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latte-fairytaekwoon · 4 years ago

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𝒟𝒶𝓃𝒸𝓮 𝒪𝒻 𝒯𝒽𝓮 𝒟𝒶𝓂𝓃𝓮𝒹 (𝓓𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓷!𝒮𝒶𝓃) 𝓡𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝐷𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑛! 𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑖 𝑆𝑎𝑛 (𝐴𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑧)/ 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 (𝐹𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑒)

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: 𝑆𝑚𝑢𝑡, 𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡, 𝐹𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑦/𝐷𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑛 𝐴𝑈

"𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒂 𝒉𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒆...

𝑫𝒆𝒇𝒚 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕’𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒚, 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒌𝒆𝒓𝒔

𝑫𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍’𝒔 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒓𝒔.."

-𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒄𝒂𝒃𝒓𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒄𝒆: 𝑷𝒐𝒆𝒎𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑯𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑮𝒐𝒓𝒆

𝑹𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝑴𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒄

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The young raven haired man strolled through the crowds of other guests, taking a glance or two whenever something seemed to catch his eyes. But those glances were only fleeting. There seemed to be nothing particularly interesting in any of them.

He took in the scene before him: long, glittering ball gowns spun around, either in tune to the orchestra playing or in a presumptuous effort to be shown off to others. The male specimen differed no greater than their female counterparts, often standing up straighter or running a hand down their expensive and delicately tailored suits, except they were willing to take it a step further and actually discuss how much they paid for it.

Foolish mortals

He scoffed as he studied each one of them. It was truly sickening to him how much humanity had reached its lowest point. More frequently than not, he noticed how humans more than ever were vain, prideful, arrogant, egotistic and disdainful of anything or anyone who wasn't them.

It wasn't entertaining anymore. He recalls a time many centuries ago when he would get a thrill out of corrupting the innocent, driving the wisest of beings into insanity, destroying picture perfect marriages and making the purest of souls fall into an abyss of sin and darkness.

What was the point of trying to do all that now when some of them are destined for destruction since the moment of their birth? It truly irritated him.

Sighing he picked up a glass of wine from one of the trays carried around by the many butlers, poor useless souls as he liked to refer to them. He sipped on the crimson liquid, it's alcoholic venom doing nothing to him even though it was probably his 13th one already.

13? Was it?

He lost count. He shrugged it off though. He could drink it as if it were pure water, his kind were immune to this substance unlike humanity.

He snorted when he'd look at certain people's masks. While most went all fancy and elegant, others decided to have fun and make sure their attire stood out, in the form of red or black masks, adorned with either fangs, horns and overall rather gruesome or grotesque visages. Clearly they were meant to represent none other than his fellow kindred. He scoffed at their personification of him.

"Damnable bastards. If only you knew we are some of the most beautiful creatures to walk next to you....."

Perhaps that's the main reason why they all, man or woman, no matter their age, education or social status, end up ensnared by them. They were irresistible.

He was about to walk out of the hall, bored out of his non-existent soul, when a small titter caught his ears. Turning his face towards the sound, his breath was caught at the sight of an ethereal looking woman. His eyes scanned her from head to toe. She was absolutely perfect: from her luscious (enter color) hair, to her satin smooth skin, all the way down the her tempting figure. Her scarlet colored dress was impeccably on her, the deep plunge in the chest decorated with sequins and rhinestones daring men to not gaze at her cleavage. The waistline was fitted and then fanned out to accentuate her captivating body. Anyone would think this lady was sin itself, she certainly looked the part.

But San knew better. He could see and feel the aura around her. She was wholly pure, absolutely nothing to signify that she'd been stained or deemed unclean. She was simply an overly sheltered girl who no doubt wanted to fit in, be regarded as a mundane person like the rest of them.

Absolutely perfect if you asked him.

He sauntered in her direction, his devilish smirk plastered on his face. Sensing a pair of eyes, she tilted her head and made contact with the demon, now unable to look away from his alluring gaze. Even through the mask covering half of his face, she knew he was the most handsome man she'd ever see, albeit she'd never seen a lot of men in her life anyway.

Inexperienced and naive as she was, she let him stand next to her and take her hand. Lifting it up to his lips, he introduced himself:

"Choi San. Pleased to make your acquaintance my fair lady."

Delicately, he placed a kiss to her fingers, before releasing them from his hold. His touch was cold, but it sent a burning sensation up her entire arm and she found herself longing for his touch again almost instantly.

"L/N Y/N..." She replied in a voice that was merely above a whisper.

"A truly befitting name for such an angelic lady."

He chuckled to himself at his use of the word. If he was successful, which he always was, by the end of the night, there'd be nothing angelic left about her.

He extended his arm out towards her.

"May I have the pleasure of requesting the next dance?"

He made it a point to flash his dimples, knowing they only added to his charm and rendered women unable to refuse him. She stood up and linked her arm in his. He felt a shiver when she touched him, a feeling he only felt when his kind were in the proximity of a pure soul. It was precisely what he'd been craving for who knows how long. Definitely more than a hundred years since the last time he felt such a presence.

He guided her to the dance floor, the other couples already in position. If there was anything San prided himself on, it was his dancing. He's had years of experience to learn almost every dance that had been created, not only because it added to his attractiveness, but because it truly was one of the few mundane things he thoroughly enjoyed.

He especially loved the waltz they were currently playing. Waltzes were so elegant, refined, polished and were perfect when seducing someone. Intense eye contact, hands intertwined and his arm pulling her close to him, he could see a glimpse of the light blush peeking out underneath her ebony mask. She was flustered, exactly how he wanted her. They were practically gliding across the dance floor, perfectly in tune with the music playing.

"Did you come alone?" San decided it was time to strike up a conversation before going for the kill.

Y/N simply nodded, looking down somewhat ashamed. Instantly he knew she was probably not supposed to be here in the first place.

Interesting detail.

"Tired of sitting at home all bored?" He raised an eyebrow at her, but already knowing the answer.

"Can you tell?" She asked, wondering if he could read her mind.

"Well..... I can tell a lot of things about you..."

Releasing his hold on her waist, he lifted his hand to spin her around before bringing her back into his embrace, now closer than before.

"Things like what?" She wanted him to elaborate.

He hummed along to the music, making her impatient for his answer.

"Like..... how you want something exciting to happen tonight. Your eyes are practically for something, anything, that contrasts the dull life you've lived so far..."

She widened her eyes when he spoke those words. Was she that easy to read? That a mere stranger could notice that about her?

"And your countenance only serves to confirm my theory." He finished.

She sighed softly and loosened her grip on him, wanting to walk away, but he only tightened his hold on her. He smirked at her and leaned in, whispering dangerously close to her lips:

"Why don't you let me open up a new world for you?"

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The girl fluttered her eyes open, soft blissful pants escaping her lips. It had been a while since they left the mansion, where San took her to what she assumed was his place. Ruby red walls with matching velvet carpet, umber brown furniture, candles in every corner being the only illuminating feature in the dark room. The only exception was the bed. It was a pitch black color with white sheets and blanket.

Her dress had long been discarded in one of the chairs in the room, the only article clothing her at the moment being her cream colored garter belt with matching thigh high stockings. San thought they looked absolutely adorable on her. The visual only heightened his need to claim her, to corrupt her, to stain her forever with his unholy mark.

He was currently in between her legs, his mouth attached to her heat. Purple blotches were already decorating her inner thighs, courtesy of his teeth. He swirled his tongue around her clit before sucking down on it. He moaned and that action alone made her thighs tremble and close around his head. But he was having none of that. His hands pushed her thighs apart again, nails digging into her petal soft skin as he continued to ravish and feast on her succulent taste.

"S-San...wait...feels f-funny...." She stuttered out after a few minutes.

He knew exactly what she was referring to: she had about to have an orgasm. As much as he'd love to see her come undone on his tongue alone, he made an effort to pull himself back before the feeling got too intense. She let out a whine of frustration and looked at him with a puzzled look, unsure of what was happening.

San ran his thumb across her lip.

"Don't worry darling. I told you I'll open up a new world for you..

And I always keep my promises."

Unzipping his pants, he pushed them down his legs and threw them onto the floor. He smirked as he took in Y/N's astonishment as she gaped at his nude form, or more specifically, at his thick and long length. She seemed to hesitate for a minute, no doubt intimidated by his size, wondering how was that supposed to fit in her.

Climbing on top of her, he placed a reassuring kiss to her temple.

"I'll take good care of you darling...trust me."

His lips captured hers in a hungry kiss. His tongue slipped inside and danced around her mouth, almost like the waltz from hours before. His hands went to the back of her thighs, lifting them up and wrapping them around his waist. He lifted his hips up slowly, the tip of his cock pressing against her folds. He began slipping inside her, going inch by inch so she could get adjusted to the feeling, not wanting to scare her.

Although it took a lot in him to not just pound into her as he wished to.

She wrapped her thighs tighter around his waist, the foreign and stinging feeling of his intrusion causing her to hiss and cry out a little. San peppered kisses across her jaw and neck in an effort to soothe the pain, while his hands drew circles around her thighs. He stayed still until he felt her relax under him. She looked back at him, her face asking what to do now.

"I'm going to start moving now ok? Just relax and let yourself go."

He pulled out of her in a speed that was torturous to him. Then he slowly pushed himself back in, watching as she took deep breaths and looked down at where their bodies connected. The more she looked at him pushing in and out, the more it helped to relax and put her at ease. San knew it too. Her at first raspy breathing turned to soft, melodious moaning.

His hips snapped up and began rolling at a faster pace, causing his cock to hit the perfect angle in her. Her breath hitched and she gasped when the overwhelming feeling in her stomach started to return, building up inside her, threatening to be released any second now.

The demon could feel it too. He's had years of experience to know what her body was doing. He watched as her face contorted, trying to figure out what was happening.

"Sa-San..." She called out, trying to warn him.

He smirked at her.

"I know, I can feel you clenching around me. You feel so good. I can't wait to feel you cum on my immense cock."

His dirty talking only served to have her whine underneath him. His hand reached down and began toying with her nipple.

"So come on babygirl, let me feel you burst. I know you can do it.....

Give it to me."

He commanded those last words to her and just like he knew would happen, she shuddered under his body, her first orgasm in her entire life taking over her, a soft pathetic whimper being the only noise she could muster. It wasn't anything too loud or over the top, as San pretty much expected. It was her first time.

Besides.....there was plenty of time to have her scream his name.

He kissed her nose and smiled.

"You did so well darling. I'm so proud of you."

She blushed at his compliments. San pulled out of her, a proud evil grin plastered on his face as he noticed the sticky trail that dripped out of her onto the sheets: a few droplets of blood signifying he had deflowered her.

Now to corrupt her even more.

He picked her body up and spun her around, making her get down on all fours as he gripped her hips once again.

"Now it's my turn to have a little fun."

She let out a loud moan when he entered her for the second time, her body still sensitive from her first orgasm. San didn't bother to go slow anymore, he knew she could take it. He thrusted in and out of her at an inhuman speed, low moans and hisses coming out of his mouth.

"Fuck! I can feel you getting close again beautiful, your pussy is so fucking tight, it's practically swallowing my cock."

He chuckled when he felt her clench even tighter around him.

"Oh you like that don't you? You like being told you're nothing but a cockslut?"

She hid her face in the pillow in front of her, trying to hide the groan that just past through her throat. San however grabbed her by the hair and pulled her face back up.

"Answer me you little whore."

She yelped when his hand landed a harsh smack to her ass.

"Y-yes San!"

He smacked her once again before pulling her even more roughly and pressing her back to his chest.

"Right now it's Master. Got it you filthy slut?" He growled into her ear.

"Yes Master!" She cried out.

"Good little whore." He praised her.

He continued his merciless pounding, one of his hands trailing down her abdomen to rub her now swollen and pink clit. Y/N now had a few tears rolling down her cheeks from the overstimulation and she hung her head low.

"Uh uh little slut. None of that."

His free hand wrapped around her neck, forcing her to look up. He tilted her slightly to the right so she could see their sinful reflection in the mirror by the wall.

"Look at you. You look so fucking desperate, wanting to cum again on my cock. Is that what you want? To cum on master's cock? Then beg for it."

Y/N let out a series of whimpers, collecting all the strength she could to cry out:

"Please master! I want to cum, let me cum on your cock!"

San was loving this. It had been so long since he had such an innocent thing begging for him.

"How bad do you want it darling? Does Master's cock make you feel that good?" He teased her.

"Please Master I want it so bad! It feels so good, please don't stop!" Her words were barely incoherent now from how overwhelmed with pleasure she was.

Having being satisfied by her answer, he squeezed her throat, causing her to gasp and writhe her body as her second orgasm took over, far more intense than the first. He never slowed down his pace therefore making her convulse even more violently and shriek out a chant of his name, further heightening his pride and ego.

Very soon after, he cursed loudly as he reached his own climax, his cock spurting out his cum inside her, filling her up with his sinful load. She collapsed on the bed, worn out by the physical intimacy that just took place. San chucked darkly when not even a minute later she was completely passed out. That always happened. Humans couldn't handle having intercourse with a demon, they were practically insatiable and always passed out after a night with them.

Pulling the blanket to cover her, San ran his fingers through her hair. He admired her features for a few minutes. She was really beautiful, an ethereal beauty that only came once every century. Even in her now corrupted and tainted state, she was still the most alluring person he'd ever seen, and he's seen even angels themselves.

Now he knew he wanted her all to himself, completely for him and for no one else to own. He wasn't going to allow anyone to take her from him. He didn't have to worry about celestial beings claiming her, they wouldn't want her now. But other demons might want her.....

Getting up he opened a drawer and took out something he'd never imagine using in any lifetime. But there was always a first time for everything. He held up the gold contraption in his hand before letting it set over one of the flames from the various candles in the room. Once he made sure it was hot enough, he approached Y/N quietly.

It's a good thing she wouldn't wake up for a couple hours....

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Y/N squinted, trying to let her eyes adjust to the lighting. She felt a dull aching in her lower abdomen and legs, reminding her of the events that took place last night. She looked around, seeing that she was still at San's place, but he was nowhere to be found. She sat up and rubbed her shoulder, feeling some sort of burning and stinging pain.

She paused when she looked at the mirror and noticed something on the back of her shoulder. Getting up and trying her hardest to walk with her limp, she went to the mirror and turned slightly to the left. She froze when there was a bright red mark on her upper back in the shape of a pentagram with the letter 'S' in the middle of it.

She started freaking out. Was this some kind of joke? Where was San?

"Well good morning my dear."

Speaking of the devil, he appeared right behind her, making her whip around and face him.

"Did you do this?" She asked, pointing to the mark.

"I did. I think it really suits you." He smiled proudly.

"Why? Why would you do this?"

"Why you ask? It's simple."

He took a few steps forward. Leaning in, he gripped her chin.

"Because you're mine now and I own you."

She scoffed at his words, repulsed that he could do this.

"You're insane." She spat out.

"I've been called worse." He sat up straight again.

Y/N marched over to the chair on the other side and began grabbing her clothes.

"And just where do you think you're doing?" San crossed his arms in front of him.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm leaving."

He let out a hearty laugh at that.

"Leaving? Oh no sweetheart. You're not leaving. You can't leave me." He told her.

"Yeah? Watch me."

She pushed him out of her way and headed for the door, but before she could reach for the handle, San appeared right in front of her out of thin air, causing her to step back in fear.

"What the-" She exclaimed.

"Let me repeat myself darling..."

San began to take steps towards her as she began to slowly retreat from him.

"I own you. You can't leave because you're mine now. I marked you so no one else takes you from me, in other words..."

He slammed his hand against the wall behind her when they reached it. She watched in horror as his dark orbs shifted into a fiery red color that burned deep in her soul.

"You're bound to me for all eternity...... and now you're a part of my world....and there's no turning back..."

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 4 years ago

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Cosmic love, parts 6-10

Summary: Saved by Jasper, Aurora trusts him to take her to safety during the storm, not realizing she would soon meet his entire family. Things get complicated when Paul comes looking for her, starting an altercation which reveals their secrets before an unsuspecting Aurora. Warnings: Sexual references, drinking, depression, anxiety, angst, fluff, swearing, blood, an attack

- Masterlist -

Part 6: What if this storm ends

"You can't buy me!" Aurora throws a glass his way, her nostrils flared and her eyes fixed on his, disappointment glistening in them as he ducks just in time.

"Why not? What makes you so special?" He snarls, slamming his fist on the table beside him and she swallows thickly, holding her breath not to flinch at his angry outburst. She knows better than to let him or anyone else see weakness.

"Don't try me, you devil." Her voice is calm and even, unlike her thunderous heart that's struggling to keep up with the adrenaline pumping through the coronary arteries supplying it. "Don't forget I know your secrets and I am not afraid to tell the authorities."

Smirking, she winks smugly before turning her back on the man known as the kind of a man you never leave.

"You will regret this. I promise you, Vanderbilt. Daddy won't always be there to protect you."

Gasping, I feel the cold surrounding me. My body is numb, freezing. Coughing up water, I turn my head to the side and find a helping hand pulling my hair back and another running alongside my spine, attempting to soothe my initial panic.

"Shhh", I hear the whisper, "You're going to be alright", the voice says and it's hard not to recognize it as a man's voice.

The tone truly does soothe me, or perhaps it's the icy touch rubbing my back, but I am calm, more than I should be considering I've almost died and ended up in hell. There's no other explanation for it, or that man wouldn't have been in my final thoughts. I was going to hell and he would be the devil there as well.

The man is grimacing, his hand gently tucking a strand of my hair behind me ear and my vision clears, if only for a moment. He is so blond. His hair brings memories of golden wheat fields I ran through as a child, of those many hued stems that danced in the autumn light, whispering gentle songs into the wind. His jantar eyes are fixed on me, as if he's deciding if he did the right thing.

"Th-thank you", I manage, still breathless from the shock of what seemed like inevitable death.

His arms tighten around me and his lips part and I smile, mesmerized by his beauty. I've never seen a man I could call perfect but he is - angelic perfection.

"You're a hero. Truly. Like an angel, showing up just in the nick of time." Raising a hand, I place it on his cheek with a tremble revealing just how shaken I am - not just by the near-death experience, but him.

"I'm no hero, mam'." His accent was such a playful tune, as if he were the star of his own movie. I could have sat there all day simply to listen and smile.

"I'm not a mam', Cowboy, but you're definitely my hero." Winking I grin as he pulls me up to my feet, a smile of his own appearing and my heart stops. That smile is the prettiest thing I've seen in a while, for it extends to his golden hues and deep into his soul despite the inkling of nervousness that amplifies my interest in him.

Once I'm standing, his arms leave me and the wind blowing makes me shiver. The sky cracks open above us and rain pours down, but I'm already wet and so is he. Staring at each other with faint smirks, I realize I don't even know his name. "I'm Aurora"" I shout, hoping he hears me as thunder reminds me once again how insane this situation is. I'm almost naked in a storm on the beach with a stranger who manages to captivate me with his existence.

"Jasper." He answers and I can't help the smile upon my lips as I nod, acknowledging it.

"I like it! Though I wouldn't have minded calling you Cowboy a while longer." Shrugging, I turn to gather my belongings. Something inside me stirs, telling me not to turn my back on him. Intuition, perhaps, but I do it anyway. Licking the raindrops from my lips, I taste the salty ocean lingering in the crevices drawn by God himself on my rosy lips. I wonder if lips are as unique as fingerprints.

Holding my breath, I turn instantly at the sensation of a stronger wind blowing at my back and I find myself faced with Jasper. Wide eyed, he's staring intently, his lips pressed together as if he's waging an inner war even he's surprised he's winning.

"Are you alright?" I frown, tilting my head to the right as he nods, robotically so. He's tense, not saying a word but I notice him swallowing thickly. "We should get out of this weather before lighting strikes one of us", I joke, trying to relax him. Truth be told, I'd do anything to see him smile again. He looked ethereal, a divine gift so much so I wondered if I did die and this was my heaven.

"I know where we can go." Jasper's face remains impassive. He's not even blinking, eyes focused on mine. Normally I'd find it odd, but I find myself staring back at him, challenging him. I'm not one to back down from anything, not even a staring contest. And he's standing so close, close enough to kiss him if I dare move a half a step toward him and a part of me yearns for his lips, but another part of me is questioning the attraction I feel.

"Lead the way", I offer him a half smile as he steps away and I wrap a towel around me. It does nothing to warm me, but at least I'm not as exposed as I was.

In a blink of an eye, I exhale and lose the ground beneath my feet. When I open my eyes and inhale, I'm standing in front of a small house in the middle of the forest. "How?", I stumble. Furrowing my eyebrows, I grasp my head as if it's about to fall of my shoulders and look around wildly. The trees provide a cover from the rain, but it's not as helpful with a downpour. The house looks like it had seen better days, the vines around it growing against the walls like it does in fairytales.

"You fainted and I carried you here." Jasper explains, his arms raised in mock surrender, "I couldn't leave you there and you just started coming to a minute before we got here."

Blinking fast, I try to comprehend his reasoning and while it would have been smarter if he called an ambulance instead of bringing me to the middle of nowhere, I did find myself unusually calm. If it had been anyone else, I'd probably run and call the police, but Jasper is different. I can't walk away from him. He's alluring. Inhuman in some way I can't quite pinpoint. Maybe it's the golden locks or the unusual eye mutation, but I want to embrace what life has to offer and he's here, right before me in all his perfection. I can't deny destiny has put him on my path and if this is my second chance at life, I'm not going to waste it.

"Hope I wasn't too heavy", I chuckle nervously. My legs are still wobbly as I step toward him and he's quick to catch me before I fall. Taking me into his arms once more, Jasper chuckles and I realize this is what life is supposed to be about - living long enough to find someone who will make your heart flutter with nothing but a chuckle.

"As light as a feather", he draws out with a smile remaining on his lips.

"See?" I let out a soft sigh, my palm finding its way to his cold cheek. He raises an eyebrow, pausing before opening the door and I lean my head on his shoulder with a small smile forming on my face. "You are my hero."

3rd person POV

"Where is she?!" Kicking Aurora's suitcase, Paul dents the wall. Jared sighs, leaning on the doorframe with a raised eyebrow.

"I doubt you'll get any information out of a suitcase." He shrugs, adding for good measure, "Especially one you tortured."

Paul whips around, the vein on his forehead visible and Jared can tell he's not in the mood for his smart-ass. "This isn't a fucking joke, Jared." Running his fingers through his hair, Paul shakes his head. Plopping down on the couch, he closes his eyes and inhales the lingering smell of her perfume he found himself addicted to. "She's not just anyone to me, okay?"

"What do you mean? You didn't imprint on her, right? I mean, you can't imprint twice." Jared sits beside him, his hands interlocked and in his lap as he furrows his eyebrows.

Sitting back, Paul rolls his eyes and glares at Jared. "No, I didn't fucking imprint on her but I finally found someone worth putting my heart on the line for." Sighing, Paul leans his head back and stares up at the ceiling. "I never thought I'd find anyone after Rachel. I didn't want to." Chuckling in disbelief, Paul licks his lips. "Aurora changed my mind in a single night."

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you really fucked up when you left with Rachel then." Jared leans his elbows on his knees, hoping to hide how glad he is he's got his imprint with him. If he lost Kim in any form, he'd never recover. "Aurora doesn't seem like the type you can screw over and still be in her life."

"I know." Paul groans, standing up with resolve. "Which is why I need to explain myself and why I need to find her. Where the fuck would she go in this weather?"

Shrugging, Jared stands too. "She mentioned she likes the beach on the drive here, so maybe she went to clear her head and found shelter when the storm started."

"I should phase and find her before she gets hurt", Paul frowns, remembering the promise he made himself but he never seems to keep it. He wanted to grow old with his friends and family. He wanted to stop phasing, but he can't seem to stop. It's why he's still so young and all his friends are aging already.

"And show up like her knight in shining armor? Smart!" Jared holds up a hand for a high five only to get Paul's eye roll as his response. "C'mon. Don't leave me hanging", Jared glances at his hand before wiggling his eyebrows at Paul.

"Not gonna happen", Paul walks away, not even looking back at Jared who looked like a kicked puppy. "I'll be back in five!" Paul shouts and in moments, a ripping sound comes as the front door opens and Jared knows Paul phased already. He's much better at controlling it now, but his temper is still difficult to deal with and it always leads to him making the same mistake - phasing.

Paul trudged through the forest, following her nearly faded scent. It's extremely difficult to follow a scent after it has rained, washing away all traces, but Paul still senses her. He needs to find her and the trail leads him straight to the beach, just as Jared suspected.

Pushing aside the annoying jealousy the thought of Jared knowing this spiked, Paul steps onto the sand with care. It's risky to walk onto the beach in his wolf form in the middle of the day, despite the rainstorm, but he's desperate. He needs her to believe in him. She's the only one that does. With her by his side, Paul feels like he can become the man he always wanted. Maybe it's selfish, but he needs Aurora in his life.

However, in the first step, Paul smells it and snarls. The sickly sweet smell is familiar, difficult to ignore.

'A vampire on our territory?' Embry joins the wolf connection and Paul is grateful for it. If it weren't for Embry, he's be going in blind for blood, but he can't. He needs permission from the alpha. Ridiculous really, especially when the alpha hasn't phased in years.

'A Cullen. The blonde male.' Paul specifies, remembering the smell so clearly. He was never fond of them, especially of the blondes. One was disrespectful, the other too bloodthirsty. 'His scent is mixed with Aurora's', Paul growls, turning back to run to Sam. He has to report this and while he's blinded with his own emotions, he'd still react the same if it weren't Aurora.

'You think Jasper would hurt Aurora?' Embry questions, running to Sam who sent him after hearing from Jared.

Paul shakes the graphic thought out of his mind as he sees Sam's house on the horizon. 'They're vampires. They're killers. It's what they do.'

Part 7: A gentleman

Teeth chattering, I cling to Jasper despite his skin being freezing as mine. It's counterproductive, yet I can't seem to let him go, but I have to. The poor guy can say I'm light as a feather as much as he wants but I don't want to abuse his kindness. After all, he needs to put me down eventually, so I tap his shoulder lightly and he takes the hint.

"I'm sorry", carefully, Jasper places me on the sofa and I shake my head with a tight lipped smile.

"I'm not."

Licking his lips, Jasper grants me a dazzling smile once more and I physically restrain myself from squealing like a schoolgirl with a crush. This can't be healthy, but he makes me feel so...light? It's as if the darkness was never there to begin with and I can't explain it, I mean, I hardly know him.

"I should set up the fireplace while you can go and get some clothes from the bedroom." Jasper glances at the doorway behind him and I nod, heading straight toward it. I could definitely use some dry clothes that are less revealing and warm.

The room is quite simple, the bed in the middle with a closet beside it. The entire room is bathed in rich honey colors, very homey and comforting. I wonder if this is his favorite color.

Prepared for a dozen cowboy outfits, I open the closet in hopes of finding something that fits me remotely enough to be comfortable only to find a rather large collection of dresses and female clothes. "What the actual fuck?" I go through them, noticing all of them are from brands that most would kill for and my eyes widen as I pause.

The hair on the back of my neck stands as I realize Jasper might have broken into the house. Maybe he knew where the key is because he stole them from someone. What if this was premeditated? He seems familiar enough, so what if he's been following me with a plan of taking me here? I don't even know where here is!

"Are you alright, darlin'?"

Gasping, I whip around and swallow thickly before deciding honesty is the best policy. "You're not a criminal, are you?"

"What?" A breathless chuckle fills the room, relaxing me. "Why would you think that?" Amused, Jasper leans on the door and I draw a shuddered breath.

"Because you have a dozen high fashion dresses here and unless you're married, it feels like you either broke in or prepared this for place for a really weird hostage situation." I fold my arms and raise an eyebrow to his cocky smirk. If he thinks I'm amusing, he should see me with my claws out. Might erase that confident smirk right off his face.

"It's my brother's cabin. His wife is very into fashion." Jasper explains and I furrow my eyebrows, wishing the earth would open and swallow me whole. "But if you want to role play, I'm not gonna put up a fight."

I'm not sure how he manages to make me feel so at ease with him, but I'm definitely feeling silly for questioning his motives. "Might take you up on that, Cowboy." I wink, watching his lopsided grin with a smirk of my own. He's a flirt. A fairly good one. Maybe some other girl would jump his bones, but my specialty is not fire. It's ice.

"I should change my clothes then." Nodding toward the door, I smile, "Unless you want to stay for the show?"

He meets my gaze not with shyness but with a blunt refusal to avert his gaze first. "Don't tempt me, darlin'." His voice is warm and rich; my heart beats faster than it's design specs should allow. Then it's silent for a moment, as if he's waiting for a response but I could hardly focus. As I blush, his look of bafflement becomes a shy smile.

"I'll leave you to it." With a curt nod, Jasper leaves the room and I exhale loudly, unaware I was holding my breath this entire time. I'm really giving my lungs a workout today.

Managing to find a suitable outfit, I join Jasper in the living room. The entire cabin is tiny, just enough for lovers to live in yet I'm baffled by a crib covered in the corner. Maybe his brother had a kid. Leaning on the doorway, I watch Jasper intently. Is he a man who would get along with kids? Would he want to have some?

"I can feel you starin', sweetheart."

Biting my lower lip to prevent a smile, I step forward. "I think I prefer darling."

He sits in a chair in front of the fire, some distance back, his long legs in front of him. Glancing over his shoulder, I notice a silent half-grin on his face. "I'll make sure to remember that."

Scratching my cheek nervously, I avert my gaze to the ground and press my lips together to avoid a smile. If I keep smiling and giggling, he'll surely think I've gone mad. It's a wonder he didn't think so by now.

Walking toward him, I pause once I'm a step away from his chair. He's changed his clothes already and the glorious muscles no longer show under his jumper. His thighs are accentuated by the jeans, making me wonder if it would be too improper to sit on his lap and lean back on his chest. The back of my head would rest on his shoulder, my lips pressing devout kisses along his jaw and his arms would wrap around me, holding me closer as if he's terrified of letting go.

"If you want my seat, I'll happily let you have it." Jasper breaks me out of my fantasy and I realize I've spent this whole time staring at him. If he didn't find me odd before, he must think I am mental now.

"No need. I'll sit here", I shuffle over to the sofa, tucking my hair behind my ears as I look at the fire. "I always loved fireplaces. They're kind of romantic." Closing my eyes, mentally face-palming, I wonder why I'm like this. I'm usually poised, always know what the right thing to say is, yet I can't seem to string a single sentence together without sounding weird since Jasper pulled me out of the ocean.

"I agree." Jasper speaks softly, glancing at me. "The way the light illuminates your lips, the way the flames dance in your eyes - it's breathtakingly beautiful."

Blinking slow, I remind myself to breathe as I find myself getting lost in his golden eyes. "Your eyes are like liquid fire. I fear the burn but I cannot look away." I admit, shamelessly so. Luckily for me, Jasper doesn't seem too disturbed by it.

"What's your favorite color?" I question, hoping to know more about the mystery man.

"My favorite color?" Jasper chuckles in disbelief, glancing at the fire before focusing on me once more. "No one's ever asked me that."

For a moment I frown, wondering how that could be true, yet something tells me he's telling the truth. His eyes are filled with obvious pain and hidden trauma glistened in the tiny haze of light that radiated off the small flickering flame of the fireplace.

"It's black. Like your hair. Like your eyes." His lips twitch, suppressing a smile. Oh, I wish I could tell him how much I enjoy his smile, how he should never hide it from me. "I'd guess yours is red?"

"Blue", I correct him, happy he finally got something wrong. "Like the sky...like freedom. Everchanging shades of blue that make up every part of our lives."

"What about the season?" Jasper notices me falter, asking me another question and I cannot help but smile at his kindness.

"Spring. New beginnings, nature coming back to life." Shrugging, I tilt my head and await his answer.

"I like autumn. It's colorful." Jasper pauses as thunder rumbles, reminding us there's a storm and a whole world outside this cabin.

Jasper has been nothing but sweet and hospitable, despite his flirting, I notice he's distant. There's something off about him I can't put my finger on. He's too perfect, it goes against laws of nature.

"You should probably get some rest." Jasper speaks up as if he can sense I'm growing suspicious and a little uneasy with the silence.

"Yeah", I breathe out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, "When will you rest?"

"Soon."

"I hope you're not a blanket hog", I chuckle, standing up. My smile falls as I realize he's not sure what I'm talking about. "You'll be joining me, right?"

Jasper smiles, more with his eyes than his lips and I lick mine to hide the unseemly thoughts his lips provoke. "I'm good on the sofa."

"I don't mind. The bed is large enough for both of us." Placing my hands on my hips, I purse my lips in hopes of him accepting, but he shakes his head. His hair is dry, golden curls frame his sharp jaw and I sigh. "You saved my life. The least I can do is let you have the bed."

"That's alright, darlin', I'll be fine out here. Wouldn't be a very good host if I took up all the space and hogged the covers, would I?" The reassuring smile lights up his face and I stare in awe. He isn't human, is he? I never saw such beauty before with so little effort. What seems mundane to him is the epitome of heavenly to me.

"Don't be afraid to join me if you change your mind", I sigh, walking behind his chair only to feel his hand wrap around my wrist as I nearly pass him by. His touch is icy, cold enough to make me gasp.

Pulling my hand up, his lips press a tender kiss upon the back of it and I'm stunned, praying my legs don't fail me. Perhaps this is what is meant by a gentleman, not one of weakness or trite politeness, but one of great spirit and noble ways. What he is, what is beautiful about him, comes from deep within; it makes me want to feel how his lips move in a kiss, how his hands follow the curves of my body.

"Sweet dreams", he whispers, releasing my hand and I reluctantly pull back.

Biting my lower lip, I wrack my brain for a suitable word to say, but I can't even think properly. He has distorted my train of thought entirely.

"Goodnight, my hero." I walk toward the bedroom, painfully aware of his eyes on me.

"I thought I was a Cowboy." Jasper teases and I turn halfway around, chuckling.

"You are. A Cowboy gentleman."

Jasper's POV

As soon as Aurora is out of view, Jasper flees the cabin. It doesn't take him long to get back to the house, finding Carlisle at the door.

"You did good, my son." Carlisle pats him on the back, but Jasper is still out of it. He's terrified to draw a proper breath, aware her scent might cling to him. If he feels her, would he go back?

"He needs to hunt. Soon." Edward appears beside them, an understanding look upon in his eyes. "I'll help you. We all will."

"If I hurt her", Jasper begins, but Edward stops him.

"You won't."

"There's no guarantee", Jasper all but growls, his eyes black as the gold dwindles away and he can feel himself losing control.

"The fact that you saved her, more than once, means you are in control. You're doing better than I did with Bella." Edward reminds him and Jasper nods, calming down slightly. He's still tense, but Edward rushing off to Alaska when he met Bella definitely felt more unhinged than anything he did when he met Aurora.

But he doubts himself. "I almost killed her at the beach. When I pulled her out and the ocean stopped masking her scent...I almost killed her. The call of her blood is....intoxicating." Shaking his head, Jasper looks to Carlisle. "I brought her to the woods planning to drain her of her blood. I ran with her, prepared to do it, but when she opened her eyes I just...I couldn't."

"She's your blood singer, Jasper. It's normal to feel that way." Emmett steps out on the porch, a dark look passing his features. "I killed mine on sight. Aurora is lucky it's you, not me."

There are times Jasper wished he couldn't feel emotions, that he could easily block them, especially when Emmett remembers his kills and regret washes over him. Despite the bitter taste of remorse in his mouth, Jasper alleviates the suffering of his brother.

"I don't want to be around her." Jasper states, looking to Edward. "Just because your blood signer was your mate doesn't mean she's mine."

"Alice said", Emmett begins, pushing Jasper further than he should. He's already on edge, it's easy for him to snap.

"I know what Alice said", Jasper remarks, narrowing his eyes at his brother, "She can't be the one. No human can survive me."

"Aurora did. So far, she survived you and you're here looking for ways to keep her alive." Carlisle reasons, a reassuring smile on his lips. He's always believed in his sons more than they believed in themselves. Especially Jasper. He's much stronger than he gives himself credit for.

"Carlisle is right. You should feed and return to her. If Alice is right, do you really want to lose your mate because you're too afraid to try?" Edward pipes in, understanding him better than anyone. Not only can he hear the inner turmoil in Jasper, but he can sense he is drawn to the girl just as Edward was drawn to Bella. It's an unbreakable bond and even if he leaves, he will suffer greatly for it. They both will.

"I can protect her from anything, but", Jasper pauses, glancing at the direction he came from, "How can I keep her safe from myself? Every time I touched her, I was scared of breaking her bones or somehow drawing blood that would make me lose control."

"Practice." Carlisle explains, "A lot of practice." Edward adds with a pensive smile.

Part 8: Golden eyed family

Heaven only knows how I found myself drawn to another so fast after Paul. Something about Jasper reminds me of the old fashioned gentlemen who'd dance with their girl to nothing but a hum of their own making. I'm not sure if it's the near death experience that reminded me of the short life expectancy humans have, but I felt an instant connection with him. It can't be a coincidence, can it?

I wondered if I'd be alright after Paul, but I am. I'm still disappointed and angry at how things turned out between us, but he's barely an afterthought since yesterday. Paul and I had such chemistry, but he's complicated. Too complicated for a woman that ran from the same back home. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be.

With a sigh, I slip off my shirt, deciding to put on my clothes back. Whoever Jasper's sister in law is, she'd probably like her clothes back eventually. I know I would.

"Darlin', wo-", the voice stops and I turn with a gasp, frightened by his sudden appearance at the door. I'll admit I hoped to wake up by his side, but he really stayed on the couch. If it were anyone else, they'd join me but not Jasper.

"Morning, Cowboy." I wink, attempting to play it off. I'm praying my cheeks haven't reacted with a crimson telltale I'm embarrassed of his eyes on my body. It's ridiculous, isn't it? I've been almost naked in his arms less than twenty four hours ago, yet I'm self-conscious of my body now as I stand there in my bra.

He's quick to turn away and I swallow thickly, wondering if he's repulsed by me. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you're changing."

"It's fine. Not like you haven't seen me yesterday." I laugh it off, swiftly putting my clothes on to reduce the uncomfortable tension in the room. It's suffocating. "I'd tell you it's no biggie if you wanna sneak a peak, but I have a feeling the gentleman in you would adamantly refuse and probably be appalled by the suggestion."

A breathless chuckle escapes him and I smile, unable to resist the stupid grin that seems to appear every time he laughs or indicated he's enjoying my company. "I actually came to invite you to the main house for breakfast if you have the time."

"Main house?" I raise an eyebrow, tapping his shoulder with my left index finger. He turns on his head and we find each other face to face. I meet his gaze and hold my breath, in awe of the emotions swirling in his golden eyes. Suffering, loneliness, longing, desire; his eyes hold deep seated emotions and an inkling of hope he's trying his hardest to hold close.

"Yes. My family would love to meet you."

It's hard to tell, but I'm not really doing well. I've been looking for someone who'd see the same emotions in my eyes my whole life and with Jasper, I feel he does. For the first time ever, I feel understood. I pause, noticing the power behind those breathtaking eyes. The power that's as reckless as a tornado. His eyes flash. For a moment they look golden with warmth... and as dangerous as hell.

So why does it make me feel safer? I should run. I've seen that look in other men and all of them brought me to the point of nearly drowning in the ocean. But Jasper pulled me out. Maybe that's why I want to stay this time around.

"Are you sure they'd like a stranger barging into their house. I don't wanna impose." Tucking a strand of hair behind my left ear, I exhale and cast my gaze to his chest. The intensity of his gaze can be quite exhausting, intimidating.

Placing the tip of his cold index finger just under my chin, Jasper tilts my head up to look into my dark eyes. A soft smile on his lips gives me relief. "Not at all. They'd love to meet you and I'd love to spend more time with you."

With a subtle nod, I return his smile. "I hope you put something warmer on", I raise an eyebrow and glance at his hand as it drops, "Your hands are cold."

"They're always this cold." Jasper turns away, the smile on his face still present as he begins to walk out and I follow, barely catching up with his strides.

It didn't take us long to arrive, the walk mostly filled with Jasper's talk about the trees and flowers around us. I never realized how interesting biology can be when someone handsome speaks of it.

"I should warn you." Jasper pauses, folding his hands behind his back as he leans down, "My family is very..." He trails off, trying to find the right words before continuing, "Intrusive. They might ask a lot of questions you don't need to answer."

"I have nothing to hide", shrugging I continue forth and glance back at Jasper. "Are you coming?"

Smiling, Jasper nods, "Lead the way."

"You're not nervous, are you?" Jasper questions as I pause at the steps, gulping.

"Maybe a little." I lick my lips, staring at the door intently as Jasper walks up the few stairs and opens the door.

"Don't worry, we're all trained not to bite our guests...at least not without asking for permission first." Jasper smirks and I giggle, finding his statement odd. It's the first sexual innuendo he's made and I can honestly say I'd like to hear more. There's something about angelic looking men who have a little of the devil in their words.

"Welcome", a woman in her thirties walks out and my eyes widen. Not only is she drop dead gorgeous, but her eyes are golden like Jasper's too. "I hope you like waffles." She smiles and my heart pounds against my ribcage like an animal trapped with no way out.

"You must be Jasper's sister", I smile politely, walking up to the door on wobbly legs. I can't stop staring at her perfection.

"Mother, but you flatter me. My name is Esme Cullen." She goes in for the hug and I stiffen as her cold arms wrap around me shortly after.

What kind of a genepool is this? Cold, pale, angelic beauty with golden eyes?

"I see my wife has already welcomed you", another blonde man approaches us from the left. His kind smile is inviting, but now I realize where Jasper got his looks from. His eyes are golden as well. They must be wearing contacts, right?

"I'm Carlisle", he outstretches a hand as Esme releases me from her hug and I take it, giving it a slight squeeze. Glancing at Jasper, I notice his pensive gaze as he stands beside me - close enough to make me feel protected, but too far for me to reach for his hand for comfort.

"I believe Jasper explained we already ate, but there's plenty for you to eat." Carlisle makes eye contact with Jasper and I swallow thickly, licking my lips.

"He did not."

"I assume you'd decline if I did." Jasper speaks up and I narrow my eyes at him and the cocky smirk he flashes in return.

"I'm grateful for the invitation." I smile at Mr. and Mrs. Cullen as they both seem like quite literally the angel spawn on Earth.

"Wonderful. You can leave your coat with Jasper and he'll take you to the kitchen when you're ready." Esme and Carlisle give Jasper a fleeting glance before leaving us alone and I finally let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

"We'll see how grateful after you've met all my siblings." Jasper speaks lowly with a drawl, bringing back the accent he tries hard to hide. Sometimes it's gone entirely, yet it creeps back in every time he lowers his tone or speaks faster.

"How many are we talking?" I raise an eyebrow as I place my coat on the rack.

"A lot. We were adopted, in case you're questioning Esme and Carlisle's age."

"I was going to question the plastic surgeon they might be sharing." I chuckle, covering my mouth instantly. I didn't want someone to hear and take it the wrong way.

"Well, if you survive my sister Rosalie, you'll survive the rest of 'em." Jasper places a hand at the small of my back and my breath hitches in my throat. It's electrifying, breathtaking and addictive - his touch is like an adrenaline rush.

It would have soothed me if I wasn't already a nervous wreck. Being around Jasper helps, but I'm drowning in anxious thoughts and I cannot help but wonder if him bringing me over is just his gentleman side coming out or if it's a sign he'd like to keep me in his life longer than a single night.

I hope it's the latter.

"Oh, what did you tell the poor girl! She looks terrified!" A teasing voice comes from my side and I turn left, noticing a large man with an equally teasing smirk. He winks and I muster an awkward smile, giving him a small wave.

"I'm Emmett", he steps closer, leaning until Jasper holds out an arm before me like a barrier. "The handsome brother", but he doesn't seem affected by Jasper's actions as I do. His brother is close enough for me to note his ethereal beauty and golden hues and I'm not sure why I'm surprised, but I'm certain they're all wearing contacts now. It's a little enough to answer some of the questions I've had.

Glancing up at Jasper, I notice his face had darkened. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are fixed on Emmett. His body is tense, enough for me to worry too.

"I'm Aurora", introducing myself with a confidence I'm mostly faking now, I turn to the table and notice a lot more of gorgeous people with golden eyes staring at me. Giving them a small, awkward wave, I step closer to them only to feel Jasper's hand move to my hip.

Letting out a shuddered breath, I clear my throat, "Thank you for the gracious invitation."

"Jasper insisted." A blonde from the far end of the table speaks up with a near scowl on her flawless, perfectly sculpted face and I frown, swallowing my spit before I choke on it.

"Oh", I have never felt as uncomfortable as I do now and I've had my share of awfully uncomfortable luncheons.

"Don't listen to Rosalie, she was just as intimidating when I first came to the house", another one joins the table and I glance at her appearance. Her clothing choices are sophisticated, much like the ones I've seen in the closet back at the cabin I slept in last night. She's a timeless beauty with her long, brown hair falling effortlessly down her back with her pale skin contrasting it. She wears a sympathetic smile, perfectly paired with a comforting, supportive look in her jantar eyes. "She's all bark and no bite."

"Besides, we're more than happy to have you here." Esme adds to lessen the tension and I let out a short exhale.

Jasper moves toward the table, his hand abandoning my hip and I feel my heart physically sink with the loss of his cold touch. It's weird, I've never been a fan of anything cold, but I'd like nothing more than to feel his icy fingers dance along my skin.

Coughing, the quiet one next to the brunette widens his eyes as our gazes meet and I'm not sure why, but I could have sworn he knew where my mind went.

"I'm Bella and this is my husband Edward." The brunette waves me over, to the seats available beside her and I oblige. Jasper is quick to take the seat closest to Bella, making sure I know it by pulling out the chair right beside the one he clearly intended for himself.

"Thanks." Allowing him to seat me at the edge of the table, alone, I lick my lips and glance at the picture perfect family. I really should get some beauty tips from them. If New York gossip sites love me now, imagine how they'd be if I looked like that.

Everyone's staring at me, watching every move I make and while I'd usually write it off as paranoia, none of them are even blinking. "Do you want any toppings?" Jasper questions and I flinch, not even realizing how quiet it got. The only audible sound is my heart beating and my inner screams.

The one besides Bella, Edward, flinches and I furrow my eyebrows, pursing my lips. I swear he's the oddest of them all.

"Aurora?" Jasper tilts his head forward, blocking my view of Edward and I blink fast, hoping Jasper doesn't think I like his brother or something.

"Yes!" My voice is high and pitchy, making me pause as I chuckle and so does Emmett. "I'd love some maple syrup." I exclaim as Rosalie chuckles dryly.

"Someone needs to go get it out of the pantry. We have a guest to entertain."

"I'll go." Emmett volunteers and Jasper nods, subtly enough I'd have missed it if I wasn't already focused on him.

Leaning forward, Carlisle is kind enough to carry the conversation, "So, Aurora, where are you from?"

Raising both eyebrows, I swallow the food, "New York. I'm here strictly on business." I add for good measure. I'd rather not have Jasper or anyone else know I was foolish enough to think my heart took me here. It was nothing but an overly romanticized moment and it is over faster than I thought possible.

"And how long do you plan on staying?" The blonde, Rosalie, perks up, seemingly happy with the prospect of my quick departure. She smiles for the first time ever as Emmett walks into the room and I realize he's probably the only one capable of turning the intimidating glare she pierces me with into a gentle gaze.

"Here you have it." Emmett winks, placing the maple syrup before me. The bottle isn't open, the price tag still attached.

"Thank you, Emmett."

Emmett nods in response, moving to Rosalie's side and I smile, envious of the way he naturally gravitates to her. His hands clasp her shoulders, his lips press a quick peck to her temple and they're both smiling, both incredibly in love with one another and I cannot help but feel saddened. It's something I've always wanted - someone to love and someone who loves me back. Simple yet unattainable for people like me.

"I'm not sure when I'm leaving." I remember Rosalie asking, "I'm in the process of finding a place to stay, actually."

"You should stay here." A light, girly voice chimes in and I turn to the source only to find a dainty girl in a stunning black dress. Her hair is short and dark, only accentuating her perfectly chiseled cheekbones. Her eyes are molten gold as well, probably a sibling too. Adoptive sibling. Her smile is as light as her tone, matching the gentle gaze she set upon me.

"I'm Alice and I have a feeling we're going to be great friends."

Raising my eyebrows, I clear my throat and grab a napkin to wipe my mouth. "Nice to meet you Alice." Turning to the rest of them, "All of you, but I really should be going. I'm grateful for the offer, but I cannot accept it."

"Why?" Jasper speaks up and my heart races, as if the sound of Jasper's voice alone is enough to render me powerless. For that reason alone, I must leave.

There were far too many men who could make me feel powerless. I don't want another one on my hands. I want a man that makes me feel powerful. Paul gave me that feeling, if only for twenty four hours or so.

"Because I have plenty of money not to inconvenience anyone and I'd rather be closer to the city." Well, it's not a complete lie.

"Well, if you can stay for a lemonade, we'd appreciate it." Bella stands and I draw a deep breath, licking my bottom lip while contemplating. I mean, what's one drink, right? It's not very polite to dine and dash.

"One drink can't hurt." Edward tilts his head to avoid Jasper's, making brief eye contact with me.

Narrowing my eyes at him ever so slightly, I purse my lips and nod. "Sure. One glass."

Cullen's POV

"She's definitely special." Emmett raises an eyebrow while Aurora and Bella talk in the backyard, turning to Edward. "Did she figure out I had to speed to the store for the syrup?"

"She questioned why the bottle was new and had a price tag, but nothing else." Edward responds. "She does like to scream a lot." He turns to Jasper with an exasperated look on his face. "A lot."

Chuckling, Jasper raises an eyebrow, "I felt your pain."

"She likes you." Edward sighs, "A little too much. She's worried about it and wants to run for the hills."

"Worried how?" Jasper folds his arms, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Your presence affects her. She fears you make her powerless and she hates that feeling. She's infatuated, but fighting it with every fiber of her being. She's also wondering what plastic surgeon we go to."

"We gotta write that one down", Emmett cackles, running off to find his little joke book with all the accumulated comments he's heard humans make on his family's impressive looks.

"Anything else? Maybe something that will help me keep her around." Jasper's annoyance is easily detectable, even without mind reading abilities. His eyes follow Aurora and her frail looking body. She's incredibly beautiful, like a flower in the eye of the hurricane. If he makes one wrong move, just adds a little more pressure than necessary, she'd break under his touch and Jasper doesn't know if it's something he'd be able to live with.

In all his years, he never believed he'd be friendly with a human, let alone crave one in every possible way. Draining her would be the easy way out. Her blood calls to him like a siren's song, drawing him in, but the essence of her being is calling out to whatever is left of his heart and soul.

Alice said he'd find her, his real mate and he didn't understand it then. If anything, Jasper always believed Alice was his mate, but this feeling? This all-consuming need to protect Aurora, to hold her close? The desire to have her whisper sweet nothings in his ear as he kisses her pretty lips? It felt vastly different than it did with Alice.

Jasper owes Alice his gratitude. He owes her his life. He loves her with all his heart, he's just not in love with her.

"Aurora had some...colorful thoughts of you two", Edward clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable as Jasper turns to him in confusion, a ghost of a smile upon his lips as he realizes what Edward is hinting to.

"Oh."

"Yeah. My thoughts exactly." A breathless chuckle escapes Edward, but soon, his face hardens and his eyes look toward Bella.

"We have company." Edward appears beside Bella in seconds.

Jasper's hand slides over Aurora's lower back, safely pulling her behind him so quickly she loses her breath in fright.

"What are you doing?" Aurora gasps, turning to Jasper only to find him standing firm with his back to her face.

"Where is she?!" A growl-like voice echoes through the backyard and Aurora frowns, recognizing it instantly.

"Paul?" Her frown deepens, tilting her head so she sees around Jasper's protective stance.

"Aurora? Thank God." Paul smiles, rushing toward her when the rest of the Cullens step forth and she realizes something weird is happening.

"Not another step." Jasper warns, his hands forming fists at his sides as he strides forward and Aurora's heart sinks with the sight.

"She's with me." Paul growls, "You took her from our land."

"I think it's better if we head inside", Esme tries but I shake my head.

"I saved her life." Jasper rolls his shoulders back, taking a step closer to Paul who seems ready to get physical and Aurora can't help it.

"Can we just calm down and talk like people, please?" She speaks up, loudly enough to make sure they hear her over their macho displays of power.

"Come here." Paul turns his gaze to her, outstretching an arm with his palm open in anticipation.

Jasper slaps his arm away, getting into his face, "She's not going anywhere."

"You gonna stop me? Huh?" Paul's lips form a cold smile, one forged in anger.

"I think there's been a misunderstanding. Just calm down and we can talk it out." Aurora's voice is shaky, unable to hide her true emotions. She's scared of what might happen and she's confused about the reason why.

"I will not let you take her." Jasper stands his ground and that's when it happens. In a fraction of a second, Paul's inability to keep control finally breaks to the surface and while Aurora wasn't close to be in danger, especially not with Jasper speeding toward her to act as a shield, she was close enough to see it happen.

Shifting can be traumatic for humans and while she always believed she's stronger than most humans, her mind saw Paul - the man she truly liked, had turned into an oversized wolf in a blink of an eye. She smiles, almost in disbelief, but before a single word passes her lips, she finds herself slipping straight into Jasper's arms, darkness overtaking her sight.

"Shit." Emmett raises an eyebrow, "Really would have bet on her kicking all our asses instead of fainting."

"Her mind couldn't take it. It's a normal, human reaction." Carlisle explains.

"Bella didn't faint." Jacob and Renesmee walk out of the woods, Jacob winking at Bella.

"I already knew about vampires. What's one more weird, unexplainable thing?" She shrugs it off, looking toward the woods.

"Paul, you should really call the pack here and shift to humans. The poor girl has had enough of a shock. We'll have a barbecue and talk as she suggested." Carlisle steps in, realizing he has to diffuse the situation. The last time the wolves came, they were fighting for their lives. This time, most of them are already in human form, only a few still shift.

"What am I supposed to tell her when she opens her eyes?" Jasper's gaze is fixed on Aurora's pale face, holding her weightless body close to him with as much gentleness he could muster. Even without her being conscious, he can sense the panic inside.

Pushing some of it out, Jasper entices positive emotions within, hoping it lessens the shock.

"I think you'll figure it out. You're already doing good by her." Alice taps his shoulder lightly, reeling in her usual affections. Her vision came true, once again. If she was honest, she hoped she'd have more time to get used to the idea of Jasper loving someone other than her, but he found his mate. She'll find hers eventually as well.

"What if she hates me?" Jasper whispers, fearful of losing her.

Alice smiles knowingly. She can see some of the struggles they'll face in the future. The road ahead is filled with pain and still, she saw a lot of happiness too. "She won't."

Part 9: While she slept

Paul paces in front of the house, his paws already aching. It's a common misconception that they're indestructible, that they don't feel pain or that they don't get tired. He may be mythical, but a part of his is still human and the human inside is dreading every tick of the clock Aurora is unconscious.

"You need to calm down." Jared hisses under his breath, coming closer to his longtime best friend with a wary expression on his usually smiley face. "You're making them and us nervous. Everyone shifted back already."

Noticing Paul stop and look up where he could see Jasper standing at the window of the room they laid her down, Jared shakes his head.

"I'm pretty sure he's not gonna kill her, okay? You have to shift back before she wakes up and you still have paws instead of hands."

Huffing, Paul sits and gives Jared a pointed look. If it were that easy, Paul would never shift again. If he could, he'd cast that part of him away and take back the reigns. Unfortunately for Paul, no matter how hard he tries, his temper overpowers him and he wished he could chuck it off to his shapeshifting ability, but it's something he's had since he was little. There was always anger he couldn't control within, ever since his parents divorced when he was barely seven years old.

He has lost a lot because of it. Paul hoped he wouldn't lose Aurora too.

"He crossed to our land!"

Sighing, Jared pinches the bridge of his nose as he hears the argument start in the backyard between Embry and Emmett most likely. Paul glances their way, but refuses to move. He'll never be able to calm down enough to shift back this way.

"If he didn't, she'd be dead!" Rosalie's voice snaps Paul's head in their direction again, finding it odd the blonde would involve herself and not Emmett as Paul assumed as well as Jared. "Jasper saved her life and he protected her when you couldn't!"

"And how many times did he wish he could stick his fangs in her?!" Paul questions in his mind, still uneasy with Jasper's presence around Aurora. He blames himself for it, but he cannot allow his guilt to throw him off. For her.

"Does it matter when she's unharmed?" Edward speaks up in response to Paul's thinking, making Bella frown.

"Why does he even care? He has an imprint."

Jacob runs a hand through his hair, biting his lower lip. "Yeah, uhhh...That didn't quite work out."

"How? Aren't they soulmates or something?" Bella presses, earning herself a low growl from Paul who'd rather be as far away as possible.

"No. Imprints aren't romantic. Nessie and I aren't." Jacob reminds her and she nods, tilting her head to cast a fleeting glance at Paul who draws deep breaths.

When he's triggered, it is so very hard to have self control. He is doing the actions, it is his behavior but feels as if the gas pedal got stuck down and in that acceleration, in that momentum, the steering wheel gets all jammed up too. It's all fight or fight and it's so disappointingly primitive but Paul can't override it unless he has a friend to help him, to guide, to release that emotional pressure so that he can take back the steering and make good choices. Without someone to love and be loved, Paul loses control and he's incapable of finding peace.

For Paul, Aurora felt like peace. She felt like a sliver of control he's been looking to cling to and in that hope, he thought there was finally a solution- he'd be able to stop shifting, grow older with his friends and family, have a normal life. Losing her before he can even say she was his to hold made him so much worse off than he was when Rachel decided she wanted to be with someone else.

Jasper stood at the window with his hands folded behind his back. His eyes are downcast, focused on the wolf who is drowning in guilt and anger and neither seem to relent. It would be so much easier if he could help him and thus help himself, but some emotions need to be felt. Perhaps Paul would benefit from them in time.

There is a storm within Jasper just as strong as in Paul, but his emotions aren't of guilt nor anger, but fear and worry. He's afraid and worried of the consequences of both losing Aurora and having her. The first he'd live with, she'd at least be alive and somewhere in the white world, changing it into a better place than it would be without her. And if she stayed and allowed him to love her as a vampire would love a mate, she'd be in constant danger - not by some unpredictable element, but him and his family. Any moment, one of them could snap and kill her. He wouldn't be able to live with that.

Turning to her, Jasper could have sworn his stone heart cracked. She's so beautiful. He doesn't really know her, yet he feels knows so much about her that he can't tear his eyes away.

There are as many kinds of beauty as there are leaves in the autumnal forest. Her emotions were not easily hidden on her innocent face. Her pain was evident in the crease of her lovely brow and the down-curve of her lips. But her eyes, her dark eyes showed her soul. They were a dark heaven, an ocean of hopeless grief. As Jasper first looked into her eyes he knew, all the beauty of the universe could not even hope to compete with this simple thing: passion. Passion turned her eyes into orbs of the brightest fire, and in them he read clearly that she would fight to the very last breath for her life. She would not let the world break her. Sure she would cry in the confines of her room, but she would never let them take her true self from her. She clung to it with passion. Passion that made her beautiful.

She's confident on the outside, but Jasper saw her insecurities too. He could see she's defiant, witty, incredibly sensual and while he never thought it would happen, she proved to him that time can stand still - even for a vampire. He knows she's the girl Alice told him would be the one. She will change the way he looks at life and love.

"Paul has agreed to keep his cool." Jacob leans on the doorframe, eyeing Jasper with a raised eyebrow. "As long as she's not missing a single hair from her head."

"She'll never come to harm by my hand, Jacob." Jasper glances at the young wolf with a solemn look in his eyes. "I'd rather be ripped apart by Paul himself than hurt her."

"You can't swear by it. If she were to bleed, you'd lose control." Paul's voice is low, dark. It's enough for Aurora's mind to grasp to reality.

"Not when it's her." Jasper stands firm, truly believing it. If there is something he'd never allow, it's to be the reason behind her demise. "She means everything."

"You don't even know her." Paul snarls, "I", planting the palm of his right hand on his chest, Paul continues, "Do! I know her. I've felt her, held her, kissed every inch of her skin!" Smirking as he notices Jasper's eyes harden, Paul steps closer, "I had her putty in the palm of my hands and she loved it. So you can hop off whatever fantasy you have about being with Aurora, because she is mine."

Holding his tongue, Jasper narrows his eyes at Paul and the possessive words he spilled so carelessly. He speaks of Aurora as if she's his property, as if he could bend her to his will - break her like a horse, as they used to say in his hometown. It irks him in the worst possible way, the inner desires to act on his instinct fighting its way to the surface.

"Do tell her that. And let me watch when you do." Jasper winks, grinning. Then he lowers his voice and leans closer, "She's not a thing to own. Regardless of what you believe, she is free to choose what's best for her and I don't think either of us fit the box."

"That's why I'll show her I am the choice she should make." Paul shrugs, turning to her. "She may be important to you, but she's my saving grace."

"She's my mate. I believe that trumps whatever misogynistic claim you think you have on her." Jasper cracks, raising voice and in that instant, Aurora gasps.

Frightened and aware they've heard her, she opens her eyes and sits back against the headboard.

"It's alright", Jacob steps toward her with arms up and open to prove he's not a threat. Her heart hammering inside her chest drew everyone's attention, aware she's awake.

"The show is starting." Rosalie chuckles, sitting back in her chair.

"That's not okay." Seth speaks up, sending Rosalie a judgmental look before looking to Carlisle.

"Seth is right. Either support Jasper or don't say anything at all."

Happy with Carlisle's words, Seth's cheeky grin appears and Rosalie can't help but glower at him.

"I'm actually rooting for them." Emmett pipes in.

Bella chuckles, "You always had a weak spot for humans."

"Just the cool ones." Emmett winks. High-fiving Bella, they both decide to go upstairs, hoping to diffuse the situation.

It's not easy to deal with the supernatural, Bella knows that. Even she struggled with it to a degree, but she knew Aurora might have a harder time accepting the world she entered. Most humans cannot fathom the existence of vampires and shapeshifters, but Bella knew Aurora would eventually acclimatize. Adjusting may be hard, but there is a reason she was seen in Alice's visions and there is a reason she drew the attention of both species. After everything she survived, Bella trusts Alice and her visions.

"We won't harm you", Jacob reaches for Aurora's hand but she recoils.

Pure terror surged through her veins, icy daggers straight to the heart. The fear she'd felt in the ocean was nothing compared to how she feels now. Now she feels as if she's being held underwater, gasping for air but not being able to do a damn thing about it. She can't help but think that maybe it would be better if she drowned. At least then the nightmare would be over. But this, whatever it is, it's real and she's surrounded by people that aren't really people.

"It's going to be alright", Jasper's warm tone brings her attention to him, his lips. She never quite figured out if the beauty of his lips was more their softness or the association with the words he spoke. Either way, his lips and voice eased her fears.

"Don't fucking control her!" Paul growls, glaring at Jasper. Jacob jumps between the two, leaving open a path.

Noticing it, Aurora flings herself toward the door, narrowly missing Emmett and Bella who frown, sharing a confused look.

"Umm, is she supposed to be running away?" Bella questions, seeing all three of them stop and turn to her with wide eyes while Emmett chuckles,

"Shit!"

Part 10: Run

I liked running as a teenager. Running was a vent, a way to overcome all emotions I had been forced to push under the surface. When I'd run, when my soles felt the earth and gained their own rhythm, my thoughts became lyrics - my own original track had the chance to play for its audience of one. It became an escape from reality, from the cruelty of life and all I was supposedly blessed with. But this isn't running.

Tears blind me and I turn, running as quickly as my short legs can carry me, bolting through the unmarked forest trail, quickening my pace to an all out sprint. The crunching noise of my bare feet against the leaves is drowned out by an echo that matched my heart throbbing inside my chest with the thick fear I feel as I run. I feel the screaming of my lungs and the will of my muscles to go far beyond what exercise could ever demand. This is the body and brain on full survival mode and it is nothing but pain.

With each footfall a jarring pain shoots ankle to knee, ankle to knee. My heart beats frantically, it's all or nothing. Fail and my whole body will pay the price. They know the area better than I, they're fast and I don't even know what else beyond their ability to somehow become giant wolves. So, I run. I run faster and faster. Twigs scraped past my face, entangling themselves into my hair. My feet slip and I almost tumble over, more time I cannot afford.

All at once my foot ceases to travel forwards and the scenery starts to blur like a poorly shot action photograph. The colors swirl and blend as my head becomes tilted toward the forest floor. I can't open my voice to scream, fear, paralyzing my body.

"Ugh", I grumble, wheezing as my burning lungs gasp for air. My legs feel numb and unsteady, painfully sore. My throat feels dry, so uncomfortably dry. Turning on my back, I feel a burning sensation on my leg. Swiping my palm across my thigh, I raise it up to my face only to see crimson - I'm bleeding.

Heaving, I close my eyes for a moment. I'm not sure what I'm running from, but I'm sure I miss being bored in my big apartments, drinking champagne all day while spending my father's money online.

"Hello there."

A sudden, strange voice jolts me back to reality and I gasp, sitting up instantly. I kick my legs out and push myself away from the man as he stares at me with a Cheshire grin. It's unsettling how his eyes seem to rack over my body, pausing at my injured thigh with interest. He licks his lips, slowly, before stepping closer to me.

"Stay back!" I shout, pushing myself further from him until I hit an obstacle. Quickly glancing at it, I realize I'm backed against a tree trunk, my legs still feeling as if they would fall off from the unexpected sprinting. I'm not even sure if I could stand if I have to run again.

"Why would I do that, little sheep?" The man chuckles, amused with me. He cocks his head to the side, approaching me.

"It's enough." I hold out a hand, palm open toward him. It's stupid really, as if my hand would stop him. He's tall, burly and from the unsettling vibes he's giving, I'm convinced he has no good intentions.

"You're a rare sight, do you know that? A legend, really." The man purses his lips, crouching to eye level and my eyes widen as I finally see his red eyes. "I've heard of it, but to see it? To smell it?" He smirks, leaning in with a malicious glint in the blood pools his eyes are made of.

"What the fuck are you talking about?!" Defensive, I pull my legs up to my chest as he reaches out to touch my bleeding wound.

"Your blood, of course."

In a blink of an eye, his hand is wrapped around my neck and I'm gasping for air. A choked cry for help forced itself up my throat, and I feel a drop run down my cheek. Grabbing onto his hand, I try to sink my nails into his skin, to hurt him enough for the pressure to let up and allow me to take a proper breath, but it doesn't work. My heart is hammering, helplessly screaming for oxygen as adrenaline forces it to go faster, quicker, to supply my brain with blood it needs to survive.

As my vision blurs, I feel relief. The hand is gone, I'm wheezing in a failed attempt to catch my breath. Gripping my throat, I feel as I fall to my side, coughing uncontrollably as a hand sets on my back. It's warm, running up and down my spine as I blindly reach for something to hold on.

I hear muffled voices, drowned out by the pulsating in my ears from the panic that's been tormenting my body. And as I heave, a cold hand rests upon mine. It's familiar, enough to remind me of the initial reason why I was running, but I'm not scared. If anything, I'm feeling safer.

"She'll be fine son. Leave." I hear Carlisle's voice and flinch, trying to crawl away but the warm hand on my back becomes a pair of arms meant to cage me.

I'm picked off the ground and held close to someone's chest. "It's alright, I'll help you."

Blinking my eyes open, I gulp as I realize my vision is blurred. I notice a faint glow of golden hair and shapes of what must be really large dogs, but my conscience is slipping. My eyelids are heavy, swallowing is becoming increasingly difficult.

"Carlisle, she might be crashing!" A panicked voice startles me and still, I can't fight. Not anymore.

"Get her back to the house."

Momentarily, my vision clears, enough to know I'm among Cullens and Paul's friends again. I'm back where I was running from.

"She's struggling to breathe."

I need time to make some sense of all I've seen, to try and justify it as a latent hallucination from nearly drowning. It must be it, right? Supernatural doesn't exist. It can't be real.

"Her throat is swelling", Carlisle's voice is soothing. I sigh, closing my eyes in resignation.

"Go Jacob!" The familiar southern accent makes my heart jump and I try to open my eyes to see him again, but to no avail. Everything is fuzzy, I see nothing at all. My consciousness is floating through an empty space filled with a thick static. My heartbeats pound loudly, echoing in my ears, alongside fading pleas for help. Feeling in my body drains away until finally all is black.

3rd person POV

Arms folded on his chest, Jasper remained leaned against the tree where Aurora was found. He cannot make himself go to her, anywhere close to her while she's bleeding and in pain. Jasper needed her to be safe and she is safe with his family, but he doesn't feel she's safe with him around.

He's staring at the blood spilled from her veins beneath his feet, the sweet smell addictive and inviting. A part of him is tearing to the surface in hope of tasting, just a single drop, but another part of him is just as feral but for a good cause. That part of him wants to feel the burn of his desire to feed until he remembers that losing her would be a far worse pain.

"You should be there with her." Edward speaks, arriving to comfort Jasper who could comfort anyone but himself. What a curse his gift is. He had fallen farther than Edward ever saw him fall before. There is no light in his black eyes, his grief is evident and his thoughts are heavy enough to make anyone depressed.

"She's going to want you there." Edward tries, but Jasper scoffs.

"I'm the reason she's in this mess." Fixing his rage on Edward, Jasper turns to him. "I am why she ran! I felt her fear and I felt the terror in her when we found her! I should have just left her on the beach and ran!"

"Didn't she choose to come with you?" Edward challenges, "Isn't a choice all we can truly offer them?" Not too long ago, Edward only had a choice to offer to his own mate and he knows the difficulties of a mate bond with a human and still, it was worth it in the end. Edward had no doubt about it.

"She wouldn't choose it if she knew what she chose." Jasper groans, punching a hole in the tree he was leaning on.

"We need to find a way to cover her scent. Even I'm having a hard time with it." Edward looks to the blood infusing the ground with weary eyes and a somber mood. Perhaps it's coming from Jasper, unintentionally sharing his own emotions.

Growling under his breath, Jasper steps closer to Edward, making him scoff.

"I'm not planning on repaying the favor for Bella." Furrowing his eyebrows, he looks at his brother relaxing a little with the statement. It was meant to be a joke, but Jasper clearly doesn't feel up for any jokes.

"Where is Paul?" Jasper leans down, thinking how to rid of the blood too.

"Beside her. Holding her hand. Carlisle injected her with corticosteroids to reduce the inflammation, something for the pain and dressed the wound."

Nodding, Jasper digs his hand in the ground, pulling out the dirt stained with her blood. "Maybe he would be good for her...If he doesn't phase and kill her first." Shaking his head, he pauses. He never felt weaker, more human than he did when he saw her paling, choking under the nomad's hand. He was enjoying torturing her to her last breath. Jasper regrets killing him so quickly, he should have suffered. "He's too dangerous for her. Out of all of them, she had to go and take the most temperamental one?"

"You can't force anything on her. I tried with Jacob and it backfired. Take it one day at a time, one problem at a time. Like this blood." Edward grabs some of the dirt with his hands too, "Let's toss it in the ocean and hide her scent. If other vampires smell it, they'll come looking for her and we can't let that happen."

"I'll help", Emmett joins, already digging out soil, "She's family as far as I'm concerned."

"It's been a day", Rosalie appears, digging her hands into the dirt as well - reluctantly. "Edward had the decency of spending a month with Bella before imposing her on us."

"A mate is a mate", Bella stops beside Jasper, a sympathetic smile on her lips. "And yours will be just fine. She's a fighter."

"She'll be fine." Alice comes too, giving Jasper reassurance he needed.

Nodding, he looks around at his family holding hands full of dirt soaked in blood and none of them are even flinching. He's not flinching either. They did this once with Bella, they're more prepared now and if they are so willing to protect Aurora, to keep her around, Jasper is too. He knows he can't just push her away and hope everything turns out fine. It doesn't work that way - it didn't work that way for Bella and Edward. He can't fight it, he doesn't want to.

But Paul has decided the same, unbeknownst to Jasper. He could care less about mate bonds and what that might entail. Aurora and he share a connection he never shared with anyone but his imprint and that wasn't his choice. Aurora is more than a one night stand or a rich benefactor willing to help the school in La Push. She's worth the fight.

"You managed to shift for her." Jacob notes, not hiding his surprise.

"It's not a big deal." Paul grumbles, keeping his hand in hers. He hoped she could feel his warmth. Maybe it would comfort her.

"It's a huge deal." Jacob shrugs, "But you can pretend otherwise. You've never been able to shift in these situations, yet you're here with her."

Rolling his eyes, Paul turns sideways to throw Jacob a glare. "It's been ten years, Jacob. I'm not the angry teenager I used to be."

"No, but you are the only one who still can't control his phasing. You and I both know that you managed to control it to be in this room, to be there when she wakes up. You care about her." Jacob walks closer, holding out a beer for Paul. "Rachel couldn't help you calm down enough and she was your imprint. So, this brings up questions."

"Rachel couldn't help me because she never gave a fuck about me." Paul snaps, spitting as his disgust fuels his words. "I was willing to do anything for her and she still cheated and left me for another. Aurora was willing to do everything for me and I fucked up because my imprint decided to be jealous for the night and pull me away."

"I'm not saying what she did wasn't fucked up, but you chose to leave without explanations. Aurora was deeply hurt because you chose to hurt her." Jacob retorts as he takes a seat beside Paul. They never saw eye to eye, but Jacob will always see Paul as his brother. He could never leave him when he's suffering.

"I know, but how does one tell a girl of wolves and vampires and an imprint I will always have to prioritize?"

"Well, cat's out of the bag now, so you might as well explain everything to her. If you don't, Jasper will fill all those pesky holes in the story and you might end up on the short end of the stick." Jacob turns to the door, making sure no one's there. "You have to be honest and ask for forgiveness."

"And if it doesn't work?"

Licking his lips, Jacob lifts his eyebrows, "Jasper will win."

"He'll kill her." Paul frowns, trying to keep himself calm because the thought of his Aurora ever being touched by that vampire made his blood boil. She's his.

"Worse. He'll turn her into one of them."

Pressing his lips in a thin line, Paul exhales loudly through his nose. "I won't let him."

#jasper hale #paul lahote #twilight #jasper hale x reader #paul lahote x reader #jasper hale x oc #paul lahote x oc #jasper hale series #paul lahote series #twilight fanfiction #twilight fandom #twilight series

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deathbled · 3 years ago

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@solaoccasum | castlevania | sypha & talon ❛ recently i’ve come to know the value & beauty of things that live longer than i do. ❜

a sword straight through his chest would have hurt less than the implication behind her words . bonded tended to live longer , a good majority of the ones with lesser deities than the one he is shackled to by a contract he has imposed upon the immortal himself have lived for centuries . of course sypha belnades , a genius in her own right , would have known . she could have outsmarted any of the scholars he has encountered in the past ; bloody hell , of course she’d know ! and it hurts , pushes him to the brink of something dark and terrifying to even consider the option of outliving her . sypha knows him better than anyone , than himself . she’d also have to consider the fact he would stubbornly refuse to even accept any such situation , would have to acknowledge that he was the very man who would rather burn the world to the ground before he accepted leaving her side . that he would rather bring the downfall of all he vowed to protect if it meant being by her side until the very end . but her smile is too melancholic for his liking and he realises she knows him , better than he knows himself . she could ask him to not do any such reckless thing , to keep going and to protect everything she held dear about this rotten world . and he would do it . the harbinger was who he was bound to , but unlike sypha he would never own any part of talons soul even if he wanted to . the mage , on the other hand , did not even need to try , she simply had to direct a single word at him and he would do whatever she asked .

centuries of life were something many a mortal dreamt of at night , ignoring the folly of their ideals as they sought a way to make it a reality . for a bonded who’d found someone to care for it meant the erosion of a mind and fate set in stone . insanity , plain and simple , was not uncommon amongst those who outlived the people they loved . the true danger of being a bonded was not becoming the vessel of the responding deity , because after losing everything that made one a person , losing all sense of self and becoming the numbed shadow of a deity in itself seemed like a relief from the burden of a mortal heart . the true danger lay in finding love . in caring for someone so much that losing yourself seemed like a small price to pay for their safety . and then having time rip it all from them in a cruel and twisted display of the price for power . in the end , power was but ceaselessly eating away at the people who sought it . he forces a relatively calm expression on his features in the face of any such thoughts running through his mind like a wanderer seeking shelter from the desert sun , yet the small noise of surprise he barely muffles behind his hand in a faux yawn gives away how he truly feels about her words . the side glance he shoots her way before having to look away to even bear the situation is one of raw surprise and desperation . things he had hoped to leave behind ; emotions he never wanted to experience again .

if it meant losing every sense of self and the entirety of made him talon just to see sypha live and breathe for another day he would , they both knew that . and perhaps that is what makes her say such things in the first place ; the certainty that in the end even if he gave it his all some small part of him would perhaps still outlive her , even if it wasn’t conscious . the very notion of that was enough to make him feel as though he was burnt alive , to set ablaze his very being into a never - ending inferno of painful sensations until he crumbled to pieces right here and now . if push came to shove and he had to face the untimely end of the time they could spend together in this beloved hellscape called earth then he would find a way to fight against such a fate , even if it meant fighting against every single deity of this world on his own . the fact talon was known to stubbornly refuse fate at every turn was the smallest of reliefs for him in the end . and still he trembles .

it takes a moment to find composure , one second turning into two , then a dozen and then a minute . it takes three steps before he falls to his knees , hands desperately holding onto hers as though his life depended on it . the warmth of her hands in his seeped through those long , cold digits of his and into his very core as if her existence alone was the solution to the burning cold in the cavity of his chest . his forehead comes to rest ‘gainst both of their hands and for a moment he feels the unfamiliar sensation of tears burning on the corner of his eyes until they , too , all but disappear back into the depths of everything he has held in for so long . none of his sorrows mattered , not when he had to frantically find the words to ensure she knew he would never let their story end in a tragedy . he would never allow one of them to mourn the other and if it meant he had to take on fate itself then he would damn well do so with that fiery determination that seemed to awaken only if it came to ensuring syphas safety . powerful and strong as she was , this was a fight he would never allow her into . it was , in the end , his grievance with all of the things he was supposed to cherish that made this a battle . and sypha deserved to rest , to settle down and enjoy a calm life away from all the hardships the world had continuously thrown at her as if to test her willpower . and whatever it took to ensure she got the kind of life she deserved , he would give it to whomever he had to pay for that . his voice cracks like the walls she has broken down so long ago , the ones he can barely remember putting up whenever he is able to surrender to emotion and speak freely . there is a forlorn sorrow in his voice that he can’t quite place when he speaks , and yet his eyes still burn with love and dedication he had never thought possible . ❛ i love you . and i need you to know that the moment you take your last breath will be the moment i , too , will perish from this world . ❜

there is a silent plea dancing somewhere within his gaze , heavy with the burden of his heart and the weight it has on him . it begs for her to not think of such things , to remember that whatever it took to stop such things from happening he would give , it pleaded with her to remember that she was so much stronger than anything that had put itself between them and that she , should she ever want to , could extend her life a little longer . he is so helplessly , desperately , tragically in love and he can not find a single way to express it to her other than with the raw depth of his emotions on display for her and her only . he eyes land on the ring , the one she keeps around her neck on a necklace and he remembers something , vaguely painful and horrifying . he has taken power far beyond his own reckoning to ensure he never had to lose anyone ever again , and yet he feels helpless in moments like these . there is a quiet voice beckoning from somewhere deep within the dark parts of his mind almost luring him further into the very things he has avoided for so long . it is scary , how love can easily bend and break a mind if it had to . perhaps love , too , was too light a word to truly describe how he felt . sypha belnades had taken a part of his soul he had thought dead and gone and she had ignited it with a fire that lit up the rest of his being . she wasn’t the wonder cure to all of his problems , but she was the reason he even strove for improvement . so all he can do is stand up on shaky legs and pull her into a hug , one so desperate it ought to be a little too strong . and yet with the intensity of the entire situation weighing down at his heart he can lighten it only a little bit before quietly asking if it was okay for him to hold her just a little longer .

#hi i shortened it but i am emotional :)#anyways this was even longer b4 tumblr said nope but #sypha & talon have me very very emotional :)))))#* REPLY TBT !#* TALON TBT !#long /#long for ts

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prince-toffee · 4 years ago

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She-Ra #0

- Karma -

[Two Years After The Defeat of Horde Prime]

Plumeria

The moonlight of the many Etherian moons rained down and coated the greenery of Plumeria. Plumeria was one of the smallest kingdoms on the planet, there wasn’t anything fancy or kingdom-ly about it. No enormous castles, not even real towns, just a bunce of tree-houses and empty fields. Which in a way was perfect for the refugee clones, the open fields were filled with makeshift tents, with tired, injured, and or defective clones with conditions that had to be looked after, taking up residence in them. Over the two years more and more shelters accumulated since the defeat of Prime and his main armada. It all worked out fairly well, with the clones populating the ground and the Plumerians residing in the trees. They much like most Etherians had mixed feelings about the clones, some were more welcoming than others. Fortunately brawls didn’t break out as often as in some other parts. It was clear that the Princess of the land, Perfuma, wasn’t too thrilled about their presence, but she put on a smile and played nice.

Modulok wasn’t quite sure what the title of ‘royalty’ or ‘Princess’ meant on this world, but it seemed as if the success criteria involved owning some land since there were apparently hundreds of Princesses, some with kingdoms the size of a town, or a nightclub, believe it or not. How the political landscape worked, he did not know. But he didn’t really care either. It was peaceful that was all that mattered to a surgeon and medic like Modulok. The settlement at Plumeria was one of the smaller ones, nowhere near as developed and packed as Doormat or the New Salineas. And again that’s why he liked it, quiet, far away from anything and everything, a grasshopper here, the rustle of leaves there. However something always seemed to go out of its way to find him. Case in point his quite drunk brother, Vultak, who barged into Mod’s tent in the middle of the night.

Vultak clumsily stumbled into the tent, two glasses of some sort of alcoholic drink in hand. He set the glasses on the operating table Mod was currently working on. Before Mod could protest, as he opened his mouth Vultak raised his pointing finger up to him to stop him. V then proceeded to drag a chair from the side to the operating table. V sat down and took a swig emptying one glass. The drunk clone just stared dazed at the patient Modulok was operating on, but caught a glance coming from Mod that was disapproving.

“Do you mind?”

“Not at all, carry on.”

That drew out a sigh from the medic, he was all too familiar with those snappy comebacks as well as his delusional pessimistic rants and ravings, which Mod was sure were about to follow. The two just looked at each other, a sedated individual between them, it was quite a comedic scene to be hold if there were a third party observing.

Modulok had lost his arms in one of the countless wars and had replaced them with cybernetics which could split in two giving him the total of four arms to work with. As a defect Modulok had blood red lenses, eyes and teeth. Not to mention his skinny frame, and lack of weight, and inability to gain weight. He wore a black and red tech suit, not bulky like Hordak’s, much thinner with tubes and cables hanging here or there. Under it you could see his bones and rip cage pressed tight around his skin, in some areas the white bone broke through the skin forming vein-like patterns across his body - common side effects for defects. A unique defect to Mod was that his skin was coloured red, it didn’t mean much, but others thought it looked neat.

Vultak was far more odd and different, some clones even called him the strangest clone alive. One of the oldest living too. V was a defect too, defects liked to stick together, at least most of them, not Modulok specifically. Vultak was thin too, like a walking toothpick. Vultak’s top half of his head was a red glass-looking dome resembling a radar display. No eyes. However a long witch-like nose. And shark-sharp teeth, though that was common with all clones. Possibly his most iconic aspect were his retractable wings being able to extend out of his under-arms, unveiling metallic feathers as sharp as knives. Various experimental technology was incorporated into his arms, giving his wings the ability to cause micro-hurricanes, and gusts of wind. And flight, obviously.

Also, he was thousands years old.

“V, you clearly want something so just say it and get it over with, the less time I spend with you the saner I’ll remain.” Modulok stated tiredly knowing fully well conversations with V could be exhausting. He leaned on his right arm which he placed on the table.

“What? Come on, can’t a brother just want to hang out with his other clone brother from another mothership?...” Mod was unamused and unphased, in the pause and silence his expression did not change. “And also my dearest, most awesome, talented brother, who is a doctor... I could... use some of that reeeeeally good tastin’ medicine that only a certified medic like you can hand out.” Vultak gave him a smile and tilted his head.

Mod gave him an eye roll, “I am not handing you the pills!”

“Oh come on, Mod! This stuff’s getting out on the street anyway! You’re not upholding some moral high-ground, you’re not holding society together! Come on, please, just one.”

Modulok waved him off, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. And I’m not trying to up hold anything, I don’t care what happens out there, but it just so happens that when some stupid non-sense takes place out there it means I’ve got more work here.” In a way he was right, Modulok was the most famous medic from the Galactic Horde, known across countless galaxies, being a defect medic and a medic for defects, that increased his infamous status. If anyone, any clone was in need of aid they turned to him for help, to say Mod was busy would’ve been an understatement. “Don’t even get me started on those pills that Hordak and Dryl made, I have no idea what they were thinking.”

The Isle Pills. Small capsules of biochemical engineering, synthesized from the ‘infected’ ‘tainted’ plants of Beast Island. That was the way people described the island, there were many theories about the landmass, a lot of scary campfire stories, disputes about whether it even existed. Its existence was apparently confirmed by the Princess of Dryl. Something about backstabbing and being imprisoned on the island, the clones weren’t sure, and they didn’t care much. But the nature of the island had been kept secretive, partially perhaps because the lab-partners studying the location don’t know many thing about it either.

It is also to be noted that they, the pills, weren’t meant for wide spread public use, apparently the Drylian Princess herself was against the production of it. But somehow they got out. Modulok was sure Hordak wasn’t thrilled that his experimental treatment for his defection was being distributed like hot buns at a bakery sale.

The pills have an altering affect on the consumer’s mood and how they perceive reality. Where the island would have enraptured an individual in their own fears and insecurities, somehow those mad-scientists altered the effect of the flora to envelop the individual in numbness and sleep-like paralysis. Hordak no doubt developed the pills as a way of coping with his defection and all the pain that came with it. So the product became quite popular with other defects. Including V, to no surprise. The pills were addictive and seemingly untested, and someone was making a profit off of it no doubt.

“They probably weren’t thinking, that’s what! If you ask me that Hordak guy is insane. All his bad decisions always seem to bit us in the rear.” The infamous Hordak, a general from a previous life, a defect that was sent to the frontlines by Prime personally, some even have speculated that he was meant to be Prime’s next bodily vessel. So in a sick twisted way, that defect saved him. Funny how life works.

Hordak somehow ended up on Etheria, he doesn’t even know how, somehow he amassed a large following and took over half a continent, destroyed a lot in the process. People hate him, his face, and that means of course many weren’t thrilled about hundreds of thousands of clones falling from the sky and finding a home and shelter on Etheria. Honestly, Modulok didn’t like him much either. Vultak unlike Mod actually quite liked Hordak as he served under him once, V trusted him.

“Mod, they would’ve hated us with or without him at the helm, at the end of the day he’s one of us, the whole universe hates us, we gotta stick together.”

“Where’s your ‘screw everything’ mentality gone to?”

V downed his second glass and wiped his mouth, “Washed away and washed down...” V just stared at the now empty glass inspecting it suspiciously as if he was looking if the glass was withholding additional liquid from him. It became obvious that V was thinking, contemplating something, he placed the glass down with a ‘clink’ on the table. “...I’ve been getting the nightmares again. And it’s getting worse, it always does. It’s not long ‘til the nightmares start coming out during the day, while you’re awake.”

Modulok understood, of course he did. He too had went through some harrowing experiences, war is never a good thing for the mind. Mod was an excellent surgeon and doctor, he can do some miracles with scalpels and bandages, he could take care of physical wounds. But there were wounds and scars that he couldn’t heal.

Vultak continued, “Do you believe in karma, Mod?” The question gave the medic pause, he didn’t quite know how to answer that, and he was sure this was one of those questions you don’t answer as V was going to no doubt continue and give his own answer. But the short reply would’ve been ‘no’, Mod didn’t believe in any higher power or any metaphysical concepts such as fate or destiny, it all rather felt far-fetched to him. “That our actions and deeds from our previous lives affect and decides our fate and fortune in the future?

That the future takes roof in the past? You do good, you have good fortune, a good life awaits you. You do bad, you have bad fortune, hell’s coming your way. Revenge and retribution on a cosmic level. It’s the universe’s way of punishing the evil and the wicked, that’s us by the way.

And we do deserve it, don’t we. I mean we’re literally walking, breathing, war machines, our sole purpose was to destroy, perpetuate war and cause all around carnage.

Everyone always wants to blame Hordak for Etheria hating us, but every single one of us has had a part in conquering half the damn universe! Countless worlds either chained or turned to dust, all thanks to us, all of us.

All the terrible things we’ve done, and now what? We just get to have a happy ending? No. No, no, no. Karma’s just getting ready, reeling back, ready to backhand all of us to oblivion. We gotta suffer first... Karma’s balance, karma’s proportional. Which isn’t good for us since we did a lot of wrong-doings. Remember the Siege of Denebria, the War for Primus, the Taking of Trolla, the centuries-long Massacres at Epsilon-19, everyone wants to forget that hellscape death-trap. But we just can’t, some things claw their way back to the surface from below all that brainwashing-sauce.

And that’s just the horrid stuff we remember!... Can you imagine how many lives we’ve forgotten? How many years we’ve lost? How many people we’ve forgotten? That four eyed freak robbed us of everything that made us, us!... All that stuff’s gonna bite us in the back.”

Modulok simply listened, he was used to V’s rants and ravings, but all that... seemed different. Usually V made out everything to be a joke, never taking anything serious, he was a jokester. The nihilistic joker seemed to be subdued, some sort of seriousness, some existential dread on his face. Vultak was genuinely opening up to Mod, and he appreciated that. But it was a shame they had to get drunk first before having conversations like that.

Mod became gradually more worried as V continued with the dialogue, after he paused and just began to stare blankly at his glass again Modulok responded, “I appreciate you opening up, kind of, V, I just wish it didn’t take the influence of alcohol... [sigh] Look, V, I know tomorrow is never certain, and that we all carry the weight of scars on our brittle shoulders... but please believe me when I tell you, that everything will be okay, everything will get better. Don’t drown yourself in poison. The world’s not falling apart, and neither should you.” Mod placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, trying to comfort his friend.

Vultak simply looked up at his brother, his face blank, he knew Mod meant well, but it didn’t help much to comfort him. And so V hopelessly replied, uttering almost a warning, “Just you wait doc, the sky’s gonna come crashing down on our heads.”

#hordak #horde clones #horde prime

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misssophiachase · 5 years ago

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Klaroline AU Week: Day 1 (Mythological Creatures)

Late yes but...please still read!

She’s a Valkyrie-in-training, he’s a warrior on the eve of fighting on the battlefield. Can she convince him to change his mind?

Here Comes the Sun

Night had long fallen. The greenfields peppered with brown tents were now shrouded in darkness. The mild rumble of conversation and a few stray lanterns burning the only sign that life existed.

Tomorrow would be different.

Tomorrow, the war would begin.

And end.

She moved about the tents quietly, the swan feathers she adorned like armor teasing her bare shoulders while her eyes darted around for any sense of danger.

Caroline was one of Odin’s Valkyries. Well actually, she was more of a Valkyrie-in-training. Born from simple beginnings and absent parents, her sweet nature, golden halo of hair, mesmerizing eyes and true beauty had captured the attention of the all-powerful God who’d decided she was destined to serve him.

Caroline, being free-spirited and feisty, held no allegiances and declared she served no one until her parents decided to sell her into Odin’s service. They claimed they were doing what was best but Caroline saw it as nothing but forced slavery.

She’d rebelled at first but the rules were so strict amongst the valkyries that she couldn’t have escaped if she tried. She’d met Bonnie early on who’d encouraged her to fit in and try to make a life in Valhalla. For Caroline, it was difficult given just how forced she felt about being there.

7 months earlier...

“I’m so bored here,” Caroline groaned. It seemed as if all they did was inhabit Vallhalla and serve warriors and their Gods who didn’t truly appreciate them or their work ethic.

She’d always wanted to make something of her life. If Caroline had her way she’d be the one on that battlefield holding a sword and shield against the approaching army.

“Once you know them better.”

“I don’t care to know any of them better.”

“That’s how I felt, well until Kol.” Caroline knew their unlikely love story. They had grown up in neighboring villages, their parents were rivals until she met their son one day and everything she believed quickly disappeared because all she cared about was him.

The Valkyries had chosen him and sent him to Valhalla and the young lovers had finally reunited. She was overjoyed and Caroline was pleased they had their happily ever after.

Not knowing or having experienced that kind of love, Caroline continued to live in a sheltered world. Well, until she was ordered to visit one of the nearby villages in anticipation of an upcoming war only because it held Odin’s special interest. It was Bonnie who suggested the still learning Valkyrie go, but why she didn’t know.

Well, at first.

Upon first meeting the local leader, Caroline had done everything she could not to ogle him. Blonde hair, blue eyes and a toned body that deserved to be worshipped.

However, the man under that armor was another story.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, Odin...”

“Newsflash, love. I don’t answer to Odin or any of his Valkyries,” he chuckled, his blue eyes inspecting her further. “He’s certainly sending his most novice personnel.”

“You have no idea who I am,” she growled. Yes, he was gorgeous and imposing but he was also a chauvinistic ass.

“Oh really?”

“Really,” she shot back, stepping closer to him and trying to ignore his proximity. “So, I suggest you stop making assumptions and speak to me in a polite manner.”

“No one has ever talked to me like that,” his expression was argumentative at first but Caroline couldn’t miss the way his features softened slightly. “But I like it.”

“I’m too smart to be seduced by you,” she shot back, their gaze unflinching.

“And that’s why I like you, love,” he smirked. “So, what exactly am I doing wrong here?”

Caroline wasn’t usually so affected but his gorgeous accent and those dimples were messing with her concentration. “Everything, including calling me that. I do have a name.”

“And it’s a name I’m so desperate to learn,” he murmured, his gaze unflinching.

“Then you’ll have to earn it.”

“Oh really?” He cocked an eyebrow, no a sexy eyebrow.

“We have work to do.”

“And then will I learn the name of the Valkyrie who has stolen my attention?”

“I’m not like the women you bed.”

“No, that you most definitely aren’t, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart?”

“Well, until you tell me your name I really have no choice but to offer alternatives.”

“You could call me master.” She puffed out her chest, hoping her bluff would work. She was well below him status wise but Caroline hated the fact he seemed to think he was better than her.

“Will do, master,” he smirked, his eyes dipping lower for a brief second and then resting on her face. “So, put me to work.”

Caroline was surprised that he’d been so amenable. Not that she was complaining.

They’d worked together side-by-side for two days straight, the chemistry threatening to overwhelm them both. His crimson lips were an unexpected target taunting her incessantly with every word he spoke.

They’d been in very close quarters. But to his credit, Klaus Mikaelson hadn’t attempted to touch her. Caroline would be lying if it wasn’t driving her insane.

“My brother died in the war,” he shared one night after the sun had slipped down over the horizon. They were sitting in a meadow trying to chase the last remaining hours of light. “I thought I’d be the first sibling but he decided to surprise us and go rogue.”

“He died?”

“He did,” Klaus mumbled, his gaze lowered. “Kol has always been wild and impulsive. I was worried that perhaps Odin sacrificed him on that battlefield.”

“Kol is your brother?”

“You know my brother?” His tone was hoarse and the combination of hope and relief crossing his features was enough to tell Caroline she’d probably overstepped her duties. But for some reason she didn’t care, all she wanted was to bring him some comfort.

“I do, and I’m happy to report that he is safe and well.”

“I’m glad,” he smiled. “Hopefully I can join him soon in Valhalla.”

“You’re not afraid to die?”

“That is why I was put on this earth. I have existed for twenty-five years but never really lived except knowing him and now you.” She tried not to react, why would he care about her along with his brother?

“You don’t know me at all.”

“But I would really like to know you.”

“I have to leave,” she uttered. The pull between them was obvious but something had told her that she’d gone too far and this connection they’d built was now extremely dangerous.

“But you just got here,” he pleaded. “Can’t you stay a little longer?”

“If only I could,” she’d replied off-handedly before making her way out of his life.

It would be easier this way.

Well, that’s what she kept telling herself.

Fast forward seven months and, against her better judgment, she’d left Valhalla under the cover of darkness determined to find him before the battle began. Usually, they would tend to the dead well after it had ended but Caroline had no intention of letting him die no matter the consequences.

Her breath caught in her throat, sensing an overwhelming presence behind her but before she could react, a strong hand wrapped around her mouth and pulled her away.

The tent was small but the lantern in the corner was still burning. Caroline should have been afraid but for some reason, the atmosphere was strangely comforting and once the hand was removed she knew why.

“What the hell are you doing here, love?”

“That’s not a very nice greeting,” she snapped, trying to ignore his bare chest and rippling muscles. “And if you’re going to kidnap someone probably best you don’t run around naked while doing it.”

“I was trying to sleep when you decided to skulk around my tent, excuse me if I was more concerned about your safety and not about clothing,” he muttered, his jaw clenched and his tone terse.

“I’m sorry,” she replied. “I was only here because...”

“You can’t save me.” He murmured, his voice hoarse as his eyes gazed downward, avoiding her eyes.

“But I can try,” she whispered, calling upon the last shreds of willpower she could muster.

“You can’t,” he confided, his fingers finding their way to her golden waves. “This is my destiny.”

“Well, between you and me, destiny is messed up,” she mumbled, attempting to avoid shedding more tears but knowing she was failing miserably.

“If I could change things so we could be together, you know I would.”

“Not so sure given your macho/martyr type behavior.” His blue eyes were on her immediately, his gaze unforgiving. “Couldn’t you be more ruthless and unforgiving?”

“I could but I was hoping to learn your name,” he offered.

“What? You don’t like Master?”

“Not as much as you do,” he shot back, sending her a wolfish grin. It certainly felt like the tent was ten degrees hotter even in the dead of night. “But as I moved inside you in all of my dreams I imagined calling out your name over and over.”

“You think I’m that easy?” She balked, pretending to be offended but feeling heat and arousal in places she never had before.

“Not at all, as much as I’ve fantasized about you, I just really want to know your name.”

“Why is my name so important?”

“When I die I want to know the name of the woman I love so it is the last thing I utter through these lips.” Caroline stood in awe, those crimson lips even more eye-catching than usual.

“It’s Caroline.”

“Caroline,” he purred. That sound of her name rolling off his tongue was going to kill her.

“I only told you that so you could utter it on your death bed and leave me all your earthly possessions.” He didn’t hesitate, leaning down to capture her lips with his.

Joking comments aside as they shed all willpower and clothing. He’d uttered her name countless times that night but not due to impending death.

She’d slipped away without his knowledge just as the sun was rising. Klaus had insisted she stay away and not mourn him but Caroline had other ideas.

Fast forward a month and Klaus was now in Valhalla by his brother’s side and Caroline could keep an eye on him, much like she had since they first met. She’d tried to reinstate the master moniker but he wasn’t so obliging unless it was uttered between the sheets.

#kcauweek2019 #klaroline drabbles #klaroline #klaroline fanfiction #misssophiachase

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if-only-angels-could-prevail · 5 years ago

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“American Things” by Tony Kushner

Summer is the season for celebrating freedom, summer is the time when we can almost believe it is possible to be free. American education conditions us for this expectation; school's out! The climate shift seductively whispers emancipation. Warmth opens up the body and envelops it. The body in summer is most easily at home in the world. This is true even when the summer is torrid. I have lived half my life in Louisiana and half in New York City. I know from torrid summers.

On my seventh birthday, midsummer 1968, my mother decorated my cake with sparklers she'd saved from the Fourth of July. This, I thought, was extraordinary, fantastic, sparklers spitting and smoking, dangerous and beautiful atop my birthday cake. In one indelible, ecstatic instant my mother completed a circuit of identification for me, melding two iconographies, of self and of liberty: of birthday cake, delicious confectionery emblem of maternal enthusiasm about my existence, which enthusiasm I shared; and of the nighttime fireworks of pyro-romantic Americana, fireworks-liberty-light which slashed across the evening sky, light which thrilled the heart, light which exclaimed loudly in the thick summer air, light which occasionally tore off fingers and burned houses, the fiery fierce explosive risky light of Independence, of Freedom.

Stonewall, the festival day of lesbian and gay liberation, is followed closely by the Fourth of July; they are exactly one summer week apart. The contiguity of these two festivals of freedom is important, at least to me. Each adds piquancy and meaning to the other. In the years following my 7th birthday I had lost some of my enthusiasm for my own existence, as most queer kids growing up in a hostile world will do. I'd certainly begun to realize how unenthusiastic others, even my parents, would be if they knew I was gay. Such joy in being alive as I can now lay claim to has been returned to me largely because of the successes of the political movement which began, more or less officially, 25 years ago on that June night in the Village. I've learned how absolutely essential to life freedom is.

Lesbian and gay freedom is the same freedom celebrated annually on the Fourth of July. Of this I have no doubt; my mother told me so, back in 1963, by putting sparklers on that cake. She couldn't have made her point more powerfully if she'd planted them on my head. Hers was a gesture we both understood, though at the time neither could have articulated it; "This fantastic fire is yours." Mothers and fathers should do that for their kids: give them fire, and link them proudly and durably to the world in which they live.

One of the paths down which my political instruction came was our family seder. Passover, too, is a celebration of Freedom in sultry, intoxicating heat (Passover actually comes in the spring but in Louisiana the distinction between spring and summer was never clear). Our family read from Haggadahs written by a New Deal Reform rabbinate which was unafraid to draw connections between Pharaonic and modern capitalist exploitations; between the exodus of Jews from Goshen and the journey toward civil rights for African-Americans; unafraid to make the yearning which Jews have repeated for thousands of years a democratic dream of freedom for all peoples. It was impressed upon us, as we sang "America the Beautiful" at the seder's conclusion, that the dream of millennia was due to find its ultimate realization not in Jerusalem but in this country.

The American political tradition to which my parents made me an heir is mostly an immigrant appropriation of certain features and promises of our Constitution, and of the idea of democracy and federalism. This appropriation marries morally and ideologically indeterminate freedom to the more strenuous specific mandates of justice. It is the aggressive, unapologetic, progressive liberalism of the 30s and 40s, a liberalism strongly spiced with socialism, trade unionism and the ethos of internationalism and solidarity.

This liberalism at its best held that citizenship was bestowable on everyone, and sooner or later it would be bestowed. Based first and foremost on reason, and then secondarily on protecting certain articles of faith such as the Bill of Rights, democratic process would eventually shift power from the mighty to the many, in whose hands, democratically and morally speaking, it belongs. Over the course of 200 years, brave, visionary activists and ordinary, moral people had carved out a space, a large sheltering room from which many were now excluded, but which was clearly intended to be capable of multitudes. Within the space of American Freedom there was room for any possibility. American Freedom would become the birthplace of social and economic Justice.

Jews who came to America had gained entrance into this grand salon, as had other immigrant groups: Italians, Irish. Black people, Chicanos and Latinos, Asian-Americans would soon make their own ways, I was told, as would women, as would the working class and the poor -- it could only be a matter of time and struggle.

People who desired sex with people of their own gender, trans-gender people, drag kings and drag queens, deviants from heterosexual normality were not discussed. There was identity, and then there was illness.

I am nearly 38, and anyone who's lived 38 years should have made generational improvements on the politics of his or her parents. For any gay man or lesbian since Stonewall, the politics of homosexual enfranchisement is part of what is to be added to the fund of human experience and understanding that we pass on to the next generation-upon which we hope improvements will be made.

The true motion of freedom is to expand outward. To say that lesbian and gay freedom is the same freedom celebrated annually on the Fourth of July is simply to say that queer and other American freedoms have changed historically, generally in a healthy direction (with allowances for some costly periods of faltering, including recently), and must continue to change if they are to remain meaningful. No freedom that fails to grow will last.

Lesbians and gay men of this generation have added homophobia to the consensus list of social evils: poverty, racism, sexism, exploitation, the ravaging of the environment, censorship, imperialism, war. To be a progressive person is to believe that there are ways to actively intervene against these evils. To be a progressive person is to resist Balkanization, tribalism, separatism; to be progressive is to seek out connection. I am homosexual, and this ought to make me consider how my experience of the world, as someone who is not always welcome, resembles that of others, however unlike me, who have had similar experiences. I demand to be accorded my rights by others; and so I must be prepared to accord to others their rights. The truest characteristic of freedom is generosity, the basic gesture of freedom is to include, not to exclude.

That there would be a reasonably successful movement for lesbian and gay civil rights was scarcely conceivable a generation ago. In spite of these gains, much of the social progress which to my parents seemed a foregone conclusion has not yet been made, and much ground has been lost. Will racism prove to be more intractable, finally, than homophobia? Will the hatred of women, gay and straight, continue to find new and more violent forms of expression, and will gay men and women of color remain doubly, or triply oppressed, while white gay men find greater measures of acceptance, simply because they are white men?

The tensions which have defined American history and American political consciousness have most often been those existing between the margin and the center, the many and the few, the individual and society, the dispossessed and the possessors. It is a peculiar feature of our political life that some of these tensions are frequently discussed and easily grasped, such as those existing between the states and the federal government, or between the rights of individuals and society's claims upon them; while others' tensions, especially those which are occasioned by the claims of marginalized peoples, are regarded with suspicion and fear. Listing the full catalog of these claims is sure to raise howls decrying "political correctness" from those who need desperately to believe that democracy is a simple thing.

Democracy isn't simple and it doesn't mean that majorities tyrannize minorities. We learned this a long time ago, from, among others, the Moses of that Jewish American Book of Exodus, Louis Dembitz Brandeis, or, in more recent times, from Thurgood Marshall. In these days of demographic shifts, when majorities are disappearing, this knowledge is particularly useful, and it needs to be expanded. There are in this country political traditions congenial to the idea that democracy is multicolored and multicultural and also multigendered, that democracy is about returning to individuals the fullest range of their freedoms, but also about the sharing of power, about the rediscovery of collective responsibility. There are in this country political traditions, from organized labor, from the civil-rights and black-power movements, from feminist and homosexual liberation movements, from movements for economic reform, which postulate democracy as a dynamic process. These traditions exist in opposition to those which make fixed fetishes of democracy and freedom, talismans for reaction.

These traditions, which constitute the history of progressive and radical America, have been shunted to the side in an attempt at revisionism that began during the McCarthy era. Over the course of American history since World War II, the terms of the national debate have subtly, insidiously shifted. What used to be called liberal is now called radical, what used to be called radical is now called insane. What used to be called reactionary is now called moderate, and what used to be called insane is now called solid conservative thinking.

The recovery of antecedents is immensely important work. Historians are reconstructing the lost history of homosexual America, along with all the other lost histories. Freedom, I think, is finally being at home in the world, it is a returning -- to the best particulars of the home you came from, or the arrival, after a lengthy and arduous journey, at the home you never had, which your dreams and desires have described for you.

I have a guilty confession to make. When I am depressed, when nerve or inspiration or energy flag, I put on Dvorak's Ninth Symphony, "From the New World"; I get teary listening to the Largo. It's become one of the alltime most shopworn musical cliches, which is regrettable. My father, who is a symphony conductor, told me that Dvorak wrote it in America and then contributed all the money from the New World Symphony's premiere to a school that accepted former slaves. But as the story goes, his daughter fell in love with a Native American and Dvorak took the whole family back to Bohemia.

Like many Americans I'm looking for home. Home is an absence, it is a loss that impels us. I want this home to be like the Largo from the New World Symphony. But life most frequently resembles something by Schoenberg, the last quartet, the one he wrote after his first heart attack. Life these days is played out to the tune of that soundtrack. Or something atonal, anyway, something derivative of Schoenberg, some piece written by one of his less talented pupils.

The only politics that can survive an encounter with this world, and still speak convincingly of freedom and justice and democracy, is a politics that can encompass both the harmonics and the dissonance. The frazzle, the rubbed-raw, the unresolved, the fragile and the fiery and the dangerous: these are American things. This jangle is our movement forward, if we are to move forward; it is our survival, if we are to survive.

#thrilled that I found the entire text of my favorite essay online

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cannabisrefugee-esq · 5 years ago

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Of All The Things I've Lost, I Miss My Mind The Most. Ft. Joker

November 29, 2019

I recently wrote on my Patreon about Dave, my new disability advocate who seemed like he was going to be helpful for once. Where my previous advocate was good at bleating on endlessly about my alleged “rights” as a disabled person, wasting my time and energy listening to her while not actually helping me gain access to resources, my new advocate put on a seriously impressive show. Because I don’t have a car and am generally too sick to walk or ride my bike more than a couple of blocks, and likely too sick to drive even if I had a car, he arranged to pick me up for our appointments and afterwards took me back home.

Because I no longer possess executive function and cannot consistently or reliably complete tasks that require it (read: the stuff corporate executives pay other people to do for them, particularly female people, namely secretaries, wives and others) this man filled out applications for me, doing some of them online, addressed and mailed the ones going out of town and hand-delivered the rest. This was almost unbelievably (!) helpful and I felt cautiously optimistic that things might finally be on the right track: a track towards getting me the disability and need-based benefits I’m entitled to as a seriously ill person with a disabling incurable, progressive disease.

To wit, Social Security benefits, into which I have paid since I started working when I was 15 and which they will just give to me freely if I live long enough but for which I have to beg in order to receive now, and housing, food and cash assistance that will help me stay in my little apartment, run my small business and somewhat control my environment and my access to climate control/lights/running water/refrigeration/toilet etc. and privacy and relative peace in which to care for my 2 adopted shelter cats and manage the daily pain and indignities of my disabling autoimmune disease.

The online application for SSD was returned to me in hardcopy to review, sign and return. lol. Along with a notice that if I want to also apply for SSI, the “other” form of disability-based benefits that’s basically exactly the same as SSD and as far as I know requires mostly the same information sent to the same place, I had to do a separate application for that. lol. The application for food and cash assistance was “never received” by social services, according to social services, even though Dave hand-delivered it and watched them time/date stamp it himself. lol.

Dave had also assured me that I was a candidate for vocational rehab, which agency would easily and gladly find me a part-time work-from-home job tailored to my new dis/ability and help me do and keep it, as well as offering me various assistance with my small business including accounting and other administrative support, technical assistance and equipment including a new laptop and other things. lol. Most of that seemed unlikely at best but I almost believed it: my hope went from none to about 3.5% — that’s 3-and-a-half percent — because anything higher than that is frankly completely insane and I knew better but I did it anyway. It was mostly involuntary because that’s the thing with humans innit. They (we) seem predisposed to hope, against the odds and against all evidence.

When I spoke with someone at voc rehab, she informed me that she had just that very day had to have a “talk” with Dave who apparently keeps making inappropriate referrals and making promises to sick and disabled people that voc rehab simply does not/cannot keep. They don’t do any of what Dave told wasted an hour of my time and about 3 days worth of spoons telling me about, and what is available is only available to people starting new businesses. People with existing businesses get nothing. lol.

As for getting me a coveted “work from home” light-duty position that myself and everyone else and all their relatives also want, and might actually need, they don’t do that at all. They might be able to help me keep a job I already have but I don’t have one, and there is no realistic way I will ever get one as even the application and interview process is too grueling a task for me now. Not to mention that I’m too sick to consistently show up and produce quality work anyway because even if a sick person can still produce quality work sometimes when they feel relatively well, chronic illness = unpredictable = unreliable = unhireable.

I put myself through law school with absolutely no help of any kind, took the hardest bar exam in the country if not the world and passed it on the first try, but that — meaning, looking for, applying for and getting jobs, something I could do as a 15 year old and did for 25 years of my life — that I can no longer do. lol.

I only saw “Joker” once but from what I recall, a bunch of white men and their white male “disability” system made another white man even more crazy than he was before and he killed some of them. I see absolutely no problem with that.

Today is Thanksgiving in the United States. I don’t know what this means in other places that also celebrate this holiday at different times, but I know what it means here. So Happy Celebration of Indigenous People Being Genocided By White Men Day y’all. Make sure you are sufficiently “grateful” to our male owners/corporate and government overlords for allowing us to just-barely exist (to serve them) until we literally, physically can’t do it anymore or die trying. This world is fucking crazy man. It’s absolutely insane.

Comments Open.

#advertising #media #culture #Joker #Conversation #crohn's disease

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themachiavellianpig · 5 years ago

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The Walking Dead, Episode 2: Motherhood and Loyalty in Rotting Skin

We Are the End of the World gives us 44 minutes of Whisperers-only action, largely focusing on Alpha and Beta, our resident power couple in this weird little cult of the dead. As well as some valuable insight into their founding and their current day-to-day life, this episode may also give us some hints as to a possible downfall for the group - although hopefully not before we get some stellar acting out of Samantha Morton, who continues to impress in the role of Alpha.

Full review and spoilers galore below.

As we might have expected from a villain-centric episode, we get to see a little of the past as well as the present. The flashbacks take us back seven years to a pre-Whisperer Alpha and Lydia; there’s no pack built up around these two yet, just a fairly messed up woman and her kid trying to scratch out a living in post-apocalyptica. They’ve figured out the use of guts to move undetected through the herds, but that’s as far as it goes at first; Lydia even has little earmuffs to muffle the sounds of the dead. But the sight of a woman being eaten alive is too much for her and the pair are forced to shelter from the dead in a building inhabited by a suitably menacing Beta (Ryan Hurst).

We get to see two very different relationships develop in this abandoned asylum: between Alpha and Lydia, and between the yet-to-be-named Alpha and Beta. Alpha is still deeply protective of her daughter, threatening Beta to ensure her safety, and far more obviously maternal than we’ve seen before. While she’s still clearly focused on getting Lydia ready to survive in this world, she also cares for the child as a child, washing the blood off at Lydia’s request and, in a sentimental moment that was genuinely inconceivable to me previously, offering Lydia a much-loved cuddly toy rabbit at bedtime.

These moments of maternal affection are, of course, nicely contrasted with clear hints of the insane Alpha we came to know last season; when Lydia makes an obvious effort to grow up a little, claiming that she wants to be more like her mother, Alpha’s quick to reassure Lydia that she will abandon her daughter to the dead if it comes to that. She also explicitly begins to reject the title of Mama, which we knew was coming due to Alpha’s reactions to Lydia last season.

The culmination of Alpha’s particularly unhelpful form of parenting comes when little Lydia covers herself in walker guts and sets off on a minor quest to prove her bravery, a sequence which was entirely worth it for the sight of an obviously scared Alpha following her daughter’s bloody footprints through the building; for all her posturing, Alpha was and still is vulnerable when it comes to Lydia, as we saw last season when she revealed the existence of the Whisperers to Hilltop in an attempt to get Lydia back.

The flashbacks also give us a front-row seat to the initial stages of the Alpha-Beta dynamic; this Beta is initially only wearing a balaclava, rather than human skin, but he still manages to increase the creep factor throughout the episode, telling Alpha that “I like it. The sound of the dead. It’s the only song I never want to end” and then later casually crushing two walker skulls with his bare hands. There are, of course, some small flashes of more than just a monster; he does allow Alpha and Lydia to shelter in his building, and he does save Alpha from a walker. And, in all fairness, Alpha doesn’t seem to mind the creepiness at all, telling him matter-of-factly that she “likes killing with [him]” and waxing lyrical about the new state of the world.

The final nail in the coffin of whatever sort of man Beta was pre-Alpha comes when Lydia releases the walker he was protecting; his grief and fury at the walker’s death at Alpha’s hands mirrors the trauma of the Governor when his daughter was put down by Michonne, or that of Hershel after the Barn. But while we’ve seen plenty of characters who were unable to put down their loved ones, we’ve never seen anyone honour their beloved dead by wearing their face before. The reveal that the first walker-mask was a way for Alpha to convince Beta to join her is an interesting twist; I’d assumed that Alpha would have been the first to wear such a mask and that others would have followed her example, but apparently not.

The fact that Beta is still wearing the same mask seven years later tells us something fairly unsettling about the durability of dried human skin, but may also mean that the mask is more sentimental than practical - which could potentially lead to some interesting fireworks should Beta lose his precious talisman in a later episode.

In the present day, we get to see Alpha and Beta working together to control the pack of Whisperers; there are clearly some tensions between the two, especially after Alpha shows unexpected mercy to a struggling Whisperer who we first met briefly last season, when Alpha forced her to abandon her baby outside Hilltop. This young woman is still mourning her child and struggling with her own part in the baby’s supposed death. Even after being cajoled back into line by a surprising display of mercy from Alpha, she finally snaps when she sees a walker with a (thankfully empty) baby carrier and has a damn good attempt at getting Alpha torn apart by walkers.

The would be assassin is dealt with when her own sister chooses to save Alpha instead. As a reward, she is promoted to the lofty heights of having a name: Gamma - only the third Whisperer to be named in seven years, then, which was perhaps long enough for Beta to convince himself that his place at Alpha’s side was unique, and possibly serving as justification for the quiet fury on his face throughout the naming ceremony. This promotion was not, I would assume, run past the second-in-command before being publicised, and it’s tricky to tell if it’s the lack of consultation or the promotion itself which has so offended Beta. Whatever his precise motivation, he is clearly displeased.

This displeasure increases tenfold when Beta figures out the truth - that Alpha did not kill Lydia, as she’s apparently told all of the Whisperers. The fact that he figured this out by seeing Alpha holding the same toy rabbit that Lydia outgrew in the flashback makes it all the more fascinating; Alpha’s been carrying around an unnecessary item for seven years out of pure sentiment, hardly the action of the mindless animal that she insists that she is. Beta’s loyalty to Alpha, tested as it may have been, is still more than enough for him to promise to hide the truth about Lydia from the rest of the pack - although, given that Lydia is very much alive and unlikely to be allowed to sit out the entirety of the Whisperer conflict, I do hope that we get to see the rest of the pack respond to the truth.

This lie could be a significant way to weaken Alpha’s grip on the pack; given that we see her use this claim of having killed her own daughter to strengthen her connection with two separate Whisperers throughout one short episode, we can probably assume that the story has been used repeatedly since Lydia’s departure to ‘prove’ Alpha’s loyalty to her true people. We can already see some signs of the pack splintering; one Whisperer brings up the existence of Hilltop, a settlement that Alpha claimed was impossible. Catching their leader in an open lie might be a good prompt for the Whisperers to reconsider their place in the world - and maybe claim a new place for themselves.

But any such rebellion would have to be very carefully managed to escape the notice of both Alpha and Beta, who clearly understand each other in a way which is frankly terrifying; you can’t help but wonder how many lives would have been better had these two never met. Their final recommitment to each other, complete with terrifying oaths, shows them as a united front, more than ready to start the war they threatened last season.

“We walk in darkness. We are free. We bathe in blood. We are free. We love nothing. We are free. We fear nothing. We are free. We need no words. We are free. We embrace all death. This is the end of the world. Now is the end of the world. We are the end of the world.”

#the walking dead #twd #episode review #episode recap #themachiavellianpig watches #walking dead #season 10 spoilers #samantha morton

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nemesisdivina86 · 6 years ago

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Genius or Insanity?

Signs of Schizophrenia in Nijinsky’s Choreography 1912-1913

Introduction

Vaslav Nijinsky, famed star of Diagilev’s Ballet Russes, is credited with the creation of three of the most unusual ballets in the history of dance. L’Aprés-Midi d’un Faune, Jeux, and Le Sacre du Printemps all involve a highly unique choreography, and were the subjects of various scandals during their perfomances in 1912 and 1913. Today, he is heralded as a genius. But this famous and celebrated dancer and choreographer was diagnosed with schizophrenia in 1919, at the age of 30. His diary, kept in early 1919, clearly exhibits the signs of thought disorder associated with schizophrenia. But given the nature of the disease and its gradual onset, it is reasonable to assume that he was schizophrenic before 1919. Is it, however, reasonable to assume that he was suffering from schizophrenia as early as 1912 or 1913? Did the disordered thought processes associated with the disease interfere with his ballets, or were they in any way responsible for the unusual nature of his choreography? If this is the case, should Nijinsky’s choreography be heralded as the work of a genius, or studied as that of a madman? In order to determine whether or not Vaslav Nijinsky was, in fact, insane during the creations of L’Aprés-Midi d’un Faune, Jeux, and Le Sacre du Printemps, we must first examine the effects of the disease itself, as well as its repercussions in the creative work of the insane.

Schizophrenia: signs and symptoms

In 1896, the psychiatrist Kraepelin announced an important discovery: most of the patients in asylums suffered from the same disorder, characterized by a number of common symptoms. Kraepelin named this disorder dementia praecox, or a demetia of adolescence, because of its onset during adolescence. The term schizophrenia later replaced this misnomer: coined by the psychiatrist Dr. Bleuler in 1911, it is derived from the Greek scixw + frhn: i.e. split or cleft mind. However,

The literal translation "split personality" has caused its own problems, because some people have interpreted the split as a split into two parts. In fact, the "split" in schizophrenia was never intended to mean a split in two, but a split into broken pieces. "Shattered" would be a better translation. In schizophrenia the sense of self is disrupted, and disconnected from the senses. What results is usually a withdrawn person who has bizarre belief systems (but not a fixed delusion, rather one that itself is fractured and changes unpredictably).

The major signs of schizophrenia have been categorized by McKenna as abnormal ideas and perceptions, formal thought disorder, motor, volitional and behavioural disorder, and emotional disorders.

Foremost among abnormality of perception and ideas is the delusion, and foremost among delusions is that of paranoia. To a schizophrenic, the world around him is filled with symbol and meaning, and most of this meaning revolves around the patient himself. Simple actions, such as a car passing him on the street, can be interpreted as part of a grand, paranoid scheme in which the entire world is persecuting him. Common as well is the delusion of grandeur, often tainted with the religious, in which the patient believes himself to be driven by a divine motive, or may even be God himself. These delusions are usually repetitive and intrusive, and are usually reinforced by auditory hallucinations. However, although he sees symbols and symbolism everywhere, the schizophrenic is consistently unable to describe or explain these symbols to the sane man with any regularity or coherence.

One of the most peculiar and disconcerting symptoms of schizophrenia, however, is that of formal thought disorder. Schizophrenic speech reflects this thought disorder, which "refers to disturbances in the form of thinking – that is, its structure, organization, and coherence – which manifest themselves as a loss of intelligibility of speech". Kraeplin identified this as stemming from a derailment of thought, while Bleuler states that it was loosening of association which was at fault. In any case, schizophrenic speech exhibits several bizarre characteristics, including the invention of new words, alogia, lack of associations, and the ‘word salad’ effect of general incoherence.

The schizophrenic also exhibits bizarre and disorderly movement patterns, ranging from a repetition of uniform but purposeless motions to complete catatonia. But simpler disorders of movement are evident; the patient may adopt new mannerisms associated with everyday activities, sit in extreme, statuesque postures, walk in twisting, extravagant, or stooped movements, or simply stop an action right in mid-sequence. At some catatonic moments, they seem impossible of motion, while at other times they cannot sit still, but rub their hands, rock backwards and forwards, or fidget incessantly. The schizophrenic’s movements appear abnormal and even grotesque precisely because of their repetitiveness, purposelessness, and general twisted or stilted quality. Generally, however, schizophrenics appear to conceive of motion in flat, static terms.

A final crucial symptom of schizophrenia is evidenced by inappropriate emotions. Particularly important is the symptom of flat affect:

"… the subtleties of an individual’s emotional state are constantly being signaled to others, largely unconsciously, by facial expression… It is this that becomes diminished, lost, or altered in schizophrenia. When mild, the effect is noticeable, if intangible: there is… ‘something queer, cold, rigid, and petrified…’ When more marked, a definite lack of responsiveness to emotive topics can be pinpointed: the patient may discuss unpleasant and even horrific experiences casually and matter-of-factly."

Because of this flattening of affect, patients appear unresponsive or simply withdrawn, and usually retreat from social situations; in less pronounced cases, patients appear aloof or disinterested. In general, however, schizophrenics have difficulties with all facets of interpersonal relationships, whether in simple conversation or in a long term commitment to a marriage partner, because of a loss of ability to communicate effectively in speech and in affect – problems only compounded by the factor of delusion.

Evidence for Nijinsky’s Schizophrenia pre-1919

Nijinsky was diagnosed as a schizophrenic in 1919. This should not prove too surprising, considering that his brother was also a schizophrenic, which would allow him a 10% chance of developing the disease. But one does not become schizophrenic overnight: the onset of the disease is slow, and thus his descent into his illness must have begun much earlier. Most schizophrenics are only officially diagnosed after the behaviour has become significantly outrageous or dangerous: many have lived with the milder, accumulating symptoms beforehand. In Nijinsky’s case, his behaviour in several incidents became erratic enough to convince Romola that he was insane as early as 1917 or 1918. It is also known that the symptoms of schizophrenia which involve the "excess or distortion of normal functions" may "fluctuate over time". With these facts in mind, it is interesting to wonder when exactly the first signs of schizophrenia in Nijinsky were in evidence.

It is entirely possible that Nijinsky may have begun his descent into schizophrenia far earlier than imagined. First of all, Schizophrenia usually comes on in the teenage years or early twenties. Although Dr. Castillo explains the latency of Nijinksy’s illness as due to his dependant relationship on Diagilev, it may simply be that Nijinsky’s situation disguised the symptoms of his oncoming illness. He was sheltered significantly by Diagilev, and did not have to face much of reality within the fantasy world of the theatre. He was also a quiet man and did not talk much; thus the revealing of his possible thought disorders proved unlikely.

There is some significant evidence in Nijinsky’s behaviour that he may have been slightly schizophrenic as early as 1913. This evidence is almost entirely summarized by Hilda Munnings’ observations of the dancer when she joined the company in 1913:

"In appearance Nijinksy was himself like a faun – a wild creature who had been trapped by society and was always ill at ease. When addressed, he turned his head furtively, looking as if he might suddenly butt you in the stomach. He moved on the balls of his feet, and his nervous energy found an outlet in fidgeting: when he sat down he twisted his fingers or played with his shoes. He hardly spoke to anyone, and seemed to exist on a different plane. Before dancing he was even more withdrawn, like a bewitched soul. … Even though he was always surrounded by people, [he] seemed always to be alone; he was incapable of mixing in any way.

This quotation alone provides strong evidence for a suspicion of schizophrenia: reticence, inability to communicate with others, illness at ease, a persecution anxiety, and excessive fidgeting. Munning’s observation that "he seemed to exist on a different plane" may be more correct than she realized at the time.

If Nijinsky’s schizophrenic symptoms had been present, if only mildly, in 1913, could this have been perceived in his work? More specifically, can we detect elements of schizophrenia in Nijinsky’s choreography of his three ballets in 1912-13? In order to do so, we must examine the ways in which schizophrenic symptoms are expressed creatively.

Schizophrenia and Creativity

With such a dissociation of elements, clearly disorganized thought patterns, and lack of communicative tools or needs, many schizophrenics find it impossible to be creative. They lack the congruity and linear qualities of thought which tie the creative act together, as well as the mental capacity to conceive of a task and to carry it through to completion. However, some schizophrenics do manage to create; in fact, modern studies have given convincing evidence that "among artists disorders of the schizophrenic spectrum and psychopaties were most common… a surprising but clear association between the creative gift and the risk of schizophrenia…" In his study of the art of the insane, MacGregor identifies several schizophrenic artists, some of which had never painted before, but suddenly asked for paints and paper, while others were acclaimed artists before they became insane. As for the former, ‘Richard Nisbett, Mariner’ constantly drew maps "covered with writing, rich in schizophrenic word play, with the various land masses chaotically dispersed, but carefully labeled and painted". The latter cases may have had more tools with which to express themselves: Paul-Max Simon records that a patient who had been trained as a draftsman drew in a style "characterized by an absolute correctness of execution, offering to the eye a markedly harmonious effect", but one who had had no previous training "could not manage to trace the dreams which presented themselves to his imagination". As artists descend into insanity, their subject matter may become more odd and fantastic, oftentimes relating to the patient’s delusional systems, and the patient may come to believe that he is a divine instrument.

What characteristics distinguish the art of the insane? The Italian psychiatrist Lambroso was probably the first to offer categories identifying psychotic art; a few of his thirteen features of the art of the insane include originality in form and material, overall uselessness, repetition and uniformity of images, minuteness of detail, general absurdity and eccentricity, atavism or primitivism, obscenity and sexuality, and extreme symbolism. Many of these categories remain undisputed today. It is clear that much schizophrenic art incorporates atavistic or childlike qualities, and the overwhelming use of symbols and allegories, sometimes decipherable only to the patient himself, cannot be ignored. Similarly obvious is the often blatant sexual imagery that is often associated with psychotic art. Paul-Max Simon also noted a direct relationship between the formal problems of speech later associated with schizophrenia, and the art of the insane: "In the same way that among these patients disorders of speech are at times extremely evident, the combinations of lines in their drawings can often be extremely complicated, or the colors which they use to illuminate their pictures can be absolutely untrue to nature." Patients may place themselves at the centre of their creation, congruent with their persecution fantasies, and much in the way of representation becomes static, iconographic, and frozen. They will also commonly cover every square inch of their paper with drawings, writings, or scribbles, and will often fill in an amount of detail that make their pictures surreal and absurdist. Symmetry and perspective are not usually in evidence; as many are so focussed on filling every space on the page, they do not care for these types of congruency. It is also important to note the fear of three-dimensionality which schizophrenic patients exhibit in art-therapy.

The Italian Silvano Arieti summarized schizophrenic creativity in the 1960’s in an interesting hypothesis. According to Preti, Arieti believes that "though processes typical of schizophrenic patients can favour the development of unusual mental associations which can, in turn, be inspiring to the creatively gifted individual, above all in the artistic field. Arieti supports his hypothesis in many ways, indicating the extraordinary talent of schizophrenic patients in coining new words, and giving many examples of the artistic production of patients confined in Asylums in the first half of this century. The works of these artists are often very odd and disquieting, but although unusual they do not posses the requisite of being ‘socially enjoyable’, which is essential if a product is to be judged as creative." Thus, the formal qualities of schizophrenic art, as well as its reception by the ‘normal’ viewer, can often be directly associated with the many and bizarre symptoms of the disease.

Evidence for Nijinsky’s Schizophrenic Tendencies in 1912-1913

Nijinksy’s three works, Prélude d’Après Midi d’un Faune, Jeux, and Sacre du Printemps, were all choreographed in the period of 1912-1913. Historically, he has been celebrated for his creation of a new art form in place of classical ballet; his choreography is distinctly unusual, even bizarre, and breaks easily through the previously conceived limits of the world of dance. If, however, Nijinsky was already suffering from mild schizophrenia in 1913, then we should be able to detect elements of schizophrenic art in this unique choreography. Indeed, in the light of the above summaries of the art of the schizophrenic, an analysis of Nijinsky’s creations indicates that the possibility of schizophrenic influences in these three ballets is unusually high.

Motion

Most striking of all in Nijinsky’s ballets is the new visual language, which combined new shapes, asymmetrical poses, and awkward, pigeon-toed steps in an effort to be totally centered on raw emotion in dance and music. Stiff and angular, his dancers were often compared to paintings on an ancient Greek urn. Movement seemed rather to be a jerky connection of uncomfortable postures, described as "epileptic fits" by one observer, and no easy symbols (such as pantomime or conventionalized steps) were provided for the audience to grasp. Arms and feet are twisted, contorted, placed into abstract positions, and a critic complained about Nijinsky’s "turning those exquisite ballerinas … into stiff and awkward puppets" In Jeux, the dancers were said to "move with the angularity of clockwork figures. Everything is at an angle. The only thing with a curve in it is the lost ball." Above all, however, was the lack of flow; instead of one movement proceeding naturally to the next, Nijinsky’s choreography demands its dancers to make instant and dramatic changes in posture and direction, resulting in halting, disconnected tableaux. In all these respects, Nijinsky’s choreography can be seen to be shattered, unpredictable, and lacking flow or unity: in essence, a "word salad" of strange figures and postures, comparable to the fragmented art common of schizophrenics.

Also unusual in terms of choreography are the elements of the formal motion itself. The dancers in Prélude, especially, are seen in two dimensions: hips square to the audience, head in profile, toes twisted to the side, the women dance in a line, flattened against the stage. Asymmetry is also fundamental to the overall design of Sacre, as are circular motions, movements, and spacings. The overall quality of the dances is surprisingly abstract: as one writer described Jeux as "[not] to be about sport and triangular love-making, [but] in reality … abstract, concerned neither with sporting movements nor human feelings, an essay in formal design." These elements of two dimensionality in three dimensions, asymmetry, and abstraction are all qualities shared in schizophrenic art.

Atavism

The influence of the primitive on Nijinsky is extremely clear in Sacre du Printemps: the entire ballet is set in pagan Russia, and surrounds the sacrifice of a virgin to the sun god. Even in Faune, the movement is said to capture the style of a Grecian urn. Nijinsky rejects the forms, vocabulary, and movements of classical ballet, moving back in time through dance in an attempt to portray real, raw emotion. In an American interview, Nijinsky was said to have shunned the conventionally beautiful desired in classical ballets, confessing: "my own inclinations are ‘primitive’". It is true that, today, we do not consider this regression from the classical language into a primitive one as necessarily a sign of psychosis:

"[In the early 20th century] Matisse, Picasso, Braque, Derain, and many others were convinced of the need to reject the traditional notion of beauty. They were drawn to primitive art precisely because it came from a different conception of the beautiful and of the purpose of art. Within aesthetics the possibility that other, radically different, ideas about what is beautiful might exist was now finding acceptance … In this revolutionary atmosphere, the art of untrained amateurs, children, savages, and the insane suddenly emerged as profoundly beautiful expressions of the human image-making impulse…"

Although Nijinsky worked in this period, it is nonetheless important to note that atavism is considered a sign of schizophrenic art.

Symbolism

It is interesting that Nijinsky on the whole rejects the symbols and cues usually preferred in classical ballet. In his creation of a new dance vocabulary, it is significant that, although the dancers knew that something new was required of them, they could not understand his demands. This may have led to the legendary tension at Nijinsky’s rehearsals. It is also important that "the significance of the choreography of Jeux, which was highly free and original, went unnoticed at its first performance. Both Karsavina and Ludmilla Schollar … had also found it difficult to grasp the significance of what Vaslav wa attempting. The highly intelligent Karsavina later confessed that she was confused by the fact that Nijinksy could not explain the significance of the movements he asked her to make, but simply wanted her to parrot them." Although Nijinksy may have considered his own choreography highly symbolic, as may be expressed in his repetitive use of geometric and circular floor patterns, this was not a set of symbols accessible to his audience or to his dancers.

Affect

It may be a bit uncanny for most viewers of Faune or the reconstructed Sacre that the dancers’ faces are flat and expressionless. This is because, according to Nijinksy’s new choreography, only the body speaks. An interesting story is told of Bewick’s rehearsal for the part of the sixth Nymph in Prélude d’Après-Midi d’un Faune:

"When towards the end, [Bewick] had to come on alone to confront the Faun, then walk off with hands raised, she put on a frightened expression. Nijinksy reprimanded her, asking, ‘Why do you make that face?’ She replied, ‘I thought I was meant to be frightened.’ He said, ‘Never mind what you thought. Do no more than I tell you. It is all in the choreography.’"

In spite of the historians’ claims that Nijinsky did not allowed the face to express emotion in order to let the body speak, this flatness of affect is clearly related to one of the primary signals of schizophrenia.

Detail

Another important and unique aspect of Nijinsky’s choreography is his incredible attention to detail. Sacre was indeed a challenging work musically, but a full 120 rehearsals were required before Nijinsky was satisfied with the dancers. "Nijinksy would allow no latitude in the interpretation of his choreography; every movement had to be exact, precisely as he set it." Nijinsky himself declared "Choreography should be precise", and set about giving individual dancers exacting instructions, often demonstrating the moves himself and requiring their exact reproduction. This was not common practice at the time, and reportedly frustrated the dancers to no end. However, this tendency may have been not a product of Nijinsky’s personal perfectionism, but rather related to the same minuteness and exactness of detail found in the schizophrenic’s creative products.

Eroticism

By all accounts, sexuality and eroticism plays a definite role in Nijinsky’s ballets. The sexual tension in Prélude, between the faun and the nymph, and the "highly charged sexuality" in Jeux’s love triangle, were noted by the audience and critics of the Nijinsky’s time. The action in Sacre is called a "series of ogasmic dances"; the men in Sacre are described as in "sexual panic" before executing a "stylized rape"; and the last twitch of the virgin on the ground has been called "the orgasm of the god". A critic for Le Figaro wasted no words in describing the true essence of Après-Midi thus:

"We are shown a lecherous faun, whose movements are filthy and bestial in their eroticism, and whose gestures are as crude as they are indecent… Decent people will never accept such animal realism."

Finally, there is the controversial ending of the Prélude, in which the faun lowers himself slowly onto the nymph’s veil and "consummates his union with it, taut on the ground, by a convulsive jerk. We are to imagine that this is his first sexual experience." By all accounts, the exact nature of Nijinsky’s final movement as the Faun are uncertain. It is clear that the movement is a "stylized orgasm", but Nijinsky may, in the first performance, have slid his hands under his body in this last moment, giving the impression of masturbation. In any case, the sexual associations were made brutally and indecently clear, as they usually are in schizophrenic art. Persecution

The virgin in Sacre du Printemps is chosen because she alone stumbles and falls in a group of women performing identical steps. The women then crowd around her, circling her and threatening her with violent motions. Essentially, the entire second act is centred around this virgin, at centre stage in the centre of the inscribed circles. She then is forced to dance to her death, forced to jump and leap repetitively until she is so exhausted that she collapses.

I do not consider it too farfetched to relate the story of this virgin sacrifice to Nijinsky himself. Remember that Nijinsky was the dancer famed for his fabulous leaps, which awed and amazed the public. His last performance, in 1919 in which he attempted to "dance the war", bears a striking resemblance to that last dance of the virgin in Sacre:

"The public sat breathlessly horrified and so strangely fascinated. They seemed to be petrified… And he was dancing, dancing on. Whirling through space, taking his audience away with him to war, to destruction, facing suffering and horror, struggling … to escape the inevitable end. It was the dance for life against death."

"Then, Nijinksy danced a number in the aerial style expected of him [i.e. his famous leaps and jumps], and at the end of it placed his hands on his heart and said, ‘The little horse is tired.’"

Essentially, Nijinsky danced himself to exhaustion in the same way that the virgin does in the ballet, surrounded and persecuted by a heartless audience. It is impossible to know whether or not Nijinsky did identify with the virgin sacrifice, consciously or unconsciously. In any case, his paranoia is in full swing by 1919, and I would suggest that early traces of this core schizophrenic symptom can be seen in the Sacre du Printemps.

Audience Response

A final, important clue as to the sanity of the creator is that of audience response. We have seen Arieti insist that ‘social enjoyability’ is a crucial distinguishing factor in insane art, and many other psychiatrists have insisted that schizophrenic art is not useful. According to Dr. Vertesi, a critical sign of schizophrenia is the acute discomfort experienced by the interviewer; whereas manic depressives may make one feel uplifted and excited, there is something in the underlying thought process of a schizophrenic that makes the sane person highly uncomfortable. The audience reactions during the opening performances of Après-Midi d’un Faune and Sacre du Printemps clearly indicate that the audience was put considerably ill at ease. Many insisted that Nijinksy was making fun of them, or laughing at their expense, and others simply hooted for "un docteur, deux dentistes!" Many young artists, however banded together and praised his works. And in Nijinsky’s case, it can be argued that the end result was so ingeniously new that it was not understandable to the majority of his audience. However, the movements could also be seen as so far removed from understandability as to be psychotic.

Creativity, Genius, and Insanity

Was Nijinsky’s insanity responsible for the creation of Sacre and Prélude? Or was it simply the sign of complete genius? Unfortunately, it is difficult to tell. The links between insanity and genius have been examined several times over the centuries, beginning with Aristotle. Lambroso believed sincerely that all men of genius were necessarily men of insanity, and attempted to prove it not only through a comparison of art but also linking physical characteristics such as left-handedness or dwarfish stature. It has been argued as well that geniuses may hold a substantial number of personality traits in common with schizophrenics, and are more likely to be related to someone with a mental disorder, if they are not so afflicted themselves. And Ludwig has also presented that mental disturbances average at about 72% among artistic professions.

It seems that there may be a link between schizophrenia or schizophrenic tendencies and those associated with creative geniuses. This should not be so surprising in light of Mednick’s definition of creativity: that "the creative thinking process.. [is] the forming of associative elements into new combinations which either meet specified requirements or are in some way useful". Therefore, it should hardly be surprising that schizophrenia can play such a large role in what is deemed ‘creative’. The disturbed thought processes characteristic of a mild schizophrenic may combine previously unassociated concepts in a way which is ‘useful’ enough to be considered ‘creative’. In any case, the creation of something as entirely new as Nijinsky’s dance may, at this stage, be considered equally an indication of genius and of insanity.

Conclusion

Given a study of the symptoms of schizophrenia, as well as the characteristics of creativity in schizophrenics, it is entirely likely that Nijinksy may have begun his descent into insanity as early as 1912. Certainly, elements can be seen in his work that relate surprisingly well to characteristics identified with psychotic art. It may in fact be that Nijinsky’s Prélude D’Après- Midi d’un Faune, Jeux, and Le Sacre du Printemps were the products of a deranged mind.

Eighty years later, however, we have a perspective on Nijinsky’s work that his contemporaries lacked. We now know that, insane or not, Nijinksy’s new movement vocabulary had a significant impact on the dance world:

"By breaking up movement, by returning to the simplicity of gesture, Nijinksy has restored expressiveness to dancing. All the angularities and awkwardness of this choreography keep the feeling in… Nijinsky makes the body itself speak. It only moves as a whole, as one block, and its speech is expressed in sudden bounds with open arms and legs, or in sideways runs with bent knees and with the head lying on one shoulder … he is no longer obliged to run one gesture into another or to consider their relationship with those which follow…"

It was Nijinsky’s ability to create an entirely new concept of dance, whether due to his schizophrenia or his genius, which has inspired generations of dancers since. As the inheritors of a dance world dramatically influenced by dance innovators such as the Denishawn company and Martha Graham, we must recognize Nijinsky’s genius and/or insanity as responsible for the changed conceptions, possibilities, and perceptions of dance in the twentieth century.

Appendix A: Examples of Schizophrenic Formal Disorder

Derailment of Speech:

Interviewer: (Tells the donkey and the salt story and asks patient to tell it in his own words.)

Patient: A donkey was carrying salt and he went through a river, and he decided to go for a swim. And his salt started dissolving off him into the water, and it did, it left him hanging there, so he crawled out on the other side and became a mastodon… It gets unfrozen, it’s up in the Arctic right now; it’s a block of ice, the block of ice gets planted … You can see they’re like, they’re almost like a pattern with a flower; they start from the middle and it’s like a submerged ice cube that’s frozen into the soil afterwards.

(Rochester and Martin, 1979, in McKenna, 13)

Incoherence and Neologisms:

Interviewer: (Asks patient to interpret the proverb ‘don’t change horses in mid-stream’.)

Patient: That’s wish-bell double vision. Like walking across a person’s eye and reflecting personality. It works on you like dying and going into the spiritual world but landing in the vella world.

(Harrow and Quinlan, 1985, in McKenna, 13)

Grandiose Delusions, Repetition, and Derailment:

"To Man,

I cannot call you by name because you cannot be called by your name. I am not writing to you quickly because I don’t want you to think that I am nervous. I am not a nervous man. I am able to write calmly. I like writing. I do not like writing fine phrases. I never learned to write fine phrases. I want to write down thoughts. I need thought. I am not afraid of you. I know you hate me. I love you as a human being. I do not want to work with you. I want to tell you one thing… I am not dead. I am alive. Within me lives God. I live in God, God lives in me…I have not called you friend, because I know that you are my enemy. I am not your enemy. An enemy is not God. God is not an enemy. Enemies seek death. I seek life. I have love. You have spite. I am not a predatory beast. You area predatory beast. Predatory beasts do not like people. I like people. Doestoevsky liked people. I am not an idiot. I am a human being. I am an idiot. Doestoevsky is an idiot. You thought I was stupid. I thought you were stupid. We thought we were stupid. I don’t want to decline. I don’t like declensions… I was God. I am God within yourself…

You are mine. I am God.

You have forgotten that God is.

I have forgotten that God is.

You are within me, and I am within you.

You are mine, and I am yours.

You are the one who wants death.

You are the one who loves death.

I love love love…

You are a vmuzhay I am a vmuzhay

We are vmuzhai, you are vmuzhai…

You are a woodpecker, I am not a woodpecker,

You knock and I knock

Your knock is your knock, but mine is a knock

Knock-knock, knock, in a knock there is a knock…

…You are a spiteful man, but I am a lullabyer. Rockabye, bye, bye, bye. Sleep in peace, rockabye, bye. Bye. Bye. Bye.

(Letter to Diaghilev, 1919. The Diary of Vaslav Nijinsky, 254-261)

Sr:http://www.oocities.org/jvertesi/nijschizo.html

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lilacflamesss · 7 years ago

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Sicilian Defense (Trivia)

Thank you very much, everyone for reading our fic and for those of you who left comments about it as well! We’re really happy! For those of you who haven’t read Vampire Knight, here’s some important things to take note of while reading our fic Sicilian Defense.

This post is spoiler-heavy for the Vampire Knight manga, not in terms of the plot but more so for how their world and society functions. I linked the wiki in my previous post but I realize that not every bit is relevant and it might be pretty confusing in certain areas (like the twins’ curse in the wiki, which is irrelevant to the story).

So I sieved some important information out. If I think of anything else you guys need to know, I’d simply add it into here and tell y’all about it. [Disclaimer: While I do love VK and am following up VKM, I have to admit that I am not as familiar with the universe as I used to be and there might be certain mistakes here and there. If anyone sees any issues, do feel free to point it out to me and I’ll correct it.]

Despite how the world of VK seems, it’s actually a post-apocalyptic kind of world and I believe the plot actually takes place thousands of years in the future.

Vampires

While vampires are pretty common in the society, their existence is kept as a secret from most humans, aside from Vampire Hunters. Some do know of them, though, but it’s a rare case.

Vampires are actually mutations of the human race. Unlike conventional vampires, they can go out in the sunlight, though they don’t seem to like it. They’re stronger than humans of course. Vampires still get hungry for normal human food and they still eat the usual meals of a day. They just have an additional thirst for blood that they have to deal with. Things like crosses don’t really ward them off I believe, but there are in-universe equivalents of them such as certain charms done by the Vampire Hunters.

The vampire society is highly hierarchical and it is mandatory for lower classes to respect higher classes, especially purebloods. When Ayato appears in the story, you’ll see even those around him addressing him as ‘Ayato-sama’. This is usually the case for even close associates in the VK universe, though there might be some exceptions.

Pureblood vampires (Level A) are the top of the hierarchy. They’re descendants of the first ever vampires and their blood had never been contaminated by human blood at all. They’re all born as vampires and are immortal (they won’t die naturally-- they have to be killed). They’re technically the royalty of the vampire society. They are very powerful, though even VK hasn’t revealed the true extent of their powers. Among their abilities, I think that all you guys need to know that they’re capable of manipulating the memories of others and commanding the humans they’ve turned into vampires like mere puppets.

Purebloods have the purest, thickest blood and it’s usually delicious to most vampires. Their blood is also somewhat ‘sacred’ (for a lack of a better word I can think of right now). In VK, when the blood of the pureblood dorm president was spilt, the whole NIght Class could smell it and they were unnerved by it. The blood of a pureblood, I believe, is also capable of helping someone strengthen themselves, but a vampire who drinks it is also somewhat bound to that pureblood.

There’s also a hierarchy within the purebloods. In VK, originally, there is a monarchy that governs the society but it was done away prior to the story. In our fic, the monarchy does still exist and it’s the Kirishima family that is in-charge of things. Therefore, Touka, as the oldest Kirishima alive, is the Vampire Queen and her younger brother is the Prince. Any other pureblood family is technically subordinate to her, but that doesn’t mean power struggles and opposition is absent. Like any monarchy, there will always be attempts to overthrow the existing ruler. For now, notable pureblood families aside from the Kirishimas are the Yomos and the Yoshimuras.

For those of you who read VK, the Kirishimas are technically modelled after the Kurans. Touka = Kaname, who is regarded as the Vampire King, and Ayato = Yuki, the heavily sheltered Vampire Princess, and, yes, we did get rid of the incest bit so as a disclaimer, if there ever is a scene of Ayato drinking Touka’s blood, see it as an older sister feeding her younger brother and not how VK would originally have implied it.

Aristocrat/Noble vampires (Level B) form the next level. They’re also like the purebloods in the sense that they’re born as vampires. These guys have a little bit of human blood in them. They’re also not immortal but they live for very long. They usually also have sophisticated lifestyles and huge families.

These guys have abilities that are unique to the individuals. Some of them can control fire, ice, animals, etc. Some can create illusions. One guy can create a whip out of his blood. So these kinds of abilities will be present in our fic as well. They’re also able to manipulate memories.

The Night Class is predominantly formed by Aristocrats. Aside from the ghouls I’ve listed as purebloods and Hinami, everyone in TG who’s a natural ghoul is a Aristocrat vampire in this AU. The Tsukiyamas, White Suits and Blades are famous Aristocrat bloodlines.

Humans bitten by them do not turn to vampires.

Ex-human vampires (Level C-E) form the bottom of the hierarchy. They’re all humans turned into vampires after being bitten by a pureblood. It is actually a crime for a pureblood to turn an unwilling human into a vampire, just like what happened with Hinami. They tend end up as puppets of the pureblood that turned them. While it’s possible to resist, usually an ex-human does the bidding of said pureblood.

Aside from Hinami and Kaneki, all artificial half-ghouls from TG are ex-humans, like Seidou.

It usually takes some time for a human to transition into a vampire and when that happens, they become a Level D vampire.

Level Ds function normally, but as time pass, they start going crazy from thirst. An ex-human vampire that gives in and falls into complete insanity. In such cases, they will become literal monsters and start attacking everyone they see. They are usually not savable and are listed to be exterminated by the Hunter Association. These guys are known as Level E vampires.

Every ex-human will eventually fall to this level, not matter how strong they are. The only way out of it is if the ex-human is able to drink the blood of the pureblood that turned them into a vampire. By doing so, they will become a Level C vampire and they will be able to maintain their sanity. Generally, they live long lives as well but are not immortal.

A Level D drinking the blood of another pureblood can help to delay the process of changing into a Level E, though it’s not a complete cure.

TLDR for this segment; Hinami is gonna go crazy if she doesn’t drink the blood of the vampire that turn her. Drinking Ayato’s or Touka’s blood can help her a little, but not completely.

Blood

Blood tablets are pills made to serve as an alternative to blood and vampires usually take them to quench their thirst. The usual dosage is 2 pills at a time, though some with extreme thirst might chug down many at one go. They’re not as delicious and usually vampires opt to drink blood instead.

Vampires don’t necessarily thirst for human blood. They can drink from each other as well.

When one is in love with someone, their thirst won’t be quenched unless they drink the blood of the person they’re in love with, regardless of the person’s race. (If I ever write a Touken spin-off based on this AU, this might be a problem...)

Hunters

Technically, Vampire Hunters are humans. They’re the ‘police’ that protect humans from vampires. They’re permitted to kill, but mainly only Level Es.

Hunters are generally born into the job because their bloodlines contain a little bit of vampire DNA within. The more vampire-blood they have in them, the more vampire-like they are so they’re stronger and they live longer.

Kaneki is over a hundred years old in this fic and he still maintains a youthful appearance due to thi. His role is basically that of Cross Kain in VK (headmaster of the academy, ex-hunter, 100 years old hot daddy material), but of course the plot and character traits are different.

The CCG officers in TG are all vampire hunters. Some of them teach in the Academy’s Night Class.

Weapons: Hunters have anti-vampire weapons that can only be made from the metal forged by a particular furnace. Usually, vampires cannot wield them, but there are some exceptions.

Anteiku Academy

Modelled after VK’s Cross Academy, this Academy’s goal is to foster coexistence between vampires and humans and is mostly run by Kaneki, the Headmaster. Touka plays a big role in maintaining it as well behind the scenes.

Day Class: Humans. They generally are unaware that the Night Class is made up of vampires. Most of them look up to the Night Class.

Night Class: Vampires, mostly Aristocrats. Their teachers are mainly from the Hunter Association, sent to keep an eye on them.

Contact between the Day and Night Class is generally not recommended. It is against the rules for a Night Class student to drink the blood of a Day Class student. The vampire secret must be kept.

That’s all I have for now. I’ll add anything in when the time comes and I’ll be sure to reblog this when I do. I hope everyone enjoys reading SD and thank you for all your support!

#tg #tokyo ghoul #tokyo ghoul vampire au

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dreamofcentipedes · 7 years ago

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Do you agree with Linkspooky meta about chapter 125?

Drawing me into the tumblr drama, eh, anon? Because we have very different interpretations of the overall trajectory the series is going to take, our views are naturally inimical, and I don’t really want to start anything that might be considered ‘beef’, because you see…

But you did ask, and fandom’s full of debate, right? Because it’s quite a lengthy meta and I want to provide a sufficient rebuttal, this post is pretty comprehensive and/or exhaustive.

Along with theme-related disagreements, there are two major things in the meta that I take issue with: 1) Itpresents a lot of assumptions as fact without making the case for them, and 2)It expects Ishida’s moral system and values to match the analyst’s own, even ifthere isn’t any evidence for it. I’ll be coming back to these two here and then.

Early on in the meta it makes the argument that the final panel is unlikely to be a 19 because usually reversed Tarot are simply presented as upside down in the manga whereas this one is mirrored. But later, it goes on to argue the case for it being a 16, even though no matter how the image is moved, the 16 will remain in the wrong order, whereas at least in a mirror a 19 can clearly be made out. For that reason I would definitely say a 19 is more likely and could possibly even reflect (lol) Kaneki and Touka’s parallel development.

“Sex isn’t really a net positive or a net negative, it’s just neutral”

This is really justa personal opinion stated as fact, and ignores the very real and very powerfulemotional charge of 125. Such an objective view is far from universal, and inmany circles sex is triumphed as the ultimate form of love, which, I think, iscloser to what Ishida’s view is, judging from the care and dedication he tookto drawing 125. And again:

“having sex doesn’t really resolve any of Kaneki and Touka’sissues”

This reduces theact to just a quick shag without acknowledging the clear emotional significanceof the experience for both the characters, proved both in the chapter andbeyond it. Sex does really resolve their issues when both of their issuesrevolve around the need to be loved. The comment is a subtle reductio ad absurdumwhich tries to instantly dismiss an argument without really fighting it.

“Having sex, or advancing their relationship might solve theirrelationship arc, but it’s tangential to their individual characterarcs.”

Again, itunderplays 125′s significance and the enormous impact a sexual-romanticrelationship can have on one’s character - it seems like it’s trying toclinically separate the two when, the way I see it, the relationship arc hasbecome a major part of their individual characters now. Just look at the endingnarration for Ch 131: “A reminder that the two of them wereonce two”, i.e. they are now one.

“Kaneki isn’t really experiencing a happiness of his inner spiritthough, considering he started crying in the middle of sex and could notexplain why.”

This is another example of stating assumption as fact. I really don’twhy everyone assumes crying has to be a negativething when tears of joy are a well-established concept. He leans intopassionately kiss Touka right afterwards, so why do people assume his heartisn’t in it? I would argue that he does explain why, butchooses not to do so with the unreliability of words, but the certainty ofaction in the kiss. And again, with evidence from recent chapters, he’sclearly drawing strength from his relationship with Touka in trying times forhim.

“There’s also the fact that they’re having this sex in the darkness,with black borders around the panels and constant cut to black. I hope thismakes a good case for why I think the sun isn’t exactly the perfect fit forthis scene.”

Not really, becausethe final page of the chapter is bathed in light, specifically for the sake ofshowing the illumination in their lives, the way I see it. Furthermore, thepanel specifically makes use of that darkness to make it seem as though lightis emanating from Touka over the naked Kaneki, strongly paralleling the SunTarot.

The darkness does in fact serve one of the purposes the meta argues for- to close them off from the rest of the world. But even then theinterpretation of that feature feels unnecessarily cruel. It goes on to arguethat Kaneki and Touka are being selfish for forgetting the troubles of theoutside world for this one brief moment. Considering everything they’ve beenthrough, and all the incredible effort they’ve put in (and are still puttingin, as the following chapters prove), to punish them for relaxing for a few hoursjust seems brutally unfair. Like yelling at Churchill for pouring a brandy in his room after a day hard spent towards the war effort. If this was just sex for the sake of distraction,then why dedicate a whole chapter to it? Why focus so deeply on the strength ofthe emotions involved, and why portray it so beautifully? As we have seen fromthe following chapters, no-one has suffered as a result of their actions,Kaneki and Touka are still working diligently for the future of the Ghoul, andin fact this experience has strengthened Kaneki’s resolve tofulfil his duty as the One-Eyed King rather than undermined it.

That white hair isGiri, not Ninjo. Kaneki stuck his head in the sand as Haise and wilfullyrejected the greater concerns of the world as the Black Reaper, but his senseof duty now is stronger than ever by working in tandem with his feelings ratherthan against them. Having one night of relaxation with a loved one is in no waya neglectful failure of duty, especially when it’s only improved his workethic.

The next partdoesn’t really make much sense to me:

“In a way it’s an unequal love because Touka can never value Kaneki theway Kaneki wants to use her, as a reason to live, as a symbol for all the goodthings that make life worth living.”

Yet not that long ago I was arguing against a meta by the same authorclaiming Touka had an unhealthy and unrequited fixation with Kaneki. Toukadefinitely wants to be a source of support to Kaneki, but that’s because shewants to return the favour for how he once supported her, knowing how much of adifference it makes first-hand. What we’re seeing with Kaneki now is not allthat different to what we were seeing with Touka back in the original manga’sfirst half, and as such, it is both equal and balanced. I’ve just seen so manystretches from people trying to find ways to claim their relationship is unhealthy,when there’s barely been any circumstantial evidence to suggestthat, let alone definitive. If you’re shooting from a tragic axis, then focuson all those death-flags in recent chapters instead - even though I thinkthey’re red herrings, they’re at least more substantial than this ‘toxiclove’ angle I keep hearing about.

“That being said, defining yourself entirely by the relationships youhave in your life and trying to keep them around is in and of itself aflaw.”

And see, this goes back to my major issue #2 with this meta. This isjust a personal opinion. There really has been very little in the manga tosuggest that Ishida thinks the same. I hear this statement like it’s a giventruth, but really Tokyo Ghoul has been much more focused on finding the right people to rely on than giving upon them altogether. The concepts of both :re and Anteiku are heavily lauded byall upright characters in the series and by the series itself; both Kaneki andHinami’s lives going off the rails upon leaving them and various troubled livesfinding peace within them – Yoshimura, Amon, Akira, and pretty much all ofGoat. These two cafes are founded on the story’s very heart, the current serieseven being named after the latter, and they are institutions that representcommunity and family, not strong-willed independence. Both Touka and Kanekihave been punished for trying to take that latter route and are now only nowfeeling something close to peace because they have embraced the former. Thewhole struggle between Humans and Ghouls exist because they reject interspecies relationships andstubbornly persist on their own path and their own way of being. So for thatreason, I highly doubt Ishida shares the same individualist outlook, whetheryou consider that to be personally right or not. His sympathies, and those ofthe series, lie on a more communal and social axis – a kind-of “power offriendship” for adults, acknowledging the rocky roads that relationships can godown, but for the sake of both parties, insisting that they’re worth preservingnonetheless. Tokyo Ghoul triumphs ultimate interpersonal understanding overindividual integrity as the way forward for societies and ourselves.

“At it’s core it’s a struggle of people from two different worlds trying desperately to connect.”

This bit I agree with! Touken is a microcosm of Ghouls and Humans trying to understand each other. Only because to me the relationship seems so clearly positive, I take that as a symbol of hope for the triumph of peace between Ghouls and Humans as has been the goal from the series start. :re is not the same story as the original was and so is free from its trappings of Tragedy; making it possible to view its developments under a very different, and in my opinion more precise, lens.

“Re: and Anteiku before it was a place where both of them were sheltered and allowed to be mostly innocent to the world.”

No, not really. Touka dealt with her father being killed and lived on the streets as a predatory Ghoul before coming to Anteiku, and even when she was there she became embroiled in Investigator-killing and various loved ones put at risk of death. During Kaneki’s time at Anteiku a loving mother was murdered before his eyes, he fought a Dove who detested his very existence, he was almost made into a meal twice by an insane cannibal who pretended to be his friend, and he was kidnapped and tortured for two weeks. In no way can they possibly be considered to be innocent to the world during their time at Anteiku, and the claim holds even less water when referring to :re after everything they’ve been through in the first series. It’s an attempt to paint Anteiku and :re in a negative light when there really isn’t one.

“At some point theoretically the idea is that Touka and Kaneki will decide for themselves what they view as right and wrong, rather than following simply what Yoshimura or Arima told them, or endlessly substituting new parental figures to guide them.”

This is again a substitution of the analyst’s own rhetoric over Ishida’s concepts. Yoshimura’s ideology has no need to be replaced, because the story has only ever lauded his stance, and Touka is clearly benefiting from following his ideology (calmer, wiser, gentler) as well as providing a positive influence to others (through creating a home for them in :re). Yoshimura’s legacy ought to be honoured and not simply thrown away because it’s not Touka’s original idea; no ideologies really are original - you pick up everything from somewhere. Touka has chosen of her own will to adopt Yoshimura’s ways because she has seen firsthand the good it can do people. She’s not blindly obedient - she is capable of thinking otherwise and disagreeing with Yoshimura, as she did plenty in the original series, concerning how to deal with the Doves, Kaneki’s kidnapping, and his decision to save Touka from the Anteiku Raid - so why should her growing respect for his ways now be childlike deferral? Kaneki likewise has his own reasons for continuing Arima’s legacy, as Ishida has taken care to point out for us:

Kaneki is equally capable of turning against his mentor as he demonstrated when he physically fought against Arima. Respecting and adopting other people’s ideas is no great sin if it appeals to your already present sense of right and wrong, as is the case with both of these two. As for the parental figures part, that returns to the “finding the right people” argument I made earlier. Young people have a natural need for an older generation to guide them as they come into their own, as they have now. Demanding that they leave that hole in their heart empty as they continue to make poor, uninformed decisions is like telling a child to skip high school and go straight to work. Both Yoshimura and Arima have made a great contribution towards these two finding their own identities, and towards a huge and necessary step in resolving their parental issues before they can pass into life’s Adult Stage.

“Surely she did that because she wanted to love a man, yet you say she wanted to be loved. It’s a good summary of their relationship and the tragedy of Touka’s own self conflicting selflessness.”

I agree with the Adam and Eve stuff as they will effectively be the parents of the new world of the Half-Ghoul ideology, but not the conclusion drawn from Eto’s speech; isn’t the point that she wants both? To love and be loved? Isn’t that exactly what Touka has received?

“Characters consciously wanting to change but being unable to do so is basically the theme of the past ten chapters.”

…But they have changed. In the past ten chapters before 125, and the chapters after them, characters have been addressing their past mistakes and moving beyond them. Their core desires may remain the same but that’s what makes them them. That’s what good, realistic character development is; to change their behaviour and their outlook without ever changing them into a completely different person. Amon has moved past his grudge against Ghouls and even the specific Ghoul that killed his mentor, and hopes to create what is a truly righteous world; Akira has come to drop her father’s vendetta and understand Ghouls as people; Urie is placing his morals above his position in the CCG; Saiko has finally decided to make a stand; Takizawa has found purpose and selflessness in his life once more along with something like a reason to live;and finally, Kaneki and Touka have talked over their relationship that has thus far been fraught with misunderstanding and reaped their reward, finally discovering the love that both of them have been searching for. That’s what makes this the Sun Arc of revelation. They don’t need to become different people, they just need to become the best versions of themselves.

Then there’s the rest that I can mostly skim over (haven’t read Berserk yet so I haven’t looked too deeply into that segment, but I will say that inspiration =/= exact paralleling):

16 for Tower:

I’ve already made the case for the Sun and I don’t really see what would be the point in doing the Tower again when we’re already long past that point in the Fool’s Journey. The Sun has much more appropriate timing.

Tsukiyama’s betrayal:

Impressive analysis of Tsukiyama’s aesthetic/emotional divide, but considering how chill and even excited Tsukiyama was to hear about the Touken marriage, I think the fandom has collectively misjudged the nature of Tsukiyama’s feelings towards Kaneki. He’s already moved past his obsessive stage in the Rose Arc, and now I think, rather than wanting Kaneki all to himself, he just wants to be his friend because most of his other friends are now dead (a comedic omake doesn’t suggest any truly deep emotion on Shuu’s part). And I don’t think that’s an avoidance of reality. Goat was about bringing people from all corners together past their grudges to form a cohesive unit dedicated to creating a better world.

So Tsukiyama’s forgiveness of Kaneki seems to have been the mature thing to do, similar to Amon forgiving Touka, because they all share the same real enemy: the world - the egg they must shatter. Tsukiyama ending his emotional isolation by joining Goat is thus a positive emotional development his character, and so I highly doubt a betrayal. I think Furuta uttering Shuu’s alias was more of a hint to his identity as Souta than any kind of foreshadowing, and Shuu throwing open the door on Kaneki and Touka is due to him being Kaneki’s second-in-command rather than any symbolic reason.

Hinami will also not defect. I’m concerned that the meta considers Hinami joining Aogiri a positive development for her character and her joining Goat to be negative. Joining a sadistic Ghoul terrorist organisation is never a positive development for anyone’s character, and indeed the narrative punished her for that decision. Aogiri did teach her strength, yes, but Goat allows her to use that strength together with her kindness. Just as it is made very clear that Kaneki was wrong to leave Anteiku, so it is made clear that Hinami was wrong to join Aogiri - the kind of isolated rebellion the analyst prefers is not considered favourably by Ishida, who has consistently championed the benefits of community, teamwork and understanding above the follies of reckless self-destruction.

So yeah, that’s my two-cents where that’s concerned. Sorry for the delay btw anon, but, uh, you can see why.

#tokyo ghoul #tg meta #touken #kanetou #kaneki x touka #ken kaneki #touka kirishima #shuu tsukiyama #hinami fueguchi

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