#i cannot help but reiterate how harmful it is for everyone to move as if they are the SAME PERSON! you are not so and so and they are not u | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writer-akihiko · 3 years

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so mc running away i love it the angst 👌 so if its alright can you the same but with the dorm leaders?(pls do a good ending my poor heart cannot take it-༎ຶ‿༎ຶ)

Dorm Leaders + MC Running Away

So I apologise for the lack of happy endings, if you want to call it that. The scenarios turned out much more different than the First Years probably because of the power gap I had in mind. Also, for anyone wondering, the Vice Dorm Leaders will have a shot of saving you next! When I get to it... Cut for length. Also please help to share because I limited the tags!

Warnings: Character Death [Not you or the main boy], mentions of abuse and emotional manipulation [On the Reader] and violent actions [The Dorm Leaders]

"I'm not going back."

"Wh... What?" He was astonished. "YN... I've looked far and wide for you- please-"

No words left his mouth as you stepped away from him, tears in your eyes and you were going to make a run for it again.

Malleus Draconia

Your words struck a chord in him. He didn't mean it, but when you said that you weren't going back, he almost lost control. What did you mean you weren't going back? You promised him to be his Queen!

No... he's not accepting this. His Queen deserved better. His larger hands encircled your wrists, stopping you in your tracks. No matter how much you tugged and pushed, Malleus' strength was beyond you. In your sole despair, you fell in his embrace.

Every ache and injury struck your core, as you cried your heart out. "I can't go back Malleus," you whimpered. "I... I'm sorry."

Your hands gripped tighter onto his clothes. "I don't mean to fight against you, I-"

The Fae Prince sealed your bruised lips with his own, pulling your smaller form into his lap as he took in the moment of the bittersweet, longing kiss. "YN... listen to me," He said, his own ice cold tears falling onto your cheek, healing your wounds. "You never have to apologise for your suffering. Not even to me."

Malleus held you close as you drowsed off. The gentle smile hardened into a growl, as his back arched, black wings bursting out of his body. Malleus, in his dragon form, summoned the thorns to protect you, holding you as if you were his personal dragon hoard…

The principal, or more accurately the culprit, Dire Crowley was a fool to step out. It disgusted Malleus to his very core, his claws setting the very ground on fire as Crowley stepped closer. No words were exchanged between them. For all the suffering you faced, it was to be paid in tenfold as the dragon took a deep breath, releasing the fire in his chest.

"It was a fraction of her suffering…"

Riddle Rosehearts

He was ballistic. Riddle had been eager to bring you back immediately, but the sheer refusal and attempt to run away made him think that you hate him. He was blaming himself, sobbing to the ground.

Riddle's breakdown made you stop. No matter what you did, you still love him. Riddle's hiccups of sobbing paused at the feeling of your arms wrap around him. He wanted this, he wanted your warmth, he wanted- no… he needed you so badly he'd ceased to function without you.

"I don't hate you Riddle," You said, kissing his tears away. Your pretty Queen of Hearts had ruined the uniform he so proudly kept up with and Riddle himself was unkempt. Riddle cradled your sore body, letting you tell him your stresses and your breaking point abused over and over again by Crowley.

Riddle's heart softened ever so much for you, as he realised that he was to a fault as well. It was then he started to cry for you. "YN… I… I lost control. I know I can't be forgiven for the stress you went through so-"

"Rosehearts! You found her, how wonderful!" The jovial Principal cried out. In his hand was a magic tracking spell and that's when Riddle was struck with guilt once more. He doomed you, again. He… no, he refuses to end it this way.

Your loving self became meek, frightened by the aspect of being under Crowley's care once more. You trembled, reaching out to the hem of Riddle's coat. "Riddle… Please don't let them take me…"

He pulled you up, whispering to you. "When I cast my magic, run YN."

"Ridd-"

"Never thought you'd defy me, Rosehearts. Being a law abider and all~"

"Off With Your Head."

Kalim Al-Asim

"Y-YN?"

Kalim desperately hung onto your ankle, on his knees, begging and bargaining you to stay.

"YN… Please don't leave me again," He begged. "I'll… I'll stop dragging you to parties! I'll get you anything you want just please… please come back to me."

His tears wet your foot, as his grip left light marks on your ankle. Kalim never meant to harm you. He was so desperate to make you stay, but in his heart, he knew that he didn't have the strength to keep you with him if you desired to leave.

"How could you think that?!" You cried out. You stooped to Kalim's level, tackling him in hug so hard that he crashes to the ground. "I… I'd never leave you if I had the choice! I couldn't stand NRC anymore…"

You sobbed into Kalim's chest, wondering when it'd all end. You could never refuse Kalim, but what about everyone else? What about Crowley? Your spine shivered at the monster's name, wanting everything to disappear except for you and Kalim.

Kalim didn't know what to do. He didn't understand why Crowley would do such a thing to you. If Crowley was causing you such pain… He'd just have to get rid of the problem. You only deserve the best, after all. It's not his fault, nor is it yours.

You had cried yourself to utter exhaustion. Kalim gently wrapped you up in his jacket, cradling you to his chest. As if clockwork, Crowley appeared to the heartwarming scene, simply glad that you were going to be returned.

"Al-Asim, Dire should patch her up nicely-"

"No."

Crowley coughed. "What was that?"

"I said no," Kalim reiterated. "I have no reason to listen to you…"

"Since YN and I aren't your students anymore."

Azul Ashengrotto

How grateful he was to find you near the water. He almost turned red at the thought of you willing to search for him. Azul never thought you'd long for him this way, but you knew him, and you knew him well.

As if on cue, you looked beyond the trees to see your beloved, running from the sandy shores barefoot to be caught by your precious Azul. Azul doesn't have the best reflexes, trying to catch you without hurting you.

Azul took one good look at you, and the sight was enough to make him cry. Messy hair, cuts and bruises littering your skin possibly from running through the rocky forest, feet with sores from rocks… and tearful, sorrowful eyes.

Not an inch of sadness deserved to touch you. That was one of his core beliefs. He didn't say anything to prompt you to tell about what you'd been suffering. He knew. He knew every line of the story, and it made him ever so guilty that it led to this. If he just paid more attention to you, or at least try to.

Azul offered you everything. An ear to listen and his body for comfort, with his arms wrapping about you. If the simple action was enough for your forgiveness, he'd do it over and over again.

It was for a moment Azul held you, before running the water with you in tow. From the forest emerged the tweels, but what was behind you made you scream. Crowley, with his magic, retaliating against the twins' magic.

Azul wrapped you around his tentacles, drifting further into the ocean with you. He bent down to whisper in your ear. "YN, close your eyes. Don't look."

You shut your eyes tight as you did, hiding yourself in Azul's chest, away from the scene.

"May we never see you again, Crowley."

Azul and the twins in their merforms plummet into the ocean, deep down where Crowley would never come to touch you.

Idia Shroud

He wasn't surprised that the huge robot scared you. It was his secret project after all. He immediately let himself out of the robot, but he was hesitant to step into the forest. Idia was scared, but he still had to protect you!

"Y-YN..."

"Idia!..."

You stopped running, seeing your boyfriend pop out of the robot. Idia was quick to get over his reluctance as his panic shifts to your injuries instead. He wanted to cry out of joy from the mere chance of finding you.

Idia tried to treat your wounds as best as he could with the emergency kit conveniently equipped [he really did think of everything] although his wrapping technique was unkempt at best.

Idia's attempts to heal you made you forget of all the suffering. You couldn't help but laugh, realising how much you missed Idia. He knew that you needed this time. Oh, how he wanted to whisk you away...

But he might as well. You're his, right?

Crowley didn't get close to reaching you. Idia thought of it all. He tracked every move the principal made, fooling Crowley to think that Idia was with you the entire time, with the tracking device that Crowley so faithfully gave him.

"How desperate... it's honestly funny..." Idia scoffed at the idea of Crowley getting to you.

With the S.T.Y.X androids, Idia confronted Crowley, who was in sheer confusion.

"Crowley… burn in hell."

Leona Kingscholar

Leona didn't hold back. He couldn't believe you would say such a thign to him… The only conclusion he reached to was that you hated him. You hated his very core, just like everyone else… He was scared. It frightened him to the core that after everything he did, you still hated him.

"YN… stop fucking around with me," He said, grabbing onto your wrist. He wasn't about to throw a tantrum then and there. He had to get things straight. "Hey… tell me. Was I just a waste for you?"

"W-What are you talking about Leona?" You pushed against his chest, trying to get some distance but Leona was way stronger than you. The lion couldn't listen to reason. He simply went on about how you must've hated him, and how much you despised him.

"Did I mean nothing to you, YN?" Leona was shaking, his shoulders trembling from the mere thought of hearing those words.

You wrapped your arms around Leona, pulling him in close. "I never did… How dare you think that you stupid lion?!" You said, sobbing your heart out. You were equally hurt, but you never once thought Leona would think such a thing.

The emotional reunion was interrupted by the principal himself, pretending to be moved by such a scene. The false pretense of safety caught on to you, and you were sent into a panic, clinging onto Leona for fear of your life.

"I hate you!" You yelled, your body crumpling to the ground just as Leona caught you. "I hate you, I hate you. I don't want to go back, don't make me!"

If you were to scream anymore, you might collapse from exhaustion. Leona was quick to carry you in his arms, holding you close to his chest, where you were comforted by his heartbeat.

"Hoi, good for nothing principal," Leona called out, a single claw drawn out, igniting his Unique Magic.

"Move before I turn you to sand."

Vil Schoenheit

He was stunned to see you in such a state. He called out for you, and you stopped in your tracks. Was he that incompetent that he can't keep you with him? Did he not treat you right? Was his mere presence just torture for you?

Vil couldn't keep it in anymore. He needed to know. "YN… why won't you come back? Tell me, is it my fault? Am I not worthy of you?!"

The once prideful queen fell into shambles of insecurity as his mind won't stop painting images of you walking away from him, of you calling him your doom, of him being your captor… No, he didn't mean it…

"Was I the villain in your story?! WAS I?!"

Vil had never cried as much as he did. He needed to know that you didn't of him as a nuisance. He really was worthless if he made you feel unwanted… so please, he needed an answer.

"How could you think that, my love?"

You stooped to Vil's level, brushing away the tears that ruined his makeup with your very hands. Oh, your poor Vil… You were too selfish, thinking of your own suffering. With Vil in your arms, you felt whole once again. You gave Vil your actual answer, relenting every moment of your stress that stemmed from Crowley.

Oh… how his sweet potato must've suffered. Vil had a stuck of guilt, considering that he was under an Overblot as well. No matter, he had to make things right. For your sake, for his love's sake.

"YN, Crowley is trying to find you. But I… I have to set things right," He said, pulling you up.

The rustle of leaves had you on guard as from it came Dire Crowley, revelling in the scene.

"Schoenheit. You are supposed to bring LN YN to me immediately as I ordered."

Vil for once scared you. It scared you how enraged he was, and your heart wrenched at seeing the ink droplets by his hand.

"Vil, don't you dare-"

He turned back to you, whispering for you to run to Rook's safety. "Don't cry, my love."

You tried to hold the tears once again as you saw Vil shifting forms to an ink-like mess, this time his rage directed at Crowley. You could only run away, praying in your heart that Vil was safe.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst scenarios #twst angst #twst dorm leaders #twst azul #twst idia #twst kalim #twst malleus #twst leona #twst vil #twst riddle #azul ashengrotto #idia shroud #kalim al asim #malleus draconia #leona kingscholar #vil schoenheit #riddle rosehearts

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monipoka · 3 years

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Addressing Content Warning Concerns

I am writing in response to points that were brought up concerning my recent post. If you haven’t read that post, you can find it here.

Be warned that this is a very long post (2.8k words). It deals with the topics of pedophilia and rape. Opinions expressed are my own; however, I do offer some resources for you to better educate yourself on this post’s content.

I will not provide a link to the user that responded as she had no ill intentions. Disclaimer if the said user reads this post, I write with peace and love at 4:00 A.M. There are a couple of places where I may sound aggressive or petty, but it is analytical and not meant to invalidate you or your opinions.

Red = user’s response with minimal changes (adjusted for grammar and clarification)

Black = my response

Part 1: Age Regression and Infantilization

To learn more about age regression, here are two lovely articles describing what age regression means medically and socially.

“Age regression [agere] is a form of coping meant to eliminate stress in potentially triggering situations. Agere is not a part of sexual play and never should be. I believe [Moni] is confusing agere for age play.”

This completely misses the mark. I understand that age regressors enter a younger psychological state often as a coping mechanism. There is nothing inherently wrong with age regression as therapy. My complaints are that people are FETISHIZING age regression. As stated in my post, age regressors enter the mindset of a child commonly called a “little space.” These individuals are to be treated like children as it helps them feel safe and loved.

In my experience on Tumblr, writers commonly misinterpret Daddy Dominant, Little Girl (DDLG) or Age Play (the larger, umbrella term) for age regression. For the purposes of explanation, I am going to be using DDLG and she/her pronouns. DDLG is a type of BDSM relationship where the dominant partner (male) takes on the role of a care-giver while the submissive partner (female) takes on the role of a child. This dynamic is pretend and intended for sexual interactions. Keyword here: pretend. While the submissive portrays childish behavior, she still has an adult mindset; therefore, she can give meaningful consent. Once writers describe the submissive slipping into “little space,” her mindset is corrupt as she has age regressed; therefore, she cannot give meaningful consent making the interaction non-consensual as she embodies a child.

“Infantilization is treating somebody as if they’re a child. For example, ‘babying’ someone is the best explanation for it. This, in my opinion, is not pedophilia because it’s not inherently sexual. If it IS sexual, I wouldn’t necessarily classify it as pedophilic, but it is questionable.”

Again, this misses the mark. In a non-sexual context, infantilization is completely okay. My complaints are that people are FETISHIZING the infantilization of characters. I used this term as an alternative language to age regression because I have encountered both on this site.

“Age Play, in my opinion, is pedophilic due to how the 'older’ of the partners is benefitting from it. So if [Moni] and I are thinking the same thing, but not really using the same terminology, then I agree.”

Age Play is a kink in the BDSM community between two consenting and level-headed adults.

Age Regression is characterized by regressing back to a younger headspace.

Sexualizing age regression is pedophilic because age regressors feel, act, and exhibit childlike qualities; they genuinely believe that they are a child.

If age play includes “little space,” then it is pedophilic because the submissive has age regressed.

“None of these is what I would consider illegal due to the fact that both parties are consenting adults. But age play definitely is pedophilic. But, obviously, if both people are adults, it can’t be considered illegal.”

I called pedophilia (and rape) illegal. In the eyes of the law, sexualizing age play--given that the individual is of age--is legal. This point used the transitive property of equality (Trans POE) to point out the hypocrisy in condemning pedophilia but supporting the fetishization of age regression. To clarify, it may not be illegal, but it is morally wrong.

“Infantilization and age regression aren’t inherently pedophilic because they revolve around the idea of a mindset and not physicality.”

This is contradictory to your previous point and only half true. Age regressors largely rely on physical objects (ie. clothes, stuffed animals, pacifiers) to feel safe. While the root of age regression involves a change in psyche, it is reflected in their appearance and environment.

Part 2: Dubious Consent and Non-consensual

To learn more about rape, here is a wonderful article on non-consensual sex.

“Secondly, I’m quite confused on what she [Moni] is saying regarding calling dubcon [dubious consent] and noncon [non-consentual] rape instead of dubcon and noncon.

They are rape, or at least some form of sexual assault, but I don’t think anyone’s trying to mask them from being as such.”

I whole-heartedly disagree. It is apparent by the staggering number of dubcon and noncon posts that people use these terms to try and justify writing rape because they consider it a “fetish.” The reason I am against these terms is that writers never specifically condemn them. Oftentimes, writers mix the content of the fic into their warning section. So, by writing ‘blowjob’ next to ‘dubcon’ it underscores the severity of the situation.

“Categorizing both of the two as 'rape’ could potentially end up being very damaging. Rape is a very triggering and harsh word for some people, which is why I believe a lot of people use non-consensual sex as a term to avoid potentially triggering people.”

Again, I believe that people use dubcon and noncon to try and justify their rape “fetish.” However, if using the term “rape” is triggering to some individuals and the terms “dubcon” and “noncon” are used as a substitution, why aren’t these writers coming out and explicitly saying that they do not support these types of interactions? Furthermore, why are they writing and sharing this content in the first place if they acknowledge it as rape?

“Also, I think it’s important to clarify whether the 'sexual assault’ in fiction is dubious or non-consensual. There’s a big difference between both parties being drunk in a fic (dubcon) and hard rape, and it’s important to distinguish the two in warning columns.”

Drunk people can’t consent. Both situations are rape. The “level” of rape that you refer to, being how consensual it is, is more damaging in my opinion. Because they were drunk, it means less than if they were sober. This perpetuates victim shaming. She was asking for it. She shouldn’t have drunk so much. Rape is rape. It is never okay. And one rape is never better than another.

“Dubcon is also very important to clarify in fics due to the fact that dubcon is only a fictional concept. It helps indicate the level of consent given in the fiction because someone could be not triggered by sex under intoxication but can be triggered by hard noncon.”

I’m going to use a quote I cited from this source because I feel that the writer describes dubcon more eloquently than I can: “What bothers me the most about this situation, and what I think you are partly getting at here, is when people say that their fic isn't "noncon" or they say it is "dubcon" or "noncon depending on your point of view." Come on! Have the guts to admit that what they're writing is rape. Dubious consent bothers me as a qualifier because if you aren't sure whether someone is consenting, you don't do it or it's rape. No excuses. So, I think that people should just bite the bullet and say, this is a rape fic.... If people want to write rape fic, go for it, and I will probably read it, but let's step up and acknowledge what it is we are writing. I take issue with these qualifiers because I think that it is far more insidious than out and out rape porn. At least when we say it is rape, then we can move on to the next step: saying it's wrong, just a fantasy, etc. But avoiding the label perpetuates the rape myths that have had such a damaging effect on victims and justice: did she enjoy it, she didn't really say no, she was a tease, they've done it before. None of those things matter, and when a person labels their fic, they need to stop pretending they do.”

Essentially, the writer is reiterating what I explained in my previous comment that rape is rape. Another statement that I found describes how damaging fiction can be in real life. While most readers understand that what occurred didn’t really happen, there are real-life consequences attributed to it: “...However, not everyone in fandom uses those terms in those ways. And I think that's a problem that we need to fix. Because, especially when situations that exist in real life and that would be called rape in real life are labeled "dubcon," I think it does real harm to us all.....We currently live in a culture where not fighting back - because, for example, the rapist has threatened to kill you, or someone else, or your pet, if you don't go along with it - will very often get a rape case overturned in court. Where judges and juries and god knows the popular media will pick out and analyze every detail of a person's life to determine whether they were asking for it, whether they secretly wanted it, whether they could have conceivably fought back more than they did, why they didn't scream, why they didn't report the blackmail that was used to control them, whether or not their "consent" might've been implicitly given by winks or nods or secret handshakes or a general miasma of sexual invitation. In other words, we live in a world in which rape culture, a thing we all unwittingly participate in at one time or another, works very very hard to label things dubcon when they're really noncon.”

“Most people 'romanticizing’ non-consensual sex are victims who are trying to gain some sort of control over their trauma, so they have every right to do so. If a victim of rape should have the ability to choose whether or not they want to read/write a noncon fic and if they don’t want to use the word rape because it makes them uncomfortable, they don’t have to and shouldn’t be forced to.

As a victim of rape and sexual assault, I find peace in having the control and ability to write about my trauma. It's a way for me to gain back control that I lost and the word rape does make me uncomfortable, it makes many victims uncomfortable, and if I prefer not to use that word then I should not have to if people know synonymous terms.”

Romanticize: deal with or describe in an idealized or unrealistic fashion; make (something) seem better or more appealing than it really is.

If you are writing/reading smut, you are trying to get off. If you are writing/reading dubcon/noncon smut, you are getting off to rape. Instead of writing/reading about how heinous rape is and how disgusting rape culture is, you write/read fics romanticizing rape since as a reader you enjoy the content to some extent: it is with your favorite character, it takes place in a cool universe, it got you horny, you felt good after reading it. Romanticizing rape is damaging to society as it subconsciously makes rape appealing. I doubt that is the intention, but you can’t deny that these underlying connections exist.

There is a difference between writing to cope and writing to entertain. My intention has never been to victim shame. But writing non-consensual sex between anime characters and a reader-insert is a form of entertainment. Remember the purposes of writing we learned about in elementary school? Yeah, I have a hard time believing that this is therapeutic. Journal therapy uses reflective writing to work through trauma and mental health issues. In sexual assault cases specifically, victims often write about their experience and/or letters to their perpetrator(s). However, if this is your way to cope, that’s fine. But writing rape fics is not the same as sharing rape fics.

“People know the severity of noncon and dubcon, which is what I think [Moni] is missing. No one is trying to not make noncon rape because it is rape. People know that it is. Most people just chose to say 'noncon’ to avoid unnecessarily triggering others.”

Do they? I think to my previous comments in this section, people use these terms to downplay the seriousness of rape.

“And there are far more 'consensual’ fics out there than noncon/dubcon fics, so I don’t exactly understand what [Moni] means by 'romanticize’ or 'normalize it.’”

Two comments up I describe what romanticization is and how it is being done in the community. I’m going to ignore the number part of this statement because I feel that there is no relevance; If there is a platform for rape fics and people are engaging with them, numbers don’t matter relative to another type of fic. I call that authors romanticize consensual sex because it is oftentimes not explicitly stated, and I think it should be. The character(s) and reader are in a relationship and sex is a byproduct of that (I do not consider this dubcon). Personally, I have found very few fics where explicit consent is written in. People sometimes think that asking for consent interrupts the flow and ruins a moment. Works of fiction have an impact on real life, and writing/reading about consent serves to reinforce healthy practices.

“Going off of that, I don’t understand what [Moni] means by 'fairly young’ audiences. I'm hoping that most 18+ consumers are, you know, eighteen or older (obviously that's not the case in all situations), and eighteen is a legal adult. Most people over the age of eighteen are very aware of what these terms mean, and they know right from wrong. So, there should be no need to clarify what 'noncon’ is for them.”

My point is that this community is relatively young. I have not encountered many writers or readers who are over the age of 25 (if you are, kudos). At this age, you lack experience. Many of these readers have never had sex or been in a relationship before. While you might know the difference between rape and consensual sex on paper, some of these things are more subtle--especially in person. You referenced drunk sex as something that you’d classify as dubcon although intoxicated individuals can’t consent. I recently read a fic where the reader was drunk and picked up at the bar by a character. He asked the reader if they consented to sex and they agreed. This is still rape as you cannot consent while intoxicated since alcohol impairs judgment. Regardless of enjoyment, which the reader experienced, this is still sexual assault. Can you see the confusion by labeling that dubcon? What is a young adult to think when they’ve been manipulated into sex but told they consented? It’s confusing, so these terms should be clarified.

Part 3: Fiction

To learn more about how fiction affects reality, here is this interesting TED-Ed animation that summarizes fiction’s impact. Also, I read this article that cites more examples.

“Also, our writing shouldn’t have to equate 'good practices,’ because a healthy-minded individual knows how to separate fiction and reality. Give people the freedom to write about whatever they want, whether it’s in private or not, that's what fiction is for.”

You claim that you don’t want to use the word rape to trigger people, so you acknowledge that not all readers are health-minded as they could be suffering from trauma or mental illness. Likewise, some individuals can’t discern fiction from reality.

More importantly, there is a connection between fiction and reality.

“Finally, I don't think we should be so open with connecting real-life issues with fictional ones. No one is going to become a rapist or want to be raped because they read fiction on it unless they’re truly a rapist or have been raped. Equating fictional works to real-life problems is a little insulting, whether [Moni] intended it to be or not.”

Watch the video and read the article. Fiction directly impacts culture and society. It may be insulting, but it’s factual.

“Because in the end, in rape fiction, no one actually got raped. In pedophilic fiction (I don’t support it don’t get me wrong), no one was actually a victim of pedophilia. Because they’re all fictional.”

That doesn’t make it okay. Again, my problem is that writers ROMANTICIZE these topics which reflect poorly on society.

“If someone is concerned about pedophilia and rape fiction, I believe it would be best to work towards real-life solutions to those real-life problems compared to criticizing fiction authors.”

If you’re concerned about pedophilia and rape FICTION, I’d hope you’d criticize FICTION authors. Honestly, this seems to be a diversion tactic to avoid accountability.

Part 4: “No Offense, but You’re Wrong About Everything”

“Overall, I think [Moni] had good intentions, but it was poorly worded.

You pose a counter argument to each of my points and make it sound like I did not educate myself beforehand. You then deflect to talking about rape and pedophilia in real-world context to downplay the severity of pedophilia and rape in fiction.

I sound petty here, and I do not mean for my words to hurt. I wish that there was some communication beforehand since it seems that there was confusion. If my original post was unclear, I hope my comments help.

Conclusion

This is for everyone:

Please check out the resources I provided and do your own research to understand the situation before forming your own opinion.

No hate to the writer of the response. I just wish you would have reached out directly for clarification before taking my words out of context and assuming their meaning.

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hermits-that-craft · 3 years

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Love Run, The Song You Know's Begun.

"Though some would harm you, none - not one - no none Would raise to you a hand nor thumb Not while by you I stand and hum" - The Amazing Devil, Love Run Reprise --- The afterlife. Choices. Broken Promises.

Cross posted on ao3. Link in reblog

He wakes up in a meadow, surrounded by lilies, marigolds, poppies and white carnations. He blinks slowly, looking up at the sky. It’s synthetic. Perfectly painted. The sky is a beautiful baby blue, and he can see the paint strokes in the clouds.

He isn’t angry though. He can’t find it in himself to be angry. He hardly remembers who he is.

Where he is.

He stands, running his hand through his hair. He’s wearing a long sleeved white shirt, with a red collar and arms. His pants are beige, pockets filled with rocks and faded photos. His heart yearns, but he doesn’t move, the flowers growing through his feet and anchoring him to the meadow. Blood pools at his feet, runs in front of his eyes. His skin is littered black and blue.

But he isn’t in pain.

He can’t move.

“You have a choice” The universe whispers to him, gently in the breeze. “You can go back, or you can move forward. You were ripped from that world too soon.”

It’s regret, what's on her voice. At least, thats what he thinks it is.

“Why can’t I remember anything?” He asks her. “What’s my name? Why am I bleeding?”

“You have a choice,” The universe reiterates. “You can go back, or you can move forward. I cannot tell you about your past. I will not tell you of your future. This choice is entirely yours.”

“How will I know?”

“You will feel it. You will feel the pull towards one option or another.”

“What if,” He pauses, uncertain. “What if I don’t want to choose?”

“Then you will be split between both. Half will move forward. Half will go back.” The universe seems to want to say something, as though she believes that she is leaving something out that is important.

“Can I stay here?” His voice is small, uncertain. “I don’t want to be hurt again. I don’t want to be an adult anymore.”

A woman appears in the meadow. Her dark, shoulder length hair flows gently in the breeze, golden cloak swaying with the grass. She wears a black, sleeveless top and black cargo pants, alongside leather boots. She turns to him, and her eyes look like the stars. She isn’t Clara - the emptiness of the void does not exist here - but he knows her.

He’s seen her in the photos on someone’s walls. Heard about her in another’s tales. Felt her in a person’s embrace.

She is the universe.

She is Kristen.

She walks to him silently, tears welling in her eyes as she pulls him into a hug. It’s warm, the warmth he craved from before, but not dangerously so. He isn’t cold anymore. She holds him as he breaks. He doesn’t know his name, he doesn’t know what he left behind. He doesn’t know where he is or what he is. But he knows her.

“I can’t keep you here.” She whispers to him. “My boy, my son, how I wish I could. Someone awaits you on both sides. You should go to one of them.”

“But what about you?”

“I will join you when the last member of our family joins you.”

“Mum-”

“You have to decide, now.” She pulls away from him, and wipes the tears from his eyes. “Where will you go?”

“I can’t. Both?” He watches her with sad eyes. “Will I remember both?”

“When half of you decides to move forward, then you will remember what the half that moved back will remember.”

“Then both.” He says, and Kristen - the universe - smiles at him. She is kind.

“Go back to sleep. When you wake up, all will be well.”

----

Ghostinnit wakes in his dirt house, floating just off of the bed. He sits, confused. What does he remember?

“TO REVOKE THE CITIZENSHIP-” “Let’s be the bad guys, Tommy.” “I don’t give a FUCK about spirit.” “Let’s blow that motherfucker to smithereens” “Sorry doesn’t cut it. “The only universal language is violence.” “Down with the revolution boys, it was never meant to be.” “I wanna see WHITE FLAGS!” “We’re fucked, we were fucked the minute we were thrown out.” “He would drop us at the SECOND he realised we’re not in the lead anymore.” “Do you know what happens to traitors, Tubbo?” “L’Manburg can be independent, but L’Manburg can’t be FREE.” “The most logical thing to do. For Tommy to be… Exiled. From L’Manburg.”

Oh.

So that’s what he remembers.

Ghostinnit doesn’t know who he can trust. He remembers dying, painful, slow and full of fear, but he doesn’t remember much from between doomsday and death. Perhaps he was happy? Or at least, not scared? He shouldn’t trust anyone, just in case.

Ghostinnit floats out of his house, ‘walking’ towards Eret’s castle. As much as Tommy wants to hate the king for betraying L’Manburg, Tommy remembers seeing Eret fight alongside him during doomsday. Go head to head with Dream and Techno and Philza. The admin and Tommy’s family. Eret fought to help him. So Tommy should be able to at least forgive the king, or steal from him.

He’ll make up his mind on the way there.

Ghostinnit floats, not paying much attention to his surroundings, until he stops. He’s not sure what made him stop, but he looks at the flower garden that grows around Eret’s base. Wild poppies grow on the lawn, and Tommy sits down, picking them. He doesn’t know what possess him to make the flower crown, but it doesn’t feel right until he stops.

A flower crown made of poppies.

A crown of blood.

Tommy holds the flower crown gently, taking great care not to bend it wrong. He floats into the grand castle, wandering until he hears a shout.

“He’s gone, Tubbo!” It’s Jack, his mind happily supplies. He has a few bad memories of the man, he recognises the shout, but he doesn’t have any recent memories of him, so he surely could trust Jack! “He’s gone and the server is thriving!”

“How could you be so heartless!” Tubbo screams, and Ghostinnit floats over to the doorway. Niki and Jack stand to one side, idly watching as Eret holds Tubbo back. Ghostinnit’s friend (ex-friend? They did have a falling out) is struggling against Eret’s grip, screaming and thrashing. Phil and Techno are there, both glaring at Jack and Niki. Tommy doesn’t understand it.

A casket lies on a pedestal, the L’Manburg flag draped over it. A soldier's burial, for Wilbur perhaps. Tommy knows that getting his body from the prison would be a hassall. One that those who hate him wouldn’t go through, even if those people were his father and brother. Sam and a sheep woman stand guard over it, though their eyes are clouded with pain. Quackity and Sapnap weap, Karl holding onto them protectively. Perhaps not Wilbur’s funeral then, he doesn’t remember Wilbur being close to either of the two, though he might have become close in the happy memories.

“What's wrong?” Ghostinnit asks quietly, floating into the room. The crowd looks at him, and Ghostinnit wants to curl up in the air. There are too many people looking at him, they’re angry, they’re going to kill him-

“Tommy?” The sheep woman’s voice breaks, and somewhere in his mind he digs up a name. Puffy. “Oh Void-”

“You’re Puffy, right?�� His voice is small. “I don’t have any memories of you, so you must have been a good memory.”

“What?” Eret chokes out. “I thought-”

“I only have bad memories. I guess the universe wanted me to make better memories.” Ghostinnit shrugs, though he can’t quite make the panic subside. He wishes everyone would just look away-

“You look like shit.” Jack says, glaring at him.

“Well, I was beaten to death by my abuser.” Ghostinnit shoots back, though he floats back from the man. Something is off about him. He doesn’t seem quite right. “And I’m sorry for not exactly having enough time to look at myself. I wanted to come see Eret. Who’s funeral is this?”

“It’s yours.” Sam says, bowing his head. “I’m sorry, Tommy. I’m so sorry-”

“You didn’t kill me.” Ghostinnit says. “You did what you had to do.”

“We’ll bring you back.” Tubbo says, his eyes full of promises he can’t keep. “I don’t care what we have to do. What deals we have to make.”

“Don’t.” Ghostinnit shakes his head. “The revive book isn’t real. I don’t want to come back. I’m only here because I’m waiting.”

“For what?” Techno asks, and Quackity glares at Ghostinnit’s older brother, who ignores Tubbo’s wails. “What are you waiting for?”

“Whoever Kristen says she’s waiting for.” Ghostinnit shrugs. “Then I’ll go back to the meadow.”

And with that, Ghostinnit turns to leave. He’ll talk to Eret after the ceremony. After his funeral. After all, he doesn’t want to watch as his father and brother’s faces fall with the memory of his mother. He doesn’t want to listen to Tubbo and Puffy’s wails. He just wants to let Eret know that he was forgiven. He places the flower crown on a table underneath a mirror, somehow having made his way into one of Eret’s bathrooms.

He sees his reflection in the mirror, and stares at it in shock. The black eye that he was given as he was beaten to death is no more, instead replaced with a bouquet of forget-me-nots. In fact, all of his bruises are the small, blue flowers. The blood that fell from the side of his mouth and his nose is gone, replaced by a poppy. He wears a red sweater, not unlike Ghostbur’s yellow one, or Glatt’s blue one, and his skin is grey.

His eyes are blue though, not whited out like he imagined. Pure blue, no glowing white or void like black. A bright, sky blue.

He smiles, and poppy petals fall from his lips.

---

Tommy hops off the train that left the meadow, a bag over his back. He’s wearing his normal clothes, and the injuries he once sustained are gone. He feels solid, but also not solid. Scared, but not. He remembers everything, and somehow nothing.

He doesn’t know which stop to hop off at, so he doesn’t. He watches as others hop off at different stops, ghosts going to worlds. Perhaps to be reborn, perhaps to meet the afterlife. Maybe even to become a member of someone’s chat.

The train stops, and he’s the only one on his carriage. The end of the line.

Tommy gets off, worry in his gut. What if he doesn’t see Wilbur here? What if Wilbur hopped off at another stop. What if Wilbur doesn’t want to see him?

What if he does see Wilbur?

Tommy looks around the station, hugging himself as he tries to find a familiar face. Maybe Schlatt will be there, maybe not. He’d take anyone , at this point.

He’s the only person who hops off at this station.

“Tommy?” It’s Wilbur’s voice that pulls him out of his frantic searching. “You’re not supposed to be here, the void wasn’t preparing for you. Why are you here?”

Tommy turns, and sees his brother. Still in his Pogtopia coat, but cleaner. Warmer. Tears pool in Tommy’s eyes, and he runs to his brother, getting pulled into a hug. He’s with Wilbur again. He’s nearly home .

“Who hurt you, Toms?” Wilbur sounds choked up, upset. “Why are you here?”

“Dream.” Tommy says quietly. “He beat me to death.”

“I’ll kill him.” Wilbur swears, and Tommy laughs wetly.

“Don’t. I promised that I’d see you soon.” Tommy pulls out of Wilbur’s hug, reaching for his hand. “Let’s go home, I’m tired of being an adult. Let’s be a family again.”

“I’m not supposed to see you for another fifty years.” Wilbur accepts the hand Tommy offers him, smiling sorrowfully. “But I’m glad you hopped off the train here.”

“I wouldn’t have hopped off anywhere else. Too much pull to here.”

They both walk out of the station, hand in hand. Tommy sees the outline of Schlatt and Mexican Dream in the distance, and he knows that his family will come through, sooner or later. He’ll see them around, but for now he’ll spend time with his older brother and his friends.

He has an eternity to spend with everyone else, when they arrive.

#tommyinnit #dream smp fanfiction #dream smp #wilbur soot #angst #sbi fanfic #dsmp fanfic

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chasseurdeloup-retired · 3 years

Text

When the Party's Over || Notia and Kaden

TIMING: Current LOCATION: A bar PARTIES: @humanmoodring and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Cordelia gets one last chance to live it up.

Finding an exorcist wasn’t enough. Kaden knew that much. Hell, it was no good if there was no body to work with. That didn’t change the fact that he didn’t want to have to deal with this portion of the plan, didn’t want to have to face the body of his friend. So he took a shot at the bar before looking around for Cordelia. He saw what should be a familiar face across the way. Sure, she looked like Nadia, sure, but something was off. The mannerisms, the movements, every inch of her screamed that she was someone else borrowing his friend’s body. He wasn’t sure why he thought there was safety in a public space, but he was hoping there might be some to be found. “Cordelia,” he said, placing a firm grip on her shoulder. “Long time, no see.” His hand closed tighter around her, likely bruising her body, but he wanted to make a fucking point. He was ready to grab her a lot more forcefully if he had to, but hell if he hoped he didn’t have to. “How’s it been, really? I’ve got a few things we need to chat about.”

The bartender was a terrible flirt, just the kind that Nadia knew she could get a drink or two or three out of without having to even start a tab. Not that she’d even got started when she felt a familiar presence behind her and a hand clamping down on her shoulder. She was kind of impressed with Kaden’s forcefulness. He really didn’t see his friend anymore when he looked at her, did he? The room chilled around them, but she shot the bartender a reassuring wink and turned to face Kaden. “Ohmygod, Kadie!” she said, eyes wide with excitement. She was careful not to react to the way he said that name. “It’s so good to see you, really. I’ve just been so busy, I couldn’t fit you into my schedule.” She put her hand on his and dug her nails in a bit to remove it from her shoulder. “A chat? Sure, totally.” She gave him an easy grin, let he know that he didn’t scare her. She was in control here. She was in charge. Especially after everything that had happened with Arthur earlier. “What ya wanna talk about, hot stuff?”

“A lot, actually,” Kaden replied with a smirk. “I’d say I missed you but that’d be a lie. And I’m an honest man. I would never lie to you like that.” The nails in his hand were nothing. If she wanted to inflict pain, she’d have to try harder. Not that he planned to encourage her, this was the same woman who stabbed and shot him. Sill, it wasn’t like he didn’t endure cat scratches on a near daily basis. He hardly even flinched at the pain. In response, he used his other hand to grab her wrist, gripped it tight, but not enough to break any bones. Hopefully she was aware just how easy it would be. “We can do this the hard way or the easy way, Cordelia. But it’s over. Jig is up. Hope you had a good last night but it’s over.”

“Aw, Kadie, you’re hurting my feelings.” Nadia pouted. But she glared at him as his hand went to her wrist. Out. She needed a way out of this. “Is there a third option, maybe?” She looked around the bar. The bartender had moved away, but she was sure he’d come back if she screamed. She should scream. There was a beer bottle in front of her. A plan, half-assed and half-formed, came into her head. “Night’s hardly even begun, babe.” With her free hand, she smashed the beer bottle over Kaden’s hand, and then she started screaming. “Help! Fuck, please help me!” The dim lights in the bar brightened momentarily with her screams before settling back down, and Nadia did her best to pry Kaden’s hand off of her and move away. If she could make it outside, then she could get away, go to the apartment, and regroup. Maybe this was proof that it was time to leave, time to move on to greener pastures. Like the Bahamas. Or somewhere in Europe.

Kaden was prepared for a fight. He knew she wasn’t going to go quietly, as much as he wished that she might. As much as he didn’t want to damage Nadia’s body too much, he would do what he had to in order to get her to come with him. “Shit!” he cursed as soon as she smashed a bottle on him. So much for having one good hand. He clenched his jaw and held tight to her, pushed past the pain, ignored the blood that was pooling on it, and across his hand. It was possible he was going to break her wrist but he wasn’t going to fucking let go, not if he could help it. Shattered glass? Funny that she tried. He was dating a banshee. Shattered glass was nothing new. “Nadia Diaz,” he shouted over her. “You’re under arrest for theft, assault, and attempted homicide.” He pulled out his badge to show the room, just in case, along with his handcuffs. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” She tried to run, almost slipped from his hand, but he reached out and cuffed her bruised and possibly broken wrist before he continued. ”You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.” Say what she wanted, he was still a fucking cop and the badge was real so she could fucking try him. “We can make this easy. Or we can make this hard,” he reiterated, trying to lead her to the door.”

“You really wanna do this?” Nadia gasped out, teeth gritted against the pain in her wrist as Kaden pulled her hands behind her back. “You wanna play the cop card?” What kind of fucking game was this asshole playing, anyway? Arresting her? Sure, whatever. She’d been arrested before. He was doing more harm than good, speaking Nadia’s name and charges out into existence among these people. There was no help to be had, just anticipation and curiosity as the bar’s patrons watched on. The badge seemed to have the same effect in warding people off from helping as salt warded a ghost from a room.. She was alone in this, and it’d be easier to just go with him. “How are you gonna deal with this, huh?” She asked quietly as she let him lead her away, craning her head back to look at him. There was a knife on his belt. She would remember that. “Get your little empath back and what? Now everybody here thinks she’s a murderer. Or did you not think this through?” She went rigid and stopped moving, forcing him to stop as well, however momentary. “Why don’t you just let me go, Langley? Instead of fucking up what’s left of Nadia Diaz’s life?”

“I really don’t but I’ll do what I have to. This is ending, Cordelia. You’re done,” Kaden said in her ear as he led her out of the bar. Shit, it was almost a power trip watching the way part in the club as they made their way to the door. He didn’t normally pull stunts like this and he definitely didn’t normally do this sort of shit as an animal control officer, but no one in that bar needed to know that. He should try this more often. Once they were outside of the bar, he led her to his animal control truck. It wasn’t exactly the same as a traditional cop car, but it looked more official than his personal truck. He really hoped no one questioned him. Because this sure as shit was far from legal. He ran into her back as she stopped short. Putain. “Really? You think you’re the only one clever enough for a con, Cordy?” He huffed out a laugh and continued to escort her to the passenger seat, swinging the door open. “You think I’m actually taking you to jail? Fuck no. You’re going somewhere much worse.” That was probably stupid to show his hands so soon. He didn’t want to have to knock her out but, shit. He was probably going to have to knock her out. Putain.

“It ends when I fucking say it does,” Nadia snarled. He felt so fucking smug. She wanted to jerk her head up into his nose and break it, but she refrained. She wasn’t going to struggle anymore. She’d have to find another way out of this. “I don’t think you have the brain power to pull off a clever con, dumbass. Even if you don’t take me to jail, you’ve outed your pal as a criminal, a murderer. And I have killed quite a few people in this town, just an FYI.” She slammed her shoulder into Kaden’s chest and grabbed the knife while he was distracted. She’d been picking pockets for years. Taking one knife off of a man’s belt was child’s play. Then she all but fell into the passenger seat, turning back to him with a sneer. “You’re going somewhere much worse,” she mocked. “Cry me a fucking river. You can kick me out and put her back in, but I still win, and I can just find someone else, someone better.” She laughed. “Not that you’d notice if I just stayed though, would you? You didn’t notice for months.” She made her eyes soft, her lips pouty. “Mimes, like, totally suck! Of course we’re friends, Kaden! I’ll totally help you look for your girlfriend! Don’t be so hard on yourself, it’s gonna be okay!” She let her face go blank. “You’re an idiot. An idiot. For all your claims to know her and care for her, you and everyone else were just as fucking obtuse as her goddamn parents. An emotionally constipated girl that she slept with a handful of times figured it out before all of her little friends. You only found me out because I let you.” Nadia looked at Kaden with pure hate, knife gripped tightly in her hands. But she couldn’t use it. She slipped it into the waistband of her pants instead.

“Sure it does.” Kaden didn’t really feel like arguing with her. It hardly seemed worth it. He wouldn’t have to argue with her for too much longer. “Have I? Really? To one bar, one bartender? I have a feeling that’s not going to matter much. I don’t have any evidence. Really a shame no one was able to hold Nadia. What a trage-” He let out an ouf as she slammed into his chest. He made sure his hold on her didn’t loosen for too long and she didn’t make a run for it. Thankfully, she slid into the passenger seat without too much argument. It was about as good a scenario as he could hope for considering. His face steeled as he watched her try to play him some more. She looked like Nadia but the more she spoke, the clearer it was that this was all Cordelia. “I didn’t notice, you’re right. But I know now. So it doesn’t matter how in the fuck any of found out. Really it was your mistake for not leaving town when you had a chance.” Once, she had been able to use her words to twist his heart, tug on his strings. Not anymore. “You know, you really need to get a new routine. This one’s getting stale.” Too bad she wasn’t going to get a chance. He pulled out a taser before slamming the door and heading around to the driver’s seat. Just in case he couldn’t deal with her bullshit babbling anymore.

Rolling her eyes, Nadia slumped down into the seat and watched him go to the driver’s side. There it was. Panic. Not his, either, but hers, purely hers. It made her heart beat frantically. Her breath came out in short puffs as the temperature in the car lowered even further. This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t. It couldn’t. She should have just kicked herself out of Nadia Diaz’s body when she had the chance, left it in a ditch somewhere. But then she wouldn’t have been able to have any fun. She should have left the moment he hurt her wrist and shoved her in the fucking truck, but there was the chance that he would make it back to Nadia in time for her to reclaim her body and, no, she wasn’t going to have that. She wasn’t. Not if she couldn’t get it back, not if it wasn’t hers. She’d put a lot of time and effort into this body, goddammit. She wasn’t going to lose it like this. She’d get rid of it her way or no way at all. “Fuck you,” she said, keeping her eyes on him and the taser, but she didn't say it loudly, and she didn’t struggle. Fine. Let him think that they’d won. Whatever. She couldn’t wait to watch him regret this, even if it was the last thing that she did.

#writing #wickedswriting #chatzy #nadia #notia #humanmoodring #when the party's over

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sithsecrets · 4 years

Text

Protector

A trip to a foreign planet nearly ends in the death of the Supreme Leader’s wife.

---

1.9k words

Mentions: discussions of sex, an assassination attempt, murder, distress after trauma

---

“Do you intend for every man in the room to drool over you during this party?”

You turn your head, not quite looking over your shoulder as a smile creeps over your mouth. “Do you intend to die of heatstroke on this tropical planet in all of those black layers?”

Kylo walks to you, leans on the edge of your vanity, and just as you suspected, he’s draped in fine dark robes. You know him all too well, and the thought makes your smile broaden.

“Don’t dodge my question,” Kylo teases, mock-serious, and you’re happy to see him in a good mood.

The two of you are to attend a party tonight, one thrown in honor of the Order making an alliance with this rather warm, beachy planet— hence the smart clothing that the two of you are currently wearing.

“You know I only want your attention,” you say to your husband, and it’s a serious answer.

The garment you’re wearing is more revealing than your usual clothing choices, all crisscrossing straps and sheer fabric that swirls about you when you walk. You’re happy to be in something so fanciful and light for the evening, happy to feel a bit freer than usual. The ship is always so cold, and it’s a rare occurrence that you’re comfortable wearing no less than a couple of layers. But this planet is warm and humid, the kind of place where the air seems to stick to your skin, and the culture here seems to be one of exposed skin.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Kylo tells you, and there’s a softness in his eyes as he reaches out to caress your cheek, “because I’m sure you could have any man you wanted tonight.”

“What I want,” you sigh, rising to stand before Kylo, “is for the two of us to have a good time at this party. And then, after that, I want us to go swimming in the ocean under the light of the moons.”

Your husband pulls you closer to him, a smile playing at his lips. His arms are solid around you, and you’d lay your head on his chest if you hadn’t just spent the better part of an hour putting on your makeup. “Only if we can have sex on the beach afterwards,” Kylo tells you, eyes flitting over the neckline of your dress, your painted mouth.

You roll your eyes, grinning up at him. “Well of course, darling. What else would we do?”

---

The gala is surprisingly fun, more fun than these things usually are, and you find yourself having a good time with the other guests.

The spouses of several prominent officials pull you onto the dancefloor with them after dinner, and you spin round and round the room, your floaty dress swirling all around you as you go. The people of this planet are such fun, you think as a woman locks arms with you, smiling brightly as the two of you exchange partners and lunge into the next steps of the dance you’re partaking in.

Kylo isn’t on the floor with you, could never be coaxed into doing such a thing as dancing, but you can feel his eyes on your as you fly about the room with your new friends. You make sure to look at him occasionally, panting for breath and grinning as you feel sweat begin to bead on your forehead from all this exertion. He’s not smiling, not in the way a normal person would at the sight of someone they love so happy, but you know you’re husband like the back of your hand; he’s bewitched by you, and you can see it in his eyes every time you catch his gaze.

The musicians never seen to stop playing, so you keep dancing with your new friends, dizzy from the spinning, buzzed from the wine you drank a little while ago. You’re having so much fun that you never want to stop, never want to leave this beautiful, warm place with all of these kind, carefree people.

Your new partner for this dance is a pretty woman with striking purple hair. She grins as the two of you perform a series of steps in front of one another, swaying this way and that way as your feet move almost of their own accord. It comes time to spin, to switch partners, so you turn away from this woman with the bright hair, ready to begin anew with someone else.

When you feel a flash of heat against your back, you know immediately that something is wrong. You whip around, almost toppling over in the process, still dizzy and buzzed from dancing and drinking.

Everyone screams at the sight before you. The woman you’d just been dancing with, had just been within mere centimeter of, lies on the ground in a heap. Her long, purple hair is splayed out over the marble floor, already becoming soaked with blood as a wound in her chest the size of a fist weeps her life right out of her body. You can’t stop looking at her, at the way her glassy eyes see nothing as she gurgles and twitches… as she dies.

Cold to the bone in the sweltering room, you almost don’t register the way you’re swept off your feet, quite literally picked up and hauled out of the room by someone strong and solid.

Panicked and disoriented, you fight back for a fleeting moment before you realize that Kylo’s the one stealing you away.

---

You don’t begin processing what’s just happened until you and Kylo are back on the ship, practically barricaded your shared quarters. Kylo had rushed you back here immediately, had you out of the palace and on a transport vessel so quickly that you didn’t know what was happening until he set you down on the bed.

“Did someone just try to kill me?” is all you can think to ask. You can feel them now, the tears. They prick at the corners of your eyes, clog your throat and make your voice strained. Kylo kneels before you, brushing your hair back from your face, rubbing your arms gently.

“Darling,” he says, looking at you like he means to keep you calm. “Darling, you’re all right, you’re safe.”

“Did someone just try to fucking kill me, Kylo?”

You’re asking even though you already know the answer, asking because you simply cannot believe it. You were on a friendly planet, you’d made good allies out of its leaders, people who were there at that party just now. And stars, it’s awful, it’s so awful, because all you can see in your mind is that woman dying without even knowing what happened to her.

“You are safe, my love,” Kylo reiterates. You’re comforted by none of it, slowly dissolving into tears as you realize that someone just tried to end your life as you enjoyed a moment of unbridled vulnerability.

Kylo wraps his arms around you, tucks your face into his neck as you weep. It’s heavy sobbing, the kind that makes your chest hurt, and you find yourself barely able to breathe from the force of it. Accustomed to such overt displays of violence, Kylo remains calm, simply keeps holding you as your emotions get the better of you.

“Why would someone do that?” you as weakly, and it surprises no one more than yourself that you’re behaving this way.

Years ago, when yourself and Kylo first wed, someone tried to poison you at a state dinner. The plot was found out in time, of course, and while the idea of someone trying to kill you then had you shaken for a few hours afterwards, that particular incident didn’t have you breaking down the way you are now.

It’s the context of it all, you think, and the fact that someone else died in your place right in front of you, someone you’d just been enjoying yourself with. And you’d felt it, felt the heat of what you assume was a blast bolt on your back as you went to spin around. A few centimeters to the left, and you would have been the one with a gaping hole in your chest.

“My love, please, look at me,” Kylo commands, holding your face in his hands as he forces you to meet his eyes. “You know I’m going to make this right, don’t you? You know I’m going to rip the person who made you feel this way limb from limb, right?”

You suck in a couple of ragged breaths, try to stave off more sobs from escaping your chest. As you look into Kylo’s eyes, you can see the rage brewing in his body, can feel it in the tension of his grip on you. His anger soothes you, makes you feel safer. Your husband has always protected you, always killed anyone who dared to even think of harming you.

All you can do is nod weakly, chin still quivering as you think of how the woman with the purple hair tried to speak as she kept bleeding and bleeding, kept dying and dying.

“Are you going tonight?”

Kylo nods in acknowledgement. “I’m going right now,” he tells you, “and I won’t come back until the person who did this is dead.”

“I don’t want to be alone, let me come with you.” You’re begging, grabbing onto Kylo for dear life at the notion of being by yourself

“Two of the Knights will stay with you while I’m gone,” Kylo tells you gently. “They’ll guard you with their lives, just as I do.”

One again, all you can do is nod your head in affirmation. Kylo gets you up, helps you change into something comfortable. He even tucks you in bed before he leaves, kissing your face and murmuring about how much he loves you.

---

It takes four-hours roundtrip for Kylo to fly back to where the two of you had been, track down the person who tried to end your life, end their life, and come back home.

You don’t sleep while he’s gone, not even for a few minutes, too nervous to let your guard down without him there. You know you’re safe on the ship— you have two Knights of Ren seated in your living room watching the door, for fuck’s sake— but you would just feel better if Kylo was in bed with you.

The sound of the blast door opening upon Kylo’s return has you sitting straight up in bed, clutching your covers nervously in your hands. You hear Kylo dismiss the Knights, hear him set his helmet and his lightsaber down in the other room. And then he’s striding into the bedroom, face set and stony.

“Is it done?” you ask softly. Kylo doesn’t have a drop of blood on him, at least not any that you can see on his face of his clothes, and he’s not worked up the way he usually is after combat.

“The King of Yaksa had the swine waiting for me when I got back. His men had captured the assassin almost immediately after we left, but he knew I would want to do the deed myself. That man will never harm you again.” Kylo reaches out, cups your cheek, and you press into his touch.

“Thank you,” you murmur, and you could cry again if you worked yourself up to it.

“There’s no need to thank me,” Kylo says to you, very serious. “You are my wife, and I will always protect you.”

---

tag list: @oopsiedoopsie23 @dark-night-sky-99 @obsessionprofessional @fluffy-mistake @ktellmeastory @sincereleygmg @coolgh0st

#kylo ren #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x reader #star wars #star wars imagine #my writing

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inessencedevided · 4 years

Text

The Untamed, episode 46 - watching notes

Full disclosure: I'm not in a particularly good mood today. Have you seen that "no productivity. Only guild." Meme flying around? That's me today :|

Hopefully this will distract me (though distraction was the problem in the first place 🙈)

I apologise for any typos you'll finde in this post 😅

To recap, the last thing I learned was that apparently, Jiggy married his own sister because Jin Guangshan was a scumbag who raped more women than he could possibly remember

I was told by several people that this episode is their favourite. No pressures or anything :D

The way someone is dragging up Jiggy's secrets has a lot of poetic justice to it. Everyone is outraged and gossiping. Consensus is reached quickly. Kinda makes me feel that that someone (who probably also wrote the letter to jgy) knows exactly how to use the sect world's worst qualities as a weapon

Yao what's-his-name, resident gossip queen, at it again

Don't look at me my memory is as bad as wwx when it comes to names :D

I was about to write who is Lianfang Zum again and then I remembered that it's jiggy's honorary title. See what I mean? ^^

What does it say about me that my heart makes a leap when I simply see wwx leaning close to lwj to whisper to him? 😅 I'll probably die reading the novel, that's what that says

Oh so it was the maid who sent the letter

Come on Wei Wuxian! That was cruel

Yeah Yao what's-his-name, why would you need to know the identity of who ever is behind this? It's not like you've ever been deceived before!

What's... with that bracelet?

I love it how everyone looks positively startled when Lan Wangji says something unprompted :D

Wait ... Zwei Jun is in his hands? Shit, i don't remeber what happened there. Where did Xichen go again? 😬

I'm so confused right now 🙈 I can't watch and read the subtitles and type

Okay, watched the whole conversation again, now I'm following

I reiterate my earlier statement that whoever is pulling the strings here knows exactly what strings to pull to get the clans to act

Great, another mob 🙄

Loooool

NOW you want his help? 😂

Sure, as soon as he can serve YOU with his "evil tricks", that's okay!

You can see how much wwx changed because he does not hold their hypocrisy to their faces. He mostly seemed tired of it

And Jiang Cheng just realised that wwx might indeed not be responsible for Jiang Yanli's death, didn't he? He's almost stunned 🥺

Or is BEAUTIFUL to see Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji move in such unity! 😭

Oh ... those are the graves of his foster parents, right? :(

And Yanli ... oh God I forgot about Yanli 🥺

I'm crying again. Nothing on this show will ever hit as hard to me as the Yunmeng siblings' fate

I couldn't help myself, I legitimately just stroked my laptop screen where Yanli's plate was 🥺

So many conflicting emotions

Thanks to a friendly anon, I know that these three bows together are marriage thing! 😭😭😭

So yeah, they're married now. I dont make the rules :')

Somehow, this feels like them asking wwx's foster family's blessing

And now I'm imagining Shijie smiling back at them gently and I'm crying 🥺

And by God, I love lwj's gentle teasing :')

This whole scene, he's so soft! 😭

And it think that Wei Wuxian probably thought that he'd never get to step into Lotus Pier again. But here, he can finally say his goodbyes to his Shijie properly. He can heal! 🖤

And again, I cannot stress enough how wonderful that is! And how rare and precious in a show like this. So often character's get put through unimaginable trauma, but they either brush it off no problem or the show/movie ends immediately after the main action and you are left to imagine the number it did on the character's psyche. There are so rarely fantasy shows that really dive into the emotional fallout the plot has on their characters and then give them time to heal. Thus show does both and I'm so goddamn overjoyed my it!

Come to think of it, it reminds me of a very good hurt/comfort fic 🤷‍♀️

Jiang Cheng pleae, fir once, try not to be angry immediately when you're hurting :(

He still takes special offence that lwj is there. Makes me wonder if he still feels like wwx chooses lwj over the Jiang sect and is still hurt by it 😔 (note that at the same time, he reminds wwx that he's very much not a member of the Jiang clan anymore. God, the man has not worked through his own feelings ...)

For once, as much as I love it when lwj defends wwx (especially when it's not against any physical harm, but because he doesn't want wwx to be hurt emotionally) I think him interfering with this particular conflict does not help

Okay sorry, but no! lotus pier was not destroyed because wwx saved lwj in that cave. That was just an excuse for the Wen sect. They would have come eventually anyway

Ohhh

So there's my answer

He's still hurt because he feels wwx chooses anyone else over his family, which is to say him

And he probably can't understand because their positions are so different. The (future) sect leader and the son of a (dead) servant and a rogue cultivator who never felt quite like he belonged 😔

It's so goddamn tragic how much between these two was destroyed simply because they have such a different status in society and could never quite understand each other's perspective

And again, wwx just takes it 💔

Until, that is, lwj's honour gets besmirched

Don't fight in front of Shijie 🥺

Jiang Cheng's every action screams that he still loves his brother and that amidst all that pain for his lost family, is also deep betrayal and grieve for the brother he thought he could always count on 🥺💔

Can we appreciate for a second how much this shot tells us? From Jiang Cheng's angry desperation, to Wei Wuxian's quite acceptance of his rage (which must be so confusing to Jiang Cheng and probably hurt him even more. Because fighting is always how these two resolved their issues!) to Lan Wangji who is in full on protective mode (which I find more than heartwarming,but still think probably isn't helpful rn)

He ... what?

I still don't quite understand when exactly wwx's lack of golden core shows. Why does he have a nosebleed here?

What?

Oh!

Wen Ning 😱

I get what he wants to do!

Have we ever seen him this calm and determined before?

Abd they understand 😱😱😱

The look on all of their faces! Shiiiiit

I'm crying again

Oh wangii is crying 🥺

Wen Quing 💔💔💔 I'm crying even harder just looking at her. I've MISSED her 🥺

Lan Zhan your FACE!! 😭

The way he's looking at wwx in his arms, as if he's seeing him fir the first time

And by god, I can only imagine what he must be thinking

He must be reevaluation every single interaction they had since wwx started down the path of demonic cultivation 😭

I'm a bit in awe of Wen Ning here and how much he must have been holding in. That's the steadiest and most confident he's ever been

Oh Jiang cheng 💔

That looks like a man whose entire world has just been shaken to its core

And Lan Wangji is crying so much 🥺

God I hope he doesn't blame himself even more 🥺

Aaaaaaahhhh, so that is why he wouldn't just carry the sword for appearance sake and why he just had a nosebleed!

Jiang Cheng probably needs about a month to process all that :/

And therapy ...

Aaaaaaahhhh! The boat scene! I've seen gifs! 😍😍😍

A penny for Lan Wangji's thoughts ...

Oh I'm so so so so glad that Wen Ning gets to say thank you to the man who raised his ... cousin (?) :')

Oh god we get to see!!!!

Oh little a Yuan 😭😭😭😭😭😭

I wonder now, did Lan Qiren know who the child was that his nephew suddenly brought back to cloud recess?

I'm glad that we all learned from this that keeping secrets from the people we love, especially secrets that concern them personally, will eventually come back to bide us in the ass. Than you for delivering that important lesson, wen Ning!

Which reminds me that I hope they eventually tell wwx that they know 😬

I swear to god, one of these days I will melt from the gentleness in lan Wangji's gaze :')

Shit. He had to be awake? 😳

You can pinpoint the moment Lan Wangji's heart breaks for all the suffering wwx endured and how close he came to loosing him even then 🥺

Waking like that in you lovers arms in the middle of a lotus pond - that's the dream *sighs* (minus the passing out bit)

It's weirdly cute that wwx thinks that it's Jiang Cheng's insults that have lwj so upset 😅

Oh GOOOOD ...

I can't

The moment Yanli's themes started to play and she appeared I started to bawl 😭😭😭

And he's sharing the lotus pods with them ... oh please, lwj, please understand what he's saying. That's his pove language! His sister's food was how he received love and right now he passes it on to you! Please, please understand it! 🥺

Oh lwj, don't 🙈

Awwwwww ....

He's breaking the rules for you!!! Just to make you smile!!! 😭😭

And holy shit look at their expressions 😭

By now you should know that he's willing to break the rules for you :')

And poor third wheel Wen Ning 😂

Now there are glittering butterflies???

Do they have some kind of romantic aesthetic bingo going on in this episode???

Oh okay, messenger butterflies

Please appreciate wwx almost climbing into lan Wangji's lab in excitement :D

Thay scene transition was pretty af!

Hey! Why do they bully wen Ning? 😤

*shakes wwx by the shoulders* DO YOU GET THAT HE LOVES YOU NOW???

Huh, this episode was a roller coaster. you guys did NOT exaggerate! I loved it to pieces. I'm floored once more by all the actor's performances. Wen Ning revealed a lot about his character, Jiang Cheng broke my heart, Lan Wangji made it melt and Shijie is still able to make me bawl in an instant. But ... I'm not left with a bitter feeling. Sure, jiang Cheng and wei Wuxian havebt reconciled, but the truth is the first step to even have that possibility. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are both healing and whatever happens in the last 4 (4!!!😭) episodes, I'm not dreading it that much right now. I feel like we're climbing upwards :)

@sweetlittlevampire @fandom-glazed @elenirlachlagos @allhailthedramallama @luckymoony @kyrrahbird @i-love-him-on-purpose thank you guys for staying with me for this crazy ride 💙🖤💙

Also one last thing: please don't tell me what happens differently in the novel in any given scene. I am still reading it (about half way through rn) and I'd like to still be surprised by stuff like first kisses and love confessions 💙🖤

I should have put something like this at the end before, but I always forgot. That's on me 😅 so don't feel bad, if you've shared something before :)

#the untamed #sophie watches the untamed #wei wuxian #wwx #lan wangji #lwj #jiang wanyin #jiang cheng #jiang yanli #wen ning #a yuan #the untamed liveblog

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irisyorokobiwriter · 4 years

Text

Another Day, Another Bounty Pt. 4

A/N Here with another chapter-not my favorite one that I’ve written (Not sure if it’s because I’ve been staring at this chapter for too long) But more is coming soon! Warning: Abuse, physical harm, violence

Taglist: @angelcvsmic

Read Last Chapter Here, Next Chapter Here

Lowering slowly to the landing dock, noticeable darkness passed over Xola's features as she stoically gripped the arm of the chair. Flipping off the switches, the Mandalorian rose. "Let's go." He said, ignoring the heaviness in the back of his throat. Opening the hangar door, he watched Xola step down, listening to their surroundings, breathing in the dusty air. As her foot caught on the odd ridge between the ship and ground, the Mandalorian caught her arms, steadying her. "Careful." The irony did not escape either of their minds. If she tripped and fell, what would it matter? Her life would be over, come daybreak. Moving away from him, she smoothed out her cloak and begin to walk briskly. Walking through the port, he maneuvered their way through the coming and going jets and planes, Entering into the city, the Mandalorian felt quiet eyes on their backs, a certain glint in a bystander's eye...they knew. Pulling the cloak over her head, his arm went around her shoulder, guiding her forward.

Turning into an alleyway after alleyway, they stood at the back door of the client. Pushing the entry button, he flashed his ID chip at the droid. Apprehensively, Xola's pinky strayed back to the embroidered lily. Door hissing open, the marching of Stormtroopers rang in Xola's ears. Hand remaining on her shoulder, the Mandalorian guided her in, an element of gentleness to his touch. Instinctively leaning closer to the Mandalorian, Xola stiffened as the hand on her shoulder was replaced with a fist around her bicep. "Easy." The Mandalorian spoke tersely. "You take it easy!" He snapped back, jerking her arm for good measure. Rising from his desk, the client held the tracker in front of Xola, who was leaning apprehensively away. "Yes...yes, yes, yes." Gripping her chin, he smiled. Eyes narrowing, the Mandalorian observed the exchange worldlessly. The scientist rushing in, he swallowed nervously, fumbling as he pulled out a red light. Shining it in her eyes, Xola squinted confusedly, arching her neck away.

"Xola." The scientist whispered, reverence in his tone. Lips parting slightly, she struggled and squirmed from the grip on her chin. "Alright...hurry then." The scientist murmured, the stormtroopers marching Xola forward. Brushing past Xola, the Mandalorian stared at the case of Beskar. The last time he'd lain eyes on such an amount was...years ago, it felt. "You really are the best of your kind. Then...your reward. You've earned it." Eyes drifting to Xola, he watched her being marched away, out of his arm's reach. As if she could feel his gaze, she looked his direction, before she disappeared behind the door. "Such a small price, for...such a small package. But, to the winner, the prize goes." "You sent out more than one tracking fob." "It was most crucial that Xola arrived. Alive or...otherwise." Taking the case, he paused. "The girl. What are you going to do?"

Smiling humorlessly, he clicked his tongue as he slid him the case pointedly. "How most peculiar for one of your kind. May I remind you, that our contract has now ended. No questions asked. Is that not the code of your guild?" Resisting the urge to look at the door once more, he found himself escorted out by the Stormtroopers. The Armorer didn't ask questions, like usual, just wanting the vertebrae of an issue. Thanks to her interference, and fighting a natural beast, his armor had lost its integrity. "The enemy helped you? Why?" "I...she didn't...fully realize." He found himself saying. But she had. Xola had known from the start. Then why the bandage, staying beside him after the Jawa attack? Why did she save him? "Then, whistling birds." His armorer said after a pause. "That will do nicely." ***

Finding himself sitting across from Greef, he felt the eyes of every bounty hunter digging into his back. "How many had tracking fobs?" "All of them!" Greef boomed. "All of them, and yet, you were the one to bring her in!" "Her?" He echoed. "Word travels fast, Mando. Now, what can I do for my most valued partner? There are some fine medicinal baths to attend, which I'm sure you'd enjoy." "I'd like my next job." "You-Mando, come now! You've earned time off. Enjoy your earnings, you've certainly worked enough for at least a few days rest!" "I want...my next...job." The Mandalorian reiterated. "Right. You, bounty hunters, enjoy keeping busy. Well, take your pick, you've earned it. I must warn you, they are quite far." "The further, the better." Turning on a fob, he analyzed the information. "Nobleman jumping bail, all the way in the oceanic ridge. That is as far as you could be." "I'll take it." Snatching it, he pushed himself up. "Excellent, I expect a good capture!" Turning his back to Greef, he closed his eyes. Xola.

"What do you think they'll do with her." "Her?" "The girl." "I didn't ask." Tone growing in severity, Greef eyed him warningly. "It's against the guild code." When he made no response, Greef motioned to the bar. "Buy a keg here. Go on your mission. By the time I see you again, you will have forgotten all about it." And that was his job, to forget. Forget everyone and everything he came into contact with. Marching onto his ship, he sat down, hurriedly flipping the switches. He couldn't stand being on the planet a moment more. As he pushed the controller forward, the handle top fell off to the floor with a loud thud. He had forgotten to screw the knob on securely last night. Reprimanding himself, he reached down to grab it, his gloved knuckles brushing against a paper. Pausing, he picked that up gently and turned it over in his hands. A common oily paper that was transformed into a paper bird, each line made neatly, precisely, and gracefully. Her eyes. Something he could not place. Not quite fear, and not quite giving up. A look of innocence, yet a wisdom that exceeded her years. Yet...still something."Sadly, we will never know the story." The droids words regurgitated in his head.

"No," he muttered. "I'm leaving."

Hand hovering over the initiator, he slammed it off.

"Damn it."

***

Rifle set up, he adjusted the listening fob, catching garbled words and feedback.

"I don't care what. You cannot manifest the energy. Harvest what you can. Once you get forty percent, that is all we need. Annihilate it straight afterward."

"But, no, we can still send her-"

"-There is not enough resource. I suggest you hurry, as I can no longer assure you safety. Afterward, burn the 'leftovers'."

Switching off the listening fob, he slid down the piping along the walls. He didn't have much time to listen to their schemes.

Brushing alongside the walls, the Mandalorian paused by the rubbish bin. Hand on the top of it, he peered inside, an all too familiar article of clothing laying amongst the metal scraps and bloody cloths. Picking it up, he turned it a few times. The yellow lilies were spattered in filth and a little blood. She was punched somewhere in the face, the cloak was pulled so hard it had ripped from her body. Feeling unappeasable anger that settled in his stomach, he slammed it back into the bin.

It didn't take him long to break inside the safehouse, and within minutes, he was shooting down the panel to the laboratory door.

Watching a droid approach her with a large needle, he shot it down, then aiming the blaster at the scientist who was cowering behind a barrel.

"Please, please don't hurt her! Xola never did anything wrong, please, she's done nothing, please leave her alone!"

Wearing a thin and terribly torn grey top, it was instantly obvious that she had struggled, dried blood and a nasty bruise over her right cheek, a grey metal strap securing her to the table.

Face an ashen color, he noticed a tube of some sort in her arm. Pulling it out, he looked at the bag that was feeding her body the vile liquid. A sedative.

"What did you do?" He asked, raising the blaster higher. "What did you do?"

"Nothing, nothing! I saved her! If it wasn't for me, she'd be in the dumpster by now, please don't hurt her! She-she is so precious to me!"

Precious? Brow furrowing, he felt disgust sweep over him.

As he muttered "please" over and over again, the Mandalorian pulled out his grey sack. He didn't have long. Scooping her inside it, he rushed out.

It was time to make their escape.

By three minutes, the distress signal would come, bringing all the hunters his way. As the beeping from the fobs echoed throughout the near-silent city, his hand drifted near his rifle, setting it to disintegrate. Make that one minute. As he reached the threshold of the landing bay, he watched Greef solemnly stand in the very center of his way, cronies flanking all sides. No clean escapes after all. "Let me pass," he warned. "You put the girl down, and I might let you." "She is coming with me." "No, she isn't Mando. Is that a real life for her, wandering around like a fugitive with a cold-blooded killer?" Intimidation through doubt. The Mandalorian knew this tactic well. Grip tightening slightly, he stood his ground. "She is coming with me." He repeated.

"If you truly care about her, you'll put her down. The New Republic will take her into custody, and she'll be fine." "How do I know I can trust you?" As if he ever could. "Because I am your only hope." Firing a shot, he tossed himself into the cart, pinning Xola to the ground. "Drive!" He snarled, aiming his blaster at the droid. When the droid shook back and forth, he loaded it. "Drive!" Driving forward, he fired shot after shot. When his luck ran out and the droid was destroyed, the Mandalorian ducked behind barrels. "Here's what's going to happen! I am walking onto the ship, with the girl, and you're going to let it happen!" He shouted. "No, here's what's happening. We will kill you, take the girl, and strip your body for parts!" When someone made a stabbing motion, he used the last of his fuel, shooting flames in their direction. When it ran out, he crawled further into the maze of crates. Blaster after blaster fired out, red lights bursting through the sky.

And so, they would not have made it out in the end. And, he could not save Xola. Lowering the grey cloth from her face, he lowered his head further, hand on the side of her neck. His hand curled around her head, as if that could shield her from the inevitable firing. Maybe if he had left left her, the scientist would have rescued her.

At the deep bruising on her cheek and swollen eye, he closed his eyes briefly. No.

No matter what the scientist had said, she was as good as dead there. As good as dead here. And now, they would die together.

All he wanted was to protect her. But now, they would die, just as his own parents had.

Eye-opening blearily, she dazedly groaned, the pain obvious in her features. "Mandalorian. You...came back?" "Yeah." He replied, his voice barely above a whisper. Eye closing again, the sedation regained its fierce grip. Holding her close, his hand remained on his blaster as the movement grew closer and louder. Hearing a loud roaring from the air, he glanced up to see...helmets. His brethren and sisters had come, redeeming him from his errors. This was the way. Picking her up, he ran through the crossfire, trusting. They would not let him fall. Scrambling onto the ship, he heard a small creak. Watching Greef step into the limelight, he solemnly watched his old employer.

"I didn't want it to come to this, Mando. But you're leaving me with little choice." Without hesitation, he initiated the carbon freeze, a puff of dry ice coming loose. In the confusion, he shot Greef in the chest, watching his body tumble out. Hurriedly, he flipped the generators on, sending the ship in the air. And with that, they made their escape. Once they were out of immediate danger, he tentatively set it to autopilot. Climbing down the ladder once more, he opened the resting bay door. Setting Xola on the cot, he rummaged on the panel overhead for spare clothing. Finding a worn undershirt that he used for his armor, he tentatively sat her up, he head resting against his shoulder plate. Sliding the material over her head, he pulled her arms through the long sleeves, and laid her back down. He would need to provide more sufficient clothing later. Opening the carbon, he pulled an ice package from his extra carbon holder. Walking a few paces to her resting area, he placed it over her cheek.

At least it would help with relief and swelling, though he was near certain her nasal brone was broken. Tucking the thick creme blanket around her, he closed the panel door, returning to the pilot's deck. Turning to the control panel, he resumed the pilot status. What did he just do? What would he continue to do? He had no idea. Finding a quiet planet, for starters. But after that, what? Her entire life was displaced in the span of three days. Hearing the faint sound of the panel door opening, he returned it to pilot mode, scaling down the ladder. Feeling along the wall, the Mandalorian watched her look around in dazed confusion.

"Hello...?" "It's me." Lips parting, she swallowed thickly as she reached him, shivering in the cold ship. He had forgotten how cold other people felt on his ship. "I...thought I hallucinated that you had come back." "You didn't." "Why? Why help me?" "This is the Way." As she pondered his words, he put his hand on her shoulder. "You've lost a lot of strength, you should rest more." Guiding her back to the cot, he watched her settle uncertainly on the creaky cot. "Here, wipe your face." Handing her a dampened cloth, he watched her dab her face, flinching at the sharp pain from her nose. "What is your name?" She asked. Silent, he kept his eyes on their course. His name...it was not something he had uttered to even himself in many years. "Call me what you'd like."

"I'm not good with nicknames..." Sinking back on the cot, Xola seemed lost in thought. "Perhaps...just Mandalorian." "Fine by me." Feeling around, Xola gasped slightly. "What's wrong?" "My cloak...my cloak, where is it?" She asked, her voice raising slightly. "It's gone." Exhaling sharply, her fingers absently drifted to where the flowers once were. "Yes...it is, isn't it?" "Did you make it?" He asked, curiosity getting the better out of them. "Every petal." A bitterness in her eyes, Xola's hand moved to her side. "...What happens next?" "Quiet. We'll find a quiet planet to stretch our legs out for a few months. Sound good?" "Yeah. I'd like that." At the thought of rest, sleeping, and safety, Xola could not help but feel the stirring of something she had rarely had before. Hope.

"Mandalorian," She called out as his boots were fading away. "Thank you." When he began to nod, he chastised himself inwardly, replacing that motion with: "Yeah. I'll wake you for food." Leaning back, he looked at the chart. Low population density, unheard of, small. A nice backwater planet. "Then, Sorgan." Safety.

#mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #baby yoda #yoda #mandalorian #mandalorian x oc #starwars #fanfiction #fanfic #reader #love #dyn jarren #dyn jarren x reader #mandalorian x you #mando #pedro pascal #blind character #blind reader #headcanon

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ahumansvoid · 4 years

Text

Construction

Go read The Plan to fully understand this (and the Interviews AU to understand that.)

It’s really just a little ficlet following Obi-wan’s brother Owen and Ronan and the start of the construction on the Clone Village on Stewjon.

Also, I think I’m incapable of writing romance.

Characters: Owen - OC, Ronan -OC, unnamed OCs

Words: 2360~

Warnings: None I can think of.

Notes: I mentioned in the Plan that the Stewjon Royal family has ruling names (which the twins share). You can probably get them from context, but just to be clear, list!

Ivy & Illia -> Amara

Ronan & Ryszard -> Audric

Owen -> Alai

Story under the cut

Ronan and Owen had figured out a good place for a village of 3 million, and had set out with the royal construction crew to start building.

While there, Ronan and Owen couldn’t do more than stand around and occasionally give orders. Royal Attire was not suited for construction. And neither prince could stip out of any of the layers. That’d be improper. And they’d be indecent. According to Kierce at least.

Also, according to Kierce, if Kierce has to suffer through wearing 100 pounds of clothing, every other royal has to too.

‘He’s such an asshole.’ Owen thought privately. He’d never say it. Not in front of other people at least. Definitely to Kierce’s face in private.

“I’m… going to go see if the Deldri will kidnap me.” Ronan says, walking off towards the forest. Owen, doesn’t really care. He’s pretty sure the two of them were sent off purely so Kierce didn’t have to deal with them. So if Owen doesn’t have to deal with Ronan, well, he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“What’re you constructing over here?” Owen turns to face the newcomer, a physically dominating man, who gave off a vibe indicating he wouldn’t hurt a bunny.

“A new village.” Owen states with the bored monotone any Royal in makeup was supposed to use. He gets not showing emotion. He also thinks it’s stupid. And has said so many times.

“Oh? Why?”

Well, Kierce didn’t say he couldn’t tell anyone. “New immigrants. Three million of them.”

The newcomer whistles, “They all passed the immigrant test?” Owen fought a smile. Immigration to Stewjon was easy, on paper. The test was easy, the qualifications were easy, the only hard part was the physical test people were put through. To see if they’d be on level with Stewjoni people. About 1% passed. If that.

“They’re Mandalorians.” Technically, at least.

“Oh? There are three million Mandalorians out there?” Owen is really glad he’s been trained to not react to the most ridiculous of situations, because he really wants to laugh. It’s not funny, but it is.

“They’re all identical.” Now, Owen could get into trouble for telling citizens about taking in the clones. But, Kierce would tell them anyways.

“Really?” The man draws, before walking away.

Owen should probably tell Kierce word would spread about the Clones. Owen hears a low rumble and looks up. Rain. ’A storm’ he realizes. Great.

“A storm is rolling in!” Owen calls to the workers, who all stop and look up to verify his words. Or just on instinct. “You do not have to keep working if you do not wish to.” The workers look to eachother before continuing with their work. The message clear, they were not going to stop working because of a little rain and EM. Fair enough. Owen heads to their transport and grabs an umbrella, opening it up and holding it overhead before returning to his previous position. The makeup wasn’t water-soluble, but most people don’t know that and he’d prefer to not be soaking wet when wearing a hundred pounds of clothing. That’s just impractical. Well. Everything about them was impractical. But getting them wet was doubly so.

The rain was just getting started, a low drizzle, when the man returns. Owen doesn’t greet him, if he wishes to speak he will.

“Your workers need any help?”

“They shouldn’t. But you are welcome to ask them. However, if you assist it will be volunteer work. You will not be paid.” They weren’t given a timeline on how soon the houses would need to be finished, but the Royal Construction Crew should be able to get it done by themselves within eight months, barring any extenuating circumstances that’d make their jobs harder.

The man laughs and slaps Owen on the back, causing him to lurch forward minutely as he hadn’t been expecting it. “Buy me a drink and you can call me Toots.” The man says and moves to talk to the Foreman of the Construction Crew. Leaving Owen very confused.

What. The. Fuck?

The only part of his confusion visible would be his blinking, as he was keeping his face as neutral as possible. Because that. That made no sense.

How does someone get that from Owen telling them to talk to the construction crew and he wouldn’t be paid?

To reiterate. What the fuck?

Owen was so confused, he didn’t notice Ronan had returned, until he was standing right next to Owen, a Deldri umbrella held above his head.

“How’s construction going?” Ronan asks, sounding bored and monotone. As he should.

“Fine.” Owen might not have been as bored and monotone as he should have been. He was really confused.

Ronan looks over, and down because he just had to be taller than Owen, “Are you okay?”

Owen didn’t answer until the man left the area, heading back into the nearby village. “No. That man confuses me.”

“He offered to help?”

“No. Well, he did but that’s not confusing,” that was just typical of Stewjoni people really, “He said ‘Buy me a drink and you can call me Toots,’ after I told him that if he helped he’d be a volunteer and not paid.” Now, having been raised to not react to things, Owen could identify when his family was holding back a reaction. The reaction Ronan was holding back right now? Laughter. The fucker. He wasn’t even doing a good job! His shoulders were shaking and his mouth kept twitching up into a smile. “Cover your mouth if you’re going to fail at keeping your face neutral.” Owen scolds, and Ronan does as he says, covering his mouth.

By the time Ronan has his face under control, the man and a few dozen other people have returned, all going to help the construction crew. “Alai, I believe what you encountered, is flirting.” Ronan put the barest of inflection on ‘flirting’ but he did.

The arsehole. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Y- Aren’t you supposed to be the mature one?” Owen really wanted to laugh, Ronan barely managed to make that sound monotone.

“Says who.”

“You’re five years older.”

“Age means nothing.” It really doesn’t. Ace was by far the least mature of them all and he was the second eldest.

“Mm, Amara.” Which was also a good point. Illia was wonderful. Ivy would drop kick someone off the roof without any prompting.

“Yes. Age truly means nothing. And that was not flirting.”

“It was.”

“Flirting is refined.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Audric.”

Ronan gets the message through the Monotone and says something other than ‘no’.“Normal people flirting is not refined. It’s offering someone a drink and calling them toots.”

“If anything, that was a sex invitation.” For some reason, Ronan was trying not to laugh again. He was succeeding far better now, but his shoulders were still shaking slightly.

“Probably. But a,” Ronan clears his throat, “sex invitation is still flirting.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Do you really want to start that again?”

“No.”

“It was flirting. Now you can either go buy him a drink or say no.”

“You cannot honestly think I’d buy him a drink. It goes against everything we’ve been taught. Every protocol.” Owen was keeping his voice as monotone and bored as possible, putting the barest of inflection on certain words. No matter how much he wanted to go for a drink, it was not the way.

Ronan scoffs, barely, before speaking, “Like you’ve never fucked someone in Royal robes.” Owen looked to his brother, looked him up and down, and took a step away.

“You had those dry cleaned after, right?”

Ronan rolls his eyes, and ‘Wow, isn’t he breaking rules today?’Owen thinks blithely. “I did not have sex in the robes. I flirted in them and had sex out of them. There’s no harm in it.”

“There’s a lot of harm in it. And I’m telling Atlas when we get back so he can lecture you on it. Just because dad’s dead doesn’t mean you can escape lectures on propriety.”

“You’re a terrible brother.”

“Yes.”

The delve into silence for a while, watching their people work as rain poured. Owen turned his attention to the EM rods that kept them safe. They did nothing for their electronics, they didn’t even stop the EM from reaching the people, but they kept the Gravopir from attacking the people in the settlements. And during a storm they looked so pretty. Electricity dancing from one pole to the other. Kierce had tried to explain how they worked to him once, Owen couldn’t really bring himself to care.

“You could ask him to a drink out of the royal robes.” Ronan suggests, breaking their nice silence.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re still thinking about him.”

“And how would you know that?” Owen wasn’t. He was looking at the EM rods. Which were not anywhere near that man. He was on the ground shirtless working on the bones of a house. Looking stupidly hot and wet and-

Oh.

“Because you are looking as far from him as possible. Despite the EM rods by him giving a far prettier show than the ones you’re looking at.”

Which. Wasn’t incorrect. The ones by the man were prettier.

“I don’t even know him.” He doesn’t! He is enamoured purely based on the man’s physique. It’s a wonderful physique but still. That’s not right.

“That’s what the drink is for.”

“I wouldn’t know where he would be for a drink.”

“Velvet Grass on Mirkrow. That’s where almost everyone here hangs out.” That. That gives Owen pause. He slowly turns to look at Ronan.

“How do you know that?”

“... Look I hang out in some places. And I’m not saying anymore until I can run away.”

“Okay.” Owen wouldn’t push. Not now.

“Do we really need to oversee construction? This seems pointless.” Owen agreed. They weren’t really doing anything.

But, “It’s about propriety. Or something. Atlas wants us overseeing.” Owen almost sighed. But he didn’t. Them being here really was pointless. Neither made anymore comments as the Foreman came over.

“I don’t want to disagree with the King, but you two don’t have to stay out here. You’re more likely to get a cold than us, given your clothing.”

Which, was not how colds work. But it was a nice offer. And before Owen could decline as they were to, Ronan accepted it, “Thank you, Foreman Jenning. We’ll return to the Palace.”

Fucker. Owen didn’t let his displeasure be known until the Foreman had left and Ronan was half dragging him to their horses. “Atlas-”

“It is wet. We are wearing a ridiculous amount of clothing. I want to get dry and warm.” Which were all fair points, and Ronan was already on his horse. Owen sighs and mounts his own.

“You’re explaining everything to Atlas.”

“Fine.”

----

Atlas had been moderately unhappy. He was more unhappy they had ridden home in a storm than leaving the construction early. Then he became annoyed and royally pissed when Owen told him about Ronan flirting and having sex as a public prince. And then Ronan told on Ryszard having sex in the robes which had led to those two being dragged off for a propriety lecture.And Bard calling Ronan a traitor. And Ronan calling Bard an oversharer.

After that, Owen had returned to his own room and pulled off his many layers and gotten half dressed in sleep wear when someone knocked on his door. He glanced through the peephole to see it was Ace, and let him and surprisingly Illia and Ivy into his room.

“Can I help you?”

“Ronan said you were going on a date.” Ivy states, sitting down on his bed.

“I’m not.” And even if he was it didn’t explain the girls being in his room. Ace? Sure, he gets way too involved in everyone’s love lives. Ivy? She doesn’t have a romantic bone in her body. Illia? Romantic, but honestly doesn’t care about their love lives.

“Ronan said a guy asked you out to drinks.” Ace states, going through Owen’s closet. Which was not good.

“He said ‘Buy me a drink and you can call me toots.’” Owen informs, sighing as Illia starts removing his makeup. “Why are you involved in this?”

“Ace asked nicely. And Ivy is going with you.” Which meant Illia got some peace and Owen would be responsible for making sure she didn’t kill anyone. Valid reason for Illia to be helping out.

“Of course.” Owen mutters as Illia finishes up removing the heavy make up.

“Put these on.” Ace says, thrusting a couple articles of clothing into Owens arms.

“This isn’t a date.” Owen protests, but starts getting dressed. Everyone here had seen him naked, and they invaded his room. If they don’t like it, they could leave. They didn’t.

“It’s drinks. At the very least, you can relax.” Ace states, before shaking his head and going back into Owen’s closet. He pulls out a new shirt and hands it over, “Switch.” Owen does and hands the old shirt back to Ace who nods.

Owen looks at himself in the mirror and sighs. He looks so… not himself. He didn’t even know he owned these clothes. Everything he wore was normally so layered. To have something so thin and fitted was, weird. Illia comes up behind him and starts to comb through his hair, slowly turning it brown with every run through. Eventually, his ginger hair was brown, with a reddish tint in some places.

Ivy gets off his bed and stretches, “Alright! To the Velvet Grass Pub on Mirkrow!”

Owen pulls on a pair of boots Ace hands him. Not his royal ones. And follows Ivy out a servant’s entrance that wasn’t actually a servant’s entrance as the servants didn’t have access to it. Owen sighs, this was a bad idea. But he really can’t argue with his older siblings. He’s tried. It fails 100% of the time.

So, awkwardly getting drunk and keeping Ivy from getting into fights it is.

What a fun way to spend the night.

#my writing #Interviews AU #Keeping Up With Stewjon #Because I might post more slice of life stewjon fics #star wars #OCs #OCs everywhere #Also #That subplot came out of nowhere #Owen as a single twin doesn't get out much #because he's always the royal twin #Unlike the others who can go be a civilian at their choosing #So he's new to non-diplomatic flirting

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allisondraste · 4 years

Text

Just a message

Alrighty folks. Here we go! I've been incredibly quiet on the matter of the discord server that has all of fandom up in flames. It is not because I don't care, nor because I think I am in anyway above it all, but because it has been a deeply personal thing for me, and I wanted to take the time to process and think about what I want to say before I say it. I've also absolutely been terrified that my words will be twisted and used against me by people who feel hurt and betrayed. This thing has not only been a flurry of misinformation, but also a torrential storm of deep, completely valid emotions, that are being played out in public.

I don't want to invalidate anyone's experience. I won't name any names or point any fingers. That's not why I'm here. That's never why I've been here. Everyone who is hurt and angry has every right to feel how they feel, and I want to express that I am not going to judge them for that. However, I am tired of hiding behind my far-braver-than-me friends who spoke up and told their stories, so I want to share mine.

I am going to put the rest behind a read more because it is very lengthy, and I’m sure that people are tired of hearing about it, so here’s the opt out if you want to button.

When I joined the Salt Cellar in the summer of 2018, it was the nicest place I had ever been welcomed to in fandom. Everyone was mutually supportive, and we all shared similar beliefs. I, like a lot of people on the internet, was a deeply lonely person, and it was wonderful to have enthusiastic people to chat with. Outside of a couple of role-locked channels, it was just a normal fandom community. Inside of those channels there was A LOT of discussion of the harmful bigoted things that go on in fandom, and that was the largest part of the discussion. I believe that it is SO important for people to have those spaces, especially when fandom is so incredibly hostile toward them. I am glad that the cellar provides that space.

However, to say that the only things that get discussed are racism and bigotry invalidates the experiences of people who are not assholes, and who do their very best to respond reflectively to criticism and be better. It invalidates the experience of good people who happened to have their actions or choices criticized in the group space. I don't think that's fair.

I also don't think it's fair to ignore the attempts of the moderator team to stop those kinds of things. They did try. They made rules, and did their best to regulate the things discussed. That doesn't mean that it didn't happen. Humans are humans and things get out of hand. It's okay to admit that, I think.

I stopped participating in the role-locked channels about a year ago after getting caught up in a very ugly situation that I am still deeply ashamed of. I did my best to reach out to those I could and make amends. They were more gracious than I deserved, and to those of you who spoke with me and chose to forgive me, and to those who didn't: I am forever and eternally grateful. It's because of those people that I realized I needed to change my way of thinking and acting. It made me realize that I had gotten caught up in a vastly negative mindset that led me to say things I probably wouldn't have said otherwise. At the end of the day, human beings are human beings, and we aren't as immune to group mentality as we think we are. I make no excuses for those actions then, and I am happy to talk about my own actions privately if anyone wishes to. (I will not speak on anyone else's because it was, after all a private space, and even though I am no longer a part of it anymore, I respect that, and I will honor it to the grave. )

Anyway, I stopped participating, made my amends, and endeavored to focus on the positive, and for the most part I have. I engaged happily with other server members, shared fanfiction, art, all of the things you would want to do in a community. Most of the people who are in that server, several of the people whose names were on the list that were released, were also there primarily for the community. I hate that those people have been frightened and terrified by this whole thing. I deplore that there are writers and creators out there who are so paralyzed to even write because of this entire thing.

I've been questioning my membership there for some time now for personal reasons. It all came to a head when some good faith criticism of the role-locked channels brought forth by a member was handled more dismissively than made me comfortable. (To reiterate: I cannot speak for the activities of those channels because I was not in them, nor have I been since they reopened). I stuck around because I hoped that it would blow over. I stuck around because I believe in the humanity of people, and in the goodness of intention that many of the folks there have. I'd never bash that. However, I was also afraid because of the response my friend received. I no longer felt that the server was a safe space for me. (And I stress the me part, because my experience is no one else's) The fandom-age post, and the bringing up of the list with my name on it gave me the motivation I needed to leave.

I have no intention of dragging the server or it's members. I don't think that is fair or warranted. However, I think that with so many different perspectives floating about, my own may help to inform the masses.

I am deeply, deeply sorry for my part in all of this. I am sorry if I have ever made anyone feel unsafe. I am sorry for the anxiety and fear that all of this has caused. I am sorry for all of the hurt feelings damaged relationships.

If you feel safer to block me or unfollow me, then I encourage you to do so. I would not want my presence to cause anyone distress. If you wish to talk about it, please message me.

Other than that, this will be all that I say on the matter. I have been on a rollercoaster of emotions since Saturday morning, and I would like to move forward in a positive and reflective manner.

Thanks so much.

#personal #fandom

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whatdoyouexpectthistime · 4 years

Text

Blood Spatter - Part 5

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4

________________________________

Eyes and bodies turn; villains and victim peer through the dim at a figure leaning casually against the wall on the other side of the alley several metres away. Everything about him screams nonchalance – the setting, the setup, the characters, none of it seems to concern him.

Languidly, he tips his chin up, revealing an unnatural light in the green depths of his eyes.

Everyone is unsure, except him.

The moment is his, the alley, the city, the night – all his, and this confidence dares anyone to disagree.

I take this moment of distraction to attempt an escape, not wishing to let the opportunity slip by, but the back of my neck is snatched the moment I put this thought into action.

The world is a sudden blur of colour and sound, and I do not blink: not once.

Kiril’s cashmere coat flutters dramatically as he slides between the men, the cape of a hero pounding out great splashes of blood with his fist, driving teeth into flesh and ripping through veins until three men have fallen and do not move.

I do not blink: not even now, Kiril standing before me, his ludicrously stoic face a smear, his lips parted and stained.

“Now’s the part where you release her and beg for your miserable existence,” Kiril drawls, before the tip of his tongue touches the sharp point of a far too long canine tooth.

“That’s… not going to hap…” the remaining ‘man’ says, but his voice dies as Kiril sounds out behind us, even though he’s still plainly right before us.

“Wrong answer,” he whispers in the man’s ear, causing him to flinch.

And flinch again, tumbling me on hands and knees at Kiril’s feet.

Looking up – he’s there.

Looking back – he’s…

My mouth drops open in silent horror as Kiril squeezes his fingers tightly where they’re protruding from my attacker’s chest, his heart still in Kiril’s grip until it drops to the ground with a sickening splat. A few seconds later, the last body joins the rest, and I am alone with this monster wearing Kiril’s face.

“Let me…” I begin, wanting to struggle and shriek, but finding my limbs heavy and resistant.

“Come on, Miho,” he breathes, paradoxical tenderness in the eyes of a murderer. “Just sleep, and everything will be alright, I promise.”

“You… promise?” I hiss, but he’s holding all my weight now. “Don’t… don’t…”

I don’t remember finishing my sentence. Nothing makes sense, while maybe it makes sense now more than it ever did. Kiril’s face is so close to mine, pressed up against the wall somewhere in London, blood on his tongue – my blood – but his name is Alex, and Narumi shouts at him from somewhere nearby.

Teeth and eyes and blood.

So much blood – because of Konstantin? Because I chased him?

In the black, it falls into place.

It’s so typical for me, to wander – no, charge – into a situation so blindly I don’t see the vampire for the trees; but for some reason I’m not nearly as surprised by this revelation as I should be.

The coldest part now, is realising if Kiril is a bloodsucker, then Konstantin probably is too.

“Jazz.”

“Jazz!” I exclaim, sitting bolt upright in a room I recognize.

In bed, in my suite, I’m dressed in my nightgown, and the outfit I was wearing is hung up on the outside of the carved, wooden wardrobe.

“She’s not here,” Kiril says, and my head snaps to the chair beside the bed where I hadn’t even noticed he was sitting.

“Why did I even wake up?” I wonder, and though Kiril’s head tilts the slightest bit, his expression remains sombre.

“I have no desire to kill you, Sparrow,” he declares, unmoving as I slip out the far side of the bed; not that I think a simple piece of furniture could stop him from zapping in behind me and crushing my spine.

“Or crush your spine,” he adds, simply watching me. “Honestly, I don’t wish you any harm.”

“Oh really?” I spit, far more vehemently than I intend. “Antagonising a vampire is hardly a good idea.”

Then I think about all the times we’ve been together alone, how I’ve acted and spoken to him.

“You remember now, don’t you?” he prompts, somewhat of a rhetorical question. “How is your head?”

“I just watched you slaughter four guys, slaughter,” I reiterate, my hands moving to animate my statements in macabre fashion.

He has washed and changed his clothing, and though he is no longer covered in blood, I can still see it patterning his pale skin.

“And you’re asking how my head is?” I continue, exasperated. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Does it seem like I am?” he asks, so bland now it’s hard to resist the urge to smack some emotion into him.

Which brings back the memory of me slapping him in that expensive café.

“That’s right,” he nods. “If I wanted to hurt you, you’ve given me ample motive and opportunity.”

“Stop that!” I snap, swiping my arm through their air. “Stay out of my head; I knew you were in my head.”

In long, agitated strides, I pace across the room and back again, and finally Kiril rises.

“That’s not the only place,” he adds simply, and I spin and point viciously.

“Don’t you FUCKING DARE pull that shit!” I roar, apparently losing all sense of self preservation. “You’ve been dangling Konstantin in front of me like a carrot since I met you, playing some sick game- why? What the hell do you gain from messing with me like that?”

“Because you remembered,” he answers flatly, his single step in my direction bursting my bravado and sending me scooting back. “The mind-splitting headaches, flashes of a past event, of faces and names; something you shouldn’t have recalled.”

“Alex,” I shudder out. “He attacked me for asking about Konstantin and he…”

Kiril’s brows lift.

“He licked me,” I swallow, “and then he was…

“Hmph,” Alex grunted, leaned closer to Miho’s throat, inhaling deeply before slithering his tongue over the slowly oozing wound he found there.

Though Miho drove her free hand up under his chin, Alex tossed her aside, and she cartwheeled.

“Now that’s a nifty secret, hunter,” he snarled, about to pounce once more, when the back exit of the club opened abruptly, and a woman appeared in the doorway.

“I see,” Kiril nodded slowly, knowingly, and took another step forward.

“Just, stay right there!” I command, but my voice is trembling.

And Kiril is no longer before me.

Instead, his arms wrap around me from behind.

“Get off!” I bellow, wriggling and writhing like a mad cat, but at the same time my skin is suddenly singing.

“Stop struggling, Miho, you’re not in danger here,” he hisses, his cool breath tickling my ear. “Damnit please, relax.”

My body freezes, and it’s only half because Kiril’s entreaty actually sounded genuine. I watched him spit out a chunk of a guy’s neck, punch another’s heart right out of his body – I should be petrified, and I am – but at the same time, the clench of his arms and the pressure of his body against mine, the press of his face over my shoulder and his lips so close to my skin, fires shocks of wanton anticipation all through me.

“What did you do to me?” I rasp, feeling his arms loosen a little. “You’re a murderer, you just…”

“I didn’t do anything to you,” he growls, one hand sliding up my throat to rest lightly under my chin, “but I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more.”

“Kiril, let me go,” I plead, but the sensation of his exhale against my neck makes me shiver, and weakens my legs.

“In case the guys in the alley weren’t enough of a wakeup call, you’re in over your head,” he rumbles, turning me to face him. “Konstantin and Jazz are one thing, but you are in danger if you pursue this, more than you know.”

“Apparently I don’t know anything anymore,” I blink tearily, but Kiril’s expression isn’t sympathetic, it’s… pained?

“If they discover what you are, even Narumi,” he says softly, one thumb stroking along the line of my jaw, “they will kill you.”

“They? And you?”

“If I wanted that, you’d be dead,” he points out, and I have to concede the point; he’s had plenty of opportunities, and yet his touch now is so gentle.

Of its own accord, my head turns into his touch, but my stomach is a violent, churning squall of conflicting emotion.

“Please, Kiril,” I beg, reaching out with my eyes, “just let me go – if what you say is true – I need space, and I can’t think while you’re…”

“That’s just it,” he frowns, but it’s not by me he’s confused. “I don’t want to let you go. I want to feel your warmth, hold it closely, hold it safe.”

Thankfully, despite his words, he steps back, rubbing at the back of his neck, while I find the edge of the bed to sit down on before I fall down.

“Vampires is a lot to drop on a girl,” I murmur, watching him pace to the window and then back to the middle of the room. “And the chosen one too huh? Brilliant.”

“Hardly the chosen one,” he sniffs, a sharp sound I can see he immediately regrets. “And I cannot be one hundred percent sure, not yet, not without…”

His expression is now imploring, but he’s also holding himself back: me too. I both want him to tackle me against the mattress, but need to him to stay away.

“Without…?” I prompt, but I already know I’m not going to like the answer.

“Without tasting you,” he answers plainly, honestly, and though his posture could be called relaxed, I see his eyes flicker with desire.

I know he’s talking about my blood – that is what vampires are about after all – but I cannot help but blush, and squeeze my thighs together a little tighter.

“And what would that prove exactly?”

“Every person tastes a little different,” he answers, his hands unfolding as he provides some crucial exposition, “and the older I get, the more I can tell about a person: intricacies of their health, hints of the genetic heritage, and if they are entirely human or not.”

An exhale explodes from between my lips.

“So, the vampire is telling me I’m not human?” I balk.

“I suspect, strongly, you’re not entirely human,” he agrees, hazarding to slowly move toward the bed at the far end. “You were attacked,” he continues, sitting down a good five feet away, “by one of Konstantin’s friends, I suppose you could call him, and Narumi stopped him from killing you.”

“The woman from the police station,” I mutter. “She’s a vampire too?”

Kiril confirms this with a nod.

“And it’s her job to clean up mistakes like Alex made,” he adds.

“I remember being somewhere after that alley,” I admit, “and her voice.”

“We don’t go about killing people,” he says. “We will make you forget anything that might be problematic for us.”

“But I remembered.”

My lip bears the brunt of my bubbling anxiety.

“Regular humans don’t just shrug off power like Narumi’s,” he nods slowly. “It’s not possible.”

“Did you? Have you ever messed with my head?” I ask, and Kiril doesn’t look ashamed.

“I forced you to sleep last night,” he admits. “But if I had changed any of your memories, you would likely have remembered by now.”

“So you,” I inhale, “you didn’t make me…”

“Make you what?” he prompts.

“Ugh, make me want you so stupidly!”

And the moment after I think that ridiculously loud thought, I realise he’s been hearing the inner workings of my mind since we met.

Oh yeah, he’s grinning.

“Believe me when I say it is taking all my self-control to keep my distance,” he declares, turning a little. “But I will wait until you trust me.”

“Would you trust you?” I ask, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“To protect something important to me? Absolutely,” he affirms without a second of hesitation. “And knowing you, you will need protection.”

“Knowing me, huh?” I chortle. “When did we meet again? How much could you possibly…”

“I know you’re relentlessly loyal,” he interrupts. “Sassy and sharp-witted, tenacious and principled despite your ‘madam of the club’ façade, and a tactile, passionate woman, who has been haunting me for far longer than you think.”

“The hell am I supposed to say to that?” I think, and again I see Kiril’s lips twitch. “If you want me to trust you, you can start by staying out of my head,” I scowl reproachfully.

“You’re all but broadcasting,” he defends, “when you’re thinking about me.”

Burning – oh yeah, my face is flaming.

“I could try to teach you to be more guarded,” he offers.

“But I’m not a vampire… am I?”

Kiril shakes his head and rises again, making his intention to approach me clear before he does- and I let him; I know I shouldn’t, but I let him.

“You,” he says, looking down at me, his shadow casting cold over my exposed skin, while the light at his back makes him glow divinely, “are something I should kill right now, before you can become a real danger, to me, to my kind.”

My lips part to respond, in fright, in my defence, but the feathery touch of his thumb against me, silences the words before they can emerge.

“Fully awakened hunters are immune to the mind manipulation of many preternaturals – vampires included – and can detect our true identities no matter how human we look.”

“I didn’t,” I admit, but his thumb presses more insistently.

“Because you’re not awakened,” he clarifies. “And if I have anything to do with it, you never will.”

Gently, slowly, his thumb opens my mouth, and without even thought, just base instinct that somehow overwhelms that of survival, my lips wrap around it. The moist warmth of my tongue touches him tentatively, and for a second before the horror of my actions hits me, I suckle provocatively against the very tip.

My backward flinch is jarring, my eyes wide, and I’m shaking my head like that can dispel the pheromone laced fog controlling my actions.

“I’m sorry, I…” I shudder out, my body crying out for me to taste him far more, but my mind shrieking grave warning. “I hate this, I hate feeling like, like someone else is controlling me actions!”

Calmly, Kiril watches, his fully clothed legs brushing lightly against the dangle of mine.

“You can’t seduce me like this,” I growl adamantly, and it’s Kiril’s turn to shake his head.

“I told you, what you feel for me is my doing.”

Frustrated, I stand and shove him away so I can begin pacing again.

“What am I supposed to do now, huh?” I eject, throwing up my hands. “Lions and tigers and bears, and I want to just rub myself all over one.”

Clearly, Kiril was struggling not to smirk.

“Stop that!” I tell him once more, slashing the air with my hand. “I came here to find Jazz, not to get all tangled up in your bullshit.”

“Then that is what we do,” he asserts. “ The men who attacked you were locals, which means just as you did in London, your search for Konstantin aroused interest.”

“Well it’s a little late to ask them what they know,” I point out.

“They were asking you for information,” he points out, “which suggests they didn’t know he was here. That doesn’t mean, however, that the Prague’s gentry is unaware.”

“Given they attacked me, is said gentry likely to part with any information they might have?” I frown, but Kiril sniffs with arrogant confidence.

“Arno will deal with me whether he likes it or not,” he states, “I just need to make a call or two.”

Miho took a long shower while Kiril made his phone calls. She didn’t know or care who he was talking to; the last thing she needed to do was add to the mountainous pile of unbelievable she’d be blindsided with. Some of it she just knew, even though she didn’t know how she knew – a voice deep within told her Kiril was not lying, not about vampires and not about herself being an unawakened hunter. Surprisingly, it was the inexplicable attraction she felt toward Kiril – despite everything – that vexed her the most. As the warm water caressed her body, she replayed all the times they had been in close proximity – and shuddered, her hand sliding between her legs to press against the aching of her clit.

“Not good,” she sighed, her head leaning against the glass wall as she rocked against her hand.

Even as she relished the burgeoning pleasure, a part of her remained deeply concerned by the mental image she’d created of Kiril nuzzled in behind her, his hands on her, in her.

And she really hoped he couldn’t hear her thoughts from the other room.

“Feel better?” Kiril enquired, when Miho finally emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed and preened.

Praying he took the flush in her cheeks as heat from the shower, she nodded, but her attention was soon drawn to the wafting scent of coffee and a tray of various consumables.

“Your stomach was growling,” he smiled, tipping his chin in the direction of the table.

“It was not,” she huffed, but moved to pour herself a mug just the same.

“Oh? Then I suppose you were growling for another reason?” he posed, one eyebrow raised provokingly. “Hm, perhaps not growling, maybe moaning is a little more accurate.”

Miho blinked, then rallied.

“Well, if I was it certainly had nothing to do with you,” she sniffed, casually filling her mug and grabbing a slice of fruit. “So, what’s the plan?”

Better to stick to business.

“We’ll walk right into Arno’s court and politely ask for his assistance,” he replied, not looking the slightest bit daunted by his suggestion.

“Is that really the wisest idea, considering you just killed four locals?” Miho asked sceptically, surprised by how good her appetite was considering the traumatic events of the previous night.

With a shrug, Kiril rose from his seat, thrusting his hands into his pockets.

“Arno is old,” he admitted. “That’s Europe for you, but the old world doesn’t hold nearly as much sway as it used to.”

“Okaaay,” she agreed, taking a sip before continuing. “But this we business. Before, you were all ‘Oh I should kill you because you’re a hunter and you need to be protected’, and now you’re suggesting I march down the throat of a vampire court? That doesn’t seem all that smart.”

“So long as you behave like you’re under my thumb, everything will be fine,” he told her, and now looked mighty pleased with himself.

“I am not under your thumb,” Miho ruffled, glaring at him over the rim of her mug.

“And this defiance is something I admire in you,” he nodded, “you never cease to entertain, but unless you want me to leave you here, you’re going to have swallow your pride for a little while and play like a good little pet.”

Grinding her teeth, Miho considered being stubborn by refusing to go, but it seemed she was getting closer to finding Jazz, and did not want to just leave it to Kiril.

“Fine,” she grumped.

“Understand, Miho, a false step here could me we both end up as little more than unrecognisable fragments of flesh,” he explained frankly, though he didn’t appear fazed by this prospect. “I can hold my own, make no mistake, but at the centre of Arno’s kingdom, he definitely has the advantage.”

“Kingdom,” Miho repeated. “So what? Vampires follow a monarchical hierarchy?”

“In some countries, yes,” he affirmed. “In others, it’s a matter of who has the most power and who can cling to it.”

“Not big on democracy huh?” she sniffed, finishing off her coffee and placing her mug back on the tray.

“Well, the human world messes that up enough for everyone,” he expounded with mild amusement. “And no matter how much power within our own we hold, we cannot help but be in some way influenced by the machinations of human politics.”

“And in the UK?” she prompted, taking another piece of fruit before moving slowly around the table to the other side; another piece of furniture between them.

“Monarchy,” he affirmed, but his lips remained parted as if there was more.

“And? Come on, the time for secrets is over,” Miho urged, emphasising her statement with a pointed look.

“And, do you remember when I warned you not to pursue my father?” he replied, not having to say much more for her to cotton on.

“Seriously?” she coughed, shaking her head. “Your dad is the king of the UK?”

“I’ll spare you the indignity of calling me your Highness,” he smiled. “At least in private.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” she sighed shakily, casting her mind back to the business dinner and the whole thing with the man named Hardwick. “I feel like I’ve been walking around with my eyes closed.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s normal not to see that which defies the well accepted status quo,” he philosophised, glancing at his watch before looking back up. “Shall we go?”

With two loud cracks, Miho tilted her head from one side to the other, then levelled her gaze at Kiril – eyes brimming with determination.

“I’m ready.”

Continuing to smile, perhaps a little too genuinely for Miho to actually believe it was genuine, Kiril watched her snatch up her bag and head for the door.

“You’re going to need this,” he told her softly, and before she could look away from the door, she felt the light pressure of her coat folding over her shoulders, Kiril’s hands smoothing down her arms a second later.

The gesture caused her to shiver, made parts of her clench so tightly she’d leaned back against him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Stop that,” she hissed, his thumbs stroking her upper arms, but she hadn’t straightened, nor reached for the knob… the door knob.

“This, whatever this is, is as difficult for me to resist as it is for you,” he whispered, then reached around her to open the door. “After you.”

Far from the pretentiousness of his usual limousine, Kiril has already called ahead to have a city taxi waiting for us out the front of the hotel. Like a gentleman he opens the door and sees me comfortably inside, before joining me in the back. I’m not stupid, I haven’t forgotten the things I’ve just learned or seen, but Kiril’s right – the attraction between us is unlike anything I’ve ever felt, and it demands I touch him, feel him and that I let him have the same of me. Fighting it is exhausting, even if my logical mind tells me I should not be putting myself in the path of a killer, a predator, all for the tingle of my nethers.

“It’s not just for that,” I tell myself sternly, as Jazz has always been my number one priority.

Denying how much I want Kiril to take me right there in the back of this cab, however, is becoming more and more difficult.

Our hands brush.

I blush like some ridiculous otome ‘heroine’ whose only exposure to grown men is her stern and uptight father. Trying so hard to rein in the raging fire in my face, I completely miss Kiril stating our location to the driver, but try to piece together our destination from what landmarks I’m familiar with.

“Relax, Sparrow,” Kiril instructs, leaning his shoulder against me a little, and it’s only when his hand touches mine again that I realise I’ve made tight fists. “You don’t want them to smell blood in the water.”

“If they do,” I hiss quietly, “it’ll be because you spilt it everywhere.”

“Do I win no points at all for saving your life?” he wonders aloud, and I think, I think, there is a hint of sadness behind a giant wall of irritability.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” I concede. “You’re bloody Batman, and you totally saved my ass from getting it handed to me.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t press for more.

“Actually, you may just have given them a challenge,” he declares, and I turn my head to find his so very close to mine. “There is a part of you sleeping, yes,” he goes on, “but your instincts seem to be surfacing – the unnatural angle of one thug’s arm attested to that.”

“What’s an arm to a…” I grunt, but catch myself before saying the v-word. “It was a reflex.”

“Exactly,” he smirks. “Just remember to hold off on those when we are inside, and leave the talking to me.”

“With pleasure,” I agree, and look down when Kiril slides his fingers through mine – skin as cold as the grave. “Kiril,” I begin, slowly. “If Jazz isn’t dead, I mean, if Konstantin didn’t… if she’s been with him this whole time…”

My unspoken question terrifies me – as much as I want the answer, what it might mean could change everything.

“Let us make no assumptions,” he replies, a warmth of reassurance in that simple sentence that makes me forget the iciness of his flesh. “There is no going back for either of you, but this is hardly an end.”

Caught off guard by this tenderness, my mouth gapes, and I see Kiril’s eyes flit to my lips.

“Assuming he didn’t just kill her and flee the country,” I point out breathily, my heart a thundering rapid flush with adrenaline.

“Konstantin and I are worlds apart,” he reveals, his face inching slightly closer. “My brother is all heart.”

“And you?” I exhale, barely audible even as such close proximity. “What are you… all?”

For what seems like an eternity, all the sounds of the world beyond our bubble is hushed.

“Right now,” he answers, cool breath against the flush of my cheeks, “I am all self-restraint, Sparrow – and that is the only reason you are still clothed right now.”

There is a strange pressure behind my eyes as I try to break this spell I’m under, this quagmire that seems to hold me even stronger the more I struggle against it.

“I am not…”

“Liar,” he interjects, dipping his head forward, his forehead lightly pressed to mine, the tips of our noses touching, “and you cannot lie to me, or yourself.”

Taxi driver ex machina – the man clears his throat and I pull back to press myself against the window.

“Do you always play so hard to get?” he queries lightly, running one hand through his hair. “That isn’t the impression of you I’d formed from watching you at Pale.”

“Are you saying you took me for a slut?” I scowl, but even I know this question is a defence mechanism.

“I am saying, it seems out of character for you to deny yourself something you want,” he ripostes effortlessly.

“What I want, is my best friend back,” I state clearly. “Nothing comes before that.”

“Not good with multi-tasking?” he laughs, giving my hand a squeeze, and it’s only then I realise he’s still holding it.

“Don’t make this any harder for me than it needs to be,” I grumble, but do not reclaim my captive hand.

Kiril’s smile turns into grin.

“Hey, I believe that is my line.”

“Crude,” I snort, but the joke raises my spirits a little, unwinds a little of my tension – right up until the cab comes to a stop outside the Prague National Theatre.

I recognise its unmistakable architecture as Jazz and I have seen various shows there before, but I question why we’re here now. Kiril, meanwhile, exits and opens my door, offering me his hand.

“I figured he’d hang out in the Old Royal Palace,” I admit, as Kiril ushers me away from the closed main entrance of the impressive building, and around the corner to a far less obtrusive door.

“He has his own residences,” Kiril explains, glancing coolly about, nonchalance stamped on his countenance, “but here is where the king holds official proceedings and audiences.”

“So you booked an appointment with his secretary?” I ask, my stomach knotting as Kiril pounds an assertive fist against the tall wooden door beneath one of many stone archways.

“Something like that,” he grins, winking before adding one last reminder before the door opens. “Remember, Sparrow; here you are my subservient plaything – try not to think too loudly.”

“I’ll just focus on how absolutely you think I’m in love with you,” I volley quietly, before sobering up my expression at the appearance of a woman before us.

“Prince Kiril Lambert,” Kiril announces casually. “I am expected.”

The woman’s severe expression doesn’t alter, though she offers Kiril respectful bow from the waist. I’m sure some silence exchange takes place between them as she straightens, though she doesn’t so much as spare me a glance.

Trying not to allow my apprehension to show, I follow along behind Kiril as we’re led into the building, down a cool corridor and then to a brightly lit, plush room decorated in rich red and gold.

“If you would be so kind as to wait here,” we’re instructed, or more accurately Kiril is instructed – I may as well be invisible.

Questions bubble away behind my eyes, seeping through the cracks of my best intentions to seems focused on being Kiril’s ‘good little girl’, and I can tell because of the sharp look Kiril sends me.

“I will punish you,” he drops coldly, and I don’t have to feign how this threat – more like a promise – causes real fear to slither, to gather in my chest. “You are fortunate I deigned to bring you at all.”

“Of course,” I say quietly, lowering my head. “I apologise.”

Obviously dissatisfied with my nearly immediate transgression, he turns and pinches my chin.

“Do not embarrass me, Sparrow.”

It’s a performance, I’m okay with this, because in Kiril’s eyes I see none of the taunting arrogance I usually do when he’s teasing me.

“I would never,” I assure him, biting my lower lip, looking up at him from beneath my lashes.

Subservience is not my thing, but I’m no stranger to play-acting.

“See to it you don’t,” he sniffs, stepping away from me to the sound of a door opening at the other side of the room.

Though uninvited, Kiril strides confidently through into a much larger chamber, at the far end of which stands an ornate throne, upon which sits a lean man with a prominent hook nose, his thin hair silver at the temples.

In and of itself his physical appearance is unremarkable, but palpable waves of displeasure roll from the dais and crash into me; Kiril, however, remains as unaffected as ever.

“Thank you for granting me an audience as such short notice, King Arno, most honoured son of Josef Sovák,” Kiril greets in perfect Czech – not a word of which I understand.

Still, as he bows, I follow suit, lower and for longer than my ‘master’, and I so not seek eye contact.

Don’t want to make eye contact.

“If I did not know well enough of your family, Kiril Lambert,” Arno replies in English, though his accent is very thick, “I might consider some measure of truth in that statement. And you… despite your airs and graces, you are a wolf.”

I doubt very much his choice of language is for my benefit – perhaps more likely he wants to show Kiril he’s just as adept at English as with his native tongue – but this is merely conjecture.

“If only I could convince my father of as much,” Kiril smiled easily, while I want so much to cower.

Contemptuously, the Czech king grunts an undignified sound and points a thin finger directly at Kiril.

“Am I to believe you think me a fool?” he growls, grey eyes narrowing to nearly closed. “I should have you shipped back to your father in pieces for your brazenness, your audacity – to threaten me?”

What Kiril has threatened Arno with I am unaware, but can only think it has something to so with the phone calls he made before arriving. Whatever it is, everything about Kiril screams he is completely comfortable with his actions and in no way intimidated by Arno’s attempt to assert dominance in his own throne room.

“I’m making no threats,” Kiril disagrees, eyes forward still, even as doors on either side of the chamber open, and several figures enter, none of them looking all that pleased. “But I do have a grievance with you in need of recompense.”

“You have a grievance?” Arno chuckles darkly. “I suppose that is why several accountants under my employ cried out suddenly in unison and proceeded to panic?”

“Yes, that would be why,” Kiril smiles thinly, reaching slowly out to curl his fingers around the back of my neck and give me a little nudge forward. “I sent this one to find my brother,” he continues, and though his voice is sure, growing more and more displeased, I exert what feels like the limit of my willpower not to tremble. “And in no less than forty-eight hours she is set upon by while strolling your streets, and threatened for the very information she came in search of; I will not ask your pardon for expressing my annoyance at such a gross breach of etiquette.”

Kiril’s fingers against my nape are tense, but his grip is not tight. As he speaks his thumb grazes my skin, lightness of his touch re-centres my thoughts on him.

“Do not talk to me of etiquette, Prince Kiril, when you entered my city and spilled blood on my streets before so much as a glance of acknowledgement for courtesy and tradition.”

“That is true,” Kiril nodded, slowly drawing him back against him. “But, had I done so, she would be dead, and you and I would be having a whole other… conversation.”

Those figures around us shift; none of them are stupid, so despite dancing a semantic game, everyone is well aware Kiril just rolled into the court of the Czech vampire king and started making threats.

Any second now they’re going to pounce us both, and I’m going to end up even worse than the vampires Kiril slaughtered; his arm slithers over my hip and rests there.

“Let me make this as easy for you as possible in order to save time, effort, and further bloodshed,” Kiril goes on, his free hand making slow sweeping motions as he speaks. “In recompense for the attack against my assistant, I want your network to find my brother and his partner, and report their whereabouts to me. Following that, the four of us will return quietly to the U.K. and bother you no more.”

Arno listens in silence, but he looks about ready to lurch from this throne and permanently end the conversation. Those around us don’t blink, don’t move, but I can feel their stares crushing my chest, stealing my breath.

“I want this over quickly, so I can get back to my own affairs,” Kiril adds. “My economic machinations are merely insurance that I get what I’ve come for – something which should cause you no great loss considering the hostility my little Sparrow met with at the mere mention of Konstantin’s name. I would sooner not interfere with the financial stability of the Czech Republic’s ruling house to get my way, but as you’re probably aware, I am very used to getting what I want.”

“All except your father’s approval,” Arno sneers, but his is the only expression that alters.

“Well, you’re at least half right there,” Kiril shrugs, but doesn’t clarify which part. “So all that remains is your cooperation, and we shall leave.”

If I stood in Arno’s position, I would no doubt like to tear Kiril’s head off, especially in front of his ‘subjects’ – if that’s what they’re called. He has to somehow save face, but it’s obvious from his hesitation whatever Kiril did with regards to his finances is no small matter. How, exactly, he’s managed to corner this man, a king and older than him by Kiril’s own admission, I don’t know.

“Do not think for a moment,” Arno says finally, rising and stepping slowly from the dais, “I will forget your audacity.”

“I would not expect you to,” Kiril acknowledges, his fingers beginning to drum lightly against my hip. “All things have a price. I am sure, however, should you require my considerable influence in the future, I could find my way to be of your assistance.”

At this, Arno chuckles, a sound that rattles around between his ribs for a little before spilling from his lips.

“You would be wise to not stray too far from the power of the old world,” he warns, coming to stand before us, no more than an arm’s reach away from me. “Your love affair with humans, these fragile things…”

His eyes linger on me.

“… may be your undoing,” he finishes.

“No doubt you will fully enjoy the celebration that follows,” Kiril grins. . “I’ll leave arrangements to send you something suitable for such an occasion.”

“Keep your head down in Prague,” Arno commands coldly. “Leave details with Marika. If you are not out of the country within twenty-four hours of your brother’s location, I’ll kill you and take your little Sparrow for my plaything.”

“That sounds fair,” Kiril agrees, but his smile falters when Arno reaches out toward my cheek.

“You’d better hope…” he begins, but doesn’t finish before Kiril pulls me in behind him.

“But unless that eventration comes about,” he says frostily, eyes narrowed, eyes afire, “she belongs to one man, and he is most certainly not you.”

Amused, Arno tips his chin, satisfied at having apparently – finally – unsettled the intruder, but his eyes do not leave me. His gaze is nothing like Kiril’s, and in his eyes I can read the desire to humiliate, to punish Kiril, through me.

Leaving floods me with the kind of relief that leaves my legs weak, and on the street with Arno’s court behind us, I lean against Kiril who has not let go of me since Arno’s approach.

“Did you really just bully a king by threatening to bankrupt him? In front of his people? In his throne room?” I sigh, my hands gripping his coat lapels.

“Well I never used that word specifically, but yes,” he answers, wearing none of the weariness I feel. “I do not want to linger here,” he continues, “as it is clear you cannot be trusted not to rush off in a frenzy screaming Konstantin’s name.”

Those last few words spoken, Kiril pauses to consider them – his brows twitching.

“Ensuring Arno had no choice but to help us locate my idiot brother was the fastest means to our desired end, so I can get you back to England,” he adds, smoothing his hands from my shoulders to my elbows.

Before even thinking, I’ve dropped my head against his chest and exhaled a long breath.

“Will this really work?”

“If Arno wants to avoid complete bankruptcy and get me out of his hair as soon as possible, he will have his goons scouring the city and beyond,” he assures, gently sliding his fingers through my hair.

And it feels so good I could almost forget that with a twitch he could break me in half.

Feels too good.

“Well, thank you, for putting yourself on Arno’s bad-side for me,” I declare, but avoid his eyes as I step back out of his arms.

“I am unsure he has a good side to be honest,” he chuckles, and this forces a smile from beneath the tension I’d been holding since waking up.

“So what do we do now? Just, sit and wait?”

Almost unconsciously I take both cell phones from my pocket: the one with a local sim card and my regular one.

The latter has several missed calls and messages from Sebastian, one from Mieke – the former has none, and I cannot help but cringe a little.

“Something wrong?” Kiril queries, leaning a little closer again.

“I want you to be honest with me,” I begin, chewing the inside of my cheek a little because I’m not sure what it means if I get the answer I suspect I will. “Sebastian warned me to stay away from you, vehemently; does he know?”

“Mr. Ross and I are acquainted in the most basic sense of concept,” Kiril responds, and it sounds like the words a politician might spout to avoid an uncomfortable truth.

“Okay, let me rephrase; I want you to be honest and clear,” I insist, narrowing my eyes at him, even as he moves to the curb to hail us a taxi. “Does he know you’re a vampire?”

“Yes,” he answers more in accordance with my guidelines. “He does.”

“No wonder he’s losing his shit,” I mutter, both sympathetic and irritated at the same time. “He knew there was a vampire in my club all this time and said… did nothing?”

“To be fair, Mr. Ross is in no position to reveal secrets,” Kiril says, and though the sentence itself literally attempts to exonerate Sebastian for his silence, the tone in which it is spoken conveys his disdain.

Turning this over in my mind, I just climb into the cab when Kiril holds the door open for me and we’re moving before I even know my destination.

“How?” I ask finally, shifting my whole body a little more sideways. “How does he know? Wait…”

It hits me.

“No way, Sebastian’s a…”

“No, he most certainly is not,” Kiril snaps back, glaring, and the sourness of his expression only deepens as I speak again.

“I suppose not,” I admit, reclining. “His hands are warm.”

And a split second later, Kiril has pulled off his dark leather glove and snatched up my hand.

Warm.

“This is new,” I note, as he threads his fingers through mine. “And now I know you don’t have to be so cold.”

He knows I’m not just talking about the temperature of his skin, but he doesn’t react adversely. Meanwhile, I – not being completely oblivious – note this revelation as an act of jealousy?

“So if he’s not a vampire then…” I begin again, but then Kiril untangles our fingers and places his hand against my thigh – even through my jeans the sensation threatens to chase away logical thought.

“I do not wish to talk of Sebastian Ross,” he states flatly, sliding his palm upward a little until I catch his hand and prevent its progress.

“You can’t end a topic by feeling me up,” I point out, but I’m simultaneously imagining the downward curl of his thumb riding further up between my legs.

“I am not ending a topic,” he argues lightly, “but beginning a new one, one your tensing muscles, your body, tells me you are aching to have.”

My fingernails dig into the back of his hand a little, but he seems to enjoy it.

“What a chauvinistic conclusion,” I huff, looking out the window at the passing city.

“But not untrue,” he points out with a smirk.

Resisting Kiril’s presence, his allure, required constant vigilance and willpower on Miho’s part, especially when it became clear he didn’t mean for them to simply wait in her suite for the phone to ring. Instead, he further occupied her mind with an all access tour of the city.

Together they viewed a private art collection, ate lunch at the most exclusive restaurant in the city, shopped places Miho’s credit card would never have permitted, and after night had fallen ended up at Prague Castle well after visitors were no longer allowed on the premises.

“I’d ask if it’s okay to be here,” Miho whispered, following along one step behind Kiril, left by the hand, “but it doesn’t seem you care much for rules. Visitors aren’t even permitted in this area, let alone at this hour.”

“Do not fret,” he said at full conversational volume. “I happen to know the owner.”

“Oh, I suppose you’re on a first name basis with the president,” she scoffed, but a second later realised that wasn’t too far from the realm of possibility. “What are we doing here?”

“Dinner,” he answered, as they entered the second courtyard and continued their journey.

“Now you’re just showing off,” she muttered, passing by the soft rush of water in Kohl’s Fountain.

“Hardly,” he chuckled, quickening his steps until they had crossed into the third courtyard and were swallowed by the deep shadow of St. Vitus Cathedral.

Miho had seen it before during the day – magnificent - but now its sharp gothic features were swathed in a cold that made its tall spires feel like looming giants poised to crush them both.

“You have an overactive imagination,” Kiril noted, obviously amused.

“Oh really? Mr. Vampire?” she snorted, speeding up to fall in flush beside him. “I don’t think my imagination can afford to be active enough right now.”

“I suppose it is better you focus on that than other things,” he agreed, and it was only then Miho realised she hadn’t thought about Jazz since the morning, nor had she felt nearly as tense about the chances of finding her unharmed.

“Huh,” she murmured, freeing her hand in order to loop her arm around his, even as he so casually opened the doors of the Old Palace with his other. “Was all this, today, distraction by design?”

“Oh, getting you to let your guard down is plenty motive enough for me,” Kiril responded, closing the doors beside them and leading them through the dim building until a soft glow ahead peeked through the gloom.

Emerging into Vladislav Hall, a place for State gatherings, coronations and formal Czech affairs, Miho found a wide ring of grand golden candelabras creating a halo of orange light around a single, small table dwarfed even more so by the empty space of the high vaulted ceiling.

Suddenly breathless, she became unaware of Kiril’s attention gaze as they approached, two figures – a man and a woman dressed as waiters – standing motionless at attention nearby.

With a chivalrous flourish, Kiril separated from Miho and pulled out a chair at the table, upon which already sat fine crystal and gleaming cutlery.

“Sparrow,” he prompted, and with a quick nod, Miho took her seat.

“Kings have been crowned in this chamber,” Miho exhaled in awe, “and you arrange a private dinner like it’s nothing.”

“I would not say nothing,” he smiled, and for once there was no hint at all of smugness. “But what trouble it might have cost was well worth it for the expression on your face.”

“How am I supposed to survive this?” she sighed under her breath, glancing to the left of the waitress offered her the wine bottle’s label before pouring the near black liquid into an immaculately etched goblet.

What followed was a magical, dream-like dinner where everything was simply perfect. To Miho it seemed Kiril was on his best behaviour, effortlessly recalling the original construction of the Old Royal Palace in the ninth century.

“Ninth century?” Miho blurted. “You’re that old?”

Slowly, Kiril nodded.

“But that’s over…” she began, crunching numbers in her head. “Over eleven hundred years!”

“One thousand, one hundred and seventy-three to be precise,” Kiril corrected: no biggie. “I had reached the peak of my vampiric development by that stage, and was hungry to explore the world.”

“I can’t even fathom that,” Miho sighed as she laid her spoon in her empty bowl, and rested her chin on her hand. “All the things you must have seen and heard, the change.”

Nodding, Kiril smiled a nothing smile.

“Good and bad I bet,” Miho added, studying his expression.

“My upbringing was not like yours for a great many reasons,” he expounded. “Reasons I will not bore you with now.”

“Because I have so much on my plate right now,” Miho smirked, spreading her hands, but as she did, Kiril rose from his seat.

With his movement, a much greater light flooded the entire hall, and suddenly the empty chamber was bursting with life. Gaping, craning her neck to peer at men and women dressed in the finery of former centuries, Miho exhaled a small noise to express her puzzlement.

“One of my powers is to create illusion,” he explained, stepping around the table to offer Miho his hand. “Which is surprisingly useful.”

“Surprisingly?” Miho breathed, touching her fingers to the palm of his hand, and she quickly found her body hauled upward.

“Not everyone agrees,” he smiled, making a sweeping motion with his hand down the length of her body, and an immaculate gown bloomed around her like an opening flower. “Cinderella.”

“Holy shit,” Miho grinned, reaching out to touch the luxurious fabric, but her fingers passed right through to what she was actually wearing.

“Not real,” Kiril affirmed, pulling her forward against him to the swell of a grand orchestra.

Part Six

#Miho fujiwara #jazz mann #Kiril Lambert #Konstantin Lambert #Vampire #Vampire fiction #OC #ORiginal Story #romance #Blood spatter

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lovelykiheon · 5 years

Text

Life Imitates Art

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: Taehyung met you at an art gallery, and reflects on what was and what could be for the both of you.

Couples of different ages stood together as they waited to enter the venue. The venue to which many attended to appreciate beauty of all forms. The line moved at a reasonable pace. The snowy winter evening breeze brushed against the cheeks and through the hair of those individuals that waited, along with one individual in particular, Kim Taehyung.

Taehyung, being a full time music artist, had quite often spent his days off being a part time art admirer. He usually finds and attends any art gallery that is within his reach, not even caring to know what art he would find there. Not even who he would find there.

This gallery in particular, however, was most talked about and many were heard to show up this time around. It had crossed his mind though, what it would be like to see you in person once more. His hopes slightly risen that you could be inside as you too found an attraction to art. A gallery is where you two met after all.

The employee just before the line greeted Taehyung and requested to see his ticket.

After exchanging bows, Taehyung made his way inside only to be engulfed with the warmth that the venue contained.

Due to previous knowledge of leaked information on the gallery, he makes his way around the museum as it’s the same venue and layout as he’s visited before.

Without bumping into or disturbing others, he finally made his way to the floor for the work of one of his favorite artists, Vincent Van Gogh. He couldn’t believe what he saw before his eyes. The original pieces which were hand made by the historical man himself.

As he made his way around the room, he recognized a familiar piece of art. A piece that is one of a kind and could never be topped in his eyes.

You.

Admiring you from afar, he noticed you were wearing a similar outfit to the one the day you first met. A black calf length trench coat paired with a velvet turtleneck, flared pants and a pair of black heeled boots.

The setting was quite peaceful, yet the hum of chatter still vacated the room. People crossed the room as Taehyung tried to cut through and reach your location.

“Excuse me, thank you, sorry.” were a few words that escaped Taehyung’s mouth as he passed by others. Hoping to not lose you in the crowd.

Alas, you remained in the same spot. You were just as he remembered, gorgeous and elegant. Not a strand of hair out of its respective place. He wracked his head of what he would even say to you before slowly, quietly approaching you on the right.

He looked at the same piece you were currently admiring.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” you speak up without breaking contact with the art stationed on the wall. Directing your question towards him, you catch him off guard.

“Oh, ahem” he clears his throat. Still, no idea of how to approach you enters his mind. ‘Something clever? No, i’ll sound like a know-it-all jerk. Funny? No, i’ll look like an immature idiot.’ He thinks of various ways to continue this conversation until these words fall from his lips.

“Of course, but I think i’m looking at someone much more beautiful.” He holds his breath, unable to comprehend where the courage came for him to say such a thing.

You turn your attention to him, a blank expression on your face.

‘Idiot. Corny idiot.’ He scolds himself

A slight grin fighting its way from appearing on the corners of your lips as memories you both shared fought with the compliment. You face forward again. Subtly shaking your head to ready yourself of what must be said next.

“You can’t do that Tae.” You sigh. “You can’t just say something like that after the choice you previously made.”

He knows that. He knows what he did. Quite frankly, he remembers it all too well. The wounds of that final night spent together still fresh, and possibly won’t ever heal.

“y/n, i’m sorry.” He apologizes.

“Don’t be. You did what was best. What was best for you, for me, for the both of us.” You reiterate letting out a huff. Silence dawns on the both of you for a moment. You start to move on to the next piece. Taehyung follows of course, not wanting to lose you.

“If I could turn back time and try to avoid what i’ve done then I would, y/n.” You could hear the pain in his voice as he offered the idea. But you both know very well that cannot happen. You stop after hearing his words, coincidentally arriving at the next piece.

“So you would jeopardize your career? After you know how far you’ve come?” You spat, scoffing at the image of Kim Taehyung, vocalist of one of the most sought-after boy groups in the country, hell the whole world practically, attempting to balance his career as well as your relationship all while keeping you out of harms way of the public.

“Yes!” He enthusiastically whispers as he moves closer to you, still aware that you both are still in an art gallery. “Letting you go was one of my biggest regrets. I thought about how painful it was to go back to the dorms after practice and not have you waiting for me. To no longer see you sitting in the audience at our concerts. To no longer having you secretly make your way into a fansign and be able to hold your hand in front of everyone and them not have a clue about what we had together.” He moves to grab your hand only for you to snatch it away once your imagination stopped playing the image of what he described.

“You made your choice, tae.” Your voice shaky, as you wish that you could be with him to feel as loved as you once did, but he broke you with neglect. He chose to leave you high and dry so that he could put all of his effort into creating his desired image of an optimistic talented musician. You knew that it would help his career, but to think that he would actually pull through with the task of letting you go and breaking off all contact for four years so easily. It just shows that he must’ve not loved you as much as you thought he did.

‘I can’t lose you again.’ The same thought repeating in his head like a mantra. He was lucky enough to even get this far in conversation. He is willing to do anything.

“y/n, please. There is so much more I can do for you now.” Desperation was written on every inch of his face. You were slipping away.

“The only thing you can do for me is give me your ticket.” You suggest, voice muffled. The figure before him disappearing into an icy mist from the bottom up. A look of confusion overtakes his features for a matter of seconds until realization dawns on him.

“Ticket. Ticket, sir. Sir your ticket.” Snapped out of his train of thought by the employee before him at the entrance door. “Ahh!” Scrambling through his jacket pockets, he hands the piece of paper to the man. Internally cursing at himself for even fantasizing about you.

The beauty that was you.

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mbti-notes · 5 years

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ENFJ w/ ENFP brother. Thank you for answering my question. I think you misread or read into things, like assuming I was meddling, when my Aunt reached out to me w/ her concerns. It wasn't prompted by me. Also, I've always been my brother's cheerleader, sending him random encouraging texts throughout his college experience and after. Cheerleading alone didn't get him the outcome he desired, and it's hard to see him or anyone else suffer and not do anything-especially when I've been prompted.

I debated whether to respond because your message was defensive and really missed the point. I will respond once more out of sympathy, but this will be the last time unless there is an obvious effort to overcome the defensiveness. Your focus is misdirected. You ask me for “immediate solutions” to your brother’s problem and resent what is said about your part; however, you are unable to articulate what the source of his problem is, and how can you solve a problem when you don’t know the cause? My contention is that you don’t understand his problem because you are unable to understand his perspective, otherwise, you would be able to help (and I stated that I believe your intention is to help though you chose the wrong methods).

Is it or is it not true that he has no confidence in you and thus won’t listen to you? The point you’ve missed is that it doesn’t matter how great your or my ideas are, they are completely useless if the poor state of the relationship does not allow you to communicate ideas with him. Therefore, the first problem that needs solving is not the job search but your relationship to him, specifically, why it is so broken that communication has ceased. Relationships are a two-way street. You point the finger at him as having the problem rather than looking at why the two of you have a problem. If you are unwilling to reflect on how you contribute to the dysfunctional relationship and want to pin all the blame on him for “misinterpreting” you, then stop reading now, because then we fundamentally disagree about the facts of the problem. I was outlining common Fe vs Fi issues so that you could reflect upon possible dysfunctional patterns in your relationship with your brother, nothing more, nothing less. You mistook it as “blame” and became defensive. My response hasn’t substantially changed:

Your aunt reached out to you with her concerns about him. Are you suggesting that this gives you license to involve yourself in their relationship despite the fact that it is none of your business and he won’t listen to you (i.e. you are unable to offer a useful solution)? Are you aware that you always have a choice to stay out of a situation when you don’t know what to do? Are you aware that you could cause unintentional harm when you try to help without having all the facts (and thus appear to be siding against him or ganging up on him)?

You state that you don’t think of anyone as being “broken” and have been nothing but a “cheerleader” to your brother. Are you rewriting history to conceal your missteps (something Se loop+Ti grip often does)? Why then does he react so negatively to your “help”? Why then does he explicitly have to tell you to stop it with your “unsolicited advice”? Why then does he feel compelled to “prove you wrong” about him? Are you suggesting that the problem lies entirely with him and his inability to understand you? Are you suggesting that he’s making you into an enemy without any provocation whatsoever, i.e., that he is entirely at fault for the breakdown in this relationship?

You say that you understand some people don’t like to ask for help but that you are always receptive to help when offered. Are you suggesting that, if this is true for you, then it should also be true for him, or everyone for that matter? Are you suggesting that because your brother is not receptive to YOUR brand of help, then he is not receptive to ANY help?

You said you gave him suggestions that “play to his strengths” and you don’t understand how it could be misinterpreted as negative. Did he ask you for suggestions? Did he express to you that he wanted your “random encouragement”? If not, why are you giving unsolicited advice/comments, especially when he has explicitly stated that he does not want it?

You said that your advice to get a temporary job was “meant to imply that you have faith in him”, even though I explained to you in detail why this kind of “fixing” advice is destructive to FPs and directly undermines your stated goal (of letting him know that he can move at his own pace). Are you suggesting that there is no need to reflect on how your communication is received because your “intent” is the only thing that matters and people should “just know” exactly what you are “implying”?

You asked me to let you know if your “Ti is off”. You should use Fe, not Ti, to feel people’s feelings and understand them. From exercising healthy Fe empathy, you will be far better situated to know what he really needs (as opposed to guessing, making blind assumptions, or projecting from your own expectations). Ti, especially the lower Ti style of “dissecting and defending”, does not help because it usually serves to worsen ENFJ personality problems, such as: trouble empathizing, egocentric perspective, hypercritical me vs them attitude, self-victimizing rumination, oversensitivity to criticism, miscalculation of cause and effect, misdirection of blame. Misusing Ti such that it shuts down proper Fe use is the wrong direction to go in.

You’re essentially wanting me to look at him without looking at you, which I believe is useless when your dysfunctional relationship is the biggest obstacle at present. I will speak in the abstract if it is less threatening:

If an ENFJ often suffers from: Fe insecurity that takes everything too personally and doesn’t know how to draw appropriate relationship boundaries, Ni presumptuousness/arrogance that is resistant to deep self-reflection, Se loop twisting of facts and overreaction to negativity, and/or unnecessary Ti grip defensiveness and blame, then the ENFJ is NOT in a good position to provide an ENFP the kind of unconditionally supportive emotional environment that they require to practice self-care and nurture Fi development.

One cannot be helpful without getting a good idea of where the other person is coming from, and one cannot know another’s perspective when their own issues are constantly getting in the way. Whether you suffer from these common ENFJ problems is your job to reflect on; whether these common ENFJ problems create obstacles in your relationships is your job to reflect on - I have absolutely no interest in making these judgments for you or about you. You don’t seem to know that Se loop is negative, you mention “Ti loop” instead of Ti grip - misusing terminology makes your knowledge of function theory appear quite lacking. Fear of brokenness is an unconscious low Ti related fear that makes ENFJs want to defend and deflect blame when criticized rather than reflect constructively on how they can improve (i.e. resistance to Ni and Ti development). Suffering from Se loop and Ti grip directly interfere with the empathic Fe objectivity that ENFJs require to resolve relationship problems effectively.

He needs to develop Fi in order to grow, but you’ve shown that you don’t understand Fi, and worse, your tone-deaf Fe-Ti often offends his Fi-Te, so how can you help him with his Fi development? I reiterate these problems: You don’t display enough empathy for his feelings nor deep understanding of his perspective; you suggest “fixes” before you’ve even understood what his problem really is; you shoot ideas/comments at him without knowing how they make him feel; you give him the form of help that YOU believe he should need or that YOU should want if you were in his position (but he’s not you). Are you aware that these behaviors, even when well-intentioned, are counter-productive to building a good relationship between FJs and FPs? Be brutally honest, do you learn mbti to increase your respect for how others think quite differently than you, or do you only learn it as a means to “manage people” into doing what you believe they should do? Are you prepared to reflect on yourself and change any problematic behaviors in an effort to repair the relationship with him so that he might be more open to receiving your help? If you believe that you have no reason to change anything and you should both just be responsible to yourselves and leave it at that, then ignore this entire message.

I don’t hand out short-term bandaids. The long-term solution is to mend your relationship, which means that you must listen to him with genuine openness and empathy - no judgment, no opinions, no blame, no advice, no suggestions, no fixes, no management, no overstepping boundaries - the way forward will naturally present itself when he trusts you enough to open up about his problem and talk about it authentically and explore ideas in a safe space. You can’t force trust, you have to earn it, so what have you done to earn his trust? Maybe the relationship is so broken that he won’t trust you no matter what you do, but there is no way for me to judge that matter, only he can tell you. Perhaps he has too many problems of his own to bother with you. The point is that you’re not able to pinpoint exactly what the problem is between you because you don’t have his perspective.

If you genuinely wanted to get at the truth of your relationship problem, it wouldn’t be very difficult to ask for his side of the story and, without rushing to judge or defend, LISTEN to how he has been impacted by your behavior toward him, then you would know exactly what needs to be changed in order for him to start taking you seriously, then you’d at least know where to begin and have a chance to consider all your options. Are you able to approach him with genuine humility and openness, such as: “I feel sad about our distant relationship. Have I done something to push you away? Have I done something wrong? Is there something I can do to repair the relationship? Is there something you believe I should change in order for us to get along better? How can I support you better?” Are you able to listen to his truth and respond maturely to it? If not, how can he trust you and how can you help him?

#enfj #enfj relationships #se loop #ti grip #relationship #communication #ask

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