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shibaraki · 8 months

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PAS DE DEUX ┊ GOJO SATORU

tags: GN reader, no curse au (ballet), principal dancer gojo, reader is a photographer for his ballet company, fluff, flirting + casual touch, barre exercising, getting together, first kisses

wc: 2.4K

Gojo Satoru is just a man.

Albeit a coveted man, able to do anything on stage exactly as he would in rehearsal. High arabesques and tight pirouettes. Otherworldly form. Broad hands able to memorise another’s centre of gravity within the first twenty seconds. Swan-like and slender. All agile limbs, a body brazen with self-assurance and packed with strength, reflected in how effortlessly he can catch, spin, and dip his partners. Low, on perfect pointe.

A beautiful, talented, annoying man. That which has chosen to breathe down your neck as you fiddle with your camera, rather than occupy any other corner of the large studio.

“You’re distracting me, Satoru”.

“How am I distracting?” he asked, inclining his head. You gave him a look, and emphatically motioned at him from head to toe. Satoru cracks a grin, those piercing blue eyes gleaming, “By existing?”

“No, because you're all up in my space. I’ll show you the pictures in a second so back up,” you snap, your hand fluttering dismissively at him. “And put a shirt on!”

A low, vibrating hum, and a smile that holds a sincere gentleness to it that you wouldn’t have expected to find. He looks almost boyish. You turn from it and feel his presence move away like the sun being blocked out, steady warmth then the absence of it.

He does not put his shirt on. Instead Satoru takes position at the barre and walks his fingers along the top. Dawn filtered in through the small windows, casting a spotlight onto every dip and curve. You resolutely do not look at that narrow waist, nor how closely his tights clung to his hips, his thighs. Pulled over his soft soled slippers are a pair of grey stirrup leg warmers, bunched around his calves. He’s—

You draw a sharp inhale and refocus on the LCD screen, the neckstrap suddenly uncomfortably heavy.

Satoru is a bit older than most of the other dancers you photograph but no more mature for it. Granted he’s gentler in his discipline, more experienced, and always less eager for the practice to be over. He liked the day to drag on and on, especially if someone was watching him.

People said he was arrogant. Maybe that was a little true and with good reason. But your lense saw through the veneer that Satoru wore. Session after session, through rehearsals and classes and auditions, you saw pride for his craft, and how deeply he loved imbuing that love into his juniors.

You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying so, but watching him dance felt transcendent. Whoever the pair, he made every pas de deux seem seamless, like two halves of the same entity coming together. Solo he was in a league of his own. Sometimes he danced as if he loved beyond the scope of his skin. Sometimes he danced as if the whole world had betrayed him.

“How’d I do this time?” you hear him ask in that very cavalier way that betrayed his interest immediately, becoming antsy in your prolonged silence. “Pretty good, right?”

Today you managed to shoot him demonstrating a particularly heartbreaking variation of a grand jeté. He reached the peak and fell so gracefully that you’d felt the whole room hold its breath. Another beep and the camera screen flickers to that very photo. Right leg stretched anterior, his left posterior to his body, evenly split into a horizon as he soared through the air. Rather than poise to mimic an elegant wingspan he had curved an arm into an arc over his face, almost as if in anguish, while the other draped behind him.

“Why ask if you already know?” you deflected, switching to the next photograph. “You definitely have a flair for the dramatic”.

“Maybe I want to hear it from your mouth,” you can hear the layered petulance behind his words. It makes you restless to think your praise could hold any significance to him. “Tense today, aren’t we? You should do some barre exercises with me. Loosen you up a little,” he continues, clicking his tongue. “I could even teach you some steps”.

You snort lightly, “That’s a ridiculous idea”.

“I don’t think so,” Satoru disagrees, a contemplative tone to his voice. Intensity returns to his gaze as it roams over your form. “You’re the only person in the company I haven’t danced with yet. Can you blame me?”

“It wouldn’t be dancing, Satoru. You know I can’t dance,” you insist, or so you think, the weak response barely audible over the heartbeat flooding your ears. “I’d look like a fucked up marionette”.

A hand crosses your line of sight. You hadn’t even noticed his approach. Satoru plucks the camera from your slackened grasp and slips the neckstrap over your head in one swift movement. “Then let me pull your strings,” he teases, proffering his open palm. Your throat grows dry.

“That was awful,” you tell him, clutching to whatever dignity you have left. Then you take it. Long fingers enclose over your knuckles and he smiles.

Sometimes when you want something you’ll take it in whatever manner the universe is willing to give it.

“Ha. Worked though”.

As mercy would have it, Satoru guides you as he would a beginner. You’ve lived and worked amongst dancers for years. Your mind is familiar with the lifestyle, the lingo and the routine, but your muscles are not. “Another rep. Heels together with your toes turned out—that’s it, bend slightly,” your pulse rockets at the light touch to your hip, firm yet gentle in encouraging you to bend. The room is much hotter than you recall. “Place one foot in front of you. Point. Now sweep it around to the back in a C-shape,” warmth lingers where his fingertips had been as he steps back. “Point your feet,” he says, his lips suddenly close to your ear.

“What—?”

“As you circle,” Satoru repeats. “Point your feet.” You exhale and repeat. “Hm. Good at taking instructions, aren’t you?”

“I’m going to kill you,” comes your shaky response, already feeling clammy. It doesn’t escape you that he still hasn’t put a shirt on. Your inner thigh muscles are burning. Satoru laughs and the irritation ebbs away because he sounds happy. Giddy, even.

“This one will open your hips nicely,” Satoru finds your waist again and pivots you to face the barre. His body heat seeps through your t-shirt where he’s pressed against your back. Hands slide beneath your arms and down to your wrists, delicately placing them atop the barre. “Keep taking deep breaths for me. Bend your knees—hold,” the ache forces your eyes shut for the five seconds he keeps you inert, plunged into fleeting darkness with just his low, honeyed voice to guide you.

This really was a terrible idea.

“Rise to plié,” Satoru murmurs. “Up into demi-pointe. There you are, now hold again”.

Shadows pool into the studio space as the evening draws on. You’re rendered a sticky mess, and not in the manner you’d have liked. Wondrously, and despite the soreness that will no doubt wear in tomorrow, you had begun to feel you were working with your body and not against it.

Satoru had barely broken a sweat. You take comfort in the splotchy flush covering his cheeks and how his chest rises and falls, both signs of exertion. Equally as distracting. “You’re almost a natural,” he says, running a hand through his silky white hair.

Unsteady on your feet, you roll your eyes skyward while the burning in your lungs dwindles. “Sure. We’ll be onto our own pas de deux in no time,” you joke offhandedly. But Satoru’s expression wanes into something like longing in your periphery. Fondness, and then to amusement.

“Maybe not. Your pointe needs work,” he says.

“Well excuse me, big shot. I’m not even wearing the right shoes—”

“Want to try some lifts?”

A stone of dread drops into your stomach. The barre digs into your lower back as you lean against the wall, “We do some—some routine warmups and you think I’m ready for partnered lifts?!”

Satoru’s voice remains steady but his lips are starting to purse as he mirrors your posture, “I can take your weight”.

You didn’t doubt it. Satoru’s ability appeared to defy physics all together and that translated well with his counterparts too, whoever they may be. You’ve seen him lift people of every different shape and weight. Each one would become weightless in his embrace.

“No. No lifts,” you tell him, trying for a cadence that inspired authority. Satoru arched his brow and you got the sense that to him you were akin to a small disgruntled cat. Whether it’s the fatigue that lowers your inhibitions or plain pettiness, you hear yourself say, “I think you just want an excuse to touch me more”.

A pulse of magnetised desire rippled through the atmosphere. You don’t miss the way his breathing hitched, or how the hand absently rubbing the back of his neck stilled only for a moment before falling to his hip. Satoru swallows. Your eyes follow how his thumb strums the waistband of his tights—tights that leave very little to the imagination.

Anticipation prickles through your belly when he takes a step forward, then another, until his nose bumps your own. “You’re not supposed to say the quiet part out loud,” he murmurs, a little breathless. It ghosts across your lips. There’s trepidation in his gaze, searching your expression for rejection or discomfort, neither of which he will find.

You are reminded again that for all his apparent confidence and talent, Gojo Satoru was still very much human.

Your hands lingered in the narrow space between your bodies. Restlessly clenching, uncurling. Not knowing where to put them. The bare skin of his abdomen brushes your knuckles. “Satoru,” you begin.

He hums, palms coming to rest on your hips. He leans into you, emboldened by the invocation of his name, and echoes yours back.

“Did you seriously…” your thoughts drift as he dips lower, lingering. The blood rushes to your head. You could easily tip your head, align your mouths, and bring him into a kiss. Somehow the simplicity of that makes this whole charade even more laughable. “Don’t tell me you made me do a workout instead of just asking me on a date like a normal person”.

The response registers visibly on his face. He blinks, delicate pale lashes fanning over his cheeks, and in the next breath he’s lighting up, eyes first, glittering urainian blue. “That was hardly a workout,” he says, warmth bleeding into his voice. “It was a warmup”.

“Warmup my ass”.

“Can, if you want”.

Laughing, you cradle his jaw and say, “Stop being annoying and kiss me”.

Satoru’s hands have slipped beneath your shirt. He squeezes, smiles at the feel of soft flesh yielding under his thumbs, “Alright”.

Always has to have the last word, you think amusedly. Satoru pressed impossibly close. The barre has since become numb where it prods at your back. Your lips part as he tilts and your mouths brush, want knotted deep in your belly. It is slow at first, hesitant. But every movement of Satoru’s lips turns into sweet affirmation. Quick, then long, then greedy.

You wrap your arms around his neck and feel him shudder as you suck gently at his plush bottom lip. He paws at you with more fervour, languidly licking into your mouth. Soft wet sounds reach your ears and a contented hum reverberates through your skin that you can’t help returning. You feel his lips stretch thin into a smirk.

When you eventually part for breath your chest is pounding. He watches you closely. Half lidded and entirely too pleased. Something about the certainty and satisfaction stunned you then. Coloured the world around you in roseate. “You really do like me, don’t you?”

Satoru doesn’t falter. Quiet and deeply amused, he replies, “What gave it away? The constant pestering, the always staying behind after hours, the never wearing a shirt, the—?”

“Okay, okay. I get it,” you sighed, smoothing your palms down his bare chest simply because you can. “…I like you too, you know”.

“Yeah?”

You hummed. “What gave it away? The constant pestering?” you kissing the corner of his mouth, “The always staying after hours?” and then his cheek.

Satoru turns quickly to chase as you recline, nipping at your mouth. “Point taken,” he rumbles, pinching at the fabric of your shirt and lightly tugging it. “Pattern dictates this should go, next”.

“You know we need to lock up. If I let you start we’ll never stop,” you laughed, wriggling out from his embrace. The studio will be shrouded in complete darkness soon, and now you both need to shower. Satoru reluctantly lets you go, trailing after you as you collect your camera and pass it between your hands.

The screen flickers on, back to that incredible grand jeté. Satoru hooks his chin over your shoulder. “You really do photograph beautifully,” you think aloud. His jaw shifts and you can tell he’s smiling. “What were you thinking about, when you jumped?”

Satoru sniffed, not even pretending to think of something profound. “Mochi stuffed with whipped cream and zunda”.

You sigh fondly, eyes falling closed. Beautiful, talented, annoying man indeed.

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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zvaigzdelasas · 6 months

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[Reuters is Canada-Based Private Media]

Bangladesh will raise the minimum wage for garment workers by 56.25%, the first hike since 2019, the junior labour minister said on Tuesday after a week of protests calling for higher salaries. The minimum wage for workers will be increased from 8,000 taka to 12,500 taka ($114) per month from Dec. 1, State Minister for Labour and Employment Monnujan Sufian said. There will also be a 5% annual increment. The protests, which led to clashes with police that killed two workers and wounded dozens more, pushed the government to form a panel of factory owners, union leaders and officials to consider the demand for higher pay.[...]

"(Government welfare) cards will be provided to the workers, later the ration cards will be given to them so they can buy essential commodities at cheaper rates," Rahman, also a former president of the Bangladesh Garment Manufacturers and Exporters Association, told Reuters. Workers, however, are not happy with the rise at a time when inflation is running at 9.5%.

7 Nov 23

[TheDailyStar is Bengali Private Media]

The wage board for garment workers has set the minimum salary at Tk 12,500, a little over half of what workers demand. Union leaders have rejected the new minimum wage put forth by the wage board, which accepted the proposal of factory owners’ representative Siddiqur Rahman. The current starting wage is Tk 8,000. Union leaders yesterday threatened to go for tough demonstrations. Workers had demonstrated for 12 straight days.[...]

Before the announcement, members of the Minimum Wage Board, formed on April 9, held a meeting at its office. While the meeting was going on, union leaders outside chanted slogans demanding a minimum wage of at least Tk 23,000. Demanding a starting salary of Tk 25,000, Montu Ghosh, president of Garment Sramik Trade Union Kendra, said the measly amount set was not enough to lead a good life. Inflation and high prices of essentials have made things worse for garment workers. Ghosh along with other union leaders of the Mojuri Briddhite Garment Sramik Andolon, a platform of workers’ unions, in a statement rejected the new minimum wage and called for a rally on Friday where they would announce tougher programmes[...]

If the workers’ unrest continues, the responsibility will lie with the wage board, Nazma said.[...]

[The] president of the Bangladesh Apparel Workers’ Federation, said the prime minister’s intervention is needed in setting the new minimum wage. He demanded ration cards, not the family cards of the TCB, for the garment workers.[...]

The new minimum wage is much less than those offered in India, Cambodia, Vietnam, China and Indonesia. Only Pakistan has a lower minimum wage. Early last month, the Centre for Policy Dialogue, after a survey, interviews and research, estimated that the minimum wage for an RMG worker should be Tk 17,568. The new minimum wage falls short of that. The think-tank had delved into food and non-food expenditure patterns of 228 workers from 76 factories and even considered how many earning members an average RMG worker’s family had. The CPD had stated that the food cost for an RMG worker family was at least Tk 9,198 a month but notes that the standard food expenditure for a family of four would be Tk 16,529 and that the garment workers have to cut corners to make ends meet.

It said 12 percent of the workers’ families do not buy milk at all, 5 percent do not buy sugar, and 5 percent do not consume fruits.

8 Nov 23

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morlock-holmes · 1 year

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Notice in the post below that the only named task that the OP struggled with is homework?

Now, people diagnosed with ADHD or similar disorders often do struggle with tasks that we might actually want to do, but almost always, the diagnosis is linked in everyone's mind to an inability to do homework.

But homework is fucking bullshit.

I really think it's absurd to ignore that fact when talking about how you complete tasks.

"Gosh, my kid seems to have a lot of trouble focusing on dull make-work which I force him to do for two hours every single day, why could this be?"

I spent literally as little time in school as I could and still graduate. As in, by my junior or senior year the principal sat me down and said, "If you skip anymore school we aren't going to be able to graduate you from High School."

And yet... When I bothered to go, I got good grades. I did generally quite well on tests and did eventually graduate. I'm quite proud of that as an act of self-mastery but it does raise the question:

Why was so much energy spent on trying to get me to go to school for all that time when I was demonstrably able to get the benefits with literal years less work than they wanted me to put in?

Why was so much time spent trying to devote those years to schoolwork when it simply wasn't necessary for me to learn?

Homework is a microcosm of that whole question. I always wanted to know,

"So, if I can skip 60% of the homework and still get an "A" on the test, why do you try to force me to do it?"

And to this day I have never gotten a good answer.

So: I saw no value in most of my homework and that hasn't changed to this day.

So, here's a pop quiz for the people wondering why their kids with diagnoses don't do their homework no matter what planning and techniques adults supply them with:

What would your kid have to do to spend less of their valuable time on homework?

"Well, if they just knuckled down and got it done..."

BZZT! WRONG! You get a "D-" on this test and I really hope you apply yourself more to the next one, you have so much potential...

If they "forget about it" then they have to do even less.

Now, of course that means that your kid is in a state of constant stress from avoidance. They are thinking, "Man, I'm going to get in so much trouble for not doing this, but I just can't seem to force myself to do it, and anyway I don't fucking want to."

You think that they'd be better off spending two stressful hours on their homework and then being able to relax the rest of the time. They feel like they'll be happier not doing it at all and feeling a vague undercurrent of stress as they go about their leisure time.

What's the third option if they want to spend less time on homework?

Oh, nothing? Is it nothing whatsoever until they graduate from school?

This is infuriatingly counter-productive. We spend literal years teaching ADHD kids that avoidance and procrastination are the only ways to exert control over their lives in the face of unpleasant situations imposed from outside.

Now, in point of fact this is absolutely not the case for adult life, which offers a plethora of ways to reduce pointless make-work imposed on you by outside authorities and, in any case, rarely bothers to impose two hours per day of unpaid, unrewarding make-work on people anyway.

How much of the difficulty ADHD people have with cleaning the toilet or whatever is because psychologically, they still think of it as homework? Cleaning the toilet is not homework; it rewards you with a clean toilet at the end and it's entirely possible to defer it, or hire someone else to do it, or find shortcuts. But if the major psychological task of your childhood is homework, maybe it might take quite a long time to think that there could even be anything aside from homework?

#psychology #homework #Parents get so uneasy when I say that kids are right to avoid homework #But a lot of the time they are!#ADHD #executive dysfunction

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evilroachindustrial · 3 months

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The Rat Grinders having this weird grudge against the Bad Kids is honestly buckwild the more we learn about how the education system at Aguefort Academy works?

While it is impressive to spend hundreds of hours over the course of two years just killing rats and other trash mobs behind your high school, these are also the only creatures the school has records for them killing.

It's a little weird that these are presumably the only creatures they've killed over two entire years of schooling. What was their Sophomore quest that it presumably led to them not killing anything?

Like, Kipperlily passed all her Junior classes just because she found the Rogue teacher, which again, impressive, but probably isn't actually the best thing for your adventuring education.

Honestly, if Aguefort is, in fact, supposed to be a school for adventurers, I'd argue the Bad Kids are the better students because they're actually adventuring and have demonstrated the practical skills necessary to complete quests that saved the world on three separate occasions.

#Dimension 20 #Fantasy High Junior Year #Fantasy High #D20 spoilers #Maybe if the Rat Grinders didn't spend the first two years of their education being min-maxing munchkins they would've had a better time

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hotmentransformed · 1 year

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Heartstopping Tank Top

You had always been a skinny guy. Growing up, people often made fun of you for how little you seemed to look. During your spring semester of junior year of college, you decided to study abroad in London. You had a job lifeguarding in the summer, and you wanted to make sure you were in good physical condition and looked good for the girls at the pool. You made a promise to yourself that you would return to the U.S. with a more muscular physique.

So, you found a gym near your dorm and went to sign up. After singing some forms and paying for a day pass, the attendant at the front desk handed you a large white tank top and said, “Oy, this’ll help you grow into a real muscle lad”.

You shrugged it off as a harmless sales pitch and went to the locker room to put on the tank top. It was way too large, but the attendant seemed really enthusiastic about you wearing it, and you didn’t want to be rude to someone in a foreign country, so you decided to stick it out and start your workout.

Exiting the locker room, you made a bee-line for the first open machine you saw. After reading the graphics and demonstrations on the metal, you sat down and began your workout. It felt… surprisingly great! You could get used to this! With each machine you went to, you felt a strange sensation pulsating from your tank top. Unbeknownst to you, they seemed to be growing at an accelerated rate, much faster than should be naturally possible, stretching and bulging under your skin.

Your arms were the first to change. Your once skinny biceps and triceps began to thicken and expand, stretching the arms of your tank top with bulging muscles. As you flexed, you could see the new definition in your arms, and your veins popped out from under your skin.

Your chest was the next area to change. You pecs began to swell and harden, pushing out from your ribcage with an impressive mass. Your nipples stood out like little knobs atop your chest, and you could feel the fibers of your muscles contracting with every heavy breath you took. Hair began to push its way from your pecs and swirled its way into your armpits, which were moist from your intense workout.

Your back muscles were the next to grow. As you pulled down on the lat pulldown machine, you could feel your lats expanding like wings on your back. You could feel as your spinal erectors bulged out, creating a column of muscle that ran down your spine, widening your torso and giving you immense bulk.

Your abdominal muscles became chiseled, with each muscle fiber becoming visible through your top. Your six-pack was now a washboard, and your obliques became well-defined ridges.

Your legs swelled too, with your quads becoming massive and your hamstrings bulking up. Your glutes expanded into globes of muscle, stretching your gym shorts. Your calves became rock hard, with the muscles contracting and relaxing with every step you took.

As you continued to work out, your hair began to lighten, and your facial features began to change. Your jawline became more pronounced, and your face became wider. Your eyes turned an intense hazel, and your skin took on a healthy glow. You had become someone… new.

Dropping the weights, you looked into the mirror, and you recognized exactly who you were. You were Kit Connor. You had never been an American. You had worked hard for these big muscles and your successful career. You had always been Kit Connor. You flexed your new massive muscles in the mirror, admiring your physique.

With your British accent, you mused “I am one fit lad.” You turned back to the mirror and posed for your Instagram. In no time, you're sure it'll be filled with a bunch of gay lads trying to get your attention... just how you liked it.

#muscle transformation #muscle tf #muscle #tf #clothing tf #celeb tf #male tf #celebrity tf #celeb #celebrity #kit connor tf #transformation #transform #male transformation

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seuonji · 6 months

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night shift ★彡 xu minghao

xu minghao x yn ln

彡when yn’s juniors finds trouble with some fellow college mates, yn goes through mountains just to get them justice, even if it means needing to infiltrate and make friends with the most intimidating clique on campus.

masterlist

#5 better days when?! | #6 a bittersweet encounter! | #7 7th chance!

#work count 0.6k

you trudged into icey milk with slow steps, immediately catching minghao’s attention.

he stood at the front counter, eyeing your every step.

you decided to place on your kindest face to make a good impression. you walked to minghao and with a sincere smile, you introduced yourself, “hi, i’m yn ln, the new part timer!”

his eyes went back to the registry as he spoke, not even sparing you a smile, “yea i know who you are.”

“really? from where?” you tilted your head staying oblivious to the fact that you were literally the vice of your college. but you couldn’t lie, you took pride in having that title and you liked hearing it from other people.

“we have social studies together?” he faced you with furrowed brows. he spoke with a tone that sounded as if he was losing his patience with you.

you had no idea.

you had to hold yourself back from blurting a ‘we do?’ instead, you had to play pretend. “woah! right we do, i’m shocked you noticed me,” you laughed.

he suddenly muttered, “kinda hard to not notice you.”

“and what may you mean by that?” you squinted your eyes.

“well, you’re kinda loud in class. i think you should tone it down, you’re not setting a good example to the students around you, you know?”

no one, not even seungkwan has spoken to with such disgrace and disrespect.

you took a breathe in and stayed understanding to his opinion, “sorry, i’ll tone it down.”

after he relished in your astonished expression, he placed his hands in his pockets and rested on the counter, “well the manager should be in the back, they’ll give you your uniform then we’ll get started here.”

did this boy never learn how to smile? your mouth was still opened from shock even after you turned around to walk to the employees only room.

this was not going to be an easy shift.

you changed into the uniform and mentally prepared yourself before walking back out.

he stood there, still leaning on the counter. there was another worker tending to the customers and just by judgement, they looked kinder than minghao. you wondered why couldn’t you have the other employee as your mentor.

as you stood by your mentor, he placed down his phone and pointed to the machine beside him, “soft serve is the easiest to prep up so i’ll teach you that first.”

“isn’t it literally just you placing a cup or cone in the holder then the ice cream swirls on its own?“ you crossed your arms.

“right, but i don’t know, manager is kinda strict about the way the swirls look. i’ll demonstrate so that you can tell her later on i did teach you something,” he shrugged his shoulders.

he placed the cone underneath the machine and simultaneously swirled the cone to create the instagrammble ice cream effect.

he smiled proudly while he showed the finished product.

so he can smile, you thought.

suddenly, he placed it upside down over your head making you duck. he chucked at your bewildered expression as your eye twitched from his antics.

“my bad, was just showing you how firm the ice cream is, it won’t fall at all, i mean not unless it’s at its melting point.”

he had some wit to him and it was kinda entertaining.

“okay, you try,” he passed you a cone as he ate the one he just prepared.

you followed as he did, focusing on the ice cream but sometimes your eyes drifted to him to see his expression. he was deadpanned most of the time but gosh would some reassurance save you right now.

you finished it up and placed it infront of his face.

“does it look good?“ you widened your eyes.

he closed his eyes and nodded, “looks fine.”

you decided to pull the same trick as he did earlier. you turned the ice cream upside down then placed it over his head. it’s soft serve, it shouldn’t fall out right?

but it did.

and it fell all over minghao’s hair.

suddenly it’s as if you’ve seen light.

funfact: minghao asked to take early leave after the incident. to yn’s weird luck, they ended up getting trained by the nicer employee that day.

taglist: @weird-bookworm @kissesfrmwonwoo @haecien @amxlia-stars @addyanm @anemoiant @kokoiinuts @leewonkyeom @silver-liner @zzenkha @buffhoshi @woozixo @porridgesblog @ilovehimyourhonour @koala-wonderland @bangantokchy @limbomoon @som1ig

send an ask to be added to taglist! (replies are fine but i may not see them!!) — please check your visibility before asking to be added to taglist! if your account is hidden it won’t allow you to be tagged on posts!🤍

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lexluvswriting · 29 days

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L'autunno - Eris x balletdancer!fem!reader

☆ Ch: 1 [next page]

-> Content Warning (CW): x fem!reader, slow-burn, rivals to lovers, tinkle of angst, fluff, non-specified identity, no specific time in storyline except it is a few months after Amarantha. live, laugh, love 2 lesbian mothers!!

-> Trigger Warnings (TW): Eris Vanserra, mentions of racism, mentions of discrimination, mentions of forced removal from homes (cant think of the name rn), Beron Vanserra is a massive cunt.

W/C: 2.8k

╰┈➤ Lex's note: omg eris fic is here grahhh!!! the title for this comes from Vivaldi's Four Seasons Concerto album, which i did listen to while writing this, yes yes. Eris has is a massive dick, but i'd like to believe he's a massive cunt for a reason that will... hopefully be revealed better- though Morrigan's suffering is not excusable at all! and i hope reader can hold him accountable throughout the series!! (she will). this will absolutely be a ride for all of us. while reader is fem and i have not specified any identity aside from Summer Court, I do make a few plays at racism, which there absolutely was in ACOTAR. so if this does feel a bit daunting, triggering and hurts, please let me know if it feels like i have written a little too intensely- i'm basing it off of personal, and researched experiences.

A violin filled the studio, wafting around like a strong scent- hypnotic as you inhaled deeply, eyes shut to steel yourself and count in before your arms swung up and out, fingers and feet pointed within your ballet shoes as you began to dance. Careful, calculated steps sent you spinning around the room- the perfect prima of your time. A prime example for those who dream to even come close to your level.

In a room of fire, your movements were fluid. In a room of embers, you were a tidal wave. Your body poise and malleable as you stretched yourself alluringly to those who watched as you swayed for the sweet symphony of violins. Eyes watched you from a concealed viewing platform high above- russet spheres simmering with a flame of interest that was bound to end in a fiery mess.

“Her. I want her to perform for the Equinox.”

“She’s quite the star, isn’t she?” Your mentor nodded, eyes twinkling with pride, before he wore his favourite facade- an arrogant smirk on his lips as he inspected his manicured nails. Eris’ face was impassive, yet any trained, or similarly minded individual would see the need for greed in his russet eyes as he glared down at you, pupils flaring possessively.

“She’s my starlet, young Lord. I cannot let her perform without any… payment. She will be put through harsh training- stretching, extension of her muscles, and her diet will be limited- to ensure she is tamed and perfect for the Lord’s family. I know the Lady of Autumn thoroughly enjoys the…” He trailed off nervously as Eris held up a silencing hand, the young heir fixing him with a cold stare- despite the fire in his veins.

“Spare me. Your pocket will be stuffed accordingly. But I warn you,” With one hand he grabbed the collar of the weaker male’s shirt with a predatory grace,

She must be perfect, or else we won’t have her, and the only old you’ll see is the Vanserra signet ring imprinted in your cheek.” His hand clenched accordingly, the Vanserra signet ring- the emblem of the Autumn Court banners carved in the pure gold, making Gustav still and nod compliantly. The heir dismissively waved for a servant to hand your instructor a list before storming out- ignoring your dancing figure.

--- ⋆⁺₊✧˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆ ---

“Wrong! When we kick, our leg must come out-”

A cold hand clamped around your calf, another hand pushing just above your knee, the joint loose like a hinge. Your face was impassive- unmoving even as a small ‘pop’ echoed from somewhere in your knee. One of the junior dancers recoiled visibly, hiding her face behind her hands as a cluster of them watched you be used like a demonstration doll for your instructor.

“Stiff! Strong! Not flabby and weak. We are not caterpillars- we are butterflies. We are not brutish fires, we are?”

“Dancing flames.” The dancers replied in a drone of young feminine voices, with a few meek boys who looked like they were on the verge of clawing their eyes out. Gustav was being a right pain in the ass as always, but today he seemed more sharpened. Another lecture, another scolding, but it was always,

“For the better! I do this for your own good, my dears! When the Equinox arises and we are in front of your esteemed Lord, I know his lordship would enjoy seeing his dancers disciplined. Lean and poise. Controlled.”

The cold hand that held your leg squeezed once in warning- ‘I’m talking about you too’, before letting go, as your instructor sighed with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“That is why we dance the way we dance, and why I speak the way I do. Now leave me! And warm down appropriately or I will personally see to it that the muscles you take for granted will tear.” A curl of the lip in a low, warning snarl, before he waved with a sweeter disposition.

“Adequate work today, my dears!” Footsteps echoed as the younger dancers left first, whispers filling the halls as they eagerly complained about their instructor. The older ones bid polite greetings of farewell as they followed, until you were the last to leave. The prima. Gus liked to call you the ‘Summer jewel in the Autumn box’.

“Ah, ah, ah! I mean it, my jewel. No going off and doing your own thing.” You pause. His voice carried a weariness of someone twice his age, before he covered it up with his usual airy arrogance, “The Lord will be hosting important families at this gathering. Something big is on the horizon and I know he will be watching you closely.”

Ah, yes. Kicking out all the non-fae and those who hail from other courts. The nationalist prick seemed to have no lost winks of sleep as he commanded his soldiers to haul families out in the night, dispatching them at random borders with no cares for the creatures that lurked with a taste for fae flesh.

“I’m aware, Gus. No sudden movements, no flashy shows of skill, Mother forbid I reveal I’m not some worthless foreigner with no talent.” You mocked mirthlessly, earning a sigh of defeat.

“Wait a moment.” He roused, and the fingers that curled around your bag strap tightened slightly, your pointed ears twitching at the tone of his voice. But you slowly turned, a scowl on your unimpressed face as you nodded airly.

“You were selected personally to perform for the Vanserra family. Something about honouring the magic in the Autumn Court territory with dance and such.”

You paused, mind blanking, yet your demeanour remained even, “And you’re looking at me like that, why?”

He winced, knowing how keen you were to snap at any male- or anyone, really, who rubbed you up the wrong way.

“They left a list of… expectations. As in, mandatory requirements or they won’t let you perform. They expect you to be… um… Be polite, and uh, as he put it, ‘socially acceptable’. Speak in turn and only when spoken to-”

“He?” You snapped, visibly unimpressed and ready to pull out completely. What kind of prick-

“I don’t let you anywhere near me on a good day, Gustav. What in the Cauldron makes you think I’ll just-”

“They’re offering coffers of gold. The Equinox… well, after Amarantha… they need to regenerate the magic of the Autumn Court specifically, so they want to use the Equinox.”

You cringed at the mention of that sick tyrant, yet you weren’t going to just roll over and lie down because someone jingled a purse of gold. “What of the Spring Court and Calanmai?”

“I didn’t ask, because I know my place. And don’t start. I didn’t exactly feel like getting ripped a new one by the son of the Autumn Lord, [Y/N]-”

“Son? As in, Eris Vanserra? That oaf- that misogynistic, foul-mouthed, mentally decayed pig was here? And he spoke to you about me?” You snarled, lip curling back as you advanced forward slowly like a fox- a wolf, eyes narrowed.

“He’s offering coffers on behalf of his father, [Y/N]! Enough for you to be paid out well, and then some for the studio.” Damn right he put you first on the pay list, otherwise he wouldn’t have a damned head. Though, you personally couldn’t give a flying fuck about the Vanserra coffers. You wanted nothing of it, as tempting as it might have sounded.

“Get Nerissa to do it.”

“He wanted you-”

“I thought the family wanted me.”

“I… oh, fuck it- Fine! Eris came here alone! Came here alone, saw you, insisted on you with this list in mind and he said either you or no one at all.”

You or no one. You or nothing. You made a retch of disgust, laughing at the mental image. Who did he think he was? “Then I will snap my leg in half and shatter my bones into teeny tiny pieces for good measure.”

“[Y/N]-”

“I will swan dive off the nearest staircase.”

“No.”

“I’m not performing personally for a good-for-nothing family that are backwards in everything they do.” You reaffirmed, shaking your head, but Gustav stepped forward.

“[Y/N].”

“They singled out the non-Autumn Court dancer to perform for them. What powers do I possess to help the court that doesn’t even want us? A ‘summery breeze’? A ‘foreigner’s’ complexion? Absolutely not-”

“Please. We…” Silence, before a sigh. A sigh that made you glare silently. “I received a letter last night from the building owner. I’ve been falling behind on payments, and Beron’s financiers are… hungry- they see this old building and want to knock it down for something else. Something miserable and drab.”

You frowned, blinking at your instructor. Well, fuck. Your shared silence was long- his pleading, hopeful silence swirled like smoke with your prideful refusal, that melted like wax the longer it lingered.

“... Fine. But only because I enjoy this damned studio.”

--- ⋆⁺₊✧˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆ ---

Your life was, what you thought at least, a mixed bag. You were brought up in an orphanage- housing mostly Autumn children, all who seemed to smell the ‘impostor’ blood in your bones, weeding you out as an odd one out. Your appearance led the governess of the orphanage to believe you hailed from the Summer Court- as did russet and teal muslin you were wrapped in. You repurposed the seemingly sentimental piece of fabric into a scarf- letting it rest around your neck currently, as you walked down the path of the bustling town.

You were lucky to be recognised for your artistic performative abilities, earning a grant to allow you to perform in the Autumn Court’s national dance academy, as well as live in one the apartments they provided. Two old ladies next door adopted you as their honorary daughter, and you were grateful for their familial company, even if there was no blood relation. One of them, Ordelia, even pushed you to study at the grand scholar’s library, using her former connections to grant you access to all the education you could need.

It wasn’t wonderful. But it could be worse. At least you were making it on your own, sort of.

“Afternoon little doe! Will you come for dinner? Delia-dearest made pumpkin and feta soup the way you like it!” ‘Madame’ Primrose, one of your makeshift mothers, waved to you from her balcony, and you offered a small wave.

“Not tonight, I’m afraid. I’m on a strict diet of greens and grains.” You pat your stomach with a sympathetic wince- greens and grains. Like a bloody farm animal. The silver haired fae seemed to nod sympathetically and wave a hand.

“You’re always welcome, dearie.”

You stopped for a moment, looking at an old fae sitting on the corner of the little road, a vendor selling flowers. The sun was dipping behind the horizon, staining the sky pink amidst the grey from the overcast weather that settled. You smiled at the older male who offered you a bouquet of lavender stalks and crocus bulbs.

Pretty.

Your eyes widened slightly as you beheld the bouquet, cradling it against your arm while you fished out payment. As you dropped some coins into his hand, a scream made you both look to one of the older complexes, where a woman was pulled out by some Autumn Court guards with two wailing children behind her. Any passersby walked quicker, ducking their heads, and when you looked back at the old male you realised he had been watching you. He gave you a nod, as if you’d know what it meant, and you swallowed before walking past, your head lower than before.

Beauty was hard to come by in the Autumn court, no matter how colourful it looked.

--- ⋆⁺₊✧˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆ ---

“Oh, it’s nasty business, it really is. My darling Ordelia was telling me how shameful he is- that Beron Vanserra. Nasty business. I remember his father- he wasn’t much better, but certainly more handsome.” You had succumbed to the dinner with your neighbour-mothers, though your portion of soup was smaller, as the sprouts and stalks you miserably chewed filled most of your stomach.

“You know, I could have married Beron.”

Your eyes widened, hand shooting up to cover your mouth as you didn't know whether to choke or chortle. “Primrose!” Ordelia huffed,

“I could have, you know! But I wasn’t interested in a man with no morals.” ‘Madame’ Primrose sighed wistfully, and you laughed softly behind your mouth while her wife rolled her eyes. While Ordelia had raven hair in a tight, disciplined bun, Primrose wore hers in a loose braid that cosied on her shoulder- her silver hair glistening in the gentle faelight of the small dining room you all sat in.

“You know, I hear that Lord Vanserra is looking for some pretty girls to match his sons. The heir will be attending the Equinox alone, can you believe it?” Primrose hummed, thriving off the gossip, but Ordelia watched you with a knowing stare- amused at the soft snort you let out.

“How fares the paper? Arwen mentioned that you were hitting some brilliant points. Politics might be your strong suit, should you grow tired of glamorous costumes and fast dances.” The Autumn-born female brought up your most recent studies, a ghost of a smile on her lips as she heard her wife scoff.

At a first glance, you used to wonder how they could possibly be mated. Ordelia, with her firm, reserved rigidness and disciplined personality, and Primrose- a Spring Court fae who was gossipy and eclectic, always buzzing with something to share. Ordelia was a former scholar for Beron’s family before she retired, while Primrose was the prima ballerina of her time, moving to Autumn in search of a grander role where she met her mate. Their love-story made you sigh a little every time you heard it, but you shook your head of distractions as you answered Ordelia.

“It’s um… definitely going. I feel a little foolish writing it but every time I hear about another family getting kicked out, I get even angrier, and determined to write more. Although… um, Gustav spoke to me about… performing a solo dance for the Vanserras. A part of the Equinox celebration-”

Primrose gaped at that, as if she had been asked to dance herself, “Oh, little dove! Well, what did you say? You worked for that position- I’ll tell you that for free! I can’t fit on my fingers the times I had to remedy your torn muscles. Did you say yes? Did you accept?”

Ordelia nodded, taking a thoughtful sip of her soup before chuckling softly. “I would not be surprised if your radiance catches the heir’s eye. You’d be a different splash compared to the other dames he usually parades around on his arm. I think you’d certainly give him a run for his father’s money.”

“Ordelia dearest! What makes you think our little summer shell would even consider him?” Primrose voiced the disdain etched on your face, and you joked dryly, “I didn’t think you believed in fate and whatnot.” The Autumn female scoffed softly, shaking her head, “I don’t believe in fate, or destiny. I believe in the laws of attraction. You are everything his family lack, thus making you a match. Opposites attract.” You glanced at Primrose, and both of you made a childish noise of disgust as you shuddered, shaking your head as you finished off your meal.

“I’d rather have a kelpie as a bedside companion than Eris Vanserra.” You muttered, before taking all three plates to be cleaned. Laughter sounded softly behind you, and as you felt a small smile curl on your face, you abhorred the idea of being anywhere near the Lord of the Autumn Court and his family.

--- ⋆⁺₊✧˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆ ---

After bidding your goodnights, you retired to your own apartment, basking happily in the moonlight that shone through the silent space. Peace and quiet. The best way to finish off a bleak day. Your calendar stared you in the face, the Equinox marked in an angry scribble of orange ink. ‘End of the week!!’

What a day. You rubbed your face, feeling a stirring in your stomach as you thought about the Autumn Court. You glanced at the daily paper slid under your door, seeing Eris’ face on the front page- his smug, arrogant, wicked, slightly crooked, unnecessarily charming grin staring you in the face, making your stomach tug. ‘Eugh. Imagine being fated to that beast?’ You’d rather eat glass.

You looked at the paper, baring your teeth at the male’s face before ripping it off and crumpling it up. A swift kick sent it across the small apartment, under your couch, and stayed there for a while as you grumbled softly. You got ready for bed eagerly, excited for the day to be over, only to reach under the small sofa it had rolled under and pick it up again, making a face at it before leaving it on the small table.

╰┈➤ Lex's note 2: i think that's all for now!! readers, pls let me know how we feel about this!!! (privately, in comments, on inbox, i don't mind)!! also in search for a beta reader [i draft everything on google docs, don't hurt me] (T-T)

#lexluvswriting #lex luvs eris vanserra #lexluvswriting: L'autunno #eris vanserra x reader #eris x reader #eris vanserra #eris fic #eris acotar #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #x reader #x reader fic #acotar x reader #acotar x fem!reader

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shakesthewizard · 9 days

Text

Imagine you're an ex-evangelical high schooler who's been out for all of one year and is living with your girlfriend's family because you got kicked out of your homophobic parents' house. This girlfriend is the one who helped you realize you're gay - she held your hand as you cut ties with your church.

As well as being gay, you're also a forgetful, impulsive kid who has a really hard time getting your mouth to agree with your brain. You have ADHD, but you aren't diagnosed and you'd probably deny the idea of it were brought up. Nonetheless, these traits have historically given you a hard time not just in school, but in terms of making and keeping friends, too.

Sophomore year, you go on a huge trip with your girlfriend, and after a lot of miscommunication, conflict, and reconciliation, she dumps you. It's on as good of terms as you could hope for; you know you'll be heartbroken for months, but it isn't a fight, and she doesn't hold anything against you. She tells you that it's because she needs a bit more stability in a partner; someone who's going to be better able to center her needs when the situation calls for it. This stings - you know you weren't the best partner on this trip. Like always, you said the wrong thing, and the stressful situations you found yourselves in exacerbated your fights. She's telling you the same thing everyone does; you don't try hard enough. You don't care.

You move on. You have a super busy summer with your best friends and they help you work through it, as best you can. Things get better, and you decide to start taking better care of yourself. You're still living with ex-gf's family, but ex-gf is out of the country getting into politics. She's trying to build a grassroots movement to help the members of her religion start divesting from their involvement with that evangelical church that raised you. It's a noble calling.

When junior year starts, you and your friends start getting bullied & harassed by this girl. There's a lot going on there, but whenever you confront her, all she does is talk about how little you care; how easy you have it; you lazy you are. All the worst versions of the things everyone always tells you, spar in your face. The nice teachers pity you, thinking of you like You're not a full person. The mean ones call you a slacker and a class clown. This girl combines the two; she snipe's at you about how easy your life must be because you've managed to trick your friends into thinking you give a shit. All this while you're in danger of being expelled, and tanking your friends' grades on your way down. All this while you attend school *solely* for their sake. All this while you're trying harder than you ever have before, and it's only barely working.

Over winter break your junior year, you decide to visit ex-gf with your friends. You feel better about things with her, and even though school and that bully are stressing you out, you think it'll be a nice time. When you get off the bus to the small town where she lives now, you're led to the center of her political movement - a megachurch.

Not an abandoned building. Not some old rundown thing they've commandeered, or a repurposed space they rent for their own ends. No; a brand new evangelical megachurch, that your ex gf had a hand in designing.

You question her about it, and she gets snippy with you. She asks what do you mean this is wrong? What do you mean she's clearly becoming the exact thing she set out trying to overthrow? This isn't a megachurch! It's just a sign that their movement is popular!

Then you meet her girlfriend. And you know something? She seems nice enough. She's a lot like you, actually - she's kind of forgetful, and impulsive. She has a hard time with words, like you. Thing is though - she's also the daughter of a famous evangelical minister. And guess who paid for this church.

Yeah, so it turns out your GF left you, citing your forgetfulness and lack of ability to demonstrate care to her satisfaction as reasons why. She then turned around and got together with someone who can be generously described as "you but rich," and then set about becoming a spokesperson for the same homophobic church she told you to become homeless running from.

Tracker is a hypocrite and a bootlicker, is what I'm saying.

#i have FEELINGS #kristen deserves better #fantasy high #fhjy #fhjy spoilers #kristen applebees #tracker o'shaughnessey #naradriel

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