#and then said both were like segregation?????

[analytically]

type of guy who thinks 2020s corporate antiracism, Jim Crow, and Reconstruction are all similar movements

[astrxealis]

sorry to ffxivlovepost always anyway Man the way the devs & game did so good in making an mc that is Basically a blank-slate for the players, and there's so many opportunities to make your oc However you like but. the game itself adds so much story and character to that blank-slate guy. amazing

[pastryfication]

rivalling teams | oscar piastri

a bit of a part one to this. thank u for the idea @insunia 🫶

pairing: oscar piastri x williams employee!reader

summary: the story of how it came to be that a member of logan’s team went on a date with a mclaren driver, and all the hardships you had to face because of your different team colours.

warnings: james vowles being a dick

working in formula 1 had always been your dream, and landing a job as a data analyst for the williams f1 team was that dream come true.

but the thrill of joining such a prestigious team was quickly ruined by the nervousness you felt as you stood outside of the doors on your first day. you were younger and less experienced than almost all other employees and you felt a sense of segregation as you first entered the team.

luckily for you, you were starting at the same time as logan sargeant; a young and talented driver who was also new to the team.

from your first day at williams, logan and you formed a quick bond. both of you were fresh out of adolescent, very ambitious, and more than eager to prove yourselves. the shared experience of being newcomers provided a foundation for a strong friendship and you often found yourselves working late into the night together, enjoying each others company immensely.

it happened one day, after a particularly grueling week, that logan invited you to join him for a casual dinner.

"you need a break," he had said, flashing his characteristic grin. "and i want you to meet an old friend of mine."

curious and eager for some downtime, you had agreed, and you soon found yourself following logan to a small, cozy restaurant.

the old friend he had wanted you to meet was oscar piastri, and you found yourself extremely grateful for logan when you realised that his fellow driver and longtime friend was charming, with a warm smile and a twinkle in his eye that made you feel at ease instantly.

the evening turned into night, and you found yourself drawn to oscar. while he had seemed closed of at first, you had soon realised that wasn’t really the case. the three of you talked for hours, and by the end of the night, oscar asked if he could see you again.

over the next few weeks, you and oscar started dating. he was thoughtful and kind, always making time for you despite his hectic schedule. your relationship blossomed quickly, and you cherished every moment together, even though you had to keep it discreet. you had no idea what the reactions of your employers would be, but you were both nervous to find out.

and find out you did, because the secrecy didn't last long. the williams team found out about your relationship, and the reaction was less than favorable. one afternoon, you were called into a meeting with your boss.

"we've heard about your relationship with oscar piastri," james began, his tone stern as he looked at you. "it's causing concern within the team. we need your full commitment here, without any distractions."

you felt your heart sink at the words. “my relationship isn’t affecting my job, i can assure you of that—“

“i’m not sure i can trust you to do your best for the team while being involved with a rivalling driver.” he interrupted you.

his tone made you feel like a misbehaved kid and you looked down to avoid his gaze. "are you asking me to choose between my job and my relationship?"

he nodded, his expression unyielding. "unfortunately yes, we are."

the news left you devastated and confused. you loved your job and had worked so hard to get there, but you also cherished your relationship with oscar. torn and unsure of what to do, you confided in logan later that day.

"this isn't fair," logan said, frustration evident in his voice. "why should you have to choose? they should be happy for you, not punishing you."

oscar was equally furious as soon as he heard about the situation. "they can't make you choose," he insisted. "we can make this work without affecting your job."

determined to support you and keep what felt like his only friend on the team, logan decided to take matters into his own hands. he arranged a meeting with the team management, his confidence unwavering.

"she’s a valuable asset to this team," logan argued passionately. "her work is impeccable, and she’s extremely committed—even with how negative everything seems right now. it’s not fair to ask her to choose between her job and her relationship."

his words seemed to surprisingly resonate with the management, who began to see the unfairness of their request, and after some deliberation, they agreed to let you stay, recognizing your contributions to the team and the dedication you had shown.

you had never been so grateful before, and the gratitude you showed logan almost made your boyfriend jealous. he couldn’t be though. not when he was just as thankful towards his american friend.

as your relationship continued to flourish, you and oscar found ways to navigate the challenges of your respective careers. sneaking away to see each other on the weekends and convincing the team to let you stay in his hotel room, you cherished every second you got together while still being careful to maintain professionalism at the track.

despite the continued subtlety of your relationship, he relentlessly supported you through the challenges of your job, always there to listen and offer advice, and you did the same for him. the bond you shared deepened, filled with late-night talks, shared dreams and a love that felt completely unshakable.

one evening, after a particularly grueling day, oscar takes you out for a quiet dinner. he holds your hand across the table, his eyes filled with warmth. “i’m proud of you,” he says softly. “for everything you’ve handled, for standing strong.”

you smile, squeezing his hand. “i couldn’t have done it without you.” thinking for a moment, you add: “or logan.”

oscar chuckles at your words. “yeah, he’s been quite amazing too.”

after dinner, you join logan for a movie night, a tradition that started when you first joined the team. as the movie plays, you sit nestled against oscar, logan on the other side of the couch. at one point, logan looks over, pretending to be annoyed.

“you know,” he says with mock exasperation, “i really don’t want to be the third wheel here.”

you laugh, reaching over to nudge him playfully. “sorry, logan. but you’re stuck with us. it’s your own fault, really.”

he grins, shaking his head. “yeah, yeah. just don’t get too cozy over there.”

as the movie continues, you feel a deep sense of contentment. despite the challenges, you’ve found a way to balance your job and your relationship with oscar, thanks to logan’s unwavering support and your own determination. the three of you have become a close-knit team, navigating the highs and lows of the racing world together.

in those quiet moments, surrounded by the people who mean the most to you, you realize that no matter what obstacles come your way, you’ll face them with courage and love. with oscar (and logan) by your side, you can conquer anything.

[mimi-0007]

Jennie Dean founder of “Manassas Industrial School for Colored Youth" Jennie Serepta Dean (1848–1913)

She was born a slave in northern Virginia’s Prince William County, but by the late 1880’s she finagled enough money from people like tycoon Andrew Carnegie to build an entire educational campus: classrooms, dormitories, dining halls, libraries and shops to teach both academic classes and trades like carpentry, animal husbandry, cooking and sewing to male and female black students from across the region, who had few other options for continuing their education.

Opened in 1894 with a small group of students and lasting in various forms until the original buildings were torn down in the 1960’s, Jennie Dean’s “Manassas Industrial School for Colored Youth” is testament to one woman’s determination and leadership. Her legacy lives on through the hundreds of students she touched, and their families.

What vision she had. What persistence in the face of extraordinary odds, from “ordinary” obstacles such as lack of money to the everyday insults of segregation and discrimination. What a gift she gave to so many generations of classes.

Frederick Douglass himself delivered the school’s dedication ceremony address in September, 1894. Here’s what he said, noting the location near major Civil War battles fought over whether people in certain states had the right to own slaves:

“No spot on the soil of Virginia could be more fitly chosen for planting this school….it is a place where the children of a once enslaved people may realize the blessings of liberty and education.”

Before they were torn down,the Manassas Industrial School buildings housed segregated classes during decades of Jim Crow.

[idlesuperstar]

Donald was the best partner in movies I ever had. We were brothers and we loved each other. We had such a deep, sublime chemistry. There was nothing intellectual about it, just this amazing natural harmony. I first met him in the commissary at 20th Century Fox when Robert Altman told us to have lunch together after I’d been cast in M*A*S*H. At first I thought: I don’t think this guy likes me. But it was just the opposite. The thing was: we were such opposites. I’m a Jew from Brooklyn and he was a Canadian from Nova Scotia. But it was perfection: never any conflict, just bread and butter – a relationship that felt like a miracle. Making M*A*S*H made us immediately close because while everyone else was working with Bob Altman, we worked for Bob Altman. He kept us a little segregated. We were both really unsure about the improvisation, the direction of the movie and Bob’s approach in general. Donald was hired well before me, but once I signed on we had the same deal: no less than second billing, and the same money. Later in production, Richard Zanuck, who was at that time running 20th Century Fox, said they wanted to give me first billing. I thought: “Oh that’s a nice honour. But Donald is my friend! I’m not going to be opportunistic – he was here first and should have first billing and I’ll stay in second place.” That’s what Donald meant to me. I never told him about that. A few years later, I turned down the screenplay for the movie that became S*P*Y*S, about two bumbling CIA agents. Then Donald called and said: “Would you do it with me?” And I said: “Oh that’s a different story. Of course!” On the first day of shooting in London, we drove to work together and he said: “What do you think of the script?” I rolled the window down, threw it out and said: “It’s a piece of junk. The only way this will work is if we swap parts.” But the producers could not digest that, so we just did the picture. Yet we did bring some of our own ideas to the table. There wasn’t an ending, for instance - so Donald and I agreed that we would just walk up the road with our backs to the camera and sing Side By Side. We worked together and we succeeded together, but we didn’t socialise very much – though having the opportunity to develop a relationship with some of his family was a total joy. Once, Donald was making a movie in the Bahamas and I came to visit because I had a week off from making The Long Goodbye and was interested in his leading lady, Jennifer O’Neill. Kiefer, his son, was five or six and Donald introduced us. Kiefer wanted me to stay, so when I said goodbye, I said: “Kiss me, Kiefer.” He had an ice cream cone in his hand and put it on my face – he kissed me with his cone. Donald was a true human being – and not all of us are. He could identify with any of us. His presence and his nature, his life and his mind are an asset for everyone. We all come and go physically, but as a being, he was really special and unique. I don’t put anything in the past. With me, it’s all in the present. My feeling is that for as long as I am living, Donald will be with me. I have no doubt about that, and I’m not being sentimental. I can see Donald now. I will see Donald for ever.

Elliot Gould - Donald Sutherland remembered by Keira Knightley, Elliott Gould, Ralph Fiennes and more in The Guardian

[odinsblog]

One of the most durable myths in recent history is that the religious right, the coalition of conservative evangelicals and fundamentalists, emerged as a political movement in response to the U.S. Supreme Court’s 1973 Roe v. Wade ruling legalizing abortion. The tale goes something like this: Evangelicals, who had been politically quiescent for decades, were so morally outraged by Roe that they resolved to organize in order to overturn it.

This myth of origins is oft repeated by the movement’s leaders. In his 2005 book, Jerry Falwell, the firebrand fundamentalist preacher, recounts his distress upon reading about the ruling in the Jan. 23, 1973, edition of the Lynchburg News: “I sat there staring at the Roe v. Wade story,” Falwell writes, “growing more and more fearful of the consequences of the Supreme Court’s act and wondering why so few voices had been raised against it.” Evangelicals, he decided, needed to organize.

Some of these anti- Roe crusaders even went so far as to call themselves “new abolitionists,” invoking their antebellum predecessors who had fought to eradicate slavery.

But the abortion myth quickly collapses under historical scrutiny. In fact, it wasn’t until 1979—a full six years after Roe—that evangelical leaders, at the behest of conservative activist Paul Weyrich, seized on abortion not for moral reasons, but as a rallying-cry to deny President Jimmy Carter a second term. Why? Because the anti-abortion crusade was more palatable than the religious right’s real motive: protecting segregated schools. So much for the new abolitionism.

Today, evangelicals make up the backbone of the pro-life movement, but it hasn’t always been so. Both before and for several years after Roe, evangelicals were overwhelmingly indifferent to the subject, which they considered a “Catholic issue.” In 1968, for instance, a symposium sponsored by the Christian Medical Society and Christianity Today, the flagship magazine of evangelicalism, refused to characterize abortion as sinful, citing “individual health, family welfare, and social responsibility” as justifications for ending a pregnancy. In 1971, delegates to the Southern Baptist Convention in St. Louis, Missouri, passed a resolution encouraging “Southern Baptists to work for legislation that will allow the possibility of abortion under such conditions as rape, incest, clear evidence of severe fetal deformity, and carefully ascertained evidence of the likelihood of damage to the emotional, mental, and physical health of the mother.” The convention, hardly a redoubt of liberal values, reaffirmed that position in 1974, one year after Roe, and again in 1976.

When the Roe decision was handed down, W. A. Criswell, the Southern Baptist Convention’s former president and pastor of First Baptist Church in Dallas, Texas—also one of the most famous fundamentalists of the 20th century—was pleased: “I have always felt that it was only after a child was born and had a life separate from its mother that it became an individual person,” he said, “and it has always, therefore, seemed to me that what is best for the mother and for the future should be allowed.”

Although a few evangelical voices, including Christianity Today magazine, mildly criticized the ruling, the overwhelming response was silence, even approval. Baptists, in particular, applauded the decision as an appropriate articulation of the division between church and state, between personal morality and state regulation of individual behavior. “Religious liberty, human equality and justice are advanced by the Supreme Court abortion decision,” wrote W. Barry Garrett of Baptist Press.

So what then were the real origins of the religious right? It turns out that the movement can trace its political roots back to a court ruling, but not Roe v. Wade.

In May 1969, a group of African-American parents in Holmes County, Mississippi, sued the Treasury Department to prevent three new whites-only K-12 private academies from securing full tax-exempt status, arguing that their discriminatory policies prevented them from being considered “charitable” institutions. The schools had been founded in the mid-1960s in response to the desegregation of public schools set in motion by the Brown v. Board of Education decision of 1954. In 1969, the first year of desegregation, the number of white students enrolled in public schools in Holmes County dropped from 771 to 28; the following year, that number fell to zero.

In Green v. Kennedy (David Kennedy was secretary of the treasury at the time), decided in January 1970, the plaintiffs won a preliminary injunction, which denied the “segregation academies” tax-exempt status until further review. In the meantime, the government was solidifying its position on such schools. Later that year, President Richard Nixon ordered the Internal Revenue Service to enact a new policy denying tax exemptions to all segregated schools in the United States. Under the provisions of Title VI of the Civil Rights Act, which forbade racial segregation and discrimination, discriminatory schools were not—by definition—“charitable” educational organizations, and therefore they had no claims to tax-exempt status; similarly, donations to such organizations would no longer qualify as tax-deductible contributions.

On June 30, 1971, the United States District Court for the District of Columbia issued its ruling in the case, now Green v. Connally (John Connally had replaced David Kennedy as secretary of the Treasury). The decision upheld the new IRS policy: “Under the Internal Revenue Code, properly construed, racially discriminatory private schools are not entitled to the Federal tax exemption provided for charitable, educational institutions, and persons making gifts to such schools are not entitled to the deductions provided in case of gifts to charitable, educational institutions.”

Paul Weyrich, the late religious conservative political activist and co-founder of the Heritage Foundation, saw his opening.

In the decades following World War II, evangelicals, especially white evangelicals in the North, had drifted toward the Republican Party—inclined in that direction by general Cold War anxieties, vestigial suspicions of Catholicism and well-known evangelist Billy Graham’s very public friendship with Dwight Eisenhower and Richard Nixon. Despite these predilections, though, evangelicals had largely stayed out of the political arena, at least in any organized way. If he could change that, Weyrich reasoned, their large numbers would constitute a formidable voting bloc—one that he could easily marshal behind conservative causes.

“The new political philosophy must be defined by us [conservatives] in moral terms, packaged in non-religious language, and propagated throughout the country by our new coalition,” Weyrich wrote in the mid-1970s. “When political power is achieved, the moral majority will have the opportunity to re-create this great nation.” Weyrich believed that the political possibilities of such a coalition were unlimited. “The leadership, moral philosophy, and workable vehicle are at hand just waiting to be blended and activated,” he wrote. “If the moral majority acts, results could well exceed our wildest dreams.”

But this hypothetical “moral majority” needed a catalyst—a standard around which to rally. For nearly two decades, Weyrich, by his own account, had been trying out different issues, hoping one might pique evangelical interest: pornography, prayer in schools, the proposed Equal Rights Amendment to the Constitution, even abortion. “I was trying to get these people interested in those issues and I utterly failed,” Weyrich recalled at a conference in 1990.

The Green v. Connally ruling provided a necessary first step: It captured the attention of evangelical leaders , especially as the IRS began sending questionnaires to church-related “segregation academies,” including Falwell’s own Lynchburg Christian School, inquiring about their racial policies. Falwell was furious. “In some states,” he famously complained, “It’s easier to open a massage parlor than a Christian school.”

One such school, Bob Jones University—a fundamentalist college in Greenville, South Carolina—was especially obdurate. The IRS had sent its first letter to Bob Jones University in November 1970 to ascertain whether or not it discriminated on the basis of race. The school responded defiantly: It did not admit African Americans.

Although Bob Jones Jr., the school’s founder, argued that racial segregation was mandated by the Bible, Falwell and Weyrich quickly sought to shift the grounds of the debate, framing their opposition in terms of religious freedom rather than in defense of racial segregation. For decades, evangelical leaders had boasted that because their educational institutions accepted no federal money (except for, of course, not having to pay taxes) the government could not tell them how to run their shops—whom to hire or not, whom to admit or reject.

The Civil Rights Act, however, changed that calculus.

(continue reading)

[eetherealgoddess]

ꨄOur Alphaꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Celebrity/Omegaverse Au

❦You have to survive as a maid in a celebrity omegan mansion❦

Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo & Haitani Brothers x Reader

Not fully proofread

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

I know there are different variations of omegaverse with sub gender roles. For this specific story, female alphas are not likely to get pregnant but it’s still possible, the omega males are usually the ones to nurture the child, traditionally. Y/n will have female genitalia. Basically omega females will be impregnated, alpha females may get pregnant by alpha males as well as omega males but omega and alpha males cannot get pregnant. Omegas of both genders get heats while alphas of both genders get ruts.

In this world, omegas are at the top of the hierarchy in sociatel terms because of their divine energy. They’re the nurturers while alphas are seen as aggressive and easy to sway, only thinking with their genitals which is seen as weakness even though omegas can be manipulative and murderous. Alphas are basically used to breed. For heats, alphas can be used but if not then omegas help each other, without the markings and ruts.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Our Alpha

Being an alpha in this world can be challenging. Constantly having to prove yourself no matter the circumstances in which you find yourself in. You could be murdered by an omega and still get blamed for whatever happened to you. Some omegas have even falsely accused alphas of terrible behavior, winning in the process while the alpha gets the most gruesome punishment. Alphas are almost always classified as low class citizens, getting the scraps that the omegas may or may not give.

Sure, there are successful alphas out there but only the few favored by omegas, gaining their way to the top by bargaining their own bodies. Regardless, it’s very dangerous to be an alpha involved with an omega, even if traditionally your instincts yearn for it. Tying yourself to an omega is a life sentence of becoming a slave considering once you bite them, you’re tied together by a bond for life. This is why you have made sure to steer clear of omegas of any gender, getting through your segregated schooling as well as gaining a decent job to survive.

You’ve only had romantic and platonic relationships with other alphas and betas, experiencing sex as any person would without the sub gender roles considering there were no enticing pheromones that could put you in a hypnotic trance. Omegas are naturally pretty creatures, ethereal beauties that can lure you into their traps. You despise their power. You despise your own subgender; to be so easily swayed is embarrassing.

Everything was going well until you got laid off by your job, an omegan bar replacing the building as they always do to alpha companies. It’s as if they’re trying to rid all of the alphas' abilities to live a substantial life without the help or permission of omegas. It was frustrating. You became desperate considering the lack of alpha owned businesses in your area. You had no choice but to find an omegan business that would hire you.

Unfortunately, the only job placement you’d be hired for is a maid, some kind of servant, or sex slave. So you decided to post an offer of your services, desperate for income to be able to afford your small apartment. The only response you received was to become a house maid for the sons of the omegan stars who needed a new maid. Although you’d be living in the mansion, you couldn’t pass the pay that was offered. Considering how high it was, you could live there for a few months and be able to move out on your own when you’ve made enough.

Once your bags were packed you traveled to the area in which you’d be living, passing by beautiful scenery that the alpha territories lack. Alpha areas are very dull and dim whereas the living quarters for omegans were pigmented and beautiful. Once you arrived at the mansion, you were guided by one of the beta butlers to your designated room, setting your luggage down as you were handed your uniform that consisted of black pants and a white shirt. Very plain but convenient for cleaning. Your room consists of a twin sized neatly made bed and a window, along with a desk and dresser. The room is also connected to a small bathroom.

Considering you don’t start until tomorrow, you begin to settle into your new living space, sighing once you are through. Deciding to take a shower, you set clothing to change into on your bed before heading to your shower. After you were done, you wrapped yourself in a towel before walking out of the bathroom, only to be startled by the presence in the room. You stare in shock as the blonde male eyes you as he sits on the bed in a crisscrossed position.

“U-uh can I help you?” You attempt to ask politely.

Having never been around an omega in your lifetime, you instantly could tell that an omega sits in front of you by the sweet smell radiating off of his form. A smell you’ve never had the privilege to sniff. Your body is tense, not wanting to make the wrong move as you know how unpredictable they can be. You keep your anxiety levels low considering they could smell fear a mile away. You’ve taken time to study the ‘predators’ though you’ve never seen one in person which is why you know so much.

He hops off the bed and walks toward you, staring at you with intense black eyes as he studies your form. You shift uncomfortably as you keep a hand on the towel wrapped around your figure, your skin moist from the residue water from the shower.

“You smell sweet for an alpha.” He says with his head tilted, leaning in as your eyes widen. His face stops near your neck as you hear him sniff slightly before pulling back. You wanted to reply with a smart remark but held back, not wanting to risk your life over something so petty.

“Y/n?” You nod.

“Mikey.” You already know their names, their parents are known for being famous as well as their children. You damn near grew up together through the screen, always seeing them on your timeline no matter how many times you blocked omegan accounts. There were even alpha owned accounts who were smitten over the pretty boys.

Without another word, he walks out of the bedroom, not bothering to shut the door. You huff as you shut the door and lock it, although now you know the lock doesn’t really matter. Once you were dressed you went to bed and scrolled on your phone until you fell asleep. Your alarm woke you up at five in the morning, hopping out of the bed reluctantly as you did your morning routine and put your uniform on.

The head beta maid met you at your door right before six o’ clock. You noticed that she wore an actual maid’s dress and not the cheap attire you have on, not that it bothered you. She went over the rules as well as the to do list for each day. She guided you to the cleaning supplies, showing you where to find everything as well as touring the rooms, not entering the male’s rooms considering they were still asleep.

Once she left you on your lonesome, you walked into the living space, dusting the windows and wiping them down with a cloth and cleaner. You dust wipe down the lamps and the light fixtures, moving onto the baseboards and window frames. Once you turned around to continue, you were startled once more, facing two of the males who eyed you. You eye the twins, purple orbs studying you before smirks grow on their faces. Their sweet scent meets your nostrils as you stand there.

“Looks like we got a new plaything, brother.” The shorter one states, hands in his pockets with a mischievous glint in his eyes. You tense as they walk towards you. The oldest one slightly leans over.

“Did you hear about what happened to the previous alpha who worked for us?” He questions with a sly smile. You shook your head in response, curious to know though dreading the response.

“She was such a dirty pervert, spying on us while we undressed.” They slowly circled around you like predators would their prey. Your grip tightens around the dusting brush, eyebrows furrowed as you follow them with your eyes.

“She even watched us while we were in heat. There were more problems before she finally got castrated.”

Castration happens when an alpha is accused of perverted behavior. For the male the penis will get detached as well as for the female's clitoris. It’s a horrific punishment nobody wants to go through. Although there are cases where alphas broke the law and gave into their instincts in a disturbing way, a lot of the times they get falsely accused.

“You know how alphas get when they can’t contain themselves. After all, you are one of them.” Rin says before he stops in front of you along with Ran.

“Not all alphas are the same.” You rebutled with irritation. Of course they would generalize the sub gender.

“No?” Ran chuckles, “I guess we’ll see.” He says before walking away, Rin stops by the window and rubs his hand along the glass, the sound causing you to flinch as you see the smeared handprint form.

“Missed a spot.” When they exited the room, you groaned, spitting a few curses as you got ready to re-wipe the window. You had a feeling that spoiled omegans were going to be difficult.

Hours pass and it’s time to clean their bedrooms. Apparently, they should all be out at this time, working on whatever projects or endeavors they’re famous for which is why you were surprised when you walked into the spacious bedroom, and saw piercing blue eyes narrowing at you. The sweet smell contrasted with the aura of the platinum haired male.

“Get out.”

You didn’t hesitate to comply, saving the room for later and heading to the bedroom next to it. You walk into another spacious bedroom. You could hear the shower running through the door of the bathroom. You decide to rush through the already semi cleaned room so you could get it over with considering you already had another bedroom to come back to.

Tidying the spaces that needed a touch up, you pause when you hear the click of the door opening, not noticing the shower had stopped a few minutes before.

An instant sweet aroma mixed with a fresh scent fumed into your vicinity as you turned towards the male who was holding a towel around his waist. You yelp once he removes the towel, rubbing it against his hair as you turn to grab your equipment.

“Sh-! Uh… I’m sorry!” You say as you rush to the exit, only for a hand to grab your wrist. You kept your gaze down toward the door, not wanting to catch a case.

“Hey, wait. You’re Y/n, right?” He questioned with his index finger and thumb rubbing his chin. His grip only tightened when you nodded your head, gasping as he pulled you into a moist hug. Your eyes are wide as you pause in surprise, the warmth of his body radiating off of him as well as the fumes engulfing your nostrils. His arms snaked around your waist as his face nuzzled in your neck. You ignore the feeling of his limp bulge against your covered thigh. You stare at him with disbelief once he pulls back with a closed eyed smile.

“Kazutora.” He says before he turns around, towel still in hand as he walks to his walk in closet, disappearing into the smaller room. You breathe out heavily as you run out of the room, face warm as you place your hand on your chest.

You couldn’t believe how close he got to you, naked and all. How familiar he acted even though you only just met. You rub a hand over your head as you wipe off any residue shower water, your shirt slightly stained. Once you finished the other bedrooms, you pushed your anxiety to the side to knock on the scarred man’s door. When he didn’t answer after the third knock, you entered anyway. Eager to get done with cleaning for the night so you could eat dinner.

When you saw the room was empty, you began your process, unknown to the prowling eyes on you from the cracked door of the bathroom. You could smell him but you thought it was because you were in his bedroom. You jump when you hear something break. Turning around you eyed Sanzu with confusion as he stood there with his arms crossed.

“Why did you break that?” Your eyebrows furrowed.

“You know I didn’t break that.” You say, missing the glint in his eyes towards your response.

He walks over to a pillar and pushes the vase off. You gasp as you look back at him.

“You’re not a very good maid. So clumsy.” He hissed before yelling for the head maid.

“Yes!” She says when she all but runs to the doorway.

“Look at the mess your new maid has made.” He points to the broken objects. She apologizes on behalf of you before she walks to the storage room to grab a dustpan and broom. You glare at him when he glares at you.

“Such vile creatures you alphas are.” He says before walking out of the room. The head maid runs back into the room, handing you one of the brooms and a dustpan.

“Don’t take it to heart, they taunt the new alphas everytime. You just have to be careful so you don’t end up like the last maid.” She informs you.

“Didn’t she spy on them?” You question as you sweep the mess. She shakes her head.

“Oh no. She wasn’t like that. Not at all. They… well… just be careful Y/n. Try not to gain any more attention than you already have.” You pause from her vague response.

“Can you please tell me? I need to know what to look out for.” She looks up at you before sighing.

“Alright, but you didn’t hear this from me. Apparently, much like you, an alpha was hired as a maid. Unfortunately, they didn’t seem to like her, not that many omegas like alphas initially. Instead of firing her, they made her job harder any chance they got. I guess they got bored of their game considering they set her up, resulting in castration and jail time.”

You gasp. You knew how omegas were but to be at such a risk was terrifying.

“There’s not really a way to dodge them once their minds are set but just try to stay in your lane and just get your job done.”

After dinner, you head to your room to shower and get in bed, searching for the old maid as you feed your fears. You fall into darkness, awaiting for a new day.

A couple weeks pass and time goes smoother than you thought. Besides a little teasing from the twins, you survived two weeks of living in this mansion. Nobody seemed to bother you thankfully. You continued to dodge the men as you completed your daily chores. Having succeeded for the two weeks you felt as though you finally had a little room to breathe. Although you weren’t bothered, you couldn’t help but feel eyes on you everyday. You always ignored the feeling.

The day was finished and you went to take your routined shower, basking in the warmth of the water with your eyes closed. Once you were finished, you turned the faucet off and pulled the curtain back, screaming once you pulled it to cover you once more. Your hand trembled as your eyes were wide, the intruder’s hand gripping the curtain to pull it back as you kept it in place.

“Hey, what are you so shy for?” Kazutora questions with a chuckle.

“What are you doing in my bathroom?” You exclaim, smelling the scent he’s letting off as he fills the room. You cover your nose as you gripped the curtain harder. You yelp when you see him pulling it from the other side, snatching your towel quickly as you cover yourself and hop out of the shower.

“Well, I was bored.” He shrugged as he looked you up and down. “

“C-can you get out? Now!” You growl, frustrated with the situation as you cover your nose once more.

“Why?” His smile drops. “What’s up with the tone?”

You pass him as you walk into your bedroom, turning back to face him.

“K-Kazutora, can you please leave? Just let me change real quick.”

His smile returned, “You’re kinda cute when you’re all flustered. It’s only fair I get to see you naked since you walked in on me.”

“You know that was an accident. That’s not even how it we-. Okay, just please turn around if you’re going to stay here.” You say. He sighs before placing his hands on his hips and turning in the opposite direction.

You quickly dried your body as you frantically put your pajamas on.

“Alright, I’m done.” He turns back around to face you. “Now, what can I do for you?”

Before he answers, Mikey walks into your room as Kazutora hops on your bed. The blonde follows behind.

“What the h-! What is going on? Why are you both in my room?” You had to keep your nose covered from the aroma covering your room by the two men, as if they were scenting your room.

“For you to entertain us.” You shook your head.

“I don’t know what you want me to do so there’s nothing I can do. I have to wake up early to complete my job so…” The door opens revealing another blonde who enters your room, sitting next to Mikey as he leans his head on his shoulder, another smell adding to the fumes.

Following after him were the twins who strolled into the room, one sitting at your desk while the other sat on the dresser. You cover your nose with both hands as you eye the newcomers.

“Look, I know you all probably don’t like me and want to get rid of me like you did the other maid. I can stay in my lane and we don’t even need to cross paths.”

“Are you telling us what to do?” Rin asks in an accusatory manner. Your eyes widen as the omegans glare at you.

“No! I-I’m stating my peace! I’m just trying to work.”

“Why should alphas like you get to work? You’re nothing but breeders.” Sanzu hissed as his fumes became higher. Your face becomes warm as you begin to feel light headed.

“You’re all such weak little things. Look at you.” Ran says as he gives off more of his scent. At this point you’re beginning to see stars as you try not to lose to your instincts, fighting off the rut that’s beginning to come forth.

“What’s the matter, Y/n?” Kazutora questions with a fake look of concern, fumes adding to the rest of the scents as you could barely breathe, sweat dripping down your skin.

Mikey gazes at you quietly with narrowed eyes, studying your movement as your vision becomes blurred.

“It’s only a matter of time before you pounce, so just give in.”

You immediately dash out of the room, running down the hall to the maid’s floor as you remove your hand from your mouth, stopping in front of her door to knock frantically. She opens it, gazing at you with concern. You pant heavily as your hands are on your knees.

“They scented my room. Where else can I sleep? Fortunately with her being a beta, you both switched rooms for the night. You didn’t sleep much, too caught up with your thoughts as you couldn’t believe how you almost went into a rut just by the intense scents. You looked up different rut suppressants, ordering some over the counter after a late night trip to the nearest store. Once you took it, you were finally able to fall asleep.

Few more weeks passed and it’s finally been a month since you moved in, the suppressants helping whenever they used their scents against you. No doubt it caused frustration for the men. They made more messes as well as just being plain rude. They switched the liquid of your cleaners with juice as well as causing messes where you already cleaned. They finally left you alone when they saw none of it was working.

Thinking they gave up, you continued on with your job. Dodging them every chance you got as well as getting used to their schedules so you didn’t run into them. You kept reminding yourself that the pay was worth it until it’s time to go. If only you would’ve noticed the way some of your dirty clothes would disappear or the pairs of eyes on you while you slept. You thought the little knick knacks or random clothing that showed up mysteriously in your room was from the maid, never really having that happen before. You didn’t really know why the other maids began to distance themselves, unknown to the threats that would occur whenever they would come too close.

“Y/n, I need to talk to you.” The head maid states, pulling you to the side out of the kitchen with the chefs.

“What is it?” You ask.

“Y-you need to watch your back.” Your eyebrows furrow. They’ve been leaving you alone so you have no idea what the problem is.

“I think the guys are courting you.” Your eyes widen.

You didn’t know much about courting except that it was a way for alphas to show affection to omegans. Traditionally, not the other way around though it does happen. Omegans have only been doing so to other omegans.

“What? How? Why would they do that?”

“I’ve caught them in your room while-!” Her name was called from a distance.

“I-I’ll tell you later. Just be mindful of your surroundings.” She says before walking off. Your eyebrows furrow as you follow her figure, standing in place.

The next day, her body was found on the ground next to the mansion in a bloody puddle. It was deemed a suicide considering the open window. You mourned for your one and only friend of the house, surprised when a hand was placed on your shoulder as a way to comfort you by Mikey.

One day, your suppressants went missing, causing you to not take them for a few days because you never had time considering you would immediately go to bed after you showered when the chores were finished. Considering they stopped messing with you, the need for the suppressants went out the door. You think back to what the maid was trying to tell you from time to time, not really believing that omegas could have a crush on an alpha like you. There was no reason too, especially since they’re celebrities.

You had just finished showering and getting dressed for bed before a knock on your door echoed. When you opened the door you eyed the omegan maid in confusion.

“Come with me.” She states as she walks off, you following behind.

When you stop in front of the door, she giggles.

“You’re a very lucky alpha.” She says before she opens the door and pushes you in, shutting and locking it behind you. You fall, kneeling to the ground as you look up. Your hands cover your mouth and nose as the fumes take over, the sight in front of you causing your eyes to widen.

The sweet mix of different aromas meet your nostrils as it goes straight to your clit, the intensity of the smell overwhelming you as the air is thick with omegan heat fumes. Panting men lay on a large bed in front of you as they desperately touch themselves, loads of slick everywhere as you hear moans and whimpers.

You’ve never experienced anything like this, desperately clawing at the door as you stand up on your trembling legs. You turn around, kicking the door as you struggle with opening the knob.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Let me out, please!” You realized you’ve been set up, now afraid of castration as you try to keep yourself under control.

“Alpha?” Your breath hitched at the soft voice. Now that you’ve been noticed, you repeatedly kick the door harder as you try to break out.

The scents thicken as you avoid turning around, too scared to eye the vulnerable men. Your head hits the door as tears fall out, sliding down on your knees as you try to keep it together. You jump when a wet hand touches your jaw, forcing you to look into dark eyes.

You tense as you smell the residue slick against your face, tightening the grip over your nose and mouth as the fumes become stronger from Mikey’s closeness. He uses his thumbs to wipe away the tears as he pants, face red with sweat wetting his hair.

“Stop crying.” You want to move his hands away from you and try to break the door down, but if you move your hands you will surely go into a rut.

You hear a moan coming from the bed, the scarred man fingering himself fast as you could hear the squelching of his wet anus.

“Touch me, Alpha!” He demands with his head fallen back. You bite your lip under your hands, pressing yourself against the door as you smell Sanzu’s fumes become stronger, an attempt at luring you in. It almost works, his voice going straight to your core causing an ache to form.

A pain forming from kneeling, you plant your bottom on the floor, preparing to cover your whole face until Mikey pushes his body in between your legs, his hands grabbing your wrists as leans over to your ear.

“I want you to mark me, alpha.”

You shift your gaze to the loud moan coming from the bed, Kazutora face down, ass up with his head looking behind toward you. His heavy lidded eyes are feral as he stares at you, fingers engulfed in his hole as he tugs his hard on, milking his cock as you watch the slick drip on the bed that you now notice has some of your clothes.

You turn your gaze to Ran who is gazing at you while sitting on the bed, rubbing his cock as he bucks his hips, panting with an aroused expression. You could smell all of them from where you sat. Rin kneels in front of you as he hugs your waist before picking you up, carrying you to the bed as you struggle against his grip, tossing you in the middle as you're surrounded by the men in heat.

You shut your eyes tightly, your hands being ripped from your nose and mouth by him.

“You’re taking too long.” He hissed before he pinned your wrists above your head.

“Stop! You don’t want this!” You yell as your shirt is torn by Sanzu, your pants being tugged down by Mikey.

“Please! I don’t want to be castrated or binded!” You exclaim, tears falling as you feel your rut being triggered by all of the overwhelming fumes.

Two palms grab your face from behind as you gaze above you with teary eyes, residue slick from his hands rubbing against your face.

“We’ll protect you, alpha.” Kazutora gives a dazed smile before his lips meet yours, your eyes wide as his neck blocks your view. The color in your eyes dim as you fight off the rut to the best of your abilities, the instincts taking over as your pupils dilate.

Once Kazutora pulls back, you gasp at the feeling of a thick girth entering your pussy. Glazed over purple eyes stare down at you while his hips pull back before shoving back into you. Ran leans over as one of his hands reaches behind your neck as his face nuzzles on the opposite side.

“I couldn’t wait, alpha. S’ fucking good.” He rutts inside of you, not bothering to go slow as you grunt and moan, eyes shutting closed tightly. His beautiful moans reach your ear as well as the other omegans who were touching themselves by the heated sight, waiting their turn. Kazutora and Rin grab your hands, circling your fingers around their cocks as they thrust desperately against your hands.

After a while, Ran pulls out of you, picking you up before you are turned over on all fours. Sanzu positioned himself under you as he forced you to drop on his cock. Ran’s wet cock easing into your ass as it stretches, the slick on him making it less painful. They both release moans as they buck their hips. You pant against Sanzu’s neck, trying not to lose it.

“Bite me. Make me yours alpha.” Sanzu says against your ear as he moves your hand to wrap it around his throat. Your fangs come out, biting your lip to prevent yourself from tying any bonds no matter how tempted you were to do it. Blood drips on his shoulder from your lip as they accelerate their speed.

Your hand grips his neck causing him to moan out your name. You curse as your body rocks in between them, both men going harder as the slick oozes out of your holes.

“God, you want it so bad Y/n. I can smell it from you.” Kazutora groans as his head falls back, his hand tugging his erection as he breathes heavily. Mikey shifts to kneeling beside your face.

“His neck is bare for you. How could you pass the opportunity for such a pretty omega?” You whimper against Sanzu’s skin, whispering, “Fuck!”

“I’ll be so good for you, alpha.”

“Please!” You beg for them to stop with their words.

“Come on, Y/n. We’re giving you permission.” Rin breathes out as he rubs his wet cock. Finally, your eyes darken, panting, you insert your fangs into Sanzu’s neck, drawing out a loud whine from him.

“Yes, alpha!”

By the end of their assault, you had ended up losing your senses to your rut, marking each of their necks as they all pounded into you. You were knocked out, lying in the bed full of nests made by your own clothes mixed in with theirs. You were scented as you breathed heavily stuck in a deep slumber. They are bound to you forever as you are to them. Your position as a maid was dropped now that you are living with them for good. Your worst nightmare came true and now you’re stuck to be the omegan’s alpha. Your own freedom has been ripped from you, though at least you weren’t castrated.

[bones4thecats]

Hi it's me again if you could can you please do a twst ace x reader fluff but it could be totally up to you 🫶🏻

Future! Ace Trappola & S/O ; Fluff Quote

Character: Ace Trappola Requester: 🫶🏻Anon A/N: OMG THIS IS SO FREAKING ADORABLE ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Bullying and self-image issues (don't worry, Mama Reader and Papa Ace are here to fix it) ⚠️

Disclaimer: Set in non-canon future and Ace + S/O have a daughter

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Ace Trappola ═══════════════════════════╝

🪅 You smiled at Ace as he tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, a familiar song playing on the radio as you both drove to pick up your daughter from her school

🪅 The song was playing relatively lightly, as if it was background music in a movie. Not enough to block out voices and sounds, but just enough to allow the silence to be nonexistent

🪅 Ace parked the car and stepped outside, you did the same and heard as he locked the doors and walked around to go inside beside you. He twirled the keys around his fingers before plopping them down inside your purse while you walked together

🪅 You were excited to see your baby girl. She had gone of a little trip with her dance class at her school and got to see some productions and learn about how everything worked behind the scenes, which was something she was really happy to get to do

🪅 Your husband chuckled as you gripped your purse's strap and walked inside, a little hop in your step as he held the door open for you to pass through

🪅 It was right after you walked inside that you were met by an associate of your daughter's school, specifically the Principal

"Ah, Principal Pip! What can we do for you?"

"May I speak to you both in my office. It's about Casi."

🪅 Glancing at your husband, you nervously nodded and followed after the older man. You knew your daughter was a troublemaker like her father, but she also knew when to be polite and understanding, so why would she in this much trouble?

🪅 Principal Pip sat down in his chair as he motioned for you two take seats across from him. He lifted some papers and straightened them out before adjusting his position in his chair and sighing

"What is your home life like Mr. and Mrs. Trappola?"

"I'm not sure why that's important to something our daughter did." Ace said.

🪅 Adjusting his glasses, he picked up a paper and handed it to Ace, making you furrow your eyebrows and look over what it said in messy handwriting

🪅 You knew this handwriting was Casi's. It was slightly messy like Ace's, but had a slight amount of class in it like yours did

"Do you know what that says?" Asked the Principal.

🪅 As you read the paper, Ace's eyes widened and his grip on the material sharpened, alerting you

"If you are assuming my daughter wrote this you're mistaken." He said sternly.

"Oh, I know Casi didn't write it."

"Then why are you showing us this hunk of shit?!" Ace asked, a slight yell in his voice.

"Ace." You said, holding his left hand in assurance.

🪅 Taking the now-crumpled paper out of Ace's right hand, you handed it back to the Principal, to which he nodded and thanked you before sitting back into his chair

"This paper was given to me by her dance teacher, Mrs. Marigold. She said she found it on the ground after Casi ran outside of the classroom crying."

"Someone gave her that?" You asked, shock being obvious.

"Correct."

"Who?" You asked.

🪅 Principal Pip sighed before running a hand through his hair and grabbing another paper from the small, segregated pile beside the larger ones

"It was given to Casi by this young girl," he said, handing you a photograph. "This is the new girl of the class. Her name's Amaryllis Hawthorn."

🪅 Looking down at the photo of the young girl, you were confused. She looked so sweet here, how could she do such a horrible thing to your daughter?

🪅 You handed the photo back to Pip as you sighed and nervously played with your fingers. This was supposed to be an amazing couple days for your daughter, not an experience that would gain self-image issues...

🪅 Ace bunched his fists and sighed, allowing his knuckles to pop under the pressure of his grip

"Where's Casi now?" He asked.

"She's just in that room on the left, two doors down the hall."

🪅 Nodding, you both stood up and headed for the room. The door opened with a light push, and you both saw your daughter sitting beside another associate, this one being the school nurse, Lacy Teagarden

🪅 Lacy stood up and pointed to you and your husband, telling Casi to go give you guys a hug. Casi stood and ran to you, wrapped her small arms around your neck and pulling you close so she could cry into your neck

"Hey, sweetheart. It's okay, Mama and Papa are here now." Ace assured, his arms wrapping around both of you as Lacy walked out of the room.

"Mama?"

"Yes, baby?"

"Am I ugly?"

"No... you are the most beautiful and sweetest little girl that I have ever met in my life. Just because that Hawthorn girl said that in that note doesn't mean it's true."

"Really?"

"Of course."

🪅 Pecking Casi's nose, she giggled, tears slowly stopping being made while Ace reached up and began tickling her side as you stood up and watched as he picked his daughter up and twirled with her in his arms

🪅 You took out a tissue from your purse and began to clean up Casi's face from any tears. She just sniffled from the previous crying as you tossed the now-damp cloth in the nearby trash can

🪅 Ace saw you pull your hands up and adjust her skirt around her waist, fluffing it out slightly as you looked your daughter dead in the eyes as you spoke once again

"Don't let people discourage you. Just fluff out your tutu and dance away."

[the-badger-mole]

i've scrolled through your blog quite a bit, and one thing i haven't seen you talk about (though maybe i just didn't scroll far enough) was the scene where sokka is wearing the kyoshi warrior uniform.

i've seen so many people say "wow, the show is really taking a stance against toxic masculinity! sokka wore a dress! it humbled him!" but if you actually watch the show . . .

it wants you to laugh at that, actually. it's one of my least favorite lines from aang. sokka is repeating something suki told him about what different parts of the uniform represent or something like that and he's looking pretty proud, but then aang walks by and says "hey sokka, nice dress" and laughs. and that's never walked back and aang's never punished. so the narrative is clearly pushing that . . . what aang said was okay? but if what aang said was okay, then that means that sokka wearing a dress was meant to be laughed at, right?

anyway, i don't understand how people watch that scene and take away "wow, that scene was so progressive! sokka wore a dress!" yeah . . . we as the audience are supposed to laugh at it. it's supposed to be funny. because boy in dress can't be taken seriously! it has to be a joke!

and i don't understand how people watch that scene and like aang. that was his first major red flag for me. like??? it get that he's twelve and a little shitster, but as you've said so many times, his age isn't an excuse to not hold him accountable. in fact, his immaturity means he should be held extra accountable, so he doesn't end up the same little shitster as an adult. the end of that episode should have had aang apologize to suki (who was also there when aang made that comment iirc). that comment was demeaning and threw away the entire point of that scene (and episode, honestly) in just four words. it demeaned the kyoshi customs and culture, and it completely throws away the point of suki telling sokka "if you want to train with me, you have to follow all our traditions" (paraphrase, not real quote).

anyway aang sucks, and if you've already talked about this, sorry. but if you haven't would love to hear your thoughts.

Of all the things that I think are wrong with Aang, his sexism is pretty low. That's not to say I don't think he's got the potential to be sexist, I just don't think it's occurred to him. He grew up in a gender segregated monastery. I wouldn't be surprised if Katara was the first girl around his own age that he'd spent any time with at all. What were the monks teaching him about girls, and why they were separated? Who knows? Clearly, he knew enough to ridicule Sokka for wearing a dress and to be upset about being played by a woman in EIP. Aang does have some sexist tendencies, but I don't think he's thought through the implications enough to actually be outright sexist. His worst moments have to do with his cultural biases, and an Air Nomad superiority complex. One of his worst moments had to do with him being disrespectful towards Bato about SWT artifacts.

The most obvious potential example of his sexism the way he treats Katara throughout the series, at least on the surface, but while there was absolutely sexism involved in how Katara was treated, I think it was more sexism in the writers room than in Aang himself. With Aang, it was less sexism, and more general entitlement. He wanted Katara. Her feelings didn't matter, not because she was a girl, but because she was an object. I've pointed out before that Nightmares and Daydreams proved that he understood what enthusiastic consent is, but he never even considered her feelings enough to think that she could turn him down. He was very entitled about Katara's affections and even her body, but I don't think the entitlement would've been different if the genders were reversed (look at how entitled Korra felt to Mako), or even if Aang and Katara were both boys.

I'm sure someone else could find more examples of Aang being overtly sexist- in fact, I remember reading a really good meta about Aang's reaction to being played by a woman in EIP, but I can't remember who wrote it. Still, don't think it matters if Aang was sexist or not. He's more toxic than Sokka ever was, even without being overtly sexist. Sokka, at least, was open to learning and growing, and his sexism was never that deep. But Aang? He never gets the opportunity to grow, because his bad traits are never called out like Sokka's are. I'm convinced that Aang benefits from cute privilege within the fandom. If Aang was a year or two older, and looked like Sokka or Zuko, he'd be right up there with Ross Gellar and Ted Mosby in the Nice Guys Who Aren't Actually That Nice pantheon, but because he's got big ears, chubby cheeks, and a big ol' smile, he gets a pass.

[femoso-seben]

Monster fic:

Human Shaped Monsters

Blood bathed the soil. It spans decades, and at this point, there is no way either side could turn back, and strike a deal for peace. The humans who have been enslaved and the monsters who were belittled and forced into segregation for centuries.

Blood soil the hands of both leading sides, eyes shrouded by hatred and rage. This was a war to end either species… and the humans were losing.

Two decades before the start of this war there was a faction of monsters pushing for equal rights and humans siding with them. Not even that solidarity could bring both sides together. It started with peace and ended in the blood of an innocent.

The human resistance was shrinking and the leading factions began to divide a plan. A last-ditch for freedom.

Rabies.

It was a slow race, the first to be infected were the werewolves and other beastmen. It was a long wave of modification by a small group of scientists. They made sure it could jump to every other monster, the only free of it were, mermaids, gargoyles, and shadow beings.

They made it with no cure.

It was an overnight success. Their militaries begin to fall into smithereens. One by one they had to kill their own forces and burn their corpses. New fear spread across the monsters.

The humans leaked the information.

The fear of humans was raised again.

Switzerland was the only country that allowed humans and Monsters to live together, of course, there were some apartheid laws but in all of was far better than other countries where they were actual slaves, broodmares, pets, and cattle.

It was a painful year for the Monsters before they decided to come to a ceasefire with the remnant of free humanity.

They meet up in neutral territory, Switzerland.

Laswell’s wing folds flatly against her back as she looks over to see her escort, Task Force 141, and shadow company’s Graves. “Are you sure about this?” Price was in his wings folding.

“I don’t like making concessions to them but if they have a cure—“

“I doubt it,” Soap snears, “knowing that vermin they were trying to kill us off.” He grips the door his long nails scrapping the metal door, his tail swishing angrily.

“Kate Laswell,” a feminine voice calls out, they all turn to see a young human woman standing there flanking her side is a monster in tactical gear. Laswell walked forward and they followed after them.

“Are you part of the delegation?” Laswell asks. The human looks up.

“Well, I’m part of the… welcoming committee, we in Switzerland don’t want war.” The human smiles her dark auburn hair was pull back into a low ponytail.

“A bunch of cowards and weaklings,” Soap smears. The soap didn’t always hate humans, he grew to hate them. In his youth, he was to stay in love with one until another human took her. He watched as they destroyed the world, their corruption throwing the world into a near-constant war.

He hated them.

“What would Santana think?” The human girl asks, Soap found himself sneering at the human woman for being up his old love.

“She’s not here because of you-“

“That was far before my time.”

“You’re young,” Gaz notes.

“Well, this country is made up of refugees, our parents fought to be free.” The human said side eyeing the Harpy.

Gaz didn’t like humans, he had no fold memory of that human or that human in his mind where they showed their famed humanity. He has only seen their bigotry. His home was napalmed by war. He hated humans too.

“Why aren’t we needing at the capital?” Graves asks looking around. The sun was setting and he could see the beautiful landscape of Switzerland’s countryside.

“Too many people live there, too many anxieties. Here if war breaks out not so many people be hurt.” Soap snorts but looks around the air is smooth and clean, far less dusty than the battlefield.

“Mother Maia,” the human woman calls out. There in the setting Sun of a large building, what used to look like a big retail store was a woman taking down hung sheets.

“As Jezebel,” the woman’s sweet voice calls out. “Are these the monster’s delegates?”

“Yup,” the group stops in front of this strange woman. She was in all black, with no skin showing beside her hands. She didn’t look Muslim just… like a Victorian woman in mourning. It was nostalgic for Graves he couldn’t stop smiling, her dark veil covering her hair and face. “How are the kids?”

“It’s dinner, you know how the little werewolves get, so territorial. Then the gargoyles want to sit at the top. The dragons are trying to hord people.”

“Is Michael sweet-talking people for food again?”

“Of course, you can’t stop young sirens from praying on others, especially on crawfish night.”

“Crawfish? Damn now I’m hungry-“

“We’ll take your group to the meeting point and if you get their fast enough and back we might still have some leftovers.” The woman in black tease.

“C’mon, let’s hurry,” Jezebel said rushing the group of monsters.

“What is that place?” Ghost asks. There were monsters there? And a human talking so nonchalantly about them too.

“That’s an orphanage, government sponsored, that’s the head director, Mother Maia.”

“Is she a nun?” Soap asks. Jezebel cackles and turn to him.

“Nope she’s a former Sniper, before retiring only a few weeks ago.” A cold chill run down tje monster’s bodies.

“What was her name?”

“Something like the pale death.” The monster stopped walking Soap nearly ran back to that woman to kill her.

“Relax Johnny it’s a bad idea to kill her here.” Ghost said resting his stone hands on his friend’s shoulder. Soap bared his fangs but let his shoulder sag.

“That bitch has killed dozen of our men-”

“Hey,” Jezebel said, “you better be careful this is her boyfriend right here,” Jezebel pointed to the armed monster next to him. He was a humanoid monster, maybe a wraith… that would make sense at night he was the most powerful.

“Traitor,” Gaz glared at the shorter male who had a strange antenna coming from his helmet.

“C’mon, let’s keep going I’m missing out on delisting crawfish!” Jezebel practically jogged to the meeting point.

“Look at her, so carefree. Humans truly disgust me.” Soap whispers to Gaz who flew slightly above him.

“I know mate, they only care for themselves, and discriminate against those that differ from them.” The moment they got to the meeting Jezebel took off.

—————————— /\ ——————————

“Mother Maia?” The woman in black looks up and walks up to the group of monster. Walking into the giant old building. The inside was converted into a home.

“Yes?” She asks.

“They wanted to see the orphanage a little more,” assistant Andres said, his wolf tail swinging side to side.

“Of course come in—”

“That killer in in charge of our kind?” Soap sneers, walking up to her. His eyes widened she was quite tall for a human, 6ft.

A set of low growls ooze out from the back as a small group of five teenage boys stalked in, they were young Werewolf pups. They got in between her and him.

“Who the fuck are you pendejo?” One asks his accented English rolls off his tongue.

“She killed our kind—”

“You killed your kind! My parents were killed by cunts like you,” the Australian boy shouts.

Soap glared at the young boys in front of him. They were young, stupid, and weak. A few had missing eyes, and arms, and one missing a leg. In the order of monsters, they should be dead.

“Enough!” Mother Maia snaps loudly, pulling the young alpha back. She leans down. In a low tone, she said, “Go protect the other orphanage.” Soap frown, another orphanage? The young back sneered at him one last time and stalked off.

“Have some grace, most of them were maimed by the monster’s militia when their parents tried to flee. Most of their parents were either murdered in front of them or eaten.” A chill ran down 141’s back.

“Mate—”

“Of course, we have some monsters affected by humans, but humans wouldn’t let a single monster live. These survivors or victims of you.” Mother Maia said setting the basket closed down.

“So, pale death-“ Graves walk over a smirk on his face.

“Killed anyone of them?”

“They are my children, don’t you know? Human pack bond with anyone.” She said in the same flirty tone as Graves. She clears her throat and looks at the greater whole, “where would you like to begin?”

“What type of monsters do you have?” Gaz asks looking around, he can smell a plethora of monsters, even prey monsters.

“We have beast men, harpies, mermaids, fairies, shark born, dragons, gargoyles, vampires-“ a group of bats came flying in and transformed small little kids running up to Mother Maia.

“We’re hungry.”

“Go to the kitchen.”

“How do you feed them?” Graves asks, there was about six of them the oldest no older than twelve.

“Donation of course, this country knows blood from monsters and humans are welcome. Of course, we have animals.” Graves subconsciously nods. “We have a few turned, they don’t want human blood.”

“We also have pray hybrids.”

“To feed-“

“No.” Mother Maia cuts off Price.

“Come I’ll show you the barn,” Mother Maia turned and led the group. There in the back was a large barn, it smelled like a barn.

“Lenard,” Mother Maia calls out, a figure jumps down and a young gargoyle appears, “we’re bringing in some guess, go tell Jin.”

“Jin isn’t gonna like this… not these unknown predators in his camp.”

“I know but go tell him,” The gargoyle nods and flies off.

Mother Maia turns to them, the veil is getting annoying, and the strange clinking sound as she walks. “Don’t eat anyone of them, I’ll kill you.” Her tone turns from sweet and welcoming to cold and cruel.

She opens the barn.

Screams erupt.

There was many cattle hybrids. Sheep, goats, alpacas, llamas, cows, and even some deer. They all backed up and only one thing approached a small girl screaming.

“Yumna-“

“Get out!” She shouts. She was a stout girl? And from the marking of her fur, honey badger.

“Do they have to be here?” A new voice asks in the arms of Lenard was a boy, Jin. The horns said it all along with the one wing, dragon. This was his hord.

“Quit,” Mother Maia said, silencing the barn.

“As you can see we have farmed more prey species since they don’t want to be killed or eaten. We’re leaving now,” she pushed everyone out and close the barn after Lenard who climb back onto his perch.

“So…” Price smiles blowing out his cigar smoke, “that’s his castle and hord?”

“Indeed.”

They begin to walk far into the fields small predictor hybrids poke their heads up and watch them leave before going back to playing. They walked for a few miles to the ledge of a cliff down below the ocean.

“We don’t have any big trees, so most of the Harpies live on the cliffs in huts, down below in our seaways are Merfolks and shark borns. Of course, as you see another gargoyle and in the water an eastern dragon born.” Gaz eyes widen seeing the little harpies flying around. It reminded him of home.

“Priscilla,” Mother Maia calls out, a young woman in her early Twenties or late teens walked up. Gaz thought she was human at first until he noticed her feet. She was a wingless harpy. Gaz felt feather’s raising anger boiling under his skin. She inched her way closer Gorgyle behind her.

“Since Harpies are communal and the boldest of the youth train the harpies to fly, but since Priscilla had her wings ripped off most of the young harpies don’t fly.” Mother Maia said.

“We can!” One shout, from the cliffs their small heads and raptor eyes glued on them. “We just… don’t want to.” The little boy said shyly.

“And in the small brush forest we have the smaller pray species and a pack of werewolves.”

“A pack?” Soap asks, “there’s more than one?” Mother Maia nods.

“We have five they like doing mock battles to see who gets five feet of territory into another’s back, it’s all friendly games they come together to defend this area when needed.” Soap couldn’t help but smile, maybe if he was younger this would be a great place to create a pack.

“I can teach them how to fly,” Gaz said mindlessly staring at the cliff where there were probably over 20 harpies. All the young children and the oldest were younger than him, they wouldn’t survive if they couldn’t fly.

“Really?” Priscilla said her shoulder feathers raising in excitement.

“We’re staying here a few days.” They two turn to another Maia for an answer.

“You have to ask Baihu.” Pricilla cringed and sighed, “As the most senior member of this community and the oldest, it’s your duty.” Pricilla nods.

“Alright let’s go asks him, c’mon.” She begins to walk to the cliff Gaz following suit.

“Isn’t it a little cruel to have a human looking after a monster?” Soap ask.

“Not at all my counterpart is a monster taking care of humans, his hord.”

“This seems too perfect.”

______________________

Word count: 2.2K Would you be interested in this being a full fic?

Inspire by @bluegiragi @gremlingottoosilly

taglist: @kkaaaagt 

Part 2

[thetxtdevil]

The Vampire Hunter pt. 1

Vampire Kai x Hunter Reader

summary: In a supernatural world, you find your city facing troubles with a particular vampire who is threatening many humans lives, luckily you're a hunter for the supernatural and you intend to capture the bloodsucker.

content: mentions of blood, vampires and other supernatural beings, soobin makes an appearance

word count: 1.5k

pt. 1 -> pt. 2 -> pt. 3

in a world of humans and the supernatural,

strange things become more normal as time goes on. ghosts roam the shelves of public libraries, werewolves guide other creatures and humans through woodsy trails, all lives became less segregated. while there is the police force patrolling the safety of humans, there are supernatural hunters keeping the balance of the supernatural race and human race. both sides find this beneficial as it kept humans from any harm of stronger beasts and creatures away from retaliating humans.

you were one of the said supernatural hunters, a good one at that. so to your dismay when you attend the city's hunter meeting you find out that there was a feral vampire in the area. the lead hunter shows a board of a map of the city showing where this vampire has been and pictures of victims the bloodsucker has close to having killed. you sit there squinting at the map in focus.

"and why haven't we captured this vampire yet?" you interrupt the speech.

the lead stops mid-sentence trying to find the words. "ah well, y/n you see they're too hard to track, we don't know their personal information, and no clan has claimed them"

you lean back at your chair nodding. you understand the hardships of a vampire without a clan, even though they are independent creatures they tend to do well with a support group.

"i'll take the assignment."

"y/n, many hunters have tried but as you can see some of them came back dangerously wounded"

you look at the board recognizing some faces, "really, i wonder why you didn't put me on this assignment in the first place."

you snatch the folder about the wild vampire out of the lead's hands. the leader roll his eyes at your cockiness.

"be careful y/n"

✥✥✥

it was a brisk night in the city, gusts of wind drifted litter from the ground into the air, people hugging themselves to keep warm. you walk the sidewalk that framed the many tall buildings of the city. citizens passing you minding their businesses not noticing your attired covered with classic vampire weapons and in your hand a heavy trash bag. you come upon an alleyway that seemed like a perfect place to satisfy the hunger of a blood-lust vampire. the first steps in the alley glowed golden hues from the street lights, but the further you went in it was dark radiating blue from the night sky.

when studying the vampire's whereabouts you concluded that this creature did not have a certain pattern other than drinking secretly in alleyways like this one. reaching in your pocket for gloves putting them on to open the black trash bag that held pig hearts. pig hearts were not only similar to size and appearance but the blood was also vaguely similar. one by one you laid the muscles zigzag until it reached the end of the lane. here you stood with a wooden stake in you hand pointing straight out to stab any visitors that come your way.

hours passing by you shift in your spot, becoming uncomfortable from standing in one position for a long time. you knew this could be an all nighter, but the cool weather and silence made you ache. then you hear pigeons from the street all at once taking flight, you knew someone was coming. you blink and open your eyes to see a silhouette of a tall man at the end of the alley. your grip on the stake was tight.

the man walks into the back alley investigating its current state. bending down to pick up one of the pig hearts taking a closer look. the man's eyes widen after smelling the muscle concluding that this is what he was smelling a few blocks back. he opens his mouth to snack on the bloody meat.

a gust of wind brushes against your skin, the air moving towards the preoccupied vampire. the creature's red eyes glows when he catches the scent of you. he looks over your way to see your shadowed figure standing at the end of the alley. you felt a flash of wind on your face but it wasn't the air it was the vampire himself now barely an inch from you.

the vampire hovers over you breathing heavy, looking down at you with his bright crimson eyes. his vision is blurry from your intoxicating scent, so blurry that he doesn't notice that he got too close to your stake. his chest impelled and his senses overloaded, you had enough strength to grab his arm to twist him around so now his back is towards your chest and fangs away from you. the pain engulfs the vampire which sends his in a downward spiral loosing conciseness.

✥✥✥

in your cabin, you sit on your reading chair taking sips of your freshly made coffee. the rising sun seeps through the tall windows of the room making the space feel warm. you smile to yourself as you watch the news casting on your living room tv. the news anchor claims that the spontaneous vampire attacks that have been happening in the city has been subsided.

as soon as you get comfortable in your chair covering your body with a blanket and taking a big gulp of your coffee, you hear distinct noises. you sigh knowing your cozy morning will have to come to an end. you scramble out of your chair to walk to the noises of groans and chains clashing together. opening the door of what would be a guest room but now your supernatural jail.

the vampire was sitting up on the bed which was set in the middle of the room. handcuffed to make sure the reckless vampire doesn't use his powers for his sake. the man was wearing baggy clothes covering his lean physique only his top is torn from your chest stab. thanks to his immortal abilities the wound is now gone. he was slumped over, long dark brown hair hiding his face, his nose was the only facial feature you could see of his. from your experience you could tell this was a newly turned vampire as he had a modern look to him and no courtesy of his blood hunt.

"why... how am i here?" his raspy voice fills the room

"you know why and i brought you here"

the man clenches his jaw, tugging hard at the silver chains.

"i have my ways to get you the way you are now" you smirk to yourself, only you know the struggle you had dragging the tall stature out of that alley all the way to your cabin in the outskirts of the city. "listen, you will now live with me until you get your act together, i don't want to see anymore victims falling prey to you"

"but,,, it tastes so good" he dramatically lies down on the plush bed.

you refrain from chuckling at the pathetic sight before you. your suspicions of the man being a new vampire were being confirmed as a old vampires would instantly insert their dominance towards you. although his weak front was shown, you were not all too comfortable with the vampire so you keep your distance and leave him to sulk.

walking out of the groggy room that held the vampire. you close the door to the room and stood there leaning your forehead on the wood. this bloodsucker needed training and fast because you don't know how long those chains are going to last. reaching for your phone to look through your contacts many were mystical friends and it was time to call your good ol' vampire friend. you walk back to your blanketed reading chair with little knowledge that the captured man was watching intently to your shadowed footsteps from the crack of the closed door. i'll get a taste of that sweetness someday.

holding the phone up to your ear while you play with the loose strings of your blanket, a few rings went by until you hear a familiar voice, "y/n long time no see... i assume you caught that vampire"

"yeah no help from you, soobin" you roll your eyes, even though you're friends, vampires still have their antics. the supernatural lived equally with humans they still preferred to do what they did before modern days. that being said you weren't surprised that soobin, a well developed vampire, wouldn’t fret when there was a vampire going around having the time of their eternal life.

"since i have the baby vampire in custody could you help train him?"

"what do i get out of it?"

"hmm, you can add another vampire to your clan"

soobin hums through the phone, noticing the hesitation you let out an audible sigh.

"fine, i'll try to find a way to have a whole blood bank truck for you to have for a whole night"

"sounds good, but you know blood taste much better straight out of a human..."

"do you know who you're talking to?"

"yeah okay..." soobin sighs

just like that you two begin planning the training for the little bat. hoping you and the new vampire will someday become good friends.

✤✣✤ -> pt. 2

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

[makerinthemaking]

neil gaiman is a fucking zionist.

"b-but neil gaiman simply said both israel AND palestine have a right to exist!! that doesn't make him a zioni--" yes the fuck it does u privileged ignorant fucks. i shouldn't have to fuckin say this but y'all will say anything for the sake of defending the brits ig? even throwing those being mass genocided rn under the bus?

i used to admire the guy 'til i found out what he's believed, the genocidal state he supports the existence of, & continues to stand by what he said.

israel DOESN'T have a right exist.

not as it is, not as it's been & will always be. a genocidal state built on stolen land. its very citizens have shaped into a culture of discrimination, see the shit they post about palestinians. see questionnaires & statistics. segregation laws many of them gladly endorse. this ain't just the politicians (who have been loud in their prospects of ethnic extermination to allow for more land stealing) nor is it abt jews, abt neil's or anyone's jewish background. plenty jews speaking up against this bullshit, & already there were jewish ppl living in palestine before colonization (brought by an illegitimate act of imposed imperialism & not one palestinian representative in sight. the UK must also be held accountable but they won't be). dare y'all to tell me it shouldn't be the goal to give the land & the power back to its indigenous colonized peoples, regardless of the oppressing settlers already being... settled. it ain't the native peoples' problem to figure out, esp when so many of the colonizing settlers will support the shit thrown at palestinians. there's maybe like 1000 palestinians losses for very israeli casualty. US cops r trained by Israel, not to mention Israel equips them w shit to k1ll minorities in the US. Palestinians stand by BLM & gave advice on how to dodge gas & bullets during protests. they stood by Malcolm X & Black Panthers. BIPOC oppression & fight has always aligned w Palestinians'. israel freely enjoys basics & luxuries & will fuss abt the silliest shit like not getting enough diet flour at the moment, while publicly segregating & making racist mock of palestinians for literally not having access to basic shit like water & shelter & for getting their population violently cleansed & decimated while in an open-air prison. they're not even allowed to try & leave without risk of getting killed, & they're bombed even where Israel directs them it's safe to go (like South Gaza!) but why should they leave? it's THEIR land. would be successful cultural genocide. & now Israel declines offers to recover Israeli hostages just bc they don't wanna return infant Palestinian hostages, & instead Israel bombs places where ISRAELI hostages may be kept. even target-bomb hospitals, houses. freed Israeli hostages come out saying how appalled they are at how Israel failed them & keeps failing them. Israel's also been stealing & jailing/target killing palestinian children for ages. this mass killing's been going on for decades, yet Palestine is demonized by media when they try defend themselves. ain't no matter of "two sides" & "neutrality" when one side is oppressed & the other the oppressor. hamas is israel's oppression fault (& their politics actually see them as a convenience). actual palestinians have stated again & again they don't just want the genocide to end, they also want their stolen land back & the genocidal invasor state to be dismantled. which is what's right. the state of israel often has to delete its own posts cuz they're always found to be fabricated, falsified shit against palestinians, now western jewish AND christian celebrities post abt how "scared" they are, from the safety of their mansions & limos. it was already illegal to wear traditional muslim attire in anti-muslim countries such as france, now it's illegal to even peacefully protest for palestine & if u do ur thrown in jail as a terrorist or deported. these countries publicly support israel. israel has the army the means & the world's support, palestine's been in need of support & neilman ain't helping. should just shut his goddmn mouth. ain't he the one getting genocided this day. i dare that moron neilman to come at me i'll fucking have him, he's just like any other people who won't let themselves be educated anyway. not by us, much less by the oppressed people of palestine, the ones actually getting the shitty end of this situation. im so done. bland fuckin spineless "liberals". so quick to defend the british. stop fucking defending rich public figures online & do something for the persecuted ppl actually getting killed rn.

they're never on equal footing when it's 15 goliaths against 1 david.

no, israel shouldn't fucking exist & neil gaiman is a fucking zionist for even saying it should. not sorry i said this - palestinians r getting worse than rudely worded posts.

not a war. GENOCIDE.

[zeroseuniverse]

Not A Monster

╚══•●•══╝

Jungkook X Reader Word Count: 1.6K Warnings: Segregation (Mutants), Nurse Jungkook X Doctor Reader, Cursing, Injuries.

The most common way people give up their power is by assuming they have none. That is the mindset, the ideals, the lifestyle that is needed to survive this world. The world is encouraging segregation and oppression of those who are different. Nobody knows where exactly the mutant gene came from, but what they did know? It was spreading like wildfire, new inventions coming out to suppress the new abilities presenting themselves left and right.  

“An inhibitor? What type?” she questioned as she moved through the mutant hospital, her feet keeping a fast pace to keep up with Jungkook, the nurse who was leading her to the latest critical case.

“It’s a muzzle of some kind, he was caught hiding in an abandoned warehouse, he’s undocumented, when officers found him, he tried to use what they believe was a supersonic scream to incapacitate them. They were bleeding from the ears,  so I checked with the normies wing, they’re all fine and expected to make a full recovery.” The tattooed man explained lifting his arm to push aside the curtain for the woman, her hands staying nestled in her pockets like they usually were. 

“No offense Jeon, but I don’t give a shit about the officers, they’re not any more important than my patient.” She said plainly, leaving the nurse slightly pouting from the dry response, he wished the doctor would praise his efforts every once in a while. The man huffed before spinning on his heel and heading back to the nurse's station to meet Jimin and Taehyung, the other nurses who seemed to be goofing off rather than working at the moment both men immediately sensed the added presence, the two looked up at the doe-eyed man with teasing grins.

“Did you strike out again, Jeon?” Taehyung teased, promptly throwing his hands up to cover his face as Jungkook threw a pen at him. 

“Watch the face!!!” Jimin yelped, also throwing his hands up to protect Tae, “It’s the only thing he’s got going for him.” 

“Yah!” Taehyung yelled in offense, smacking his hands on both of the giggling offenders.

“Don’t you three have anything better to do than goof around?” Jin wondered as he walked up to the nurse's station, passing a file over to Jimin to put away.

“Yes,” The three let out shamefully, sticking their tongue out at the man's back as soon as he turned around. 

“I saw that!” Y/N called as she strode past the nurses, not even looking up from her case file. Jungkook’s eyes honed onto her gloved hands, pouting when he realized they were still covered, he often wondered if that was the only reason he was so dead set on getting her to warm up to him, he was unbelievably curious about her quirk. 

He saw her lip lift just slightly into a smirk. He had never seen that much emotion on her face in a long time. He excitedly turned to his friends hoping that they both caught the motion too, the two were giggling at his excitement, both shooting him a thumbs up.  His day was made.

—

She wasn’t always that way, she used to be the sweetest person in school, and that’s what drew him in. When she was pulled out of school for a month, he was so worried, until she reappeared a completely different person; However, Jungkook wasn’t going to move on.  If she said jump, he’d ask how high, if she called, he’d come running. Maybe she knew that, maybe she was so aware that he could be the best person to help her in her time of need, maybe he was the only one she felt so strongly about that she stayed as far away as possible to keep him safe. She had watched him from afar for years, having shared so many classes in school, of course, she’d fall for him. The sweet boy who always considers everyone else, a silent protector, that’s what she knew him as. Especially when snacks began to appear in her locker, she caught him in the act a few times, giggling as he struggled with her lock while holding the snacks, his tongue rolling out and resting on his lips as he focused on the task.

Maybe it was these memories that led her to his apartment that night, the faith that he could help her and not repeat a word of it to anyone if she asked. She weakly pounded on the door, suddenly not feeling too confident as she stood vulnerable in front of his door, the creeping feeling of doubt climbed up her being, sending her to spin on her heel the longer she was left to wait. The door swung open, revealing the man pulling a grey shirt down his torso, he looked at her bewildered. He ran his doe eyes down her body, to confirm she was there. “Help,” She muttered in pain.

When his eyes caught on to the wounds and torn clothing that littered her body he gasped, a hand reaching out to pull her into his home, “What happened to you?” He asked, hands and feet immediately moving to grab his first aid kit to help tend to her wounds. 

“Sentinels. The bastards caught me going home from work and scanned me, they started beating me, I had to.” She explained, the last statement coming out so much quieter, almost unsure of it, “I had to.” She repeated, like a mantra hoping that she could begin believing it herself.

“Okay, Okay, you had to do what?” Jungkook questioned again, getting on his knees after sitting her on the couch and beginning to tend to her leg wounds. His hands were moving swiftly but with the gentle touch, you’d see someone use when caring for a porcelain doll.

“I had to, Jeon, I had to, I promise I’m not a monster, I never met to hurt anyone.” She sputtered, her eyes watering, a few tears falling as she began to panic thinking of her actions.

“Hey, I don’t think you’re a monster I could never. But can you give me a rundown? Or do you want to wait until I’m done fixing you up and we get you some food and water.” He offered, coming level with her face, searching her eyes trying to show her that he did in fact care. After she agreed to wait, he continued his work, moving up her body til he tended to the very last wound on her head, he nurtured every wound with the tenderest touch before leveling his eyes with her own once again. 

“You will never be a monster. You’re just trying to survive. We all are, this world isn’t safe for any of us, mutants or humans. Whatever you did, I’m sure you did it to survive.”

“They just kept going, I tried to hold off, but then they brought out the batons and… I was so scared, Jungkook, I thought I was going to die.” She explained, choking some words out here and there as tears once again welled up. “My ability…I’m not proud of it, I hid it as long as I could.”

“You’re undocumented?” Jungkook wondered, his hand moving to cup her cheek, thumb wiping away her tears as they rolled down. She sniffled as she nodded her head almost a small bit. “What’s your….” He trailed awkwardly not knowing if it was an appropriate question, or maybe for better terms a comfortable question.

“I…I absorb energy when I touch people, skin-to-skin contact, it’s why I wear gloves.” She explained, fidgeting slightly with her torn gloves.

“I’ve been touching your skin this whole time…” Jungkook stated, not doubting her but noting that maybe there was something more that she wasn’t seeing. Her brows came together in confusion before drifting her eyes to focus on his hand that was still resting on her cheek, zoning into her senses she did indeed feel energy sinking into her skin but he looked just as healthy, with no sign of discomfort that usually follows skin to skin contact. She was confused.

Jungkook brought his hand down grabbing her hand instead of touching where the exposed skin was, he didn’t feel anything but euphoric by being able to be this close to her, it was odd. 

–

“So you can’t touch anyone at all?” He wondered as he moved around the kitchen to cook up some food, he had been asking questions for about 20 minutes now, and this was about the 3rd time he’d asked this one.

“Well, I don’t know anymore considering you’re still standing.” She answered, “Why are you so focused on this specific question?”

“Because it means a lot of things.” He shrugged, moving the pan off of the burner before turning to face her, leaning forward to rest his elbow on the counter, a position that was all too enticing for her mental state.

“Have you ever held hands with someone? No gloves?” when he saw her shake her head, he maneuvered slightly closer,” Have you ever .... hugged someone?” she shook her head yet again, and he stood to his full height, walking around the counter to stand in front of him. Her heart was beating faster and faster every time he moved closer, his eyes were still locked on her own, never breaking contact. “Have you ever kissed someone.” it wasn’t a question, it was a challenge and as she shook her head, his eyes dropped looking at her lips he leaned in just a little further, his lips nearly brushing her own. “Can I try something?” He wondered, and for the first time in what felt like forever she nodded, and he wasted no time. Both of the two hungry after years of starvation, both feeling overpowered with the energy surging, she was almost high off of the energy he was radiating and he was feeling calm, like he was finally able to relax and rest his demons were at rest, and as her arms looped around his neck, he knew he was home.  For now. 

[separatist-apologist]

I Knew You Were Trouble

Summary: After a disaster on Earth sends humans to live on colonies on different planets, Feyre Archeron's life has become impossibly difficult. The Federation meant to protect and provide for human refugees has abandoned them on a hostile planet that forbids them from hunting and has segregated them from the rest of the population.

When her older sister starts an accidental fire in an attempt to revitalize the barren land, Feyre comes face to face with one of the infamous, dreaded Horde Kings. They strike a bargain- her servitude for her sisters life. Now, trapped in his horde, Feyre has to acclimate to a new life and the demands of the man who took her- and hope she can survive him.

Based on the book Captive of the Horde King.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Read on AO3

The pikis returned that evening and though they tried, Feyre refused to speak to either of them. Why, when they’d turn around and tell the horde king everything she said should it benefit them. Perhaps they were angling for a chance in his bed? 

Unlikely.

Nuala, with cheeks flushed with what Feyre assumed was embarrassment, spoke to her anyway. She explained the roles of pikis in-depth, perhaps thinking it would engender Feyre to her. As she bathed Feyre, she said pikis served the wives of the horde warriors, which made no sense to Feyre. She wasn’t the horde king's wife—she was his whore. 

It was apparently a custom for unmarried women—females, as they called themselves—to do this in order to attract a mate of their own. The unclaimed males would see how well they did, that the horde king had hand chosen them for his plaything, and apparently it made the other warriors find them marriageable. Feyre couldn’t imagine how, and part of her wanted to explain how humans did it.

There had been true customs in the past—she knew her father had courted her mother with money and gifts before they’d dated for a period of time, and then they’d married. Now, though, it was simpler. For either love or security—sometimes both—partners were chosen. There was no grand ceremony, no one to perform the rites. It typically happened among families behind closed door. One day they lived separately, the next they were together. 

Had Elain already reached out to Graysen, she wondered? He had connections to the federation—perhaps he could get her off the planet. Maybe Nesta would go, too. The thought made Feyre’s chest ache. She didn’t want to be left here alone, used up and discarded before dumped back in the village she hated.

She’d never get off. 

Feyre kept her eyes down as the piki prepared her for the brute she was saddled with. This was the promise she’d made him—and it was too much to hope he’d honor his word and not touch her until she healed. She supposed the piki had also told him she refused the salve. Perhaps he’d only said it to lower her guard, knowing he’d go back on his word just as soon as it suited her. 

When a mirror was held before her painted face, Feyre hated what she saw looking back. She barely looked human, let alone alive. Once again, Feyre thought she looked like a heathen gods plaything in her sheer night dress that covered nothing. The piki had somehow managed to set soft waves into her hair and made her face seem brighter despite the hollow hunger she could see gazing from her eyes. 

She doubted the horde king cared much about her own desire or interests beyond getting what he wanted. Still. Once it was done a few times, he might tire of her entirely. She couldn’t imagine, with a horde of women his own species to choose from, he’d stay interested in her for long. 

The piki left just as the sun had fully set, leaving Feyre kneeling on the edge of the bed, eyes cast down. She had but minutes before he arrived, and she intended to take advantage of it. She didn’t trust him not to hurt her, to maybe even kill her in the pursuit of pleasure. The horde king was careless—there were several sharp, curved daggers half hidden around his tent. Feyre stole one, sliding it beneath her pillow.

Just in case, she told herself.

The flaps moved just as she’d righted the pillows. Kneeling on the furs, she hoped she looked demure and submissive and not guilty. She certainly felt it. He seemed wary looking at her—perhaps it was the uncharacteristic silence she greeted him with. 

“I’m tired,” he announced. Feyre felt her irritation rise, though she swallowed it. 

Grit your teeth and bear it. 

She knew what to expect, at least. Did the Drakkari use any kind of protection, she wondered? Feyre had wedged half a lemon into her body before letting Isaac have her. Something told her the horde king wasn’t going to allow that. What would he do if she ended up with a half Drakkari, half human child?

She shoved the thought from her mind. Feyre very much doubted they were compatible that way. Surely this man—male, whatever—wasn’t the first to take a human woman. If it was possible, Feyre would have heard by now.

He dropped his belt without ceremony, turning toward her as she raised her eyes to look at him. He was trying to get a rise out of her, to provoke a little temper. Did he want her to fight him?

She wouldn’t. Not unless she had to, anyway, just to ensure she remained unrestrained for as long as possible.

“This was not how I imagined this moment,” he murmured as he came to stand before her. “Will you speak to me, kalles?”

“What do you want me to say?” she replied, hating how her voice betrayed her. “Take me, horde king, my body is yours?”

He cocked his head. “Yes,” he admitted.

“You’ll never hear those words,” she scoffed, hands forming fists at her side.

“You are mine,” he snarled in return, clearly frustrated. It had been a day, she wanted to scream—a day in which he’d examined her naked body, pinned her against him and forced her to eat, and dressed her up like his personal pet. Did he genuinely expect her to fall to her knees in gratitude?

Looking up at him, it was clear he did. For a moment, it occurred to Feyre that he might think he’d rescued her from her previous circumstances. It was arrogant of him to assume he’d saved her at all—that she’d required his presence, that he’d fixed her life.

All he’d done was made her more miserable than she already was. Feyre loathed seeing how the Drakkari lived, with all their opulent excess. No one was hungry here. Everyone was absurdly clean, they were safe, they were happy. She seethed with her resentment that she wasn’t even allowed to participate in it—only ever witnessed as an outsider, forced to obey the whims of truly cruel man.

Feyre only shrugged her shoulders before laying flat on her back with exaggerated boredom. She’d hoped to get away with not undressing, but he’d caught her.

“Stand, Morakkari,” he murmured, a strange reverence seeping into his tone. Morakkari. What did that mean? Feyre sat up, trying to hide her frustration as she did what he wanted.

“You swore to serve me,” he murmured, standing before her utterly naked. Feyre was trying not to notice his erect cock but it was hard. Even with her eyes fully on his face, she could see it bobbing from the corner of her eye. Must everything about him be so excessive? So large? 

Feyre lifted her chin, the little defiance she could offer when the odds were so against her. The horde king reached for her shoulders, brushing his fingers over the sheer material of the gown.

“Do you like this?”

“It’s clothes,” Feyre replied with a shrug. In truth, it was likely the nicest thing

His mouth dropped immediately, his frown prominent. “What would please you?”

Feyre didn’t dare answer that question to the naked male standing in front of her. “Just tell me what you want.”

He blew out a frustrated breath. “Take off your nightdress,” he ordered, removing his hands from her. His slow seduction had been ruined by her refusal to play along, but Feyre preferred it this way. The less touching, the better. Feyre dropped it, letting him once again look at her. There should have been lust—and perhaps there was—but it made her uncomfortable to see his concern.

“You didn’t eat today.” It was an accusation.

“And I never will,” she replied, heart pounding in her chest.

“I’ll give you something, if you do,” he said, catching her off guard. 

“What could you possibly give me?” she demanded, certain what he was offering hung between his legs. 

He seemed guarded—almost wary, as he said, “What do you want?”

Feyre considered this for a moment. “Anything?”

His brows furrowed, creating two creases between his eyes. “Do not order me to kill myself, kalles.”

Feyre hadn’t even considered that. Indignant, she said, “I wasn’t going to! I was going to ask…”

Feyre bit her inner cheek as he dared a step toward her, seemingly forgetting they were both naked. The Drakkari seemed more casual when it came to nudity—perhaps this was simply familiar to him. It seemed strange to Feyre, though. Intimate in a vulnerable way, even. Resisting the urge to cover her chest, Feyre said, “I want to know your name.”

He cocked his head, considering this. “Names have power, kalles. Are you asking to have power over me?”

“I just want to know what to call you.”

“No one can ever know,” he replied, perhaps assuming she was going to announce it to everyone she met. Maybe she would, if she felt so inclined, though some small sliver of guilt wormed its way into her stomach. 

“Who would I tell?” Feyre heard herself say, voice small and sad. “I only know you.”

There was a pause. “If I tell you my name, you’ll eat?”

“Broth only,” Feyre informed him, thinking he’d lay out a massive spread she’d never be able to finish without vomiting. Besides, she still felt guilty when she looked around at how nice everything was here, even if he was about to push her to the bed and have his way with her. 

“You’ll eat the portion I serve you?” he demanded. There was a trick to it, though Feyre was too tired to figure it out.

She nodded. “Fine.”

He swallowed, as if it pained him to say this. Perhaps it was just unusual given no one shared names, except for herself. Or maybe this was some kind of violation, telling his stolen whore his name only to have it used against him.

“My name is Rhysand,” he finally said, the words coming so softly that they felt like a dream. “But you, Morakkari, should call me Rhys.”

“Rhys,” she whispered, catching how his eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “What happens now?”

“Exactly what I promised,” he said, though he hesitated as he looked down at her. “I’m…”

“Yes, horde king?” she pressed, certain he wasn’t going to now. He should, though. This was too intimate, too soft. Push her to the bed—force himself on her. At least she could go back to thoroughly hating him then. It would be so easy. 

He sighed, crouching for her nightdress. Feyre didn’t dare move as he fixed the fabric before sliding it over her head. Like a child, she held her arms up to get them into the sleeves. “Sleep with me tonight,” he murmured, climbing into the bed utterly naked. Feyre stood there dumbfounded.

“What about—”

“Veekor, kallas,” he murmured, reaching for her. “Sleep.”

He was warm, his hold strong. Feyre let him pull her against his chest, a million questions running through her mind. “Can I ask you other things?”

He groaned. “In the morning.”

Feyre felt him angle his pelvis away from her, well aware his cock was still rigid. It was a small gesture he didn’t need to make and it bothered her. “I have questions.”

“Yes, your questions are endless, I imagine,” he replied, his mouth in her hair. “I want to hear them. In the morning.”

“What did you do that made you so exhausted?” she demanded.

“I spoke with you. That’s enough.”

She twisted to find his unserious face smiling down at her. “You’re rude.”

“So you say, kalles.”

“Would you call me Feyre?” she asked him after a moment. “Where I’m from…female is an insult.”

He paused. “But you are a female.”

“No, I’m a woman,” she protested as he snorted.

“Same thing.”

“No, it’s not. When…when human men want to put women back in their place and remind us we’re lesser, they call us females. It’s how you’d describe an animal. They’re more…elevated, I guess? But we’re little more than cattle.”

Rhys blinked. “Why would they want you to believe you’re lesser?”

“The same reason you took me to be your whore, I guess? Power?”

Rhys sat up quickly, the fur covering his body sliding to his waist. “My what?” he demanded, tone thundering. 

“Your whore,” Feyre repeated, careful to keep her tone even. “Remember when you exchanged my sisters life in favor of servitude—”

“I never said whore,” he replied, those violet eyes flashing. He was so strange to her right then with his tail, tattooed gold right before the little tuft at the end. Those dark, nearly colorless eyes were staring so intently that Feyre thought he could see right down to her bones if he wanted to.

“You said kasikkari,” she reminded him. “Whore.”

He spluttered then, murmuring what sounded like both curse and prayer to his goddess “It does not mean whore.”

Feyre stilled, suddenly wishing she hadn’t brought this up. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, desperately wanting to avoid whatever came next. “We should—”

“It means mate,” he continued, determined she would hear him. “Blessed by Kakkari herself.”

“Rhys—”

“Not my whore. My mate, my wife, my Morakkari—my queen.”

Feyre was going to be sick. In a way, that was the best she could have hoped for, and yet…Feyre’s mind turned immediately to a man Nesta had a brief flirtation with—Tomas Sr. and his wife. He’d beaten her behind closed doors, taking his every little frustration out on his wife and no one had ever said a word because wives were the property of their husbands.

And she was the property of the horde king. Tomas had no power at all and still was allowed to do whatever he liked. The people here couldn’t even look at Rhys. If he wanted to harm her, who was going to help her? Her own piki told him everything she said. She had no friends, no allies.

Feyre felt her chest rising and falling, her breath coming in short, panicked pants. He was going to kill her, she realized. There was no escape, no way she’d convince him to let her go back home once he tired of her. All her plans were crumbling around her because wives couldn’t leave. 

She felt his hand on her back, rubbing a line down her spine as he murmured something she couldn’t hear. Blood roared in her ears and right then, Feyre was determined to escape, no matter the cost. She had the weapon under her pillow. She could wait until he was asleep and kill him before escaping on foot. She’d lay low for a while—maybe in the mountains? 

“Don’t touch me,” she managed, pulling further away from him. “Don’t ever touch me.” His jaw clenched, eyes going dark, but Rhys said nothing. Feyre gripped her knees, chin tucked against her chest as she worked to settle her racing heart. 

You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re okay. You’re safe.

It was an old mantra she’d repeated from the time she was young. It didn’t need to be true to settle her down, it just needed to be repeated. Feyre had never been safe a day in her life, and she certainly wasn’t here. But she had herself, and Feyre had never let herself down. Not when it mattered.

Rhys settled back to the bed, covering himself while he waited for her to make a decision. Every inch of him was taut, coiled like a waiting spring. He expected her to try and run and was prepared to grab her. Feyre wasn’t stupid. She knew better. It was pure hell to force herself to lay beside him, rolling to her side so her back faced him.

She heard him huff out a breath, like he wanted to say something before thinking better of it. Smart. Feyre knew if he tried to talk to her, her temper would get the better of her and she’d give away the only card in her hand. 

Just breathe.

“Feyre—”

“Not tonight,” she snapped, silencing him entirely. “Sleep, remember?”

He huffed again, clearly not used to being told what to do. He was silent, his breath steadying as Feyre laid beside him, counting slowly in her head in an attempt to make it seem like she was sleeping. Once, she’d started to move to her back and he’d made a soft noise, reaching for her before Feyre slapped his hand away.

If he felt it, he gave no indication. His breathing was even and slow and didn’t budge even when, this time, Feyre did move. She tested how deep he slept by sitting up and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. His eyes remained closed, his face soft. She almost didn’t believe this man—male—slept at all.

Pulling her legs back to the bed, Feyre reached beneath her pillow for the Drakkari blade. The metal sang softly against the scabbard it was sheathed in, causing her to suck in a breath as her heart pounded. Had he heard? 

Rhys didn’t move. 

Feyre crept closer, thinking of the people she’d killed in her village. She knew how to end a life, now. One decisive slide against his throat would keep him from screaming, and a second to his chest—piercing the hard breastplate—would stop his heart. He’d be dead before he knew what was happening, and she’d have the necessary head start to avoid his warriors. 

Still, her hand trembled as she brought that curved blade to his throat. Unlike the dagger that had been taken from her, this one was sharp—capable. Feyre took a breath, willing herself to move, but her vision was flooded with the sight of red blood as the echoes of the gasping filled her senses.

Fingers curled around her wrist. “Have I displeased you, kasikkari?”

His grip was iron-clad, keeping her from cutting him open but also preventing her from moving away. She’d been so lost in her memories that Ferye hadn’t noticed his eyes had opened and he was watching her. 

“I’m not your wife. Not yet,” Feyre hissed, trying to jerk back. The blade made contact with his throat, causing a thin line of flood to slide over his golden brown skin. The horde king didn’t react. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed, but Feyre did. 

“Where have you gone, kasikkari?” he whispered, his gaze burning against her skin. “I know that look.”

Feyre hated him for noticing. No one else ever had. Feyre tried to pull back but he was stronger, yanking her forward until he had her on top of him, straddling his waist. His free hand held her in place, and fuck him, he was erect and pressed against her body. The only thing between them was her night dress, so thin there might as well be nothing at all.

Feyre’s body responded against her will and she knew he felt the rush of heat that flooded between her legs.

“Tell me,” he ordered.

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” she snarled in response. 

“You swore to serve me in all things,” he reminded her, darkness creeping into his tone. “Answer me.”

Feyre managed to break free from his hold, falling off the bed as she did so. The knife slid from her hand and she could have impaled herself on the sharp blade had Rhys not caught it easily, flinging it across the room. The blade hit one of the golden chests at the far end of the tent, clattering loudly. 

“I didn’t swear to tell you all my thoughts!” Feyre replied, her voice rising in anger.

“You will do whatever I ask you to!” he growled, rising from the bed like a terrifying, dark king. Feyre was almost afraid of him at that moment, even when she reached for her sandal lined on the floor nearby. His eyes flashed. “Do not do whatever it is you’re thinking.”

“I hate you,” she whispered, launching the sandal at his face. Rhys caught it easily, tossing it to the side as he advanced toward her. Feyre threw her other shoe, which he batted away from his face without blinking. “I’ll always hate you.”

“You will be my wife,” he breathed, reaching for her. Feyre stumbled back, nearly at the flap of the tent. “My queen! I will fill you with my heirs and you will bear warriors for the horde, and you will like it!”

“I agreed to be your whore!” she shot back, screaming her words loud enough that anyone near them could easily hear. “I never agreed to be your wife or your queen! You may have my body, but you can have nothing else!”

“Know this, kasikkari,” he breathed, reaching for his discarded trousers instead of her. “When the Black Moon rises, you will be my wife and I will have you in all ways—your body and your mind.”

He stormed from the tent, unconcerned with his nakedness. Feyre didn’t bother chasing after him to tell him he was wrong. Maybe he would get her body, but he’d never have her mind. Feyre would fight him until she died. 

Rhys didn’t return that evening and Feyre didn’t sleep, waiting for a continuation of their argument. Instead, the piki were back, regarding her with wary eyes as they coaxed her into the bath. Remind her of her promise to the Vorakkar, they brought a massive bowl of broth for her to consume. It was nearly too much and yet a welcome reprieve from nothing at all. 

She barely finished it, protesting when she had a third left. The piki merely regarded her without sympathy, informing her the Vorakkar would be displeased if she didn’t. He’d given her his name—this was the bargain between them. Feyre did, strangely satisfied by the end of it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been full. 

“I’m not wearing that,” Feyre informed them when the small skirt was brought out. “I’d rather walk around naked.”

That was a lie, but the piki weren’t Rhys. They weren’t about to call her bluff, either. After they realized she would not put the clothes on, even with cajoling and several threats to get the Vorakkar, the two left, she assumed to bring him back so he and Feyre could have another go at each other. 

Instead, a different woman stepped into the tent. She had similar features to Rhys—and was easily just as beautiful. Feyre had never seen hair so blonde on Drakkari before, but this woman’s cornflower hair fell in glossy waves down her back. Her eyes were closer to the Drakkari gold so many others had, though a shade darker—almost brown. They reminded her of her sister Elain, if she was honest. 

“Hello,” she said in a sunny voice. 

Feyre was immediately suspicious. “Who are you?”

“Morrigan,” she said without an ounce of concern she’d shared her name with Feyre. “Do not tell me yours.”

“Because names have power?” Feyre asked in a huff. Morrigan smiled, a pretty thing even in the gloom of the tent.

“Exactly. You’re learning. I heard you refuse to wear the clothes I provided for you?”

Oh, was that what this was about? She’d offended the seamstress? “You made the clothes?” 

Tail swishing behind her, Morrigan looked around the tent. “And lent you some, yes. I saw the rags you came in with—I burned them, by the way.”

“Of course you did,” Feyre replied through gritted teeth. “And my dagger?”

“Some of the young are playing with it,” she said dismissively, eyes flicking toward the flap of the tent. “It’s not dangerous.”

“It was all I had.”

“That’s sad,” Morrigan replied, back to examining Feyre. “I would be surprised if the blade could slice through butter.”

“Did you come to insult me?”

“Why not?” Morrigan replied with a shrug, her gaze flicking toward the golden chests before turning back to look at Feyre fully. “You insult the horde so well. My cousin is unwilling to give you any back, but I am not so kind.”

“How have I insulted the horde?” Feyre demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

Morrigan’s clawed, six-fingered hand unfurled so she could tick off the insults. “I hear you will not eat. You do not wear our clothing, you shout at our Vorakkar, you hide in this tent all day and night making your demands, you have—”

“He kidnapped me!” Feyre nearly exploded.

Morrigan wasn’t impressed. “You disrespect our goddess Kakkari, burn the land and then lie when our warrior come to repay the goddess. Lie, even. And then, I hear, you swear to serve only to turn around and act ungrateful for the mercy of my horde. Or do I misunderstand? I speak the universal tongue best of us all…but sometimes I do not get it right.”

“I agreed to be his whore—”

“Ah, yes, we all heard that,” Morrigan replied, tail swishing angrily behind her. “You are content to be a whore but not a queen. Humans are so curious—I should think being a respected member of our horde would be better than…that. But enlighten me, kallas. What is so offensive about becoming Morakkari?”

“I don’t want to be his wife,” Feyre retorted stubbornly, feeling a little shamed by Rhys’s apparent cousin. She saw it, then—the similar features, the near-otherworldly beauty. Even the way she conducted herself screamed royalty. Though if she was or not, Feyre wasn’t sure. She didn’t understand how someone became a horde king to begin with.

“Have a lot of suitors back in your human village?” Morrigan asked, her voice deceptively sweet. “Perhaps someone who puts our Vorakkar to shame? I would be careful if I were you—he’s likely to end them if he learns your feelings lay elsewhere.”

Feyre wanted to sink into the ground. “There’s no one else.”

“Then explain it all to me,” Morrigan replied, plopping down on one of the large cushions beside the table. “Perhaps I can ease some of your worries.”

Feyre stayed standing just long enough for Morrigan to huff out an impatient sigh. “Sit,” she ordered, and something in her voice compelled Feyre to comply. She left space between them, just in case Morrigan decided to attack her. Those claws, painted gold, seemed deadly enough. 

“I came to save my sisters. I thought…” Eyes cast downward, Feyre didn’t dare admit what the female beside her was piecing together.

“You thought you’d let him bed you a few times, he’d grow tired, and let you go?” she guessed. 

“Yes,” Feyre whispered, embarrassed by the whole thing. “Men have never been interested in me. I thought he simply wanted to punish me.”

“Males have never liked you?” Morrigan asked with slight disbelief. “Human males are blind, I suppose? You have been all the horde warriors have spoken of since we arrived—the human kalles and her great beauty. Well…and how you looked the Vorakkar in the eyes.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Feyre demanded.

“It isn’t done,” Morrigan replied casually, reaching across her chest into the satchel she’d brought. She pulled out a long strip of folded leather and laid it out in front of her. “I suppose the Morakkari is allowed. But the rest of us would be showing great disrespect to look him in the eyes.”

“Even you?”

“Especially me,” she said with a playful smile. “Though, he tolerates it on occasion. When we were children, I used to do it simply to remind him he wasn’t that special.” Feyre tried—and failed—to hide her smile. She didn’t want to like Morrigan.

“Is that why no one will look at me?”

“It is,” Morrigan agreed. “It would be disrespectful to you and our Vorakkar. I hope you don’t mind—”

“Please,” Feyre said, a little embarrassed by how badly she wanted to talk to someone who wasn’t so deferential. “At least…in private, it would be nice. Humans look each other in the eye to convey respect.”

“Interesting,” Morrigan replied, eyes shining. “And they take whores before they take wives?”

“Noooo…” Feyre dragged out the syllables, because she didn’t know how to explain that marriages as they’d once been simply didn’t exist here. “It’s complicated.”

“So you say,” Morrigan replied, sliding a razor between her teeth as she drew across the leather with a piece of white chalk. “Most things aren’t that complicated.”

“Oh yeah? Like the Vorakkar taking a human for a wife?”

“Exactly,” Morrigan said, words muffled. She pulled it out, urging Feyre to stand so she could measure her hips, waist, and legs. “He decided he would take a wife and that wife is you. Simple.”

“And everyone agrees with his decision?”

Morrigan grimaced. “Nik, they do not. But he is the Vorakkar, so he will do as he wishes.”

“And if people decide to leave?”

“They’re free to return to Dothik if they wish. No one here is a hostage…except, perhaps, you in your mind. They won’t, though. Everyone here would gladly follow the Vorakkar anywhere, even if he has a human Morakkari. They might even like you if you stopped screaming at him and left the tent.”

“Or they’d hate me more,” Feyre said glumly, not bothering to add that nearly everyone else in her life did. Even her sisters didn’t truly like her—seeing Nesta speak out in her defense had been shocking and unexpected. If she’d been Elain, perhaps it would have been different, but Feyre and Nesta had always been at odds.

“I like you,” Morrigan informed her cheerfully, jotting some things down on the leather with the white chalk. “And I came prepared to hate you.”

Feyre sat back down gingerly, her body measured for whatever Morrigan was putting together for her. “What am I supposed to do?”

“What do you know of our goddess? Kakkari?”

“Very little,” Feyre admitted, fidgeting with her hands in her lap. Morrigan pulled out heavy thread from her bag and a curved needle, threading it with deft fingers.

“Kakkari is all life,” she began in that soft, lilting voice of hers. “Think of her as the earth—all life comes from her. She is steady and solid. Her counterpart is Drukkar, who is her foundation. If she is steady and forgiving, he is the opposite. Violent storms, punishing droughts, unrelenting heat—all is Drukkars wrath. And still, Kakkari always opens for him and accepts him, and in return he loves her, protects her, and punishes all that would harm her.”

Feyre only blinked. Humans had once had gods, too, though she figured they’d been destroyed along with her planet. She didn’t know the stories anymore. Nesta did, and sometimes clung to them when they were younger, praying to this god or that, for all the good it did any of them. It all felt like stories meant to explain a confusing and harsh world.” It was clear that the Drakkari believed in their gods, though. Feyre kept her mouth shut.

“The Vorakkar is much like Drukkar,” Morrigan said when it was clearly Feyre had missed the subtleties. “He is still a male.”

Again, the whole conversation was lost on Feyre. “Oh. Okay.”

“If you want things from him, open up for him,” Morrigan explained, all but spelling it out for Feyre. She laughed to herself, shaking that head of golden hair “Drakkari males worship their females.”

“Rh—the, uh, Vorakkar doesn’t…”

Morrigan glanced over, pressing her lips into a line as Feyre’s mind betrayed her. She’d held a knife to his throat and he’d simply tossed it to the side. He’d threatened to have his way with her twice and stopped, both times because she was hurt and frightened. Even last night after their fight, he’d left rather than push her further.

“Where is he?”

“Gone,” Morrigan replied with a shrug of delicate shoulders. 

“Gone?” Feyre demanded. 

“Yes, gone. Out with some warriors. And do not ask me when he will return because that is something you should know. I am certain he will return—the Black Moon is nearly upon us. He won’t want to miss it.”

“Yeah, he mentioned that,” she said glumly.

“He’s ordered a tassimara,” Morrigan said, before quickly explaining it was something equivalent to a marriage. It seemed to be more of a festival than anything, but he’d make his intentions known then and there would be no argument or debate from anyone. The emphasis Morrigan put on that word implied that Feyre, too, would keep her mouth shut as well. 

Morrigan left not too long after that, promising to have a decent compromise for Feyre in the form of a pair of pants. Maybe she’d feel better if it was only her breasts that were exposed rather than all of her. Feyre turned over Morrigan's words—who later insisted she call her Mor—for the two nights Rhys wasn’t home. Heart pounding, she’d begun to think he wasn’t coming at all.

That something might have happened to him and she’d be trapped here in a hostile place, with no friends or allies save for his cousin.

But the night before the infamous Black Moon, she heard the ground thunder beneath the feet of the pyroki. Feyre stepped into the cold evening air, ignoring the chill to watch the eight of them ride in.

There he was.

The man who would be her husband. Their eyes locked for only a moment before he trotted on. He’d be in to see her soon.

And she’d be ready. 

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

When Zoe-oneesama was still mapping out her plans for Scarlet Lady, she made an observation that two of canon!Sabrina’s biggest issues with her own personality are that she operates on both Mean Girl Logic AND Sidekick/Assistant/Slave Logic, which I agree with. This is evident in how, like you said, there are just as many moments — especially earlier on in the show — where Sabrina is gleefully going along with what Chloe wants as there are where she’s shrinking away or scared. Zoe also pointed out how this is highlighted in Evillustrator when Sabrina is trying to switch to being Marinette’s best friend and immediately tries to ingratiate herself by suggesting that they tell the teacher on Chloe and that she does Marinette’s homework. How would you handle a redemption or even just character growth arc for Sabrina with these main flaws in mind?

Here’s the OG post for reference (just for the Sabrina parts, not necessarily the SL parts since a few things were altered for the actual comic): https://zoe-oneesama.tumblr.com/post/180211248479/i-only-have-one-question-about-scarlet

(Link to the post that spawned this ask and a clickable link for @zoe-oneesama's post, which I'll also schedule to reblog the same day as this one if you don't feel like clicking a link)

Zoe is wise and makes excellent points. I've really enjoyed her comic's take on Sabrina and fully agree that people-pleasing Marinette is a poor choice for the character to help Sabrina be a better person in most situations. Marinette is great at standing up to those that she doesn't like, but once she cares about a person, she can be a bit of a pushover, which is a deeply relatable struggle. It's much harder to stand up to people when you care about them and want them to like you.

Adrien would be an even worse person to redeem Sabrina since he's even more of a people-pleaser! Marinette will at least stand up to her enemies, Adrien struggles to stand up to anyone.

This makes it hard to redeem Sabrina in canon because these two are our main characters. We want the plot and most of the subplots to revolve around them or the people close to them. We don't want Sabrina eating up screentime and elevating her narrative status to that of main character or major supporting character unless it benefits the wider story because the show isn't about Sabrina. She's an extremely minor character with zero ties to the leads outside of her role as Marinette's bully. No matter how much you like her, it makes no sense to give her serious narrative weight based on her established role in the narrative.

This means that Sabrina's path to the good side needs to either be very quick or somehow involve our leads and/or their core friend group without making them feel out of character. You could also somehow tie it to the villains and use it to develop them, but I really don't see that working for a redemption.

In spite of all of these issues, there are still a few ways that you might be able to make this work. Here's my pitch list. Note that the first three ideas could probably be mixed and matched into variants of each other where, for example, idea one's setup lead to idea two's plotline. I'm just keeping them separate to keep things simple and avoid repetition.

Idea 1: Remove Chloe and see what happens

Have season three end with Chloe leaving Paris because everyone blames her for Miracle Queen and Andre wants to protect his daughter. Without Chloe to be her leader, Sabrina is left adrift, so she looks for a new leader. She's already clung to Marinette once, so have that happen again, but with Alya more involved. Marinette will feel bad for Sabrina and Alya will be there to call Sabrina out on her bad behavior because you need a character who is willing to do that for this to work. Someone who won't try to sugar coat things like Marinette might if she's feeling sorry for Sabrina.

This path only works if you stick with the show's gender segregation issue where the girls and the guys don't interact much as it doesn't fit a setup where Sabrina is the fifth member of Alya, Nino, Marinette, and Adrien's little group. I don't even think it would work well in the larger group of girl friends. This plot line needs to really focus in on Sabrina and you simply can't do that with a large cast. The end result will probably be Sabrina becoming a pretty major character, pushing the guys even further into the background, so I don't really like this one, but it would work since canon is already giving Marinette and Alya way more importance than Adrien and Nino.

Idea 2: Self-Reflection After the Breakup

Have Chloe dump Sabrina. This could happen in several ways such as Lila not wanting Sabrina around as a witness or Sabrina failing Chloe in some way, leading Chloe to decide that she's better off alone. The cause really doesn't matter. What matters is the fallout.

This separation will play very differently from the one in the first idea. The separation is no longer forced on them, but an active choice made by Chloe, leading Sabrina to go into a full breakdown as she tries to understand what she did wrong. She may even try and fail to fix things. Chloe's continued presence will also make people wary of Sabrina, leading her to really have to face the bed her choices made.

Eventually Sabrina will reach a stage of self reflection where she wants to be better on her own. She will approach the rest of the class from the perspective of wanting help on her self-improvement journey, then someone who isn't a main character - and who hasn't suffered much from Sabrina's actions - will "adopt" Sabrina as their pet project. Sabrina's redemption will now no longer be a real plot line, instead it will be something we see hints of in the background. I liked the idea of this being Alix, that's a good fit. She would be very good at drawing lines in the sand. You could even make this a rabbit thing where Alix knows who Sabrina could be if she really works at improving and so Alix wants to help make that future happen.

Idea 3: Expand on Season Five's Speed-run Redemption

Stick with season five's plot of Sabrina switching sides because Chloe has gone too far, but instead of it being a one-episode thing, make it more drawn out. Make her and Marinette actually work together over multiple episodes and let Sabrina see what it's like to work with someone who cares about others. Someone who has lines that they won't cross. Marinette having a task to focus on will make her much less likely to baby Sabrina and give her Ladybug side a chance to really shine, which works since that's the side that inspires people to be better.

Idea 4: Paying it forward

Redeem Chloe, elevating her narrative role to someone who can have their own subplot, then have Chloe redeem Sabrina. Let their complex, but close friendship become a healthy and even closer friendship. This would let Chloe show how much she's changed and is probably the only path where I could buy Sabrina getting a miraculous as I just don't think that it makes sense for one of her main victims (Marinette) to give her magic powers. Just like Adrien should have picked Chloe, Chloe should pick Sabrina. "I know she's done wrong, but so did I and you still let me be on the team. Plus there's no one on this planet who is more loyal than Sabrina. This miraculous should be hers. She won't let us down."

You can also get real crazy and have Chloe pick Sabrina pre identity reveal so that Sabrina's redemption comes with a level of removal from the bullying baggage, making forgiveness much easier post-reveal. Identity shenanigans don't need to be limited to humor. They can be dramatic, too!

Personal confession time, that last one is my favorite. I just really love the power of love and friendship. I also really love the idea of the secret identities being used for more complex identity shenanigans such as easier redemptions. It's a lot easier to believe that someone has changed when you've become friends with their alter ego and seen the change first hand without the weight of the past hanging over you to bias your judgement. Option two is also pretty solid. Keeps Sabrina in her canon role while allowing her fans to see her grow into a good guy. Very best of both worlds.

I'll also note that the issue from my original post remains true: if you want to redeem Sabrina, then you need to stick to the version from the first three seasons. As soon as you add things like Derision to the mix, it becomes nonsensical to make her friends with her victims. She's simply gone too far with no complicating element to make her victims want a relationship with her.

For all Gabriel's awful actions, it makes sense that Adrien might want his father in his life, so you can potential make that redemption work if you handle it with extreme care, but Sabrina is just a random mean girl. There's no greater connection that would make the heroes want a relationship in spite of all that she's done. The only way to change that is to make Chloe a hero too because Sabrina is Chloe's best friend, so it makes sense that Chloe would want to keep Sabrina around (or at least these two were best friends in the first three seasons. I don't know what they were after that. It seriously felt like season four started with the introduction of Chloe's eviler twin).

[dropoutconfessions]

it really bugs me when people say dropout doesn't have representation or "enough" representation. there's lots of women, poc, queer people, trans people, trans women, drag queens, neurodivergent people, stutters and (afaik one) physically disabled person just counting who shows up on screen, let alone the rest of the crew. they give every demographic a voice, a job, the ability to take risks with shows and to come up with ideas and to do something they love all at a relatively cheap subscription price with multiple weekly uploads. yes there could be more but you could be saying that forever. i'm not saying to sit down and shut up and not fight for representation, but some of the language people use really makes it seem like they're arguing that dropout has little to no rep which is just false. dropout shouldn't hire just to tick diversity boxes, the cast doesn't owe you their coming out or diagnoses. a lot of the cast are very open about their identity, sexuality and disabilities/illnesses/struggles and 90% of every single episode of any show on dropout is filled to the brim with queer people and characters. they know their audience is full of queer people. they've created a safe space both online and in real life at an affordable price and they're letting queer people experiment and take risks and do what they love. some of yous need respect. yes sam is a cis white man but what ever happened to "cis white people need to uplift the voices of the marginalised" and mismag is good, actually because jkr doesn't own the genre but we're at a place where it's good to talk about her when creating stories in said genre using a public platform. which they do. the show's both parodying hp and its own deep narrative about dismantling oppression and segregation through community, connections and love and both of these themes are about combating jkr's influence and rhetoric. you don't know who wrote mismag or who they spoke to or who they love, and a trans person literally plays in it and their character QUITE LITERALLY transitions their identity to something that was always there but they were hiding away in an effort to fit in and look cool, which is very trans of them to do. playing with the wizard boarding school genre should be un-terfed and that's the point of mismag and tumblr people shoot first and ask questions later media literacy is a sisyphusian task you need to constantly learn and check and re-check and adjust and learn you don't just "have it" because you can think past surface level on your favourite shows. context matters sometimes and this is one of those times.

anyway sorry for the rant reading this blog's posts make my blood vessels burst

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