#ugly duckling press

[theaskew]

What Is Sent There, a poem by Hirato Renkichi (Japanese 1893-1922) and translated by Sho Sugita. [Spiral Staircase, Brooklyn, New York: Ugly Duckling Presse, 2017.]

[garadinervi]

Masaoka Shiki, The Glass Clouding. Poems and Prose, Translated by Abby Ryder-Huth, Ugly Duckling Presse, Brooklyn NY, 2024

[ce-archerhelke]

(via The Sealey Challenge: wordtomydead)

[yuvany]

"MS.UGLY DUCKLING" ft SIM JAKE

SYNOPSIS : growing up "ugly" was not for the weak. Being absolutely ignored both in and outside of school was not for the weak. No one is ever ugly forever though. Changing schools and meeting new people, but most importantly meeting him might have been the best choice you've ever made in a very, very long time.

CONTENT WARNINGS : angst (with a happy ending) + bullying + insecurities + strangers to friends + friends to lovers + written in second perspective + self deprication + fluff + long + little rushed + partially proofread

ACTORS : ENHYPEN JAKE x FEMALE READER

WORD COUNT : ~ 4k

CHECK BOX !!

i. "WHY WON'T THEY EVER PLAY WITH ME," you asked your mother after returning home from a long and harsh first day of school. Your hair looked a mess, and dirt was scattered across your clothes, yet your voice sounded like childish innocence and pure wonder. Maybe it was too much for such a young child to realise that her newly made friends maybe weren't actually her friends?

(Read more under the cut)

"I'm sure they didn't mean to?" She replied, her voice sounding soft and vulnurable, feeling like she was responsible for the sorrows and grief that her child had been put through, since she was the one who had bought you into this world. Instead of confronting the problem, she told her child that the world wasn't as evil as it seemed, that thinking on the bright side, or the possibilities, were the correct way to live life.

Eight-year-old girl walked up the stairs with heavy weights glued beneath her feet after dinner was finished. You threw yourself onto your bed that was neatly made in the morning before you went to school happily, just to come home opposite of the way you left. The softness of the pillow and blanket laying on your bed was enough to comfort you as you buried your face deep into it and wrapping the blanket around you tightly. You wished for friends, and you wished to be happy, but most of all, you wanted to be like everybody else.

ii. ONE MORE DAY at school, the daily mistreatment never seeming to come to a halt. You walked through the corridors anxiously holding onto the straps of your backback tightly with your pair of eyes wandering all over the place in case of danger. This was certainly not nessecary for a child your age, but when nobody chooses to help, you've got to start taking care of yourself.

Maybe it was your nerves that made it feel as if everyone's eyes were on you, but their mouths would open to release a fit of laughter that they had held in until specifically you walked past them. You crossed your arms, feeling extra aware of yourself now, guessing that they were laughing and giggling at you, which you didn't appreciate, but you were also too insecure and scared to speak up against them.

You reached your locker, looking forward to being able to collect your throught, away from everyone else, the locker shielding you away from their piercing gazes and judgemental stares and whispers. As you look up from your shoes, you see piles of gum stuck onto your locker, the gum being pressed onto the metal aggressively by the people you wished you didn't see. It was them; the popular girls of the school, and few of many people who seemed to despise you. They saw you standing there, shooting you an all too familiar look before walking away with their hips swaying from side to side dramatically.

You approched your locker to finally see what they were doing up close, "UGLY!" it read. You felt embarrased imagining all the people who passed by and saw this. Did they laugh? Did they feel bad for you? What did they think? You wanted to run away and hide in a deep hole you'd dig up with all the stored up shame inside of you.

iii. "MOM, DO YOU THINK I'M PRETTY?" You asked your mother once more, years after the first, but soon to the recent encounter. "I think you're very pretty." She says, but your gut tells you another story. "Really?" You ask, awaiting her response that takes a long while before she hums lowly. That just confirms it, she wasn't being honest. "Thanks," you say, with no emotion in your tone. She looks away and eats her dinner quietly.

You quickly finish yours, and wash it in the faucet, the soap bubbling up and covering your fingers as you scrub and rub the plate, utensils and glass that you used. After finishing that up, you return to your room, locking it behind you. You hid under the covers for a while until it got too suffocating and warm, leaving you itchy and irriatted before sliding out and standing in front of the mirror. You inspected every inch and detail of your face, feeling not so content with some parts. You sighed at your reflection that looked back at you with tired, red eyes. At just fourteen years old, you began caring about how you looked, and how others precieved you, so you took matters into your own hands. That night, you stayed up all night searching for 'how to be prettier' and scrolled endlessly through social media.

The next day, you had decided to get a new hair cut to maybe fix the way you looked, you knew excatly what you wanted, and how to cut it. Before anyone else woke up, even before the first birds chirped their morning tune, you made your way to the bathroom and grabbed a pair of scissors in your grasp. You carefully cut strand for strand, the same way you remebered how the video showed. "It doesn't look too bad." You think to yourself, and then you hear footsteps outside the door. Your eyes quickly scanned the hair that layed on the tiled floor and faucet, wondering what to do with it.

Too late. The door slowly swung open and in came your mom. She was silent upon seeing the scene, the horror only showing in her eyes. "What happened here?" She asked like a sharp whisper. "I just cut my hair..." You reply equally quiet. You see her shake her head in disappointment, so you turn your head down, looking at all the hair that had been flying everywhere while you had fun cutting your hair, and suddenly you weren't as proud of your hair cut like you were before. "Go get the broom, y/n." You obeyed your mother's order and hurried out of the bathroom feeling tears of embarrassment reaching your eyes.

iv. YOU STARTED WEARING MAKE UP to cover up, but to everyone else, you told them that you wore make up becase you thought it looked pretty. Still, they'd give weird glances toward each others, which you knew was their way of judging you.

Each morning, you woke up early to sit in front of your mirror examining your appearance like you always did. Hoping and praying to somehow change over night, you hated how your features looked together. You opened the drawer of your vanity and picked up sponges and brushes, leaving them aside for later use while you chose the different essintials. You had prepared the whole summer break to look pretty. Every day, you followed a new tutorial, improving as you continued. You did all this to look presentable at school.

You thinly spread the foundation across your face, dabbing the liquid evenly all over as you moved onto the next step. You sat there for a long time, perfecting each detail and mole, brushing your brows and coating your eyelashes with mascara, and lastly smacking your lips together after applying lipstick.

You stood in front of your larger mirror that you had ignored and hidden away since you never wanted to see yourself ever, but now you felt prepared. In your eyes you looked prettier. You wore your hair differently, you had earrings and necklaces, the school uniform from last year looking a lot better than you remembered. The confidence boost put a smile on your face as you made your way downstairs and made yourself breakfast.

In the kitchen, your mum was sipping her coffee calmly, but as she saw you walk in, her eyes widened in shock, but she didn't say anything. "Good morning!" You greeted happily, and she waved her hand slowly, still trying to process what was happening. "You look different." She comments, and you are content with that reply, and answer, "Thank you, mum!" You proceed to eat your breakfast and then made your way to school.

At shcool, you felt everyone's eyes hooked on your face. The corridors got quiet when you walked by, and you heard murmurs and whispers about you, "Is that really y/n?" "No way..." "What happened." You didn't know what context to put it in and just walked with hurry in your steps, wanting to get to your class and focus on your studies.

Lunch also happened to be no different compared to before your make over, the group of three girls made their way to your table, cackling amongst themselves, planning what to do today. You, who already finshed your lunch stood up to walk away, not wanting to have an encounter with them, until one of them, the blonde barbie, knocked into you with her lunch tray, spilling her food and drink all over you. "oops!" he chuckled cheerily, enjoying the laughs and fingers pointed at you from around her in the cafeteria. You angrily stood up and rushed over to the bathroom, feeling embarrassed once again.

v. "I WANT TO CHANGE SCHOOLS." You say to your mother after a long while of thinking, fearing that you might make the wrong decision, but what could possibly go worse than how it already is? Your mother is sneering at you from the side as she puts down the bags of groceries by the sink. She hums, and you wait for her reply, feeling your heart beat through your ribs, beating so hard that you start belive it'd jump out of your body any second. To be fair, you'd rather for that to happen than to be rejected of this preposition. "Are you sure?" She asks with uncertainty in her voice after silence, and you nod your head, "Of course." "Think about it for a little more, and then we can ask your father when he returns home." She says and walks away. How much longer could you ponder it when you're already certain.

You help her organise the groceries, washing them in the sink to sterilise it of bacteria before placing it in either the fridge or freezer and taking your sweet time, not knowing what else to do other than lay in your bed or be on your phone scrolling through social media.

So, that's exactly what you did for the past hour or so after your chores.

Of course it was boring, but you had nothing else to do. Homework was done, your room was clean and you could only wait for dinner with your father. You heard the sound of the stove from your room, and rushed down to help prepare with your mother. You plated the dinner table, helped your mum with the dishes and washed them afterwards, now you waited in your seat for your father to arrive home from work.

You hear the door slide open, the sound of keys jiggling from the entrance. You sit straight in your seat, resembling a meerkat on its legs as you inspect the person who enters the kitchen. Your father walks in with his coat still slung over his shoulders, his briefcase slamming onto the kitchen counter while he sighs. "Hello, dad!" You greet him cheerfully, and he simply nods his head in your direction. Your mum rose from her seat to help him with his jacket and hat, but he just shrugs her off, and you notice both of their irritated moods.

Dinner was quiet - the sound of utenstils hitting each other and then being left on the plates filled the house. "y/n wanted to ask something." Your mum blurts out, wanting something to happen, being too awkward in this stale atmosphere. You see him look at you from the corner of your eye and he clears his thoat. "Really? What is it?" He asks, and you manage to utter the same statement from before. It takes a moment before you get a reply again, but he says, "I'll think about it." You pleaded with both your parents to let you change schools until they finally caved in with an extended sigh.

vi. YOU WALKED INTO THE FULL CLASSROOM feeling everyone's eyes glued on you, the feeling being vagualy familiar yet different. Some leaned over to their friend, whispering something, but as you saw them and they made eye contact with you, you wanted to shove yourself inside a locker. "Everyone, this new student ..." You zoned out her speaking until she placed her palm on your shoulder and asked you to intruduse yourself to everyone. "Hello, I am y/n l/n, and I really hope we can all be friendly," You said, and then walked over to the empty seat that the teacher pointed at.

As you take a seat, you take extra notice of your bench mate. Oh, how beautiful she was, her hair looked neat, her skin looked perfect and her eyes... You finally took a seat and did what everyone else did - copying what the teacher wrote. After class, you observed your schedule, confused by where to go. This school was big, and you were a new student who just joined, there was no way you could ask anyone else for help except the teachers, but the one in you room had already left. The girl from beside you tapped you on the shoulder and you turned your head curiously.

"Do you need any help?" She asked, and you nodded. "Help would be appreciated, thanks."

You spent the day with her, laughing and talking like never before. It was comforting to have someone like her beside you. At the end of school, she walked you outside of school and there you saw a group of other people gathered, and they waved in your direction. You turned to see your newly made friend, Yoona, waving back. Her pace quickened as she rushed over to the group, pulling you along by the sleeve of your uniform when she noticed you standing still.

It was a fairly small gang, but they still stared at you as you arrived. They all greeted each other, hugging and chatting till Yoona introduced you to the rest. Her voice sounding so smooth.

As she spoke, you noticed this guy. His hair was long and swept in waves, his eyes soft and brown filled with warmth and kidness. You learnt that his name was Jake from your friend's introduction. "Y/n, wanna come to karaoke with us?" She asked, and you shook your head. "Sorry Yoona, but I gotta head home now" you say, not wanting to interrupt the harmony established amongst the people. She nodded understandingly and let you go, waving her farewell.

On your way home you realised you had made a new friend. A real one at that, but thoughts of insecurities snaked its way into your mind. What if she was just being kind? To say that this could possibly be one of many occurrence was high, and the possibility that you'd fit in was low.

vii. YOU FOUND YOURSELF IN THE PARK with them. You've come to the realisation that a new start was exactly what you needed. Your feet swung you back and forth on the swing, hearing the laughter of everyone around you and feeling the warmth in your heart expand. You had gotten close to everyone, but Jake seemed to have a special place in your heart for some reason.

"Anyone wanna go to the arcade?" Someone called out, and everyone said yes, including you who never went along with them. On the way there, you walked along side Jake, chatting with him and joking. "So what made you change schools so suddenly." He questioned, and you shook your head with an awkward chuckle, "Nothing, I just wanted to." Jake had this friendly smirk on his face as he nudged his shoulder against yours, "you can't be serious. You probably had a lot of friends there." You had your eyes focused on the road as you tried to comply a decent reply. "I mean-" as you were about to answer, everyone had already arrived at the arcade. You found this to be the perfect escape.

Everyone rushed inside, being bombarded with games and bright lights. Almost immediately, you spotted the claw machines. You eyed it like it was candy. There were many plushies, but you really really wanted the bunny one. Jake who was close by saw the way your eyes lit up and approached you with his hands in his pocket. "If you beat me in any game, I'll get you that plushie." He says, and you turn to look up at, his lips being extremely close to your face. "Are you sure you wanna bet?" You asked and he nodded his head, "Go ahead, choose a game." You pointed at an air hockey board and Jake ushered you over there with his palm resting on your shoulder.

You played a couple of games, and you were determined to win. Jake, not so much. His eyes roamed everywhere except for the hockey puck, his eyes landed on your concentrated face a handful of times, observing your reaction to each goal. You easily won and rushed over to his side, cheering. Your smiles were contagious, and Jake laughed, exposing his pearly teeth. "You wanted that white bunny, right?" He asked, and you nodded. "You could get whichever one, really." He made his way to the machine, you standing beside him. Jake kissed his coin before inerting it into the machine. It took him many tries before he sighed and collected his calm once more. "You don't really need to continue, Jake." You tell him, but she shakes his head and stretches his arms and back. "I'll get it this time. I might need more luck though." You see him point at his cheek with a smug smile. "That's silly." You reply sarcastically and he pleads with you giving you the puppy eyes before caving in. You stand on your toes and quickly peck him on the cheek shyly. Your heart was pounding and you could feel your cheeks turn rosy at the act.

He winks at you once before turning to the machine with one last try. His focus is evident in his fierceful gaze and you also hope for him to win this time, mostly becuase you start to feel bad for all the coins he's lost.

While being consumed by your own thoughts, Jake celebrated his win. He turned around to hand you the bunny, but saw you spacing out. He snapped his fingers in you face and you shook you back into reality. You finally processed the fact that he had won after staring at the plush in his arms. Jake gently hands it to you and you take it with a smile. "Woah! Thank you so much!" You thank him over all the other people's conversations around you two.

The rest of the evening was spent with silent glances that held adoration between the two of you. and eventually, it was time to go home. You all gathered outside the arcade to wave each other off before going their separate ways.

You notice that Jake was taking the same way as you and you stopped in your tracks to let him catch up to you. "Do you also take this way?" You asked him. "Kind of, I actually wanted to walk you home." He rubbed the back of his neck before you two began walking again. "You could've told me before, you almost looked like a creep." Jake chuckled at your remark and said, "I would've, but I guess I got shy." with his thick accent seeping through.

The sound of crickets and owls hooting filled in the silence during the short walk to your front door step. "Thanks for walking me home, Jake." You say as you search for your keys in your purse. He was silent for a while as you unlocked your door. "Y/n, I have something to ask you." You turned to him curiously and arched an eyebrow. He was obviously nervous as you saw him fidgeting with his own fingers and clearing his throat over and over again to muster up the courage to ask,

viii. "WILL YOU GO TO PROM WITH ME, Y/N?" It had totally slipped your mind that prom was soon. You stood there wide eyed at the question. "You're not joking with me right." You wonder if he's pranking you, but he shakes his head. "Why would I joke with a pretty girl like you." His tone sounds genuine, but you still can't shake this feeling of uncertainty. "There's many other people you could've asked, but instead you chose me." The identical feeling of hopelessness returned after finally being chased away. "Becuase I only want you. Y/n, please." It takes a while for you to open your mouth an reply, but you feel the cold sweat coat your hairline and seeing Jake's soft expression was not helping you to calm down.

"I need to think about it, sorry."

You take notice of how Jake's expression turns dark when you shut the door and lock it behind you. You rush up the stairs and sprint into your room, ignoring your mother's calls. The plushy you had gotten from Jake was thrown onto your bed as you hurry to look out the window, observing him walk away from you. To your surprise, you see him look back at your house. Hurriedly, you pull out a diary that you had hidden under your mattress and write about everything, it isn't until after you're done taking notes that you feel bad for Jake. How must he feel?

You take a look at the plush he gifted you, and groan at the dilemma.

ix. THE NEXT DAY at school you searched for Jake everywhere, but you never saw him. Your mood visibly worsened as the day had come to an end without seeing him once. Yoona took notice of this and decided to question you. "Is everything okay?" She asked you and you nodded your head with a hum. "Yoona, have you seen Jake today?" She shakes her head and pulls out her phone. "He sent me a text this morning that he wouldn't come today since he felt under the weather. Why?" "Nothing, just wondering." You quickly blubber, grabbing your stuff quickly. "Hey, what's the rush? Wait for me alright." You hear Yoona chuckle as she packs her stuff. You apologise and wait for her.

You two part ways at the split road with a hug, and you gradually start to jog your way to his place. You stand there on his door step, bag slung over your shoulder with your fingers twisting the hem of your skirt. "Is it too late to turn around?", you think you to yourself. You shake away these thoughts, and raise your curled up fist to knock, but to your surprise, Jake opened the door, his eyes looked equally as shocked as yours. "Uhm, so I wanted to talk to you." You utter, and see Jake sigh. "Sure, I'm going on a walk if you wanna follow along." You nod and walk behind him.

"So, I've been thinking." His interest perks, and he glances your way. "I'll go to prom with you, but I don't understand why me? I'm not pretty. I'm not that ....good." You voice comes out weak, and Jake stops walking. "Don't say that. Not only are you incredibly beautiful, but you're also so, so kind and caring." He approaches you, his hand gliding up your cheek. "Are you not angry at me?" You ask, trying to avoid his eyes. "Angry? At you? That's ridiculous." He scoffs playfully, and you finally get the courage to look him in the eyes. "I might've been slightly upset since I thought you rejected me, but i guess I have a date for prom!" He smiles brightly and you look at him awestruck. "Of course," you reply and kiss him on the cheek once again with your arms swung around his neck, and his arms instinctively wrap around your waist. "You make me so happy." He is smiling widely as he pecks your face with butterfly kisses.

TAGLIST :: @swaivy

[coseta]

SWAY WITH THE RHYTHM ! ♡︎ ft. phainon.

ꨄ︎ tags. fem! reader◞ modern! au◞ idol!au ◞ male masturbation◞ female masturbation◞ dirty talk◞ phainon is shameless

ꨄ︎ wc. 5.2k

english is not my first language

It was a hot day.

In the bright lights of the practice room, Phainon was absentmindedly looking in the mirror as he went over their upcoming comeback, the sound of their new title track “Fake Love“ blasting through the room, the steps of the choreography coming to him easily as he practiced with muscle memory. His blue eyes scanned his form for any mistakes, white hair clinging to his forehead as sweat trickled down his neck, clinging to his white t-shirt and dripping to his gray sweatpants, low on his hips.

Mydei was reviewing the steps with him, moving smoothly through the room. Anaxa was casually leaning on the wall, looking at something on his phone with his usual frown, Dan Heng and Sunday talked quietly on the corner, Blade was staring out the windows drinking water while drumming his fingers on his thighs, probably thinking of a new melody, and Aventurine was sprawled on the couch, his head tipped back and his eyes shut as he took a nap.

The “X”. They were the most successful boy group from Okhema, rising in fame increasingly fast as they made one comeback after the other, building a global success as their songs stayed in the charts for weeks. Their social media on Starwitter and Okhemagram buzzing with more than thirty million followers.

Their fans driven crazy by their charming looks and alluring personas (and their mouthwatering abs, of course). Mydei, their leader and main rapper, Sunday, the main vocal, and Blade, the main rapper, were usually the ones writing all of their songs, making their fans cry and scream with their lyrics, while Aventurine, lead rapper and main dancer, and Phainon, main dancer and main vocal, were the ones taking care of creating the energetic and hip-hop inspired choreographies, flirting endlessly with the crowd. Anaxa, main vocal, and Dan Heng, lead vocal and youngest of the group, were more quiet, but they had a huge amount of fans as well, driven to their mystery gaze and quiet personas.

The room was tickling with the scent of sweat, the air conditioner doing little to cool down their bodies as the sun heated through the windows of the room.

Mydei was already shirtless, trying to escape from the scorching sun, scowling at his reflection in the mirror. “Oi,” he glared at the five boys lazing around the room, “Get your lazy asses over here and start practicing with us, or else I’ll be putting all of your names as new guests on Herta’s variety program.”

The boys shivered at the thought of being around that wicked woman again, cringing as they remembered the way she forced them again and again on the 2X speed dance challenge, until they were gasping for air on the floor, as they scurried to stand and start the practice again.

A few hours later, the door suddenly opened, revealing their manager, Aglaea, and Tribbie, their marketing director, all the while the new intern, (Y/N), followed behind like a duckling.

Aglaea had a tablet on her hands as she stared at the boys. “I hope you all are ready for the presentation at the Amphoreus Stadium in five days. You’ll be announcing your new song, with the music video and full album launching at midnight the same day. After that, you’ll attend Penacony Music Station as the oficial comeback presentation, following with an appearance at Robin’s radio show. We also have a promotional shoot in Amphoreus, a benefit concert in Castrum Kremnos and a fan meeting in Belobog.” Her gaze narrowed slightly as she looked at Anaxa. “Anaxa, we also have a press conference scheduled for you to apologise for your careless words with that reporter.”

Anaxa rolled his eyes, scoffing. “I’m not apologising, she’s a weirdo, following me around like a creepy little stalker.”

Aglaea sighed, rubbing her eyes. “That doesn’t mean you can call her an ugly wench on live TV.”

Tribbie laughed, easing the tension. “Right, right. Well, let’s forget all this tense stuff for a moment, yeah?” She grinned. “I have the statistics from your social media from this month. You all are gaining a big amount of followers every day. Mydei, your cooking videos are the most viewed on PomPomTube, Phainon, Aventurine, keep doing your Okhemagram dance lives, they are always trending on Starwitter. And Dan Heng, try to interact more with the fans, you’re doing a good job, but maybe try to not look like you ate a sour lemon every time they ask you to do aegyo.” Dan Heng nodded, silently sulking. “Blade, Sunday, your individuals songs are charting high, keep up the good work!”

(Y/N) stepped forward then, smiling. “We also have your individuals schedules here.” she begans to explain.

Phainon looks at your form strolling through the room, while bringing his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his face. His eyes flutter as his gaze drags over you, taking in every curve and dip of soft skin. The cute silk dress makes you look ethereal. You really are a beautiful woman.

For some reason, from the day Phainon first saw you months ago, he was drawn to you like a moth to a flame. He didn’t understand what got him so mesmerised, even when they meet a cute fan he didn’t act like this.

He supposed it was because of your clumsiness, how you tripped and fell on your face while climbing the stairs on your first day with them, or the way you smiled oh so brightly while standing up embarrassed, introducing yourself. Or maybe the way you weren’t fazed by his flirtations comments and provocations. You weren’t fazed at all by any of them, maintaining a professional relationship. It was driving him crazy.

"Fuck..." Phainon mutters under his breath, eyes glued to your breasts as they bounce slightly with each step you take towards him. He’s supposed to act like a normal 25 year old adult, not like a horny teenager who wants to bend you over and pound your pussy raw. At least, not yet.

When you come to stand right in front of him, Phainon has to force his neck up to look into your eyes. This close, he can smell the sweet scent of your perfume, the sweet smell of apple, pear and a pinch of cinnamon clinging to your form. It makes his head swim and his cock twitch in his sweatpants. “Phainon, we need to take your measurements again, Castorice said that your outfits are looking way too tight.”

"Okay." Phainon grits out, voice strained. He can feel the heat of your body radiating towards him, and it takes every ounce of his willpower not to reach out and grab you.

Phainon’s breath catches in his throat as you smile brightly at him. “You also have a solo activity this month,” you lean closer to him, showing him your tablet. “You’re going to Aedes Elysiae to attend a fashion show…”

Phainon stops hearing as he feels the soft swell of your breasts grazing lightly against his arms as you stand next to him. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity straight to his dick, making it twitch and pulse with need.

Phainon shifts uncomfortably. The mere sight of you it’s enough to make Phainon’s painfully hard cock throb and pulse in the tight confines of his sweatpants, his boxers now damp with his copious pre-cum.

“Phainon…? Phainon?”

Phainon blinks stupidly, realising that he was too absorbed in his depraved thoughts to listen to you.

“Phainon? Did you understand?” You ask again. “Here is your planner.”

“Great, thanks.”

Aglaea sits on the couch with Tribbie. “Well, let’s see how you guys are doing for the new choreography.”

And as the music blasts through the practice room, their bodies moving fluidly according to the beat, smoothly sliding on the floor as they dance, Phainon can’t help but glance at you. He finds himself distracted, locking his gaze on the curve of your spine, the softness of your lips and the way you move so gracefully as you sit talking to Tribbie.

"What are you smiling for?" Phainon asks gruffly, glaring at Mydei. He takes another long gulp of his water, trying to cool the burning heat of his desire. It's not working.

As soon as the practice is over, Phainon speeds to the bathroom and locks himself there.

He sits on the toilet seat, feeling like he’s been punched in the gut, his chest heaving and his heart pounding in his ears. He can still smell your perfume, clinging to his skin and making his cock throb painfully. Fuck, he can't get the sight of you out of his head.

Phainon grits his teeth as he wraps his hand around his aching, leaking cock through his sweatpants. He squeezes hard, biting back a groan as pleasure sparks through his veins. He feels like a creep, being in this state just by looking at you. Just like a loser, clueless and horny teenager watching porno for the first time, hidden from their parents.

Phainon squeezes his cock again and shoves his sweatpants down with a frustrated growl, along with his soaked boxers. His cock springs free, slapping against his stomach and leaving a smear of pre-cum on his skin. It's red, throbbing, and leaking so much it's dripping onto his thighs. Phainon wraps a hand around the thick shaft, stroking it slowly as he thinks about you. He strokes faster, squeezing his cock harder, panting and groaning as he fucks his fist. The wet sounds of his hand pumping over his thick, pulsing shaft fill the empty bathroom. He imagines you bent over, your ass sticking up in the air.

"Fuck, (Y/N)..." Phainon groans, his hand moves faster over his throbbing cock, the wet schlick schlick schlick sounds growing louder, more obscene as his hips fuck into his hand. The head of his dick is already purple, the slit weeping with pre-cum, begging to be buried in your tight cunt.

In his mind, he's hiking your cute dress up, exposing the lacy edges of your panties, already soaked through with your arousal. He is already gripping himself, lining the leaking tip of his cock up with your pussy. You whimper and writhe beneath him, trying to grind back against his thick shaft, but Phainon holds your hips still. His hips thrust forward, rubbing his shaft against your slit, smearing your arousal through his cock.

Phainon’s mind races with the filthy, depraved things he wants to do with you as he strokes his aching cock faster and harder. The wet squelches and slaps of his pumping fist fill the bathroom, mixing with his ragged pants and groans. He can picture you so clearly, your tits bouncing and swaying as he pounds into you roughly, your ass jiggling with each thrust of his hips. Fuck, he wants to grab those tits, wants to squeeze them hard, to pinch and tug at your stiff nipples until you’re squirming.

Phainon moans, voice strained with barely restrained lust, his hand moves in a blur, the head of his cock slapping against his stomach with each violent stroke. The thick shaft pulses and throbs in his grip, the veins bulging obscenely as he fucks his own fist with wild abandon.

In his mind, you’re sobbing and shaking, your pussy dripping and gushing around his pistoning cock. The wet, sloppy sounds of his hips slapping against your ass, of his shaft plunging into your tight, soaked cunt. He wants to fuck you until you’re raw, until your pussy is red and swollen and gaping, until you can't take any more of his dick pounding into you over and over again.

"Fuck, I'm gonna... fill you up so fucking good," Phainon grunts, the pleasure cresting, surging through his veins like a tidal wave. "Gonna pump you full of my cum… Paint your fucking womb white.”

Phainon’s body tenses, muscles coiled tight as the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak. He throws his head back, eyes squeezing shut as his cock throbs and pulses in his grip. His hand moves like a piston, stroking his shaft with ruthless speed and force as he chases his release. His cock jerks and spasms in his hand as the first thick, hot ropes of cum erupt from the tip. Shot after shot of pearly white seed splatters against the walls of the bathroom, dripping down and pooling on the floor. It's obscene, the sheer volume of cum, like he's been saving up for months just for you.

Phainon’s entire body shakes and jerks, consumed by the intensity of his orgasm. His balls churn and pulse, emptying their heavy load into his grip, making a complete mess of his fist.

As the waves of pleasure begin to ebb, Phainon slumps back against the toilet seat, chest heaving and skin slick with sweat. His softening cock slips from his grip. He is left panting and shuddering, mind still filled with images of you... You on your knees, you with your breasts bouncing, you with your ass up in the air, spreading your glistening folds to his hungry gaze.

Phainon slowly comes down from his lust-fueled high, the fog of desire gradually lifting from his mind. As the bathroom walls comes back into focus, he takes in the mess he's made - the streaks of cum splattered across the wall, a puddle pooling on the floor. The scent of sex and sweat hangs heavy in the air, a pungent reminder of the depraved thoughts that consumed him mere moments ago.

With a shaky sigh, Phainon tucks his spent, softening cock back into his sweatpants. He feels a twinge of shame, for letting himself lose control like that.

"Fuck...” Phainon mutters under his breath, running a hand through his white disheveled hair, he stands up from the toilet seat on unsteady legs, feeling the sticky remains of his release clinging to his skin.

With a heavy heart and an even heavier cock, Phainon heads for the door, leaving the bathroom and the mess he's made behind him.

Castrum Kremnos is buzzing with energy, the stadium is already packed as the fans anxiously wait for the group to make their appearance. The anticipation of the show is always a rush.

Phainon feels adrenaline pulse in his veins as he takes in the sight of the crowd of fans waiting for them, a wide grin on his face as he waits backstage, already on his stage outfit.

Aglaea is barking orders at some staff, looking displeased. While Mydei and Blade lounge on the couch, Sunday is warming up his voice with Anaxa, while Dan Heng and Aventurine are being wildly tossed around makeup artists, clearly in a rush to finish their outfits.

Phainon finds you talking with Tribbie and Hyacine, probably discussing how to deal with the aftermath of Anaxa’s press conference. Let’s say that he wasn’t very happy of being forced to apologize and ended up cursing her in live TV again. It was funny though, Phainon mused, seeing the enraged face of Aglaea and the sullen face of Anaxa as she put his name on the guest list to Herta’s variety show.

Phainon leaves the room, going to the little food stall near the back. As he eats some snacks, he turns around, seeing you walk up to him. You smile sweetly, leaning on the wall and crossing your arms. “Are you ready? It’s been a tough week.”

Phainon grinned laughing. “Of course! You know, I’m already accustomed to this.”

“Good luck,” you wrap your arms around Phainon in a hug, pressing yourself against his body. Phainon stiffens, his arms hesitantly coming up to wrap around your waist. "Uh, yeah, thanks, haha..." Phainon grits out, voice strained. He swallows hard, his hands twitch and flex against your back, itching to touch you.

"I gotta go" Phainon mutters, voice rough and gravelly. "It's almost time" He takes a step back, trying to put more space between you.

Before he could take another step, you lean on your tiptoes and press your soft lips against his cheek, giving a quick peck as you whisper. "I like you too."

He feels a jolt of electricity shoot through his body, the brief, chaste kiss sends a flood of blood rushing south, making his shaft swell and pulse in the tight confines of his pants. "Wha- How did-" Phainon stuttered as he realizes your words.

You just grin knowingly, pulling his tie, rubbing your lips against his teasingly. "Maybe you should be more careful with what you do in a public bathroom."

If Phainon wasn't blushing then, he sure as hell was now. He watches as you laugh and pecks his cheek again, turning and walking away. The sway of your hips, and your words teasing him, making him ache with need. Phainon doesn't move. He stands rooted to the spot, shocked, watching you until you disappear from view. It's only when you're gone that he sucks in a shuddering breath, flustered. He needs to focus, needs to get his head in the game for the concert.

Blade calls out to him. "Come on, lover boy, it's time."

As he takes the stage and looks out at the sea of faces in the crowd, he forces himself to remain calm, flashing a flirtatious smile, indent on giving his best to his awaiting fans, moving smoothly as the first song starts, the screams and cameras acting as muscle memory for him.

As the show progresses, Phainon pours every ounce of his pent-up frustration, his all-consuming lust, and his desperate desire into his performance. He moves passionately, sweat clinging to his face and hair as he lifts his shirt teasingly, giving them a tantalising sight of his sweat slicked abs. The crowd goes wild, screaming and cheering at their performance.

He sings every song to you, every lyric dripping with a hunger and need that makes the audience swoon. They think it's just another idol move, another way to get the girls in the crowd riled up, but it's so much more than that for Phainon.

As the song nears its end, Phainon’s body is slick with sweat, his shirt clinging to every hard plane and angle. He's breathing heavily, chest heaving as he stares down at the audience with lidded eyes, a teasing smirk playing in his lips. In a moment, Phainon rips open his shirt, the crowd goes absolutely apeshit at the show of skin, flashes everywhere.

"This next song is for you," Phainon says into the microphone, voice dripping with malice, staring at the audience.

The lyrics are raw and explicit, dripping with a hunger and need that makes the crowd swoon. Phainon’s voice is strained, tight with barely restrained lust. As the final notes of the song fade away and the music video starts to play in the big screen, signaling the start of the 15 minute break between the songs, he leaps off the stage. Phainon strides purposefully towards you, eyes blazing with a hunger that makes you take a step back. He grabs your wrist in a bruising grip as he tugs you towards his dressing room. He doesn't give you time to protest or resist, just drags you through the crowded hallway, ignoring the shocked stares and whistles from the nearby staff. You stumble and nearly fall on your heels, but Phainon doesn't slow his pace.

As soon as you’re behind the closed door of Phainon’s dressing room, he slams that shut too, flipping the lock to ensure you won't be interrupted. You yelp as Phainon pins you against the wall, his muscular body caging you in, his hips pressing insistently against yours. You can feel the hard, thick outline of his cock through his tight pants, and your eyes widen.

"Phainon, what are you-" you start to say, but your words are cut off with a gasp as Phainon grabs you chin and tilts your face up, forcing you to meet his intense, burning gaze. His eyes are wild. Your breath catches in your throat.

"You can't keep teasing me like that, (Y/N)," Phainon growls, voice low and rough with want. "You know what you do to me. You know how much I fucking want you." He punctuates his words with a sharp grind of his hips, pushing his rigid length against your stomach, before leaning down and claiming your mouth with a rough kiss.

Phainon’s eyes zero in on your heaving chest, watching the way your breasts rise and fall with each shuddering breath you take. He reaches out and grabs the neckline of your shirt, his fingers roughly opening the soft fabric, baring your naked breasts to his greedy gaze.

"Fuck…” Phainon rasps, voice strained with desire as he drinks in the sight of your plump breasts. He reaches out to grab one, his calloused fingers sinking into the pliant flesh, kneading and squeezing the supple mound. You gasps and arch into his touch, your nipple stiffening under his palm.

Phainon, leans down and closes his mouth around one nipple, sucking hard, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. You cry out, your fingers tangling in his sweat-slicked hair, holding him against your chest as he suckles and licks and nibbles at your nipple.

Phainon’s other hand is busy tugging at your skirt, yanking it up to expose the lacy panties you have on underneath. He groans around your nipple as he feels the damp fabric, knowing that you wants him just as badly as he wants you. His fingers slip beneath the lace, brushing against your slick folds, feeling the wetness that coats your pussy.

“You're soaked," Phainon growls, releasing your nipple from his mouth with a wet pop. "Fuck, I can feel how much you need it.”

Phainon’s fingers find your clit, and he rubs the sensitive bundle of nerves hard and fast, making you cry out and buck your hips against his hand. He feels your slick arousal coating his fingers, and it makes him groan, makes him want to bury his face between your legs and lap up every drop of your sweet essence.

"That's it, baby," Phainon groans, voice dripping with lust as he fingers your dripping cunt. "Get nice and wet for me, get ready for my cock." He plunges two fingers deep inside your tight heat, pumping them in and out, stretching you.

Phainon’s other hand is still squeezing your tits, tugging and tugging at your stiff nipples until you’re writhing against the wall, your pussy clenching and fluttering around his invading fingers. He can feel you getting closer and closer to the edge, can feel the way your body is tensing, preparing for a massive orgasm.

"Gonna make you cum all over my fingers," Phainon pants, voice ragged with desire as he fingers you hard and fast, rubbing your clit in tight circles. "Gonna make this pretty little cunt spasm and squeeze it." He leans in to bite at your neck, sucking a dark hickey into your soft skin. “Then I'm gonna flip up your skirt and bury my cock in your soaked cunt," Phainon groans, grinding his cock against your thigh. "Gonna split you open, stretch your hot cunt around me as I pound into you.”

Phainon’s fingers are relentless, pumping in and out of your clenching, dripping cunt as he grinds his hard cock against your thigh. The friction of his pants rubbing against his aching shaft is delicious torture, and Phainon can't hold back his low moan. He's never wanted anyone as badly as he wants you in this moment, and he's determined to make you cum on his fingers before he fucks you senseless.

"That's it, baby," Phainon growls, voice tight with strain as he feels your pussy start to spasm and flutter around his plunging digits. He rubs your clit harder, faster, his fingers moving at a blur as he fucks you towards your peak.

Phainon’s eyes are dark and hungry as he watches your face contort in pleasure, as he feels your body stiffen and tense, your tits heaving with each gasping breath you take. He leans in, his mouth hovering just inches above yours, his hot breath mingling with your own as he waits for you to shatter in his arms.

"Cum, (Y/N)," Phainon whispers, his voice a low, dominant growl, making you shiver.

And with that, you come undone, your pussy clamping down on Phainon’s fingers like a vice as your orgasm crashes through you. You throw your head back, whimpering as your body convulses and trembles, your cunt gushing and flooding Phainon’s hand with your release.

Phainon groans as he feels your pussy spasm and clench around his fingers, your arousal gushing out to coat his hand and drip down his wrist. He wants to commit every second of it to memory, the sight of you coming undone, moaning his name, your face contorted in ecstasy, wants to replay it over and over again in his mind.

But Phainon doesn't stop. He can't stop, not when you are still writhing and shaking, your body still trembling with the force of your release. He keeps fingering you through it, keeps rubbing your clit, drawing out every last spark of pleasure from your quivering form.

Phainon’s eyes are wild and crazed with lust as he watches you come down from your high, your chest heaving and skin flushed a pretty pink. The sight of you, disheveled and panting, breasts heaving and skirt bunched up around your waist makes him throb. With a grunt, Phainon yanks his fingers out of your dripping cunt and grabs your hips, spinning you around. He bends you over the table, shoving you down against the hard surface, and flips your skirt over your ass. The sight of your lacy panties, soaked through with your arousal, makes him groan and grind his rigid cock against you.

"Fuck," Phainon pants, voice strained and tight with desperation as he fumbles with the button of his pants. "You have no idea what you fucking do to me” He shoves his pants and boxers down, freeing his throbbing erection. It slaps against your ass, leaving a smear of precum on your panties.

He hooks his fingers into the fabric of your panties and yanks them down, baring your dripping slit to his greedy eyes. The sight of your folds, slick and swollen and glistening with your juices makes Phainon lick his lips, a bead of precum dripping from the tip of his cock and onto your ass. He rubs the head of his dick through your soaked folds, coating himself in your slick arousal, getting ready to sink into your welcoming heat.

"Beg for it," Phainon demands, his voice a low, dominant growl as he teases your entrance with the tip of his cock.

The knock at the door makes Phainon freeze, his cock still poised at your entrance, the head slick with your juices. For a moment, he considers ignoring it, too lost in his lust and desperation to stop now. But then he hears Mydei’s voice calling out from the other side of the door.

"Phainon, we’ve got two minutes before we have to get back on stage, hurry the fuck up!”

Phainon curses under his breath, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. He's painfully hard, his cock throbbing and leaking, desperate to bury itself inside your tight, wet heat. But the concert must go on, and he can't risk pissing off his members and screwing up his career.

With a low, anguished groan, Phainon pulls away from you, his cock slipping out from between your legs. He grabs your hips and flips your back over, and you gasp as he cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones.

"Don't think I'm done with you," Phainon growls, eyes dark and intense as he stares down at you. "We're not finished here. I'm going to fuck you until you can't fucking walk. You better keep this pussy nice and wet until my cock is buried inside you." With a final, heated kiss, Phainon grabs his pants and yanks them up over his still rock-hard, leaking cock and heads to the door, leaving you bent over the table, skirt flipped up and panties around your ankles, dripping and empty, aching for his touch.

Phainon slips out of the dressing room, closing the door quickly behind him. He takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself before facing his members. He adjusts his pants, trying to will his painfully hard cock to go down, but it's no use. The sight of you sprawled out on the table, tits heaving and cunt dripping, is seared into his brain. He can still smell your arousal, still feel the way you soaked folds clung to his aching shaft. It takes every ounce of willpower he has not to storm back into that room and take what he so desperately wants. Phainon takes another deep breath and pushes through the door.

Backstage is a flurry of activity as the members prepares for their final songs. The staff is checking their outfits, retouching their makeup, and checking the background sound. Aglaea approaches him with a clipboard in hand.

"Phainon, where were you? Did you see (Y/N)..." Aglaea starts to say, but she stops in her tracks, her eyes widening as she takes in Phainon’s appearance. His white hair is disheveled, his skin flushed, a huge bulge can be seen in his pants...

"Well…" Anaxa approaches, a maliciously smile in his eyes. "Looks like you’ve been having some fun, huh?" He glances at Phainon’s crotch, and Phainon’s flushes embarrassed, trying to conceal his still rock-hard erection.

Aventurine whistles. “We were taking a break and you were still in activity, eh?”

Sunday and Blade shake their heads with disappointment, while Dan Heng just stares in disbelief.

“Try not to bust like a teenager on stage, HKS.” Mydei provokes, with a sly smirk.

Phainon takes a few deep breaths, forcing himself to focus, even as his mind is consumed with thoughts of you and your empty sopping cunt begging to be filled.

As soon as the concert is over and they bow to the crowd, Phainon is gone, shrugging off the adoring screams of the crowd and rushing offstage without so much as a wave. He doesn't give a fuck about his fans right now - he only cares about you. His group members stare at him knowingly, hoping you guys don’t make too much noise. Aglaea sighs and Tribbie pats her back, mentally preparing herself for the scandalous disaster all over the headlines. Already imagining the gossiping magazines and the speculations from the fans.

At the concert of our loved boy group “X”, a rather amusing sight was caught in the fancams of our dear fandom. Phainon, one of its members, was seen in a disheveled state after coming back from the break between songs, he was, let’s us phrase that way: in such a state of lust, fans were seen giggling at the obscenely bulge in his pants. And when the concert was over, our lovely Phainon ran out backstage, almost desperate, without his usual provocative smirks and waves. Anyway, dear readers, was it because of his unbridled passion and enthusiasm to perform or something else?

Phainon bursts into the dressing room, slamming the door shut behind him. But you’re nowhere to be seen. Instead, Phainon finds your panties tucked in the corner of the table, a little note on the side.

“See me.”

Phainon shivers, sniffing your damp panties and palming his still hard cock. The promise of something more makes him throb with anticipation, a wide grin spreading in his flushed face.

— art credits : C2H5OH_70per .

[zeisarinn]

igual que un angel — rin itoshi !!

heaven must have sent you to earth !!

my man !! + rin i love you !! + sassy man apocalypse !! + i need rin merch !!

rin itoshi was someone who always stuck to his schedule. always following the same routine from the moment he woke up until the moment he fell asleep. when you “forced” your presence into his life, he could never stick to his schedule ever again. always having things happen spontaneously around you was both a blessing and a curse. just like how you both were now half-way into watching the barbie movies, “here I am” playing in the background as you both watched Kiera dance to the music.

you watched the movie, humming to the music as rin played with your hair, the light and feathery touches making you want to fall asleep. you blink the sleepiness away, cuddling into rin’s side as your matching hot pink barbie themed pjs invaded your vision. you quietly giggle to yourself, thinking back on when he didn’t want to wear them at first until you practically forced him into the comfy fabric. 

your boyfriend was kind of dumb though, seeing as he still hasn’t noticed the way that you kept glancing up at him or maybe he was just being an annoying little shit again. gods, he was so insufferable at times… so pretty, I meant petty, I mean what? who said that? your boyfriend is so lovely, he would never hurt anyone (he would, specially if it was shidou). maybe to him, ignorance was bliss. a mischievous smile slowly starts to creep up your face, a grin forming as you look up at him. “rinnie,” you whine, a pout on your lips as you look up at him, watching as he barely even glances down at you when you call for him. you follow his gaze, tracing it back to the tv and realizing that he was watching the movie with his full attention. “...what happened to not wanting to watch a children’s movie, huh?” you ask him, a deadpan expression on your face as you reach your hand up to gently poke his cheek, a teasing smile on your face when he immediately looks away.

men are so weird, your boyfriend was definitely even weirder though. maybe he was a woman born in a man’s body, why was he always so much sassier than you anyways? maybe it was the itoshi genes in him or maybe he was a victim of the sassy men apocalypse or maybe this was a sign that you should’ve never made your boyfriend install tiktok. one moment it was “you look just as beautiful as the cherry blossoms” and the next was “you look like the ugly duckling.”

you watch as he huffs, a small pout forming on his lips as he not-so-discreetly glances back at the tv screen. you feel a laugh start to bubble up, giggles rocking your body as you hug rin even tighter. you lean up, pressing a kiss to his cheek and pouty lips before pulling away, watching as he playfully glares at you. you nuzzle your face into his neck, breathing in the light citrus scent of his body wash as he murmurs. “it’s… not bad” you hum at his answer, turning your head to watch the movie as you giggle. “whatever you say, rinnie, whatever you say.” 

work belongs to @/zeisarin 2024 don’t copy, steal, or repost without permission

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

On Good Behaviour 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: after release, you try to get on the right track but your new boss isn’t much help. (ex-con reader)

Characters: Loki

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"Darling, over here!" The woman chimes again. 

You look over at the golden-haired goddess-like figure. Older but not weathered for it. A woman of luxury and privilege. Just another echelon of Laufeyson’s lifestyle you'll never attain. 

"Mother," he tilts his head slightly, his cheek ticking. "I wasn't expecting you hear on a Tuesday." 

"Oh, I came to town to meet your Aunt Fulla. She was seeing a specialist and I thought it was a perfect convenience," the blond woman struts past her table.

Another, with a highlighted bob and not much years’ difference turns to smile over her shoulder. Her lips have that puffiness you see on that video app. You stand aside, hoping that you might just fade away. 

The first blonde, who he proclaimed as his mother, nears and frames his face before kissing his cheek. You see the twitch of agitation in his fingers. You will deal with that later, you're sure. 

"But forgive me, am I interrupting?" She lets him go and looks at you. "Oh my, aren't you a pretty thing?" 

She surprises you with a kiss as well. You feel the smudge of her lipstick on her cheek. You muster a smile. The expression still feels strange to you. 

"Loki," the other woman greets kindly as she stands. 

"Aunt Fulla," he utters. 

"Please, won't you join us? It's such a splendid coincidence to see you," she claps her hands then quickly flags down a man in black slacks and a pressed white shirt, "excuse me, dear, would it be too much for us to put our tables together?" 

The server smiles, better than you can, "of course, Mrs. Odinson." 

Oh, she's known here. Wonderful. All these people belong and you are the ugly duckling of the bunch. 

Loki gestures to you. He assists the server in sliding over another table. 

"Darling," the woman with the bob offers her hand as you sit next to her, "Fulla, but Loki always called me FooFoo." 

"As a child," He sits across from you. 

"Frigga," his mother offers her hand in turn. You shake hers as daintily as the first. Consciously so as your innate roughness comes without a second thought. "And what are you doing here in the middle of the day with my son?" 

She preens at him and tucks his hair behind his ear. He leans away. He suppresses a frown and his lips thin. 

"Business," he answers. "She is an assistant at my firm." 

"Oh, you finally found some help! This is wonderful. Does that mean you'll be available for your father's birthday?" 

Laufeyson peers around and signals to the same server, "scotch please. No ice." 

"Yes, sir," the server responds, "and ladies, a refill?" 

"Yes, please," Frigga smiles and Fulla nods. He looks to you next. 

"Just water please," you request. Your parole doesn't permit alcohol and you'd rather not. 

You look around evasively. This is awkward. Worse, you're not entirely certain this won't result in losing everything. Laufeyson has hardly proven himself fair. It would be beyond him to punish you for bad timing. 

"Mother, I'll check my calendar." He resigns. 

"Or your lovely assistant will," Frigga suggests and gives you dreamy look. "My she is... well, I'm sorry, dear, I wouldn't want to toe the line, but you are a rather beautiful woman." 

You almost flinch. It's quite the compliment. One you've never got. Your mother called you hideous; the women inside pushed you around, spit on you, and her son... 

"Thank you, ma'am," you say. 

"Ma'am, oh no, Fulla, did you hear that?" 

The other woman laughs. 

"Oh, a proper one we have," Fulla guffaws. "You're tryna push us straight to the grave, are ya? No, no, young at heart. Frig and FooFoo, ready to conquer the world." 

Laufeyson groans, "please, mother, are you sure you should have another drink?" 

"Yes, the driver will fetch us," she trills and the server returns on cue. "Thank you, Braxton. Oh, such a dear." 

The server, Braxton, doles out the drinks. You sit patiently as he strides away, promising to return shortly.  

Frigga pets her son's arm, "we've ordered. What will you have? Oh, avoid those peppercorns. Do you recall the last we came here?" 

"Mother, I'm certain I can choose my own meal," he shrugs her off as he reaches for the menu. He looks at you and you mirror him. 

"Oh, tell me you are not such a tyrant with this one," she chides. "Darling, he's all smoke. Trust me." 

"Mother," he doesn't look up as he browses. 

You go through the options, by the numbers. A salad is fine and affordable. Ish. 

"Perhaps you will figure out how to pull the thorn from his side," Fulla remarks with a snort. "Loki Beans, what happened to that little cherub who use to giggle with me?" 

"He grew up," Laufeyson sniffs and closes the menu. "Truly, we've come as professionals. You may keep all that to yourself." 

"Oh, are professionals not allowed to be humans?" Fulla chirps. 

You side eye her. You like her. She says everything you can't. 

"No, they are not," Laufeyson retorts and reaches for his scotch. "Where's the waiter?" 

You languish in the tension. It isn’t the women that make you uneasy, but the man across from you. His green eyes find you again. He’s calculating how he will take his discomfort out on you. 

“Oh, do not let him fool you. He’s still my baby nephew,” Fulla pauses to sip from her bright drink; layers of pink, orange and yellow. “Ah, he used to put on these little magic shows for us. Do you remember when the rabbit bit you and you cried terribly, Loki Beans?” 

“Aunt,” he sends her a terse look. 

“And there was the snake. That was particularly worrying,” Frigga adds as she swirls her tall glass. “It constricted him purple--” 

“Mother, please. She needn’t hear the tales of my childhood. I’ve forgotten them myself,” he sniffs. 

“How could you forget?” She squeezes his arm. “Perhaps you should try. You might not be so wound up.” 

You sip your water silently. Your mother isn’t as sweet. You’d never use that word to describe her. And when it comes to childhood memories, you don’t think she could pick out if it was you or one of your siblings who got stuck in the mud pit for an hour. She didn’t care then, and wouldn’t now. 

“I have much work to do--” 

“Which is why you came here?” Frigga challenges. 

Her son sighs and goes rigid in his chair. He tilts his head until his neck pops. His jaw grits. 

“It is good chance we found you. Your father called but got no answer. Perhaps I should have him call the office,” she looks at you. “She must be very good worker if you brought her to our special place.” 

Your cheeks tinge with heat. You had no idea it was somewhere special. You only went by how often he came. He didn’t let on either. 

“It is a public restaurant,” he shakes his head. 

The server returns and nips away some of the discomfort. The brief distraction is enough to catch your breath. You order your Greek salad and Loki opts for some Ahi Tuna. It’s all so much better than prison food; even the lettuce. 

“Still, I’m very happy for you, dear,” Frigga leans into her son. “And it is a great opportunity for one as young as her. She will learn a lot. That is, if you let her help. You’ve always been so defiant--” 

“Why don’t you write up a list of all the things I am and forward it to me?” Loki sneers. “I shall review and make certain to repress it all.” 

“Son,” she pinches his ear and he hisses. “Do not be smart with me.” 

“Always a sharp tongue on the little serpent,” Fulla tuts.  

“You are one to speak,” he bites back at his aunt. 

“Oh, but I am funny,” Fulla laughs haughtily. “You are just drab, my boy.” 

His hand forms a fist on the table. His already pale skin whitens around his knuckles. You don’t move. Like prey trying to hide from a hawk, you can only hope they fly over you. 

“Darling, tell me,” Fulla startles you out of self-preservation as she touches your skirt. For a moment, you’re reminded of the man across from you, though she only admires the fabric. “Where did you get this? I like the colour.” 

“Um,” you look down, “I... would need to think... um. Oh, a boutique down at Harrow’s Row?” 

“Harrow’s... oh, I’ve not been that way in some time,” she reaches to play with your hair. “You wear it so effortlessly--” She pauses and touches behind your ear. Your shift. “And what’s that? A birthmark?” 

You resist the urge to swat her away. That regrettable spiral of ink is easy enough to hide but a permanent reminder of your mistakes. You thought you were so hard, so tough. A rebel with a needle tattoo. All your so-called sisters who shared the same mark sent you to prison. 

“Just... a tattoo.” You answer honestly and peek at Laufeyson. His lashes flick curiously. “Nothing, really.” 

“It reminds me of a rune,” she tweaks her head to see it better. 

“It’s nothing. Really. I was a teenager once,” you shrug. 

“Not so long ago,” she draws away. “Ah, but with a face like that, you’ve far to go.” 

“Thanks,” you swallow and reach for the water. 

“My other son has many tattoos. Oh, I told him not to do it but...” Frigga mourns with a hand to her forehead. “He’s such a sweet boy but he acts before he thinks.” 

“That is one way to put it,” Laufeyson mutters. “Must we speak of him?’ 

“Oh, he’s so excited to see you. Another reason you should come to your father’s special day. Not to mention, you are his son.” 

“He would seem to forget it,” he rebuffs. 

“You two are too alike,” she reproaches. “So stubborn.” 

“He is stubborn, I merely do not appease him,” Laufeyson smooths his tie, keeping his hand around it. 

“Well, your brother is on the right foot now. He’s out and he’s going to be helping out your father--” 

“Ah, yes, he gets out and goes right back to the golden child. He will take on the business--” 

“No, that isn’t what I’m saying--” 

“Let me guess, he learned so much in prison. He is redeemed?” Laufeyson snips at his mother then wince. His eyes list to you and his eyebrows tweak. His brother is a convict? Like you? 

“He is trying. And he shows up. We never see you--” 

“Never see me? As I am working to keep all in order. Who sees that the gardener is sent on the correct day? That the maid does not disturb your luncheons? That the property is kept secure? I mightn’t be there in person but my hard work is there.” 

“I understand that, but we would prefer a son to an accountant,” she pets his hand and his fingers unfurl. 

“Mother,” he looks at the far wall. 

“Oof, I am getting rather stuffy in here,” Fulla says, “pretty one,” she taps your knee, “come. I need a cigarette.” 

You’re taken aback at that. You never smoked much. In prison, keeping the habit could rule your existence, more than it was already restricted. 

“Oh, sure,” you take the subtle signal that this conversation is better left to simmer.  

“And you could use some fresh air,” she stands and takes her purse from the back of the chair. 

You get up and look at Laufeyson. He doesn’t offer much back. You follow his aunt across the dining room. 

You go outside as she pulls out a brown cigarette, the scented type that makes you sick. You keep your distance as she lights it. She offers you one and you decline politely. 

“Families,” she snorts. “I’m sure you know.” 

“They’re complicated,” you shrug. 

“Very,” she agrees. “You have siblings?” 

“Seven,” you answer honestly. 

She coughs as her eyes bulge, “dear lord, your poor mother.” 

Poor her. Always her plights. A mother who had too many children to mind. A mother who never should have been one. 

“She didn’t let us forget so,” you affirm. 

“Oldest?” She wonders. 

“Right in the middle, with my brother.” 

“Ah, yes, well, middle children... Frigga’s the eldest, our baby brother, Freyr, can do no wrong. I’m the special one. Like you, I know how to make friends with the wall,” she inhales and lets out a plume. “Loki, the youngest, coddled boy. I’m sure you can tell.” 

“He is only my boss. They are all demanding,” you say. 

[strwbyoons]

SWAN SONG ( TEASER )

STARRING ... DANCE TEACHER!M. YOONGI X BALLERINA!READER

WORD COUNT ... 0.7K

SUMMARY ... noun. swansong: the final performance or activity of a person's career.

yoongi believes that a dance teacher has three purposes.

1) to preserve and innovate the art of dance.

2) to build discipline and confidence.

3) to ensure nothing but perfection.

the third purpose takes priority over the top two. the beauty of dance is lost entirely if performed by an ugly duckling with two left feet and no sense of rhythm. being a dancer was sacred, and mistakes were blasphemy.

failure is unacceptable. a dancer who stumbles is a disgrace. a dancer who hesitates is an insult. a dancer who fails to meet the standard is not a dancer at all. there is no room for weakness, no patience for imperfection.

perfection is not a goal; it is a requirement. those who cannot achieve it must leave. those who refuse to push themselves must be pushed out. a dancer must be weightless, effortless, untouchable. anything less is embarrassing.

yoongi does not tolerate embarrassment.

yoongi’s own professional career had come to an end after he married his then-dance partner. a publicity stunt. he told the public it was love. in reality, he knocked her up.

marriage ruined him. not because he cared for her, but because it made him weak. a dancer with responsibilities is a dancer with distractions. a dancer with distractions is useless. his technique wavered. his endurance declined. he could still move, still command a stage, but not the way he once did. not the way he demanded of himself.

so he quit. before the critics could say what he already knew. before his name became synonymous with failure. he stepped off the stage, off the floor, and into a new role. teaching. training. breaking others down before they could break themselves.

perfection had slipped through his fingers. he would make sure it never slipped through anyone else’s.

yoongi thinks maybe that's why he's so fascinated with you.

the deer in headlights type, never congregating with the rest of the class. always hiding off in a corner, practicing your technique, watching yoongi teach with wide eyes and parted lips.

you weren't what yoongi envisioned when he thought of a dancer, but yet he still finds a bit of himself reflected within you.

yoongi doesn’t like contradictions, but you are one. unpolished, hesitant, yet relentless in your pursuit of something just out of reach. he sees it in the way you move—tight shoulders, shaky landings, the kind of stiffness that comes from fear rather than lack of ability.

but he also sees the way you watch. the way you dissect every movement, every correction, as if memorizing them will make up for what your body refuses to do.

it reminds him of himself. not the him that graced stages with effortless control, but the him that came before. the one who pushed through bleeding feet and bruised ribs because stopping was never an option. the one who wanted, desperately, to be more.

and maybe that’s why he hasn’t told you to leave.

because every time he looks at you, he wonders if you’ll prove him wrong.

yoongi doesn’t hand out second chances. he doesn’t waste time on lost causes. but with you, he hesitates.

you’re not the best in the class. you’re not even close. your turns lack precision, your extensions lack confidence, and your footwork is just a little too slow. but you don’t quit. you stay late, repeating the same movements long after the others have left. you take his critiques without flinching, without excuses, nodding like each correction is a gift rather than a condemnation.

it’s infuriating.

because you should have broken by now. you should have crumbled under the weight of his expectations like so many before you. but you don’t.

and worse—yoongi keeps watching.

he watches the way your fingers twitch at your sides, the way your lips press together when you concentrate, the way your chest rises and falls after a particularly grueling sequence. he watches, and against his better judgment, against everything he’s ever believed, he starts to wonder—

maybe perfection isn’t the only thing that matters.

[librarycards]

I love your recommendations, you find a lot of good books I've never heard about!. Where do you learn about books?

great question, and ty! as a writer, I get 'sneak peeks' into a lot of newish books via blurb/review requests, as well as my relationship with independent presses and magazines. but it's pretty easy for the average reader to keep abreast of cool new books by signing up for press newsletters/checking their sites - some worth following are featherproof (my press!), Tin House, Feminist Press, Kernpunkt, McSweeney's, Split/Lip [I'm a first reader for them!], Coffee House, Fitzcarraldo Editions, Ugly Duckling Presse, AK Press, Arsenal Pulp, 11:11 Press, Sarabande Books, Black Lawrence...I could go on, but I'll spare you. But yeah, sign up for these folks' newsletters!

Also, speaking of newsletters, I get emails from a bunch of outlets that talk about books and/or review them and interview authors. Some that I recommend are LitHub, Electric Lit, Split Lip Magazine, Book Riot (hit or miss, but worth at least peeking at), Barrelhouse, Book.Marks, and Tor/Reactor.

I'm also active on Goodreads, where I friend/follow people whose recommendations I trust. (Feel free to add/follow me!) I also have tons of writing/reading/small press friends I share book recs with, and I go recreationally browsing at indie stores whose curation I trust. If you ever want a rec, go to your local indie and ask what they've been reading!!!

tl;dr get your recs from a variety of sources, keep track of what you like and dislike, make bookish friends, and sometimes try something new!

[lovelyjj]

Bullied

jj maybank x reader

requested

Going to school was your least favorite activity. It was truly terrible. Everyone seemed to gang up on you. There was no escaping it. Every corner you turned was another bully. There was no way out. It was harsh. The words they used the way they made you feel it was almost unbearable.

JJ had no idea you were getting bullied. You didn’t want to tell him because you didn’t want him to feel sorry for you. You also didn’t want to come across as weak. But JJ was your life line. He was your guardian angel. He was the love of your life and deep down you knew if he knew you were getting bullied he would not tolerate that.

Today was a day like any other. You were weighed down by all the mean comments you received. You wanted to disappear.

“Hey look it’s the ugly duckling!” One girl announced.

You kept your head down and continued walking doing your best to ignore it. There was a group of girls that seemed to love picking on you.

“I’d die if I looked like her” you hear them whisper.

The bullying continued. It just kept getting worse. You didn’t know what to do because it was starting to get to you.

The next day they made the mistake of saying something in front of JJ.

“She’s so annoying how can you stand her?”

“What the fuck did you say?”

“Oh I said-“

“No let me stop you right there. You are NOT gonna bully my girl right in front of me. The fuck is wrong with you. Come near her again and I’ll kill you.”

“JJ it’s fine come on let’s just go,” you tugged on his arm.

“No it’s not fine. How dare they! How long have they been doing this?”

“A while.”

“Oh hell no. And why didn’t you tell me?” JJ asked.

“I didn’t want to burden you with my problems.”

“Baby, I love you so much and it pains me so deeply that you’ve been going through this alone. You could never burden me, ever.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No apology necessary.”

JJ kissed your forehead and then took your hand and guided you out away from everyone. JJ felt terrible that you had to go through this alone. He was gonna do everything in his power to make you feel better. JJ being JJ he wanted to fight. But since it was mostly girls bullying you he couldn’t.

The two of you went back to your house. JJ was as kind and caring as possible. You laid down on your bed and JJ laid next to you. JJ started stroking and playing with your hair. “Ya know I wish you would have told me sooner. I could have done something, I could have helped.”

“I didn’t want to you to feel sorry for me.” JJ took one of your hands and interlaced it with his own.

“Baby, I’m here for you, always. I will always be there for you no matter what, okay?” JJ reassured you.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“I’m here to protect you my love,” JJ hummed.

“You’re the best I don’t deserve you,” you spoke softly.

“Yes you do, don’t say stuff like that,” JJ scolded.

“But you shouldn’t have to worry about my problems,” you countered.

“Your problems are my problems. Your happiness is my happiness. I love you and when you’re sad I’m sad. I’m in this for the long haul. We can work together as a team at anything life throws at us.”

You didn’t respond you just pressed your lips to his in a delicate kiss. Thanking him for being so sweet. A single tear slid down your cheek and JJ felt it because his hand reached up to cup your face.

JJ immediately responded to the kiss, kissing you back with deep passion. He broke the kiss to whisper “Don’t cry angel.”

JJ rested his forehead against yours and you closed your eyes savoring the feeling. You just felt so overwhelmed with love from JJ and you were so grateful for him you got emotional. JJ wiped your tears and eventually you fell asleep.

The next time you were at school JJ didn’t take his eyes off you. He stayed right next to you at all times with your hands interlaced.

The mean girls saw this and rolled their eyes. “You are not nearly important enough to have a bodyguard,” one of the girls said scrunching her nose.

“She’s so not important or pretty. She’s a waste of space,” another girl said.

JJ guided you behind him. “You’re gonna leave my girlfriend the fuck alone, or you will regret it I swear to god.” JJ was fuming. He couldn’t believe people would say such horrible things about his favorite person.

“Seriously if you don’t knock it off I will make your life a living hell.” JJ went up to the group of girls and got in their face.

“You’d be surprised what i’m capable of when it comes down to the people I love. Do not even breathe her same air.”

The girls that bullied you finally got the message. After JJ talked to them they left you alone. You couldn’t have been more happy about it. JJ was happy as well.

It felt like you could finally breathe again. School was actually bearable. You couldn’t thank JJ enough. He was your whole world and you couldn’t imagine your life without him.

A few weeks later you were at the château hanging out around the fire. You were in JJ’s lap and he had his arms around your waist. You were enjoying your time with him and the other pogues. Life was good.

“I’m so in love with you,” JJ whispered in your ear making you shiver.

“Thank you for saving me, I love you.” And you and JJ continued your life together as happy as can be.

[marlinspirkhall]

The Ugly Duckling was always my favourite story as a kid because I told myself I would one day grow up to a beautiful swan, but as I got older I unlocked a third option: press X to honk

[theaskew]

Porcelain, a poem by Hirato Renkichi (Japanese 1893-1922) and translated by Sho Sugita. [Spiral Staircase, Brooklyn, New York: Ugly Duckling Presse, 2017.]

[garadinervi]

Diana Garza Islas, (2015), Black Box Named Like to Me, Translated by Cal Paule, Ugly Duckling Presse, Brooklyn NY, 2024

[ce-archerhelke]

(via The Sealey Challenge: Gazing Down On It)

[lefossile]

seeing different takes and finishing Luminary Wardance very late, I come with my ted talk about the infamous "scaring teen to PTSD" incident and my thoughts about it; you're welcome to disagree btw [sorry for the lack of screen-proofs, didn't play the game in eng, things might've been lost in translation]

tldr: Boothill was 100% aware of what he was doing and wasn't going to actually fatally harm Luka.

I guess we have to start by preface of how the wardance is ever organised or is for and realise that fatal outcomes are outlawed actually, as the whole purpose of wardance is cultural exchange, aside from Xianzhou’s inner workings regarding Jing Yuan and previous events. It’s a show, it’s for fame, for publicity, for getting a message around - as we see many people use it as a platform - therefore it’s not a deathring. It has rules, judges, press-coverage. All that stuff.

And through it we follow Luka, sympathize with him and his struggle, we’re narratively tied with him and his experience, overcoming insecurities, sort of coming of age - it’s the most common myth structure of him venturing to the “new world” to transit from boy to man and undergo a transformation through trial. But also by death and rebirth (more on that later). It’s Hero’s Journey by Joseph Campell or, if you’re inclined, the Morphology of the folktale by Vladimir Propp, or Memo by Vogler and McKenna. That stuff.

To sum up the experiences of him up to that point, it was a straight progression from one opponent to another, gaining new friends and slowly, but surely gaining confidence on the arena and inside himself, because let’s face it, Luka is quite unsure. He’s that ugly duckling, not yet a swan. Despite his accomplishments driven by the need to survive, as he explicitly states, he’s still terrified by lots of things. He still lacks the self-awareness to believe in himself, his accomplishments, but also the procession of failure and death, despite being surrounded by it from a young age. Luka was raised in a communal society, so getting out on his own and on “borrowed” terms is unusual and stressful. But overall he manages and things generally go in his favor. Trailblazer couches him, helps with connections, there are fans, even temporarily stresses, such as the whole Shuojin debacle does end well with Topaz’s help. And he’s about to face the infamous Galaxy Ranger, although without any animosity.

He’s on precipice of “going into the cave”.

So with that in mind let’s briefly switch to Boothill. He hadn’t come to Xianzhou for fame, quote him, he came for revenge. To start off he’s in a completely different standpoint of his own story in contrast to Luka, easily making it through previous matches - and nobody presumably died resulting in his disqualification, that is. He came most likely for Topaz or just to draw IPC’s attention - it is unclear, but his primarily objective IS to provoke. It does not necessarily reflect how he really feels towards any of his opponents, because for one everything is on camera for that.

Then again, every one of the contestants [except Luka prior to a point his arm got replaced], accepted IPC sponsorship quote Topaz, and it is probably not even a NDA information, despite many of Xianzhou’s residents repulsion towards the company. So definitely no hard feelings on that part should come around then fighting. No, it might prove a point actually. It’s not even about the contestants themselves, but IPC’s involvement. Destroying their tech, their reputation, that’s the main goal, not some sort of mindless maiming.

So, passing on to Luka, who had been a promising upstart, an underdog, the one who refused to accept IPC’s deal, who fought for that explicitly, and most likely gathered a lot of sympathy from Boothill. Who, in turn, was probably as daring and full of vigor back when he was Luka's age. Then let’s not forget that Boothill had full access to Luka’s performance by that time - via any means from newspapers to playback of his trial fights, or even watching them live from the tribunes. It’s not private information and more than enough for a cyber eye to analyze, aside from everything else. And following Shuojin defeat and IPC presentation, Boothill was most likely following too (let’s say it was a game of cat and mouse, since Topaz is aware he’s there), he knows about the new hand and it does probably piss him off so much he mentions it to Luka later.

But let’s get into that battle then, shall we?

There’s nothing too malicious going on from the start of it, except for Owlbert joking, but alas.

Boothill makes his warning from the start - drop out and spare yourself the trouble. Not only bc flesh vs cyborg body is not exactly the best match - Luka has beaten some metal before - but because of the difference in experience and objective (fame vs. payback). Luka is, don’t get me wrong, a greenhorn. Yes, talented, sure, survived the hardships of Belobog, but even in comparison to Yanqing, who fought literal wars, he still is. It’s the man vs a child, literally, and especially so if we follow the hero's journey, it’s the obstacle he has to overcome. Maybe not the final, but quite a symbolic one. Also Boothill gives him a way out because for them it is also different - Boothill is willing to get his life on the line, more often than not, what borders on suicidal; Luka is yet not aware completely, what it means to seriously do so. He’s not used (clearly by previous events) of how cruel the outer world can be, out of the familiarity of his own planet (the original state of the world for the hero per se), that there could be people, who will want to harm him without any reason and make it lethal in process. And that’s the question also, Boothill poses to Luka, when he taunts him later. It is almost literal - if Luka can consciously risk his life, if his own beliefs, his determination are strong enough, can he face not only “defeat” in the sense of a wounded pride, but in a way of losing the only thing he truly has, his life. [remember that line, folks]

Then, when Luka objects, he pokes in the wound, unknowingly, of course, but let’s see what Boothill says in retaliation.

“I’ll give it a proper overhaul for ya later”. Do you think he’d promised a poor kid a maintenance, if he was sure to kill him? It’s the same tactic as in the Penacony sidequest when he was threatening the pepeshi sect, really.

But it is also a test of faith. A battle of wills. It’s literally a trial. To which Luka quickly retracts, saying let’s not risk our lives (to which Boothill's expression instantly changes). But it also shows what Luka feels this is, just a sparring, that’s what he had been doing. But it is different for Boothill. And that is a “lesson” he’ll teach Luka soon enough (bc I feel he does like the kid), and he then explicitly says so. And it has been that way for him all the time, even prior, back in “peaceful” days.

Boothill offers a choice: turn tail or take a swing, which for some reason, upsets everyone not only the trailblazer, but really is such an IC thing to do for him. He even get mad if Trailblazer interferes, because it is between him and Luka. Because Luka has to make the decision himself, not with encouragement, not with influence from others. It’s Luka’s own choice. And he makes it. [As in he enters “the cave”, takes the leap of faith.]

And as he does, it’s important what  Luka “hallucinates” when they just stare at each other, not even drawing arms. He sees the shadow of death. It is not coincidental also in the sequences following his defeat. Because Luka has to “die” to be reborn in a new quality and as a new person. He has to face the part of his own subconsciousness, which tells him to flee, it’s an overcoming of an inner turmoil. It’s the first part of transformation (second part is the conclusion he draws after Tail’s help). 

And all that time Boothill waits. He does not shoot, he does not further provoke. He gives Luka space and time to gather his guts, understanding what the boy is going through. Because he still has a choice. Owlbert even comments that they are just standing there instead of fighting, meaning it is purposeful. It’d take Boothill less than a few seconds to really win, with all his prowess and technical level difference. Yet he waits.

And once Luka finally makes the move, it is what it is. Six shots, an empty barrel, a broken mechanical arm. But think of it, would a cyborg with an enhanced eye, a sharpshooter, really miss any vitals, if he wanted? For all shits and giggles and memes, I doubt it. Boothill shot with uncanny precision, aiming where it would be less critical for Luka. His arm, which can be re-built, re-assembled. One could argue he took his anger on the IPC tech, which could be also true enough. But what he actually “spared” Luka is true enough too. Or rather, that he never intended any serious* harm. (can’t help the psychological trauma true, but oh well)

And yes, facing Boothill helped Luka “come out of the cave”, learn truths about himself, his heart, his resolve. It was something careful guidance from before could not particularly achieve, to corner him to look inside deep enough to come out, not exactly a different person. But more mature. Live through his trial of fire, complete the transformation and initiation. 

[To all the people, who would come at me and say BUT HE IS A TEEN!!! Yeah, but so is Yanqing. I don’t see anyone speaking how he is technically a child soldier fighting multiple wars, borisins, Jingliu, Blade and Hulei, who showed little care about him being a literal child.]

And Boothill’s behaviour towards Luka changes after that. There’s no animosity, he later on invites Luka for a talk, explains himself and apologizes.

(The damage was already done, but the thing is how both parties process it and go about it later on, at least that’s the hill I will die on)

But most importantly. He steps down for Luka, so he could go and chase his dream of making it to the top. Under some pretense, of course, but if he was going through with all the bravado, or was set on hurting minors, I feel he’d have no qualms in sparring against Yanqing. He uses the same tactic as before: steps down, warns him, knowing probably full well Luka of all people won’t back down. Boothill tests if the kid had learned the lesson, which even Luka himself is catching on.

In summary of all that I tried to explain, I think the narrators used the most common tools, drew parallels, even if some moments were a bit on the borderline. Our perception could differ depending on age, culture and general experience, but I think narratively everything stayed on point for this event story and watching some grey areas being explored was a treat.

[imaginesforeons]

Could you write itadori with reader, who is very insecure about their body

Omg yes!! My first ask, I'm so hyped.

Yuji and a Reader who is insecure about their body

~You have doubts. Yuji doesn't~

CW: Reader is insecure about their body.

Word Count: 664

Yuji is aged up in this, somewhere in his 20s.

Reqs are OPEN! Send me an ask with your ideas. You can see what fandoms I write pinned on my page.

Buy me a coffee?

.-.-.

Bodies were strange. They came in so many different shapes and sizes, endless shades of skin and hair and eyes, creating something so unique that no person looked quite the same. Sometimes… sometimes these traits combined perfectly, creating perfect people.

“Babe?”

From your place in front of the mirror, you jumped, squeaking. Whirling around, you saw Yuji, standing outlined in the doorway.

“Hey, Yuji,” you said, mustering up a smile. You took a step back from the mirror, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

Speaking of perfect people, you thought, eyeing Yuji up and down, your boyfriend was one of the best. Born with a genetic jackpot, Yuji was the most handsome man you had ever laid eyes on. While he was thinner and gangly in his teen years, at least from the pictures he had shown you, his twenties had done him well, filling him out until he was perfectly proportoined. His cheekbones were sharp, face model-worthy, and when he smiled he caught the attention of everyone in the room. There was no other way to describe it; Yuji was stunning, and you… well, you weren’t.

Yuji drew closer, taking in the drawn curtains, the dimmed lights. The mirror. “What’s up?” he asked, eyes tracking over your body.

You grimaced. While you adored Yuji, there was always another emotion hidden deep underneath your love. Something was waiting for the other shoe to drop, because for as long as you had been with him you couldn’t figure out why he’d give the time of day to someone like you. Compared to Yuji, you were subpar.

“I was just-” you tried to come up with an explanation, something that would dull the curious look in his eyes, but your mind fell flat. “I was looking,” you finished lamely.

Yuji only hummed, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning in to kiss your temple. You slowly turned around til your back was pressed against him and you were facing the mirror again. Yuji hooked his chin over your shoulder, watching both your figures in the mirror.

You were watching too.

With the both of you reflected in the mirror, your previous thoughts were only brought to light. Yuji was beautiful, and next to him you were like the ugly duckling. You folded your arms across your chest, if only to hide a little more of yourself. Maybe Yuji wouldn’t notice.

Right when you were ready to squirm out from his hold, Yuji spoke up.

“Ya know,” he mused. “I think we make a pretty cute couple.”

It took your brain a moment to catch up, but when it did, you blinked. “Really?” you asked, craning your head up to try to catch his eye.

Yuji nodded. “Of course! I mean, you’re definitely better than me when it comes to the looks department, but I think I’m pretty close.”

“Oh.” To your horror, you felt your throat tighten, and tears started to well in your eyes. Before they could fall, you turned and buried your face in Yuji’s chest, but it was too late. Yuji had seen your eyes well up in the mirror.

“Babe?” Yuji sounded panicked. “What’s wrong?”

Sniffling, you nuzzled deeper into his chest. “You really think I’m pretty?”

“Oh, baby,” Yuji said. “Of course I do. I think you’re perfect.”

Your throat caught on a sob, and Yuji shushed you gently. He started to run his hands down your back, over your hips, up your arms. He whispered sweet nothings in your ears, while in-between he pressed kisses on top of your head and brow. He cradled you in his arms, guiding you towards the bed where the two of you layed down together, your head on his chest. He ran a hand carefully up and down your spine, still talking all the while.

You held on to him tightly, fisting your hands into his shirt. “Thank you, Yuji,” you whispered. It was too quiet for anyone but the two of you to hear.