her gaze would dance throughout the crowd as she did an arabesque, slow and precise. There is Nikolai in his usual spot. There’s Mrs Lee and her young sons. Ariel and her suitor Sunghoon. Takahashi in Box 2 with his sisters. Box 4 had Fredrikson and his family. Box 5 was empty – wonder where Dohyun was, Imara would be relieved she could relax tonight she bet. Her eyes skipped over Box 8 because, of course, it would be empty. It was always empty. Except…

There was a quick plie of her knees before she had to jete away off-stage

Whispers consumed the backstage. Did you see? Did you see?

Box 8 was occupied.

Never had it been occupied in all the years of the Cromer Opera House.

Cromer held many superstitions even as a modern industrializing town. They had ghost stories about houses after all. But one of the strangest superstitions was the number 8. They skipped the 8th street; the eighth floor was unspoken in the tallest of buildings. No aisle 8, no 8th editions.

Box 8 of the Opera House was left empty strategically - for luck.

But now, there sat only one man. Shadowed by the dark curtains of the box, he watched the show from opera glasses and sipped on glittering champagne that would occasionally catch the candlelight of the grand chandeliers.  

Did you see his face? Who is he? Is he handsome? Who could buy the box? Who would want to buy that box?

“Quiet!” One of the older ballerinas snapped at the youngers. “The audience will hear you!”

YN snorted behind a hand, standing ready in the wings. While she didn’t gossip, she listened. As if the audience was completely enraptured by their rendition of Swan Lake. The Opera, the Ballet, the Theatre: they weren’t to solely watch a show and be entertained. It was social. It was always social. Of course, the audience was wondering the same questions as they were.

Who was he? Was it a he? His form looked masculine.

She wanted to catch a glimpse.

-

It was a man she surmised after the next scene. YN was downstage this dance, sat among the young ballerinas and acting as a mother swan to them as they would do dramatic port de bras, arm movements. She had time to glance about once more.

In the shadows of Box Number 8 was a handsome man. Dark hair framed his face. He wore a suit that was a deep black velvet. And his eyes were glued to her, she swore it.

He was someone new. He was someone intriguing. And she waited to see if he was indeed watching her. Her group stood after sometime to chase after Odette, leaping this way and that until joining back in the right-upper corner of the stage on a lifted platform, stylized as a grassy hill.

She looked up at the box. He was staring at her. He was staring at her, opera glasses focused on her. They glinted in the candle-light. He disregarded the spotlit prima ballerina pirouetting around the lower left of the stage. For her. She smiled at him.

Tiny glanced her way with a giddy immatureness in her actions, breaking the elegance of a ballerina in her excitement. She could already hear Madame’s scolding at tonight’s debrief. But YN didn’t mind. Because he was looking at her.

And everyone knew it.  

-

Act One finished in a roar of applause. Heavied red curtains slid shut for intermission as they hurried off stage.

“He was looking at her.” Jane exclaimed bouncing on her feet as she tugged her friend’s arm in excitement.

The corps de ballet was walking all together through the backstage halls of the Opera House towards the boudoir. The prima ballerina and the principal dancers escaped to their own private dressing rooms – YN watched as a patron, Mr. Kim, an older gentleman snuck into the prima ballerina’s room.

“No, he wasn’t,” another girl claimed.

“Yes, he was,” Jane defended.

“No, he wasn’t,” another snorted.

“Yes, he was!” Tiny yelled, indignantly.

“Tabitha!” the Madame rounded the corner of the boudoir, exiting out of its doors to meet the ensemble.

The Madame was a strict looking woman, tall nosed with her hair in a meticulous updo. Her cane did little to aid in her walking but much in discipline. Too many times had she felt the thwack of the cane against the back of her legs, her arched back, or her stomach.

Legs straight! Back straight! Don’t slouch! YN!  

The group paused at her appearance; some of the girls bowed their head in respect; others hid behind taller legs.

“Miss Tabitha, must I remind you of your manners every day?” she queried, her tone loud and grating. “As a lady of this company, you must be a lady.”

“Sorry, Madame,” Tiny immediately apologized, head bending forward.

There was a heavy pause as the Madame’s fiery gaze lingered on the young girl before passing over the selection of the ensemble. She glared at YN pointedly. YN had long stopped trying to appeal to her; it never worked she had learned.

“Carry on, girls,” the Madame instructed.

They curtsied in unison before continuing towards the boudoir, hopefully with enough time to slip into their next costumes, if need be, before any patrons were lounging about. It was always uncomfortable to change with the men about – it made them feel truly like objects on display rather than dancers. Skilled ladies.

YN went to her shared vanity, glancing over her makeup. Dabbing at sweat that beaded at her hairline, she went to reach for a handkerchief but when she leant back up right was spooked by the sight of a man behind her.

Black velvet linen made up his suit; she had been right. It was perfectly tailored to his form, luxurious and hugging. His suit jacket was longer than typical but stylish with ornate, Greco-Roman inspired embroidered sleeves.

In the mirror, he was handsome. Strong jawline. Bare collarbones visible from his loose fitted button up beneath his suit jacket. With dark intriguing eyes that didn’t stray from her, a quirked brow, and delicate face-framing strands of hair, he stole her breath away.  

“Hello.” He greeted coyly.

The boudoir’s chatter died down at his greeting. All eyes zeroed in on them. She stood to her full height once more, holding the handkerchief in between her hands. Sweat slid down her temple to her jawline delicately.

“Hello,” she greeted, patting down the sides of her face quickly before turning to face him fully.

His lips were plump, curling in a hint of a smile as he watched her spin to face him. He seemed to be examining her just as she did to him.

“You’re far more beautiful than any of these girls,” the mystery man commented leaning over the vanity to peer at her.

His fingers fiddled on the white vanity, making shapes this way and that. Knocking his knuckles against the wood, almost boyishly shy. But this patron wasn’t shy. She had seen men parade about and try every trick in the book with a girl. She could see it in the sparkle of his dark eyes. The curl of his charming smile.

He wasn’t shy. He was smart.

“You are a charmer, sir,” she complimented, opening a glass container holding puff powder.

She flashed him a cheeky smile before using the puff to powder over the sweat on her forehead, her cheeks. A jar of rouge was placed down near the mirror by another dancer. When she turned away, her tutu brushed against the mysterious patron’s waist. He didn’t take his eyes from YN all the while.

“I wish I was,” he softly crooned. So he wouldn’t have to watch her in the mirror, he turned to lean back on the ledge, fingers pressed behind him as he watched her touch up her lipstick with a delicate brush. “I’m only speaking the truth.”

It was a soft admittance. His eyes hadn’t left her features, darting from her eyes to the red petals of her mouth that pressed together in a pout as she finished apply the lipstick. Her finger went to dip into the pot before, with a quick movement, he grasped her wrist.

It wasn’t painful just surprising as she jumped in his grip. His hold loosened greatly, allowing her to pull away if she wished. She didn’t.

“Let me; don’t want you to dirty your hands,” he said.

She licked her lips; the heavy taste of beeswax and rosewater stuck to the back of her tongue as she nodded minutely.

The handsome patron’s cheshire cat grin grew. A dark mole on his cheek caught her attention the more his cheeks puffed up with his smile. Beautiful. He let go of her wrist. Long, long fingers dipped into the red makeup.

“What’s your name?” she asked, a first when it came to the patrons and male-visitors of the ballet boudoir.

Far too often, everyone knew everyone. They’d scratch and crawl away or towards certain men; attention meant everything to a beginning ballet dancer. It meant success. No one seemingly knew him, judging by the looks she caught the more experienced, older ballerinas throw her way.

“Wooyoung. Jung Wooyoung,” he answered her before tapped the blush delicately on one cheek.

His touch made her heart race. He licked his own lips, looking down at her through tussled dark locks. His fingers pressed another dot to her other cheek. His free hand moved to cup her jawline, forcing her to look up at him before, with gentle motions, he began to blend the rouge into a soft gradient. One cheek, then the other.

The room felt quiet. Burning eyes on them grazed her skin but it didn’t make her stomach churn with anxiety. It felt like only the two of them existed in a perfect bubble. His touch didn’t burn or disgust her; it tingled across her skin making gooseflesh crawl up her arms, up her spine. She worried he could see them through the sheer nylon of her long-sleeved costume. If he did, he didn’t comment on it. His eyes were focused on adding to her beauty, gentle and almost reverent.

“And yours, little swan?” he tilted her chin up as he finished with his work. He loved to watch the rubied glow on her cheeks grow and grow, and not due to his careful make-up’ed handiwork.

“YN,” she said.

He grinned before he repeated her name. His fingers trailed over her cheek, over her chin, his thumb ghosting over her plush lipsticked lips. Before he pulled away and leaned back on the vanity; rouge staining the pure vanity below his hands, sloppily.

“Pretty name for a pretty swanette.”

She smiled up at him, the building, bubbling excitement writhing in her throat. She swallowed.

“Are you new in town? I’ve never seen you at the Opera.” She commented offhandedly.

His grin remained, the corners of his lips curling cat-like. “Mmhm,” he hummed out. “You can say that. I’m from Aurora originally.”

“Aurora… the island Aurora?” she queried with intrigue. “I’ve heard its booming lately. The Jewel of the Atiny Sea.”

He nodded, his smile not fading but his eyes crinkled as he raised his unstained fingers to push her hair aside. Just as an excuse to graze her shoulder she bet.

“I grew up there before it became beautiful,” he admitted. “Its much nicer now – I like to visit on holidays but I don’t miss it.”

“But now you are in Cromer. For how long?” she continued.

He hummed again leaning close. “For however long it takes to woo you?” he flirted.

It made a whirlwind of butterflies dance in her stomach. He watched as her blush extended to the tips of her ears. He laughed lowly.

“You’re teasing me,” she warned with a smirk. “We barely know one another.”

“Maybe,” he retorted. “I know skill and dedication when I see it. I like that.”

There was a ringing of a bell, delicate but a familiar sound for the ballerinas. Some turned their heads towards the stage hand ringing it to give him a smile. Others remained speaking to their patrons or changing their costumes to Act 2’s ensemble. Most remained eavesdropping on their conversation.

“Do you need to hurry along, beautiful swanette?” he fiddled with the crown of feathers pinned to her hair.

“Soon,” she replied simply.

His fingers trailed over her hair, tucking some behind her ear delicately before he grazed his hand down the sleek nylon of her sleeve to take her hand. His hand was decorated in countless rings. Gold, silver, copper. One was a series of silver circles ( …or were they sideways 8’s?) with jewels placed in between stylishly. There was another that was a polished silver with the emblem of a letter she couldn’t quite make out on its face. The metal felt cold against her hot skin. Running a thumb over her knuckles, he squeezed her hand.

“Will you indulge me in another meeting soon? I regret to inform you I can’t stay late after the performance,” he admitted. “I would like to get to know you.”

It was charming the idea he proposed. As if she had any will or way in meeting him. But she was intrigued by him. He was handsome, playful, and new. He was mysterious with how he sat alone in the forbidden, unlucky Box Number 8. She wanted to get to know him… and if he wanted to pay for her time like the other patrons eventually did with their ballerinas, maybe this would be beneficial for the both of them.

She leaned in close like she had seen other ballerinas do with their patrons. Closer than what was appropriate for a lady, but not close enough to have their forms touch. She looked up and smiled, enjoying the way his own ears were beginning to tint a playful red. This was a fun dance between the two of them. She had never enjoyed her suitors so much.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I’d love to talk more, Mr. Jung.”

“Call me Wooyoung.”

[bengiyo]

Blue Canvas of Youthful Days: BL is So Good When The Characterization Holds

I've been enamored with this show as each week builds on the actions and information we previously received. I am white knuckling through the end of this show, because we have caught up with the prologue just past the midpoint (@benkaben). I've been thinking a lot about this show, so I want to get some of my thoughts down before any unwelcome turns happen.

Qi Lu Feels Recognizably Gay

I've been thinking a lot about Qi Lu since we had the attempted first kiss with East Palace, West Palace (1996) playing in the background (@twig-tea). The fact that he has this film implies that he's known about himself for a while and has been looking for resources online to feed this part of himself. He pushed for that moment, and he recognized the attraction in Qin Xiao.

Later, he doesn't allow Qin Xiao to play coy about what's going on with them. He also doesn't fold in on himself and collapse because he faced a rejection. He's one of the rare characters who Knows himself that has the response that feels more real to me when they get rejected by a boy they know likes them: they get mad.

I loved that Qi Lu got defiant and demanding about Qin Xiao. He's totally wrong (@lurkingshan), but it was so correct for the position he's in. He's stifled by his dad, and beaten for showing any defiance. He's clearly lacking in other friendships. I completely get Qi Lu becoming possessive of Qin Xiao, and getting frustrated that Qin Xiao wouldn't return his feelings.

I'm also enamored with the way he seems to see past Qin Xiao's threats of violence. There's something so specific about a gay man who regularly suffers beatings from his father recognizing the false bravado behind Qin Xiao's own threats, and choosing to respond with gentleness to it every time. I'm still thinking about him kissing that man's fist in episode 8.

Like any young person caught up in their first romance, they're enjoying the honeymoon phase and promising things that will surely cause us immense pain. Still, Qi Lu is one of my favorite gay boys of the year, because he didn't get smaller when he faced rejection. He got bigger and stubborn. I love him.

Qin Xiao is a Great Romantic Lead

Zhang Xuan Yu is killing it as Qin Xiao. He is perfectly calibrated to be the kind of man any young gay would fall for.

He's a talented artist that has a strong moral center. He is willing to learn new ways to communicate to take care of the people that matter to him. He is caring for a sick grandparent. He's also so beautiful.

Even his rejection of Qi Lu is attractive. He's obviously drawn to Qi Lu, but this was not what he had in mind for his life. He's also leery of the big economic and social lines between them. He's got gangsters showing up at his place of work to threaten him.

But how can he stay away? As soon as he got a little bit jealous, he broke at the persistent kindness of Qi Lu. They let themselves feel what's happening between them and it looks so comfortable. I'm so ready for all of the drama to come, and I am crossing my fingers that we don't get a traumatizing ending to justify this getting past the censors.

Teacher Liu is a Mess and I Love Him

This man needs to get his shit together, but goddamn am I invested. He started helping a guy who reminded him of the brother whose death he feels responsible for, only to fall for that young man. Now his sensibilities as a teacher are clouding the issue for him, and he's lying to that boy. What a disaster of a man. I love him.

I was a teacher, and I have been in the position this man was in when he faced down Qi Lu's father. I've had to say the correct things to a parent to diffuse a situation where I was worried for my student's safety. I've also been in the position of having to tell gay kids between the lines to focus on their responsibilities over their relationship issues without saying anything that could be seen as me not meeting the responsibility of a teacher to report behavior. You have to maintain a level of plausible deniability that I find myself connecting to with Teacher Liu.

That being said, he's doing wrong by Tan Yin, and I'm glad Tan Yin is assertive about what's happening with them. I don't think this would work as a drama if the show didn't show us constantly that it knows Liu is a fuck up here.

We're Really In it Now

As we enter the final two weeks of this show, I remain cautious about how we'll finish. However, regardless of how this show ends, we've had eight incredibly strong episodes that show us that the people behind this know what story they're telling. If their ending feels contrived and doesn't make sense, I hope that it feels like something that was forced on them. In either case, I wanted to write about how strongly I've responded to the first eight episodes, because this is one of the most satisyfing experiences I've had as a viewer this year. I am amazed that we got this, Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo, and Love in the Big City all at the same time.

I clearly just need to hold out for fall every year.

[wajjs]

to sum up SOME of the things happening in Argentina:

There's a nation wide manhunt for Loan, a toddler that disappeared in Corrientes (province that has borders with Paraguay, Brasil and Uruguay, three neighboring countries). Foul play has been suspected from day one. The family is believed to be involved by some people. The most popular on going theory is that he was sold to an international pedophile ring dedicated to buying kids from Latin American countries and selling them to people in power in the USA and aligned countries.

The court case connected to Tehuel, a trans young man that disappeared while going to a job opportunity he was offered by a local semi-political figure he was supposed to be able to trust, has been reopened. It is heavily theorized that this political figure, plus his partner and an accomplice, tortured and killed Tehuel for being trans. (There is a strong online theory that they fed him to the pigs after to get rid of his remains. Another popular theory is that they sold him to a human trafficking ring.)

The ex first lady, Fabiola Yañez, and ex president, Alberto Fernández, are in an ongoing legal battle after she was more or less forced to come forward and press charges against him for physical and psychological abuse. A lot of it was perpetrated while he was in office during the pandemic. He kept her locked up, isolated, and publicly blamed her for the things that went wrong during his presidential mandate. Unfortunately the media is having a field day with the pictures of Fabiola beaten up, basically showing off her bruised face and body while zooming in on the injuries. Fabiola had to come out and ask them to please stop showing those pictures as they are effectively re traumatizing her and her son.

Current president, Javier Milei, has effectively altered the employment contract law, taking away things that were meant to protect workers from corporate/employer greed and abuse. He has also effectively closed down the statal, official, ways to get in contact with authorities in case of gender based discrimination and abuse.

Current ruling political party (far right) is pushing forward a denial of facts and attempt at retelling our history by more or less saying that the last military dictatorship wasn't that bad, trying to pardon their sentences (even though the ones in charge of kidnapping, torturing, and disappearing people are living well while serving their sentences). A delegation met with one of the most heinous figure heads of the last dictatorship. A person from said delegation alleged it's old history and that people born during the 90s don't know and don't care about it.

[baleriontheblackkitten]

A Game of Thrones - Eddard I

And so the king's court comes to Winterfell.

Ned knew many of the riders. There came Ser Jaime Lannister with hair as bright as beaten gold, and there Sandor Clegane with his terrible burned face. The tall boy beside him could only be the crown prince, and that stunted little man behind them was surely the Imp, Tyrion Lannister.

It's kind of funny re-reading this passage, but it makes sense that most Starks and Lannisters hardly know each other at all at this point. It's the first time visiting the North for many of these people. You really feel the sense of how distant Winterfell is from everywhere else - no one ever goes there from the South, and the Starks hardly leave it either. Ned and Robert haven't seen each other since Balon's rebellion.

Something's off about the timeline. In Cat's first chapter, Ned says, "It will be good to see the children. The youngest was still sucking at the Lannister woman’s teat the last time I saw him," and Cat states Tommen is seven years old. Now Ned muses that it's been nine years since he last saw Robert, at Balon's rebellion. Why would Ned see Cersei and baby Tommen without Robert? Considering the queen and the kids have been traveling on a giant wheelhouse that doesn't even fit the castle gate, trained by forty horses - I doubt Cersei is the kind of person who would travel much with an infant. Unless she'd be going to Casterly Rock to have baby Tommen meet his grandfather, but why would Ned go there?

I mean, it's doesn't matter. We're just in the exposition stage. The funniest in-story explanation is that Ned and Cat were just mixing up babies in their memories and it wasn't baby Tommen they saw but baby Myrcella, in that case the timeline would work since Myrcella would be of breastfeeding age nine years ago. I'll just accept that.

Anyway. Ned is taken aback by how much Robert has changed, no longer built like a warrior, but a fat man that smells of perfume instead of blood.

So many of Ned's memories are tied to the smell of blood. He remembers Robert as smelling of leather and blood, he remembers the room Lyanna died in as smelling of roses and blood. He's a man whose past is filled with the scent of blood, that he can still smell with his memory. It's easy to point the finger at Ned's mistakes, but this is a man traumatized to the seven hells and back who uses defensive mechanisms (like the rose-tinted glasses he looks at Robert through) that progressively crumble leaving him undefended.

(It's also interesting how wolves are often described as smelling blood, and the Starks who warg into wolves, Bran and Arya, often mention the smell of blood in their noses. Something about a circle of violence, blood spilled that calls for more blood and whose scent fills the nostrils of the younger generation.)

Speaking of Lyanna.

No sooner had those formalities of greeting been completed than the king had said to his host, “Take me down to your crypt, Eddard. I would pay my respects.” Ned loved him for that, for remembering her still after all these years. He called for a lantern. No other words were needed. The queen had begun to protest. They had been riding since dawn, everyone was tired and cold, surely they should refresh themselves first. The dead would wait. She had said no more than that; Robert had looked at her, and her twin brother Jaime had taken her quietly by the arm, and she had said no more.

The dead wolf girl will always matter more to Robert than his living wife, and it seems Cersei still minds that even after all these years. Jaime diffuses a potential nasty situation, which is a microcosm for Jaime's role in Robert and Cersei's marriage - keeping Cersei placated enough that the friction between her and Robert is reduced to a minimum. And yet it's not enough. (And pretty ironic, since Jaime's role in that marriage is both solving problems and creating bigger ones.)

"This king Ned scarcely recognized" Ned thinks of Robert, and that's the point, isn't it? Robert has changed physically, but he's still the same man he's always been. It's Ned that remembers him different - a better man than Robert has ever been - and will struggle with the realization.

“I was starting to think we would never reach Winterfell,” Robert complained as they descended. “In the south, the way they talk about my Seven Kingdoms, a man forgets that your part is as big as the other six combined.” “I trust you enjoyed the journey, Your Grace?” Robert snorted. “Bogs and forests and fields, and scarcely a decent inn north of the Neck. I’ve never seen such a vast emptiness. Where are all your people?” “Likely they were too shy to come out,” Ned jested. He could feel the chill coming up the stairs, a cold breath from deep within the earth. “Kings are a rare sight in the north.” Robert snorted. “More likely they were hiding under the snow. Snow, Ned!” The king put one hand on the wall to steady himself as they descended. “Late summer snows are common enough,” Ned said. “I hope they did not trouble you. They are usually mild.” “The Others take your mild snows,” Robert swore. “What will this place be like in winter? I shudder to think.” “The winters are hard,” Ned admitted. “But the Starks will endure. We always have.”

A very effective picture of the North in just a few lines! Although there's more to the North than the hard parts.

Robert's description of the South in summer is pretty poetic, I mean, if you ignore the misogyny in his description of women. Okay, it partly speaks of Robert's privilege as he can enjoy all the pleasures his land can offer. But I also think he's not that far from the truth when he says that everyone is "fat and drunk and rich". Obviously that's not true true, since peasants are still peasants and not rich, but the kingdom is enjoying a long period of peace and prosperity. They've been having a long summer. The only war since the Rebellion was fought in the Iron Islands, leaving the rest of the kingdom untouched. So Robert is, like, getting the right answer while using the wrong formula. Most people are not as weathy as he is, but there's good crops, food in abundance for everyone, and the economy of the kingdom is flourishing. Which makes it ever more heartbreaking when war breaks out and everything goes to hell. Winter is coming for the kingdom in horrific ways they don't realize yet.

It was always cold down here. Their footsteps rang off the stones and echoed in the vault overhead as they walked among the dead of House Stark. The Lords of Winterfell watched them pass. Their likenesses were carved into the stones that sealed the tombs. In long rows they sat, blind eyes staring out into eternal darkness, while great stone direwolves curled round their feet. The shifting shadows made the stone figures seem to stir as the living passed by. By ancient custom an iron longsword had been laid across the lap of each who had been Lord of Winterfell, to keep the vengeful spirits in their crypts. The oldest had long ago rusted away to nothing, leaving only a few red stains where the metal had rested on stone. Ned wondered if that meant those ghosts were free to roam the castle now. He hoped not. The first Lords of Winterfell had been men hard as the land they ruled. In the centuries before the Dragonlords came over the sea, they had sworn allegiance to no man, styling themselves the Kings in the North.

Actually, Ned, I think it's going to be a good thing that the ancient Kings of Winter are around. Just in case something passes by that the ancient Kings of Winter would be used to deal with. Just saying. I do wonder what will be the role of the dead in the crypts of Winterfell, but of one thing I'm sure: they won't be used as puppets by the Others. The ancient people of the North knew better than to leave their dead undefended. Like the Wall is inbued with defensive magic, I'm sure these tombs have a heavy dose of magic against the enemy. Maybe those swords were never supposed to protect the living from the dead in the crypts, but were supposed to be wielded by the "good" dead to protect the living from the "bad" dead, and in time that knowledge was lost.

Anyway, they are so very going to play a part, these ancient Starks whose eyes follow Ned and Robert as they pass. It's always meaningful when something that should not be sentient feels like it's watching. It usually means there is, in fact, something sentient watching. Maybe this is also [going to be] Bran, maybe not.

The crypt continued on into darkness ahead of them, but beyond this point the tombs were empty and unsealed; black holes waiting for their dead, waiting for him and his children. Ned did not like to think on that.

Something that seems creepy while they're alive - the tombs meant for them - turns out to be something desirable once they're dead. Ned's bones being prevented from reaching their supposed resting place, Robb's body defiled and desacrated, Cat's body (she might not be a Stark, but she becomes one during the war) being given a sacrilegious mockery of a Tully funeral - none of them can rest, they all haunt the kingdom and the narrative, in Cat's case she literally comes back to life as a revived corpse, but Ned and Robb also haunt the South. And of course, the absence of them in their place in Winterfell also creates a spiritual imbalance in Winterfell itself.

(Also, honestly, I find there's something sweet and comforting in the empty space in the marble of the family grave where my picture and name and the pictures and names of my loved ones will eventually be placed. It's inevitable that each of us will die, after all, and it's nice to know we'll be in the same place to rest together.)

The dead of House Stark will need to be put to rest before the end of the story. The fact that Ned's first chapter is set in the crypts... I see what you did there, George. Ned's journey will find its conclusion here.

There were three tombs, side by side. Lord Rickard Stark, Ned’s father, had a long, stern face. The stonemason had known him well. He sat with quiet dignity, stone fingers holding tight to the sword across his lap, but in life all swords had failed him. In two smaller sepulchres on either side were his children. Brandon had been twenty when he died, strangled by order of the Mad King Aerys Targaryen only a few short days before he was to wed Catelyn Tully of Riverrun. His father had been forced to watch him die. He was the true heir, the eldest, born to rule. Lyanna had only been sixteen, a child-woman of surpassing loveliness. Ned had loved her with all his heart. Robert had loved her even more. She was to have been his bride.

Both Ned and Robert had their lives uprooted by the deaths of the two Stark siblings. Ned took Brandon's place as Lord of Winterfell and as Catelyn's husband. Robert, well. Ironically he takes the place that was supposed to be Rhaegar's and marries the woman Rhaegar was supposed to marry originally. But Ned embraces his unexpected role and quickly grows to love his wife, Robert just despises the responsibilities of the throne and Cersei.

The fact that Ned was not supposed to rule Winterfell... It makes you wonder if this is ultimately the reason Ned is so unequipped to deal with the court and eventually loses the game of thrones. He was not raised to be Lord of Winterfell, he was raised to run some holdfast for his older brother (like he tells Bran he'll do for Robb - I see what you did there, George). Catelyn, on the other hand, was raised almost like a firstborn son for years since her father was afraid he'd never get a son. And it's Catelyn that almost makes it - she insist they hurry to eat under the Frey's roof, so that the rules of hospitality will keep them safe. She plays the game well... it's just that the other side breaks the rules of the game. You can't blame her for that.

Anyway, let's not get too ahead of ourselves. If "by ancient custom an iron longsword had been laid across the lap of each who had been Lord of Winterfell, to keep the vengeful spirits in their crypts" then it means that Brandon and Lyanna don't have one. Maybe Brandon was given one anyway, since he was meant to be Lord of Winterfell. But Lyanna surely hasn't been given a sword. I don't know if that means anything metaphysically, but metaphorically her ghost is haunting the two men visiting her grave for sure.

I love how Robert dislikes her resting place arrangement, unable to understand what it means to a Stark. Robert never understood anything about Lyanna, and I am convinced that it was her choice to go with Rhaegar instead of marrying Robert, that she purposely did it to avoid marrying Robert.

Speaking of Rhaegar... in the previous chapter, Dany thinks of Rhaegar's death as something Rhaegar did "for the woman he loved". Now Robert and Ned obviously think of Rhaegar's death as punishment for harming Lyanna... The truth is probably in the middle, alright. Rhaegar was not the perfect man Viserys has described him to Dany, but he was not the man Robert thinks of him.

Rhaegar is still a mystery we're given clues to here and there in the books. Personally I think his tragedy was the weight of prophecy on him - at some point he must have realized that the "ice and fire" part of "the song of ice and fire" did not refer to "our side (fire) and the enemy (ice)" but "Stark and Targaryen" (as in the "Pact of Ice and Fire" established during the Dance of the Dragons), which must have made him think of his marriage to ~more fire~ (a Martell i.e. the sun) the wrong choice, because the prince who was promised could not be fire+fire but fire+ice. And then he possibly met a Stark girl who was very determined to create her own path instead of marrying the man her father had promised her to... and the rest is history.

“In my dreams, I kill him every night,” Robert admitted. “A thousand deaths will still be less than he deserves.” There was nothing Ned could say to that.

Ned is fucking thinking about keeping a certain boy as far away from Robert's eyes as possible for the entirety of Robert's visit.

They start talking about Jon Arryn's death, which happened so fast and unexpectedly, not suspicious at all.

“Catelyn fears for her sister. How does Lysa bear her grief?” Robert’s mouth gave a bitter twist. “Not well, in truth,” he admitted. “I think losing Jon has driven the woman mad, Ned. She has taken the boy back to the Eyrie. Against my wishes. I had hoped to foster him with Tywin Lannister at Casterly Rock. Jon had no brothers, no other sons. Was I supposed to leave him to be raised by women?” Ned would sooner entrust a child to a pit viper than to Lord Tywin, but he left his doubts unspoken.

Ned is so funny.

(Also, Robert is so misogynistic, seven hells, why do you think the girl ran off with some other guy, Robert?)

“The boy is my namesake, did you know that? Robert Arryn. I am sworn to protect him. How can I do that if his mother steals him away?”

I have some thoughts about namesakes. Ned named his eldest ~sons~ after Robert and Jon Arryn, and only the youngest sons after his brother and father. His daughters are also given Stark names. That leads me to believe that Jon actually has been given a name by Lyanna, that Jon is just a cover Ned finds to make the baby believable as his son. Because the boy named after Robert dies, and the boy named after Jon Arryn... also dies. It seems only fitting that Jon is eventually reborn with a different name. The Stark children who have been given non-Stark names cannot survive, only the ones carrying Stark names can survive.

"But Marghe, Rickon has a Stark name and there's no way he survives the story," you might say. Okay, maybe it's not a universal truth for all Stark children and more of a "you doomed those two boys by naming him after your Rebellion companions" thing. Or maybe Rickon survives after all. Fingers crossed.

“I have more concern for my nephew’s welfare than I do for Lannister pride,” Ned declared. “That is because you do not sleep with a Lannister.” Robert laughed, the sound rattling among the tombs and bouncing from the vaulted ceiling.

Here it is, the crux of the troubles soon to happen. Robert's priority is preventing his wife from ~nagging at him, and that's going to get Sansa's direwolf dead, Sansa's trust in Ned broken, and everything that follows.

And then Robert gets to the reason he went to visit Ned in person. Gods, he is so selfish. He hates being king because it's annoying and tedious to him. He says he hates being surrounded by liars and flatterers and he wants someone who's gonna tell him the truth to his face - but he won't listen to Ned anyway, so. (Makes you really appreciate Stannis actually listening to Davos, uh. Damn it Robert, Stannis should have been your new Hand, you just didn't pick him because you find him annoying!) He knows that Ned will hate the job, but he wants him to do it regardless.

Robert groaned with good-humored impatience. “If I wanted to honor you, I’d let you retire. I am planning to make you run the kingdom and fight the wars while I eat and drink and wench myself into an early grave.” He slapped his gut and grinned. “You know the saying, about the king and his Hand?” Ned knew the saying. “What the king dreams,” he said, “the Hand builds.” “I bedded a fishmaid once who told me the lowborn have a choicer way to put it. The king eats, they say, and the Hand takes the shit.” He threw back his head and roared his laughter. The echoes rang through the darkness, and all around them the dead of Winterfell seemed to watch with cold and disapproving eyes.

Robert also complains Ned is too serious, to which Ned responds with his own brand of humor:

“They say it grows so cold up here in winter that a man’s laughter freezes in his throat and chokes him to death,” Ned said evenly. “Perhaps that is why the Starks have so little humor.”

Re-reading the chapter, Ned keeps joking, but it's a kind of deadpan humor Robert doesn't really get.

Now comes a bit that makes me go mmm.

“You helped me win this damnable throne, now help me hold it. We were meant to rule together. If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done.”

Did he really love Lyanna, or was he in love with the idea of becoming ~brothers~ with Ned? Did Ned possibly encourage their father to betroth Lyanna to Robert, blinded by the enthusiasm of becoming brothers with Robert, not realizing that Lyanna would not be happy with him at all, and inadvertantly sending everything to hell?

There's also another layer to this - Robert wanted to "rule together" with Ned. He basically wanted Ned to be his queen. Making him Hand of the King basically makes him his queen. (See also Davos as Stannis' truest queen.)

I think that Robert and Ned's affection (obsession? inability to see each other as they truly are but seeing a fictional version of each other instead?) for each other destroyed Lyanna first, and Sansa later.

For a moment Eddard Stark was filled with a terrible sense of foreboding. This was his place, here in the north. He looked at the stone figures all around them, breathed deep in the chill silence of the crypt. He could feel the eyes of the dead. They were all listening, he knew. And winter was coming.

So tragic when the characters themselves see the foreshadowing but cannot but walk to their doom anyway...

[eyesforahead]

Mxtx x male reader

A cross over.

When a modern era young man transmigrated in PIDW that has crossovered with other Novel's such as MDZS & TGCF thing's are bound to be both fun & traumatizing!

-----

Name & Description are different but originally this was on my ao3 some things are arranged to suit it being an X reader. My ao3 is Elijah_Ezra.

TRANSLATION MAY NOT HE ACCURATE.

-- MAIN SHIPS WILL NOT HE CHANGED ( such as hualian , wangxian. )

-- SHEN YUAN IS NOT HERE.

shang qinghua is. I have favorite's.

-- Canon, what canon plot line?

-- Don't like, don't read.

-- Hate towards me or anyone is not tolerated.

-- This is a crossover.

-- A lot of spelling mistakes probably.

-- No upload schedule.

-- What Ships is reader in? I'm aiming for it to be a Liu Qingge X Reader however if this is not liked I take recommendations as well.

THIS IS PIDW TECHNICALLY NOT SVSSS.

• SHEN JIU'S PAST!!!!

• TW FOR THAT. PLEASE, STAY SAFE.

Shen (Name) groans and sighs before getting up from the chair to grab his sword Bǎohù

It was time for the Disciple selection..

He flew down and was immediately greeted by the peak lords he was well liked and loved unlike his elder brother Shen Jiu or also known as Shen Qingqiu.

That’s right he (Last name) ( First Name) , A lazy modern guy , died and transmigrated into PIDW not only that as an OC insert the scum villains younger brother!

Airplane , what kind of messed up tragic sad backstory did you need to give Jiu-Ge?!

Naturally they grew up together which meant his childhood sucked too!

Granted not that bad compared to him as that Qiu Jianluo took a very good liking to him and loved his naïve personality he was rarely beaten.

Which now knowing WHAT Qiu Jianluo liked and was thinking made him want to scream cry and rip off his skin to erase the feeling the skin that was touched by him.

What seemed liked innocent hugged were actually very much not innocent.

years later and after much trauma he became a peak lord!

So, that's that! Yippie hooray for you.

The (History of God's and Ghost's) "神与鬼的历史" (Shén yǔ guǐ de lìshǐ) peak lord!

It is the same ranking as Qing Jing Peak.

In this peak they learned about God’s and Ghost’s that are hidden and roaming around somewhere.

Their cultivation was communication with them.

Some Ghosts would occasionally help them when in need by lending them their strength.

In turn they would also help the ghost move on.

However, this is not safety assured as ghosts can be deceiving.

Shen (Name) would know himself, he’s half possessed by one called SYSTEM who forces him to do certain shit!

{ HOST, QIU JANLUO DID NOT NEED HIS DICK! }

Shen (Name) grimaces remembering that memory when the SYSTEM took control of his body and just chopped off someone’s dick.

‘ You didn’t need to use my body! ‘

{ D: Then, who else would SYSTEM posses? Your brother? No, thanks. }

‘ Die. ‘

{ SYSTEM will die when HOST 002 dies. }

Ah, right. Did he mention the author transmigrated with him?

Airplane Shooting towards the sky transmigrated into Shang Qinghua.

“ Didi, are you alright? You’re frowning. “ Shen Qingqiu asked snapping him out of his thoughts.

He hummed and looked towards the disciples hoping that today he will meet the protagonist Luo Binghe .

Yue QingYuan nodded at him and asked if he will choose a disciple.

Right, He himself rarely accepted new disciples they had to be specific and needed to be blessed or gained the attention of a god or ghost.

But as he looks down no one seems to have the veins that are gold or red.

Gold means a god has noticed them.

Glowing Gold means they have been blessed by one.

Red means a ghost has either noticed them or blessed them.

It was surprising to learn ghosts can bless people.

A ghost’s blessing boosts up your QI similar to the gods blessing but a ghost blessing also gives you luck while God’s give you some protection but not luck that would be on you!

Suddenly again he heard Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu fighting which is normal. However, they were fighting over a disciple.

He didn’t feel like getting involved and zoomed out before Shang Qinghua whispered to him.

‘ Bro, Go with Shen QIngqiu that’s Luo Binghe he took! ‘

he glared at Shang Qinghua for not telling him sooner and ran after Shen Jiu.

MEANWHILE…

SO, IT BEGINS TOUGHT A MAN WEARING SIMPLE WHITE ON A THRONE HIGH ABOVE WHERE NO ONE CAN REACH HIM.

THE man was beautiful with long brown hair and warm eyes.

The male wished he can help the poor soul yet, he is not allowed to interfere only drop some helpful information nothing more…

---

His peak was often described as a picturesque peak ( he was very proud of his peak ) adorned with tranquil ponds. The water is crystal clear, reflecting the beauty of the lily pads floating gracefully on the surface.

Koi fish gracefully glide through the water, their vibrant colors adding a touch of elegance.

The croaking of frogs adds a harmonious melody to the scene. The air is filled with the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers, and the sight of fluttering butterflies brings a sense of joy.

The overall ambiance feels inviting and pristine. Even the teachers and classes exude warmth and friendliness. It's a place where one can find solace and inspiration.

Near the peak lord's house you'll see a more beautiful building. The building is a shrine. Inside of it is a statue of the main god they learn about.

However, the statue isn't alone along with it is the God's husband.

The crown prince and also now heavenly emperor Xie Lian & his husband Crimson Rain Sought Flower Hua Cheng.

If you're lucky enough (or you're Shen (Name) ) you'll see silver butterflies flying around.

It make's a wonderful painting , silver Butterflies in the moonlight.

From the outside the shrine has an ornate and elaborate design, with intricate carvings.

Inside the shrine, you'll find a serene and reverent atmosphere. 

To the side inside the shrine is a long table where offerings and candle's are lit.

His peak is always calm and right now that's where he wants to be not in his olders brother bamboo house with tension so high he's surprised the kid Luo Binghe hasn't fainted.

' It's the tea scene where he pours hot boiling tea on him ' he thinks.

He wishes he can move from his brother's side yet he can't.

The tea is poured , the child gasps and the master leaves looking back once at his brother.

Shen (Name) immediately goes to the poor disciple.

He grabs the towel from the table and gently wipe away the hot tea.

"I'm sorry, please don't mind my brother."

The child looks up naive brown eyes shining at him.

"N-no shifu it was this Disciples fault."

The peak lord can't help how his heart melts.

Shen (Name) from the past hated this scene and didn't understand why Shen Qingqiu did this. The Shen (Name) who he is now understands.

Luo Binghe's eye's and hair are similiar to Qiu Jianluo.

The child's name make it even worse. Luo Binghe..Luo...

Ning Yingying didn't help either immediately calling him A-Luo...

... something Qiu Haitang used to call her brother Luo-Ge...

Still, it's no excuse to what happened to this child but he can be sympathetic.

He'll show him around himself and leave he can't be absent from his peak but he can visit his brother and this child.

Maybe, in the way he'll see his cute shidi Liu Qingge.

Dropping off Luo Binghe at his dorm's in which he knows he won't be staying there longer Shen (Name) leave's and goes to the shrine.

He needs some advice..

He knows the god probably won't respond but he'll feel his presence and that's enough.

[sufferu]

Hey never read re zero I don't plan to for some time but I've seen a lot anime and light novel spoilers but why do you think Subaru has more chemistry with Julius than Emilia and rem

Okay first of all, obligatory shilling time: Re:Zero is amazing and I love it and you should absolutely give it a chance when you’ve got some time. Please.

And uh. I’m admittedly not sure how to put this for someone who’s never watched/read Re:Zero, but I’ll try!

At this point in the story, Subaru and Emilia are…very much a slow burn couple, and it’s mainly just Subaru having a huge ass crush on Emilia while Emilia tries to figure out what Subaru means to her. And it’s sweet and wholesome, but currently it’s reached a point where Subaru is doing all the work on a number of different levels — not just regarding his romantic feelings towards Emilia — to the point where it feels rather unbalanced sometimes. I’m holding onto hope that this is intentional and going to be the focus of some development for Emilia sometime soon, but it is what it is for now. But beyond that, it’s really just a matter of Subaru liking Emilia and Emilia wondering if she should return his feelings, and that’s FINE, but it’s not hugely compelling to me. (Also frankly I’m of the opinion that Emilia deciding that her feelings towards Subaru are actually platonic and that she values him more as a platonic soulmate than a romantic partner could genuinely be S Tier storytelling, so.)

Subaru and Rem, meanwhile… Okay, so, I kinda oversimplified things a bit, because those two DO have chemistry. Quite a bit, actually. I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that they have one of the most layered, complex relationships in the entire series. But the thing is, it also happens to be INSANELY toxic, with both of them enabling the other person’s worst behaviors and basically leaning on the other in this incredibly interesting codependency that literally only gets shaken by one of them getting erased from existence. (Also Rem is unique in that she is the sole character who is not Subaru who has been directly responsible for an IF Route: one of the possible Bad Ends that the series can go down if the wrong choice is made at a pivotal moment. In almost all of them, Subaru is the one making that choice — except for Sloth:IF, in which the choice is between whether Rem agrees to run away to Kararagi with him or refuses and coaxes him back to his feet during his mental breakdown, thus losing her chance to have him all to herself.) it’s a really complicated dynamic that’s difficult to summarize in one paragraph (I didn’t even bring up how Rem literally tortured him for several hours in a previous loop, to the point where he references still having nightmares about it a full year after the fact) but I hope I’ve given SOME idea for how fascinating it is. Regardless of how interesting it is though, it’s not exactly Final Couple material: everything is pointing to the two of them learning to stand apart from one another on their own two feet.

Julius, meanwhile — there’s a lot here, really, and most of it is pretty woven into the story (which you have not read) but I’ll try and give a couple reasons lol.

First of all, Julius is unique in that he is the only character to actually remember doing something traumatizing to Subaru. He’s not unique in traumatizing Subaru — this man has been murdered, tortured, beaten to a pulp, humiliated, and so much else by like half the cast at this point — but Subaru normally dies and resets to sometime before that happens, and so Julius is the only one who actually did something that Subaru was hurt by and remembers doing it. This, ironically, gives the two of them a foundation for their dynamic that is arguably healthier than the ones Subaru has with most of his friends — especially because Julius has proven time and again that he is a safe person for Subaru to be angry with, because he’s actually been really understanding and tolerant about Subaru lashing out at him over it sometimes without being the kind of overly-apologetic that would guilt Subaru into being quiet. As such, Julius is the One Person who has done something horrible to Subaru that Subaru has allowed himself to feel angry and resentful towards, which is noteworthy because a lot of other traumas have been explicitly recolored as “good memories” as one of his coping mechanisms.

Beyond that: Subaru references his attraction to Julius so many times it’s practically a running gag. He waxes poetic about his long legs, graceful eyelashes, vexing voice, supple hips, and the “strange sensation” that his image inspires within him. I’d say I’m reading into it but I genuinely don’t think I am, because it happens SO MUCH, and (with a couple exceptions, like the guy he went on a two page “there’s another reason I’m on my knees right now” rant for) it’s ALWAYS JULIUS. Hell, even other characters like Emilia reference it sometimes, with Subaru responding by saying that they’re definitely not friends, but “something infinitely more annoying.”

And like — they’re just fun? Their dynamic is fun. They’ve got this playful banter going on every time they meet, they obviously respect each other on a serious level beneath that layer of mutual sass, Julius has this sense of being able to be his real self around Subaru in a way that he doesn’t feel he can with anyone else while Subaru has that aforementioned foundation of “I can finally actually be angry about something that traumatized me for once,” and it’s just — shockingly equal and healthy and wholesome. It’s nice. (I fully expect these two to have some plausibly deniable “very close” relationship by the end of the story that could be read in a number of different ways lol)

[trips2saturn]

towl spoilers below!!!!!!!!!

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late briefing but it’s here and that’s what matters!!!!! let’s get into this episode! ❤️‍🔥

this episode was amazing. no notes. angst fuels me, so keep it coming in episode four along with some loving intimacy! 🤝

michonne is the most clever, headstrong, charismatic, fearless powerhouse of a woman in the entirety of twdu. there is no situation nor circumstance that she cannot handle. no matter the time, skill, or hardship that woman is going to do whatever she fucking wants. she’s such an admirable character, and yes this is just a fictional show but she means so much to me. tv mom forever and ever and ever. my lovebug!!!! 🫶🏼

rick… my og lovebug. his selfless, tender hearted yet courageous and dangerous personality is sooo missed recently because of these losers who love to keep playing hide the donkey. he’s been so beaten down and forced into the caged mindset, also known as stockholm syndrome. it hurts so much to see it affect him so deeply, especially in this episode. we truly get to understand just how horrified he is of losing michonne, losing judith, losing their home. it’s so layered that he’s come to the conclusion that he has to do whatever it takes to protect his wife and their children (judith for now until further notice). even going as far as pretending to break michonne’s heart just to get her to go back home for the sake of a safe and secured future. and as much as it rips his entire psyche into shreds, this man is a family man. his priority in life is to protect the ones that he loves by all means necessary.

and thank fucking HEAVENS that despite their years apart, michonne knows her husband like the back of her palm and can read him like a book!!! every word that poured out of his mouth was utter bullshit merely for safety purposes and i’m soooo glad that she understood that without even having to retaliate verbally.

she retaliated by throwing them out of a moving chopper LMAOOO 😭 MY GIRL, MY LEADING LADY!!!!!! CAN WE MAKE SOME NOISE FOR THE CRAZIEST CHARACTER IN THE ROOM. thank youuuuuu! i digress.

“we needed a timeout” shdjshdhsjdjs well yes! please knock some sense into your traumatized husband. he needs his wife!!!

moving forward. the phones!!!! “believe a little bit longer”!!!!! CARL MENTION!!!!!!??????!!!!! 😨🫨🥺☹️😖 rick not mentioning any names for three years and never liking any drawings of his son because they could never be depicted perfectly 😣😣😣 try not to cry challenge [FAILED]. punching me in the gut would hurt less. still hoping for a random chandler cameo too :D

i know that what rick said was absolutely fake and futile but as a fierce michonne lover… HER FACE AS HE SPOKE??? if we don’t see him loving on her endlessly in episode four… i might throw myself out of a moving helicopter.

one hundred percent positive that they’ll be pouring bisquick and making pancakes next episode. i’m sat.

thorne is a D. not an A. she’s a piece of shit and will be dealt with eventually. michonne will handle any light work. i rest my case.

jadis is a sexual predator and a grade-A loser with a shit haircut. i almost pissed myself laughing when rick said that. he’s been waiting and so have i!!!! 😁 but yeah she sucks. die asap.

RICHONNE KISS IN THE WOODS AFTER BEING A POWERHOUSE COUPLE. 🥹 reminded me so much of when they took those cars and drove into that herd of walkers. ugh. please put their entire love story into the louvre.

last but not least because i’m tired — unsure what beale is up to. he’s so sketchy, and also SO CONFUSED about rick supposedly having a briefing with him about being promoted?! NO. no thanks we didn’t ask for him to ever be a leader nor get kidnapped in the first place!!!! scared to see what lies ahead for the next three episodes :(((((

in conclusion, michonne is the most beautiful angel to walk the earth. she looked so hot in every single scene. episode three is hands down my favorite episode yet, despite the hardship. again, angst fuels me. so excited to see what’s in store next week, and every other week after that!!!! it’s only up from here. ❤️‍🔥⬆️

okay that’s it. hope everyone enjoyed the episode!!!! this is such a wild ride, and i’m happy to have my television parents back on my screen, making things happen again. 🌟🔥

[eights-world]

What's the dynamic between Serious Dog man and Petey like?

theyre...complicated

rory fully resents/blames him for the death of knight, so hes determined to put his ass in jail forever (maybe rough him up, maybe kill him- who said that) but he also cant help but feel bad for him a little bit, bc hes a good guy at heart. and also peteys just soo pathetic and lame at times its hard not to wanna at least give him a five minute break every now and then

petey kinda likes, kinda hates him? hes super into the whole "jaded, beaten down by the world" thing rory has going on. and honestly thinks him and rory are similar in some weird, traumatic ways. his ultimate goal is to get rory to side with him, he thinks the world has been cruel to both of them. and if the world will turn their backs on them, theyll turn their backs on the world. together :33 aint that romantic??

yeaa theyre freaks, im a big fan of how incredibly unhealthy they are

[beevean]

Have you ever stopped and realized that Lanolin just kinda sucks as a leader?

No, I don't even mean her being an insufferable know-nothing know-it-all to everyone around her, because that's obvious to everyone not distracted by "HURR-DURR LOOK THE LADY SHEEP CHARACTER HAS BIG TITS!1!!11"

What I mean is that this comic is trying to paint Lanolin as a wise, tough-as-nails, no-nonsense straight-man in a group of action addicted fighters who need to be kept in check by her leadership... and yet, things get resolved and conflicts get dealt with far more effectively when people DON'T follow her orders.

Hell, Team Dark being there to solve the problem wasn't because of anything the writers tried to pretend Lanolin had any part in; they just happened to detect that shit was going down at Eggperial City, and so they tried to stop it. And they do. All without Lanolin being there.

bro what do you think I've been talking about until now 😂

Lanolin is objectively incompetent, the most obvious sign being that she fell for Duo contradicting himself in the span of a minute - he told her "I did everything I could to save Silver", and then he told Silver "I was trying to get some help" in front of her. girl. girl c'mon. do you have wool in your head too or

Her ruling with an inflexible iron fist is sloppy leadership. She doesn't trust anyone but herself and her judgment. She won't even talk with her teammates, like when she rudely snatched Tangle's toy instead of simply asking her to stop. She escalated the situation with Whisper to the point of violence and then had the balls to tell her "control yourself". All of this creates a climate of resentment and fear. And, as shown, Tangle is scared of telling Lanolin the truth about PR because she is scared of her leader. What could she do, objectively? Nothing terrible, it's not like she'd attack Sonic on sight. But that's the climate she created, so now Tangle and Whisper are sneaking behind her back.

Which is fairly realistic for a newbie who was kicked in that position and who was traumatized into becoming a control freak: she has no natural charisma, so she overcompensates by playing tough and sticking to rigid, simple rules. But I'm genuinely not sure how much of this was intentional.

As usual, people don't hate asshole women because they hate women "with an attitude": it's when said women are given much more charte blanche than anyone else in the story that it gets annoying. Whisper spent the last arcs getting beaten into submission without doing anything that could warrant it (she got literally gaslighted, in the dictionary sense of the word!), so forgive me if I'm not quite charitable to a sloppy condescending disdainful wannabe leader whose only role in the story is making things harder for everyone and I'm only meant to be seen as flawed, not an actual bully.

[writers-requiem]

Lonely Woes & Fatherly Love

Pairing: Hank McCoy x teen!Reader

Genere: Angst, Depression Comfort

Warnings: mentions of past trauma, suicide attempts, abandonment, drug use, violence and abuse

A/N: Hank isn't actually the reader's dad, just a fatherly figure

Your life was a shit show. There was no getting around it.

One disaster after another with almost no room for a reprieve from it all. Constant feelings of anxiety and depression from failed relationships with family and 'friends'. It was a nightmare without an end. Your parents were part of a drug cartel that you wanted no relation with, your first love had a marijuana addiction and died a year later, all your friends were reckless jerks since primary, and your recent ex made your life even more miserable by constantly comparing you to other people and saying they would be better partners but that he had to be stuck with you.

But that wasn't the worst of it, because not once, not twice, but on five different occasions, you were a ransom hostage and were starved, beaten, and harassed in more ways than you cared to count. Eventually it all culminated with you attempting suicide multiple times but each time being saved by a hero or a some stranger. Making matters worse is that you were only between the ages of 4 and 13 during all that time. And now you're 16

Which leads us to today. You sat alone on a park bench, down on your luck. No food, no house or apartment, not even a penny to get those, and the only solace you have is that you had a jacket to keep yourself away from the cold rain which was pouring buckets.

"Just like every other day..." You said in a solemn, bitter tone.

Your stomach rumbled incessantly, desperate for food and water to sate your hunger and thirst. But all you could get were scraps, and not even that could sate you.

"You seem hungry" a kind male voice said, "I know a dry spot to eat at. Follow me."

The man, dressed in a trench coat and fedora, gently helped you to your feet and gently guided you to the place he spoke of.

Once you had arrived at the location, he took off his fedora revealing his blue furry face. You recognized him as Dr. Hank McCoy or Beast. He had saved you a couple of times before. Once from a hostage situation, and the second from one of your suicide attempts.

"Why did you bring me here?" you asked, your voice tired and strained from days without rest or nourishment.

"Well, I've been keeping an eye on you for a little while now and saw what's been happening with you" he stated in a matter of fact tone accented with worry, "And it seems that fate hasn't been kind to you."

"Never has been..." you said, voice clearly fading from exhaustion and dehydration.

Hank gently wrapped an arm around you and helped you to sit down in the car which you only now noticed since he had opened the door and got you settled in.

Once in the car, he fastened your seatbelt and took his position on the driver's seat and drove off. To where, you couldn't tell since you fell asleep, finally succumbing to the pull of rest.

When you woke up, you found yourself in a comfy bed in an ornate but not too fancy looking room. You also saw that you were covered in bandages and had a cast and sling for your arm. You also weren't wearing your old rags of clothes and were in a white T-shirt and black shorts. Then the door to the room opened, and there walked in a familiar face.

"Oh thank heaven above, you're awake" Hank said with a relieved smile on his face.

"Where am I?" you asked, understandably confused.

"Welcome to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters" he said, "A place that many like you or I would describe as a new home."

This made your ears perk up. "Home?" you asked with a glimmer of hope and longing in your eyes.

"Yes" he said. He then placed the tray of food to the side and gently held your hand and looked at you like a father would with his son after a traumatic event, "And it's your new home too."

He then picked up the spoon and grabbed some soup with it. It was clear what he was trying to do, so you let him slowly spoon-feed you since your free arm was numb and limp. Strangely, it felt like you were with someone you just wanted to call, 'dad'.

[ghost-bxrd]

So I've seen you post a lot about Dick and Calvin recently, and I wanted to know how you thought Calvin would react, in this Calvin gets adopted by Bruce kind of au, to:

1). Jason's death, in the assumption Calvin can't prevent it (And subsequently what he would do to Joker for it.)

2) Damian's early childhood.

3) Tim's Tim-ness.

4) How Calvin would react to the Batman Robin situation, when he finally learns about it.

I haven't gotten the opportunity to learn much about Calvin, but you have me interested, I'm a sucker for overly traumatized characters, and I am looking for the comics with him!

We can never have enough Calvin Rose content, that boy is so underrated 🥺💚

1. Pfpfpfpf you know for ONCE I wanted to go with “Jason doesn’t die in this Au” but you asked and I shall deliver hehehe.

Look, Calvin adores children. And it’s no different with Jason, whom he basically helped Bruce raise from the moment he came to the manor. (Bruce is a good dad here but emotions are not his forte. Calvin picks up the slack.)

So we’ve got a former Talon basically raising Jason, sharing a lot of his interests, teaching him fun escape techniques and pranking the others…

Only for Jason to die in Ethiopia. Beaten within an inch of his life and then blown up.

Because his birth mother sold him to the Joker.

Look, there’s very few things that make Calvin snap. Canonically it only happens when his loved ones are in danger/threatened, or children are being hurt.

And this one ticks off both boxes.

Calvin doesn’t kill if he can help it. Hasn’t done so since that one time with the Court, and that instance still haunts him in his sleep. But this?

Yeah. He’s not losing any sleep over killing Joker. He’d hunt the clown and put him down like a rabid animal. Cold, clean, and efficient. No drawing it out.

2. As mentioned before, Calvin adores kids. I don’t think they’d meet before Damian comes to the manor though, so no early early childhood shenanigans. But when Damian arrives, all entitled and clearly having been conditioned from a very young age, he gives Bruce a very deadpan “You do know you don’t get a discount for the amount of traumatized kids you take in, right?”

Damian is a stabby little shit that tries to kill Calvin at every turn. Dick thinks it’s hilarious. Damian becomes progressively more angry because Calvin doesn’t break a sweat side stepping each and every attempt. (Talon training pays off)

Calvin just lets Damian “burn off his excess energy” (“You do know he’s a kid and not a puppy, right?”) and uses the time the boy isn’t actively trying to murder him to child proof the manor again. Just to piss Damian off.

Having the kid try to poison him at dinner that day is so worth it.

Damian reluctantly warms up to Calvin over the next few weeks when the former Talon proves annoyingly helpful at setting up his room and helping him with training. (Although Damian turns his nose up every time Calvin obviously handles him with kiddie gloves. But the man point blank refuses to do anything else.)

3. Calvin spends a week around Tim and all his alarm bells for “neglected child” are going off like autotune in his brain.

Considering it’s still very close to Jason’s death tho it would take him some time to truly warm up to Tim.

Tim wishes Calvin remained as distant as he was the first year or so (no he doesn’t) because now Calvin has strictly limited his daily caffeine intake, is forcing him to eat at least three healthy meals a day, and actually set a bed time for him.

Tim is outraged (flustered) about being treated like a kid (like the kid he is).

4. Depending on who’s Robin when he finds out the reactions would vary greatly, but he still wouldn’t be happy that Bruce is taking kids out onto the streets at night to fight criminals either way. It remind him too much of the Court for comfort, grooming children into the percent assassin.

After a while though he’d realize that Bruce would love nothing more than for his Robin(s) to hang up the mantle and just live their lives to the fullest, and that they’re simply too stubborn and determined to fight crime with Batman to stay at home. With our without permission.

It helps that Bruce is clearly distressed and close to benching Robin whenever Dick/Jason comes back from patrol with a bruise. Never mind an actual injury.

[rius-cave]

Okay this can be a quite triggering idea but it's been in my head for ages now so I got myself to write it down. It's about severe physical injuries and mutilation so yeah I think it's better to clarify that-

So basically it's another Sinner Adam stuff, if he was reborn in hell and sinners found out who he is they will immediately go after him there's no doubt. In he's weakened state they would have their revenge. So what if they actually catch him? And this is hell, so sinners don't play around.

What if one day Lucifer has to open his door to be met with Adam's sinner form? But that's not the creepy part - the unsettling thing is that the man doesn't speak. He just stares. Lucifer invites him in, he just sits down. He offers him a glass of water or anything, Adam doesn't accept. No matter what Lucifer says or asks, he doesn't speak at all. It starts to get creepy, but Lucifer doesn't know what's going on. His body is hidden under his usual robe, and sure, he looks quite worn and beaten, he looks traumatized.

But there's much more to that. Lucifer has to realize that Adam doesn't speak because he's physically unable to. The sinners muted him (I didn't really think through how but it's possible I'm sure and it's fiction anyways so... Just for the gore lol)

But not only that, they severely injured him, to the extent of cutting/tearing his wings off. Discovering that would be quite a shock to Lucifer - how was this guy even able to come to his place on two legs???

Then he would have to deal with him, take care of him, help him heal (I mean he could surely heal Adam, he's an extremely powerful entity but if we suppose that he can't just heal him like that, at least not completely, or that it takes a lot of energy so he can't just help in one go it becomes more deep lol.) Besides, it's up to our imagination of to what extent could Adam heal. I see it as he would be definitely able to get his voice back, but... His wings? I mean, if they were cut off with angelic steel they won't grow back right..?

Either way it would end up being hurt/comforf. Oh and Lucifer would have to deal with Adam's psychological trauma too. Maybe it's hurt/hurt. Nevermind.

Oooo yeah I've heard of stories where a sinner Adam is basically just... Tortured and tortured to death over and over again before even reaching the hotel. Sometimes it's a bit too grim even for me but I absolutely understand the narrative purpose of it. I do think being a bit beat up would do Adam some good gkslglslgd. I'm sorry baby boy, the character development demands it 😔

I'd actually be interested in something like that happening well AFTER Adam and Lucifer meet again though. Like, if it happened right after Adam falls, I don't think Lucifer would actually give much of a shit about him. For the comfort to actually happen and all that, they'd need to have already passed through the initial hurdle of, well, everything else lol

[noturlondonboy]

No More Excuses//Katelena

Chapter 8: Ice Skates Never Broke Any Heart

Pairing: Kate Bishop x Yelena Belova

Chapter Summary: The cuties go ice skating.

A/N: I just adore them I can’t even begin to explain how much these two traumatized kick-ass goofballs mean to me

Chapter Warnings: NA

The ice-skating rink in central park is mysteriously low on people, especially considering that it was still cold enough for the winter activity and most kids would have gotten out of school an hour or so ago. But when Kate and Yelena arrived, bundled in their long coats and breaths fogging in front of red, smiling faces, only a few parents with little ones and a small group of teenagers were on the ice.

Kate excitedly led Yelena over to the ice skates rental, relaying their shoe sizes to the girl behind the counter and paying before Yelena could even blink. Kate accepted the skates with a happy thank you, and dragged her friend to a bench to properly strap themselves in.

"Kate Bishop, why do you know my shoe size?" Yelena asked with a laugh, taking the skates and pulling off her platforms. She paused as she put them on. "These blades are excellent quality." She looked up to Kate, grinning almost mischievously. "Very sharp. They would gut a man quite nicely."

Kate blinked at her for a second before letting out a loud, disbelieving laugh and pressing forward to put her gloved hands against Yelena's smiling mouth. "Oh my god, Yelena! You can't just say stuff like that out loud!”

The blonde giggled heartily and continued to tie the laces of her skates. "Hurry up, Kate Bishopppppp, I'm going to beat you. Also, again, why do you know how big my feet are?" Her eyes turn suddenly serious, and she somehow seems to tower over the archer as she sits up straight and leans towards her. "Don't tell me you have a thing for toes."

Kate is so taken aback that before she even has time to be a little mortified at what Yelena is insinuating, the blonde's facade has already dissolved into a fit of self-righteous giggles. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

Kate would never have guessed in a million years that this was a side to Yelena that existed, much less that she would get to personally see it. She recalls a few listened in on conversations and brief explanations of Yelena and Natasha's past, but the biggest thing that stuck out to her was that Yelena was filtered into the Red Room at the tender age of six. The woman beside her had been stolen away from her childhood and mercilessly beaten down before being built right back up, stronger and smarter and faster, and so angry and deadly it was a wonder the world wasn't burning in hell.

It was a wonder that Yelena could be like this at all, truthfully. A miracle.

"You're staring."

Kate blinks, and Yelena's right. She was totally staring. The blonde just laughs and stands, so steady and sure in the skates that Kate doubts for a moment they're even on.

"I'm super bad at this, remember," Kate reminded her, bracing her hands on the bench railing and slowly standing onto her now weaponized feet. Yelena watched with amusement, but her face wasn't cruel, and she looked ready to leap forward should Kate inevitably fall.

Which she did. Of course.

And, as predicted, Yelena was there.

She grabbed Kate's wrist the moment she wobbled just a bit too much, and Yelena's stance is strong to keep them both from falling. She tugs Kate up and therefore close, their chests almost touching, breaths fogging together. Kate's cheeks are flushed from the cold and the exhilaration of being out here with the woman in front of her.

"Thanks."

Yelena gives another smile, something she seems to be handing out to Kate in droves. "I'll catch you, Kate Bishop." She keeps their hands twined together and gently tugs the both of them towards the entrance onto the ice, and Kate is transfixed by the little snow crystals on the blonde's lashes.

Kate had not been ice-skating since before her father died in the Battle for New York. She had enjoyed it at the time, but the memories stung and she lost any muscle memory she might have built up with him there to help her. She stops right before stepping out onto the slippery rink, eyeing it warily. The doubts were creeping in. She most likely would fall and crack her head open and make a fool of herself, in highly typical Kate fashion.

Yelena noticed her hesitation, and wordlessly held her hand out for her, palm up and inviting.

Kate took it, and was pulled carefully out onto the ice.

Her balance was spotty at best, but Yelena held true and guided Kate to a walker on skates of its own, where the archer latched on gratefully. Yelena smiled and led the two of them out further into the middle of the ice, moving fluidly and swiftly to the point that Kate couldn't decide if she was impressed or envious of the ease the assassin displayed.

The assassin traveled further away, taking the space to glide freely, letting her mind quiet as she sank into the smooth motion of flying over the ice. Kate watched her, entranced as she mindlessly followed in her silly bright red skate walker.

Kate gave herself about twenty minutes to get used to the feeling of ice underneath her with the walker before she let go of it slowly, carefully pushing away from it in a wobbly line. Yelena was by her side immediately, arm extended to give Kate the choice to hold on should she choose to do so.

Kate smiled softly at her, cheeks glowing from the cold as she accepted it and linked her elbow with Yelena's. They went slowly around the rink, the gentle circles lulling Kate into a feeling of security. A thin layer of snow began to fall, and they giggled together, admiring the delicate flakes.

"Want to try by yourself, Kate Bishop?" Yelena asked after a time, her smile encouraging and instilling confidence deep into Kate's soul, who nodded and let go of her friend, the momentum carrying her a bit forward.

For a couple of small moments, the archer stays steady and glides forward, her heart buoying in her chest. Her father would clap and cheer for her if he was here, dark hair wild and grizzled cheeks full with a smile. A laugh bubbles up from her stomach, light and fluffy.

But as soon as Kate thinks she might be safe, it shatters when her foot slips out from under her, and she immediately accepts that she is about to eat shit as she plummets backwards.

Except she doesn't.

"Oh, Kate Bishop, you are so hopeless," Yelena's voice groans into her ear, the assassin's body warm against her back as strong arms and gentle hands cradle the head that had been about to crack against the ice. Kate blinks up at her, looking startled and dazed. Yelena's laugh is soft, and her gloved fingertips trace over the archer's cheek, pulling strands of wavy hair out of her face. "Are you okay, Kate?"

"You're a bit upside down," Kate mutters, chest aching and out of breath. From the fall, she tells herself. From the impact on her back.

At Kate's words, something in Yelena's eyes seems to shift, akin to a pain so deep and old that Kate could drown if she even so much as touched it, but it quickly melted into a mesmerizing fondness she didn't recognize.

"I told you I would catch you, Kate Bishop."

She is breathless because the air was knocked out of her lungs. She is breathless because Yelena is beautiful and kind when she has every right to be hateful.

She is breathless because her friend was about to get hurt. She is breathless because Kate Bishop looks at her like she's worth redeeming. She is breathless because Kate Bishop looks at her the way Natasha did. She is breathless because Kate looks at her and does not seem to want to look away.

They are both breathless out on the ice in the middle of New York, and the cold does not reach them at all.

Translations: none

Kate Bishop counter: 8

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[geekywritings]

The stories that scars can tell

You guys are incredible! Just as I am working through last week’s requests, there are already new ones in my inbox. Thank you again for all your inspiration and encouragement. And of course, all requests will get a story!

But first, here is another one from last week: “You icon, it’s your fav anon again hehehe. So you are the best place to req for Cal so here’s another one 🤭 Cal x reader who has scars and he accidentally psychometry on one and he learns about her traumatic past and the comfort is reallll???”

_________

Cal had always been an early riser, while you preferred to stay in bed just that little bit longer. Now, after you had got together, the Jedi began to lounge in the mornings as well, enjoying that extra bit of time by your side.

He would busy himself studying your face or just closing his eyes to enjoy the feel of your warm body against his until you woke up. It was like a new form of meditation that offered him more calmness and happiness than he had ever thought possible.

This morning however was going to be different. You were still asleep, your nude body cuddled into Cal’s, as he drew lazy circles over your back. He could feel the traces of old scars there, some more faded than others. You were both fighters in this war, so your bodies were bound to carry the marks, but many of yours were older.

You had never spoken of their origin and Cal had never asked, knowing well that some things were better left to rest in the past. Still, sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder what your life had been like before meeting him. Before the rebellion. Before the fall of the Republic.

And just like that, his special Force power activated against his will, as his finger glided over a particularly long scar going from your shoulder down your back.

He found himself in a dark world of metal and strobe lights. Nar Shadaa? Corellia? It was hard to tell. Besides, something else quickly drew his attention. The agonizing screams of a girl, maybe 13 or 14 years old, as she knelt in a puddle of spilled drinks on the ground, shattered glass all around her. It was you, he realized. A younger version of you, to be exact.

“I told you to be more careful!” a tall man behind you yelled, as he hit you repeatedly with his belt. “You are the most useless slave ever! I should just sell you! It would be good riddance!”

Cal’s entire body was shaking with anger and disgust. And instantly, he forced himself to pull away from the vision. As much as he would have liked, he couldn’t pull his lightsaber at the man. An echo was just that, a replay of past events with no way to change them.

“What did you see?”

Your soft voice drew him back into the present and guilt filled him, as if he had invaded your privacy.

“I know that look on your face. You had one of those Force visions.” He had tried explaining them to you and while you could never fully grasp how they worked, you had come to know when they happened.

“I am sorry, Y/N… I didn’t mean to…”, he began, the guilt carrying in his voice.

“It’s alright. I know you can’t always control it… What did you see?”, you ended up repeating your question.

“I saw you being beaten… over spilled drinks.”

“Yes, my Master did that quite often.”

“You… were a slave?”, Cal asked hesitantly and you nodded. It wasn’t something you liked talking about, but it was no secret either. And especially the man you loved deserved to know.

“But slavery was forbidden…”

“The Republic didn’t have its eyes everywhere, Cal. And it wasn’t perfect. It tolerated more bad things than you and I can imagine…”, you spoke, adjusting your position, so that you could look at Cal better. “But the Empire is even worse.”, you tacked on, explaining why you were fighting for a Republic that had let you suffer.

“I never knew… I was so blind to a lot of things…” It was something the Jedi learned anew every day. How sheltered his life at the Temple had been. How much the war had covered. How many problems had been left unchecked because there was nobody to take care of them.

“We have the chance to make things better. That’s why we fight, right?” It was the reason you fought, at least.

Instead of answering, Cal pulled you into his arms, holding you close and burying his face in your hair. “I won’t let anyone treat you like that again. I promise.”, he whispered to you and you smiled, a hand gently playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. “We will make things better.”, he added on a vow. “For us. For everyone.”

You had no idea how you would manage that. You were but a handful of rebels against the might of an Empire. But right then, it didn’t matter. All that mattered were Cal’s arms around you, making you feel safe, protected and loved.

“We will, Cal. But for now, just kiss me.” And he gladly did.