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darlingmbappe · 2 years ago

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Out of the Dark | Kylian Mbappé x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: Though months of an almost picture-perfect relationship, Kylian still kept you hidden like his own personal secret. How are you supposed to feel like it doesn’t have something to do with how much you weigh?

Warnings: Feelings of being insecure about your weight, slight angst at the beginning, vague sex scene, cussing, not edited very well. Let me know if I missed anything! — English is not my first language —

Masterlist

You’re so proud of him. Truly, he deserves every bit of praise he gets. Even before you’d met him, you followed his career closely, amazed at how someone your age could be accomplishing such monumental achievements. And now, you get to love him intimately, personally tell him how fantastic he is, how much you admire him.

You and Kylian have been together for around eight months, the greatest eight months. It was mutually agreed that your relationship would be kept in the dark from everyone. This seemed like the best idea, what with him having the status he does and you being just an average person. Besides, you’ve never enjoyed the spotlight and we’re happy to keep your weekly grocery store run paparazzi free.

Hidden behind that superficial excuse was the real reason why you were content not being in any tabloids… the bigger body you occupied wasn’t exactly something the media would ignore. You could practically read the headlines already, a reasonable delusion you constantly had to push from your mind in order to stay sane and secure.

It was hard work, learning to love yourself, building up your confidence. You knew you love and accept the body you had, but there was always that little voice in the back of your head saying, ‘am I strong enough to put myself out there like that?’

Kylian seemed relieved when you asked him if the relationship could be kept hush, but now you feel like it’s been too long. You’d brought up the idea of going public after your six month anniversary, but he dismissed it with a quick shake of the head, blaming his agent and how she would freak out if he was announcing a new relationship. She would set him up with dates for all of these events. Models, actresses, and influencers hung on his arm at red carpets while you snuggled alone on the couch, following the events through twitter.

He always assured you that he wished it was you, but it was too complicated. It was a viable excuse at first, but it’s four months away from your one year anniversary. You were tired of dropping hints about beautiful restaurants and romantic spots. You were starting to feel like he wanted to hide you, and not because of his agent would complain or his fans would uproar, but because he was ashamed of you. What a shitty feeling.

“What’s that look, amor?” Kylian asks your reflection in his bathroom mirror.

Not realizing you were lost in thought, you shake your head, leaning against the doorframe. “Nothing.” Smile. “You look great.”

He fixes his tie then turns to you. “Very convincing.”

You try and play it cool, laughing. “No, you seriously look amazing.” It was obvious he didn’t mean that part, but you really don’t feel like having this fight right now.

“So do you.” He grabs your hips, trapping you against him and the door.

Now you really do laugh. “Good one, Ky.”

While he wore a designer suit, you were rocking a pair of boy-short underwear and an oversized hoodie. Kylian was going to another super fancy award ceremony. He was getting a trophy and everything, but you couldn’t be there with him. Instead, he’s going to kiss the cheek of a tall, skinny, gorgeous 21 year old model when his name gets called. She was get to be his date for the night while you — the girlfriend — waited patiently in his bed for him to come home and tell you all about it.

The dynamic of the whole affair sets in, sending a little tang of jealousy and insecurity through your body. He notices how your stare points away from him now as you wiggle out of his grip and trudge towards his bed. Kylian walks toward you as you flip through Netflix without any intention of picking something anytime soon.

“I wish you could come with me.” He offers, his facial expressions ridden with guilt. You respond with a quiet and half-hearted hum, continuing to look through the true crime collection. He picks up your dismissiveness. “You know I do.”

“Mhm.” You didn’t mean the sarcastic tone behind it, it was just a natural reaction.

He sighs loudly, scratching his neck. “If you want to say something, say something. I can’t read your mind.” You continue to flip through shows and movies, trying to mask the sad expression that you surely couldn’t hide much longer. “We agreed to this. We both wanted it this way.”

“Eight months ago.” You add, looking at him now. He looked annoyed, like this conversation was a burden to have. “At some point I want to get out of this house. I feel like we should, I don’t know… rethink that whole part of our relationship.”

“This again?” He shuffles to the corner to grab his shoes with a huff. “You know how complicated that would be. You would hate attention like that.”

“Maybe I would.” You sit up in your spot while he sits at the foot of the bed, his back facing you. “So what? I might not love the attention but at least we get to go out to dinner, or take a walk together, or I could hug you after a match, or act like we’re together at all!”

He finishes putting his shoes on, still facing away from you. Kylian doesn’t say anything back for a while. You just waited for him, he had to say something eventually. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

Not what you wanted to hear.

You nod silently, but that hurt. You watched him grab his phone and wallet on the nightstand as he prepared to leave so he can pick up his literal runway model of a date.

“Are you ashamed of me?” The words came out of your mouth without your permission, but there they were — shifting the mood of the entire conversation without a second of mercy.

He looks back, his eyes rid of any annoyance and replaced with something kind of depressing, a look you’ve never seen from him before. He opens his mouth right as his phone rings, he looks down at it regretfully, sighing out. “One second.” He murmers sorely before he answers it.

You bit the inside of your cheeks to keep the tears at bay. Crying seems like the last thing you want to do right now. You turn your attention back to scrolling through the now very blurry movies on Netflix. He mumbles something about being right down and hangs up. “I…”

“Yeah, yeah. Go.” You assured and bite your cheek harder, feeling the tears right there. “Can’t be late. Not a good look. I get it.” There was a clear harshness behind your permission.

“We’ll talk about this, alright?” He fidgets, making his way to you, kissing your forehead. You feel a tear fall and you wipe it just as quickly, not looking at him. “Hey,” he coos, lifting your chin up wo finally meet his stare. “I am not ashamed of you.” He wipes the tear and kisses your nose. “Okay?”

You nod, sniffling and casually wiping another stray tear away, offering a weak nod. “Okay.”

Kylian felt wrong for walking out at that moment. He knew you wanted to go public but never knew that you were feeling this way. It was something he wanted to unpack, something he wanted to make you feel better about.

That question drove him insane all night. His steak tasted dull, his wine tasted bitter, his date looked like nothing compared to you. She twirled her hair and batted her lashes, assuming he was single. Why wouldn’t she? Nothing in recent news even hinted at any kind of romance going on in the star footballers life, but he knew the truth. He knew who he had waiting for him under his covers, and she deserved better than what he was giving her.

The night crawled by, achingly clapping along with the crowd without really listening to what the applause could be about. After accepting his award, he only wished he could find you in the sea of strangers from the stage. He just wanted to go home. Lay with you, hold your hand, let you know his intentions.

Of course he’d thought about this secret relationship from your perspective. It’s weird, needing a date and not being able to take you, even if you were his girlfriend. He couldn’t help but wonder how he’d feel if the roles were reversed.

They kind of were once, and he hated that feeling with a burning passion. Your office held a Christmas party last year and everyone had to bring a date… something about even numbers for one of the holiday games they’d planned out. You mentioned it in passing that you were going with Neil, the handsome budget analysts that you considered to be one of your good friends. Kylian wanted to pick a fight so bad. He wanted to tell you that he didn’t like you going with someone else… but he couldn’t. You’d endured countless news articles pondering if he was dating one of the many women that accompany him, helped him look spiffy for these events, kissed him goodbye as he went to eat a nice dinner with hot models and actresses. How would that be fair?

Hours went by and you didn’t feel the need to wait up for him. These events could drag on for hours past your bedtime, and your mood tonight in particular didn’t feel up to listening to all the glorious details that he makes out to sound dreadful�� free cocktails, gourmet food, meeting celebrities, making new friends… there were only so many ways to complain about it before it started sounding disingenuous. The more you thought about it the later it got, quickly time spiraled out of your control, finding yourself watching the busy streets of Paris through the open window from the bed. The frustration you felt when your eyes closed and all you saw was Kylian arm in arm with girls that weren’t you put a dreadful feeling in your stomach.

It couldn’t have been later than 1 o’clock in the morning when Kylian returned, his tie loosened, top buttons undone, jacket almost dragging on the ground as he trudged up the stairs, leaving the shiny new trophy by the door.

It’s kind of insane to him how on long days like these he craves your touch, your comfort. He never thought of himself as someone who could be dependent on another person, at least not in this time of his life. With his priorities set on becoming a legendary football star, he didn’t necessarily set aside time for romance, but you just… happened. Someone so unlike the others, your charm reeling him in until he knew he was done for. Helpless.

The pressure of the public eye is brutal. He knows first hand how the media can ruin a relationship, no matter how strong the pillars you stand on are. They find ways to chip you down, make you doubt everything, make you doubt yourself. You were innocent to it all. He wanted to keep you that way. Selfish, sure, but he knew it would eventually cause some vicious issues down the line. It happens every time.

As he walked through the bedroom door, the shape of your silhouette under the covers tugged on his heart. Though his brain was begging him to wash up in the bathroom and go to sleep, his feet lead him to your side of the bed.

He crouched down at eye level with you, petting a gentle hand on top of your head, taking his time to really look at your face. You eyes slowly opened, he offered a tiny smile that he didn’t even realize grew on his face.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, amour.” He cooed, running his thumb over your cheek.

“I can’t sleep.” You groggily respond, closing your eyes at his touch.

He leaned over, kissing your forehead continuously without pulling away. “I’ll come to bed in a second.” He mumbled against your skin before standing, taking off his uncomfortable outfit on the way. He made quick time brushing his teeth and washing his face, changing into a clean pair of boxer briefs before crawling into his spot next to you.

Without thinking twice, his hands latched around your waist, pulling your bodies close together and spooning you with his face nuzzled into your hair.

You were hyperaware of everything. The way that his hand landed on the puff of your stomach, the amount of room you took up on your half of the bed, the roll that formed when you laid on your side like you were. At the beginning of the relationship that’s all you could think about whenever Kylian wrapped his arms around you. It took you a while to not tense up and let yourself melt into his touch, but tonight you were taken back to the beginning. The questioning if you were ever going to be good enough. If you’d ever be taken seriously as a couple. If people thought you two looked weird together, that he could do better than you.

“You’re beautiful.” Kylian eased, snapping you out of your thoughts. He felt your muscles tight under your skin, he just wanted you to relax. “I mean it, (Y/N).”

You didn’t say anything back, gulping to try and get rid of the panicky lump in your throat. He kissed the shell of your ear, reaching his hand under your T-shirt and letting it land on your bare stomach.

You tensed up more, instinct telling you to get up and go to the bathroom or something to get out of this situation.

“Stop, bébé.” He clicked once feeling your squirming. “Let me hold you.”

The longer the two of you stayed silent, listening to each others breathing, basking in the warmth you both provided, you felt more at ease. He shifted slightly, letting himself look down on you while holding himself up on his forearm.

He touched your cheek, tracing tour eyelashes with his thumb. “I’m taking you out to a nice dinner tomorrow night.”

You furrowed your brows. “Out?”

“Mhm.” He kissed the tip of your nose. “That new Thai restaurant you told me about last week.”

The tears swarmed your eyes, a wave of happiness surging through your body like electricity. “Really?” Your voice came out squeaky, laced in weary excitement.

He smiled down at you, kissing your grin onto his own face. “Of course.”

“Oh, baby…” You coo, grabbing his face in your own hands, letting some of the tears run down the side of your face. “Thank you.”

Kylian wiped them away sweetly. “Don’t thank me. I should have done this a while ago. I shouldn’t have kept you hidden away all to myself for this long. It wasn’t fair to you, I’m sorry.”

You pulled his neck down and kissed his passionately, but the pace was slow. Eventually, your tongues greeted each other expertly, his legs climbed over to lay his body on yours, his hand roamed under your shirt to feel your bare tits. It wasn’t long before you both got rid of the minimal layers keeping you apart, desperate to feel safe in each others touch.

He was gentle, loving, caressing every inch. Kylian spent extra time loving on the places he knew you overthought about. The ones that people would point out in the past. He kissed and licked them while praising you, leaving marks to remind you how he felt about you. All of you.

You attempted to roll over and have him take you from behind, but he pushed you down. “I wanna see your face. Wanna watch you. Wanna look at you.” He was borderline incoherent, but completely lucid. He said all the right things, forgetting completely about the surefire wave of trouble that would be headed your way tomorrow night.

Kylian was drunk on your sweet sounds. The continued “ah, ah, ah”’s that escaped your plumped lips drove him insane, cumming inside your shaking walls while watching the pleasure grow on your scrunched face. You came while clutching his biceps, closing your eyes tightly in euphoria.

He cleaned you both up, wiping you down with a wet rag before laying back next to you. This time, he pulled you into his chest while he laid on his back, feeling your body now comfortable and relaxed, listening to your soft snores that tickled his bare chest.

The next morning, Kylian’s side of the bed was empty, but the vague memory of his sweet kiss that landed on your forehead before he left send butterflies to your stomach. The much clearer memory of dinner plans tonight erupted another wave of them, motivating you to get the day started as soon as possible, needing to get home and prep for a night you’ve been waiting for for way too long.

On the doorstep of your humble townhome sat a big white box, a pink letter taped to the top with your name written nicely on top. It was obviously Kylian’s penmanship; neat but a little wonky. You giggled to yourself, bringing the box inside and opening the envelope.

To my sweet (Y/N),

You will look so beautiful tonight. I can’t wait to see you. Be ready by 7:30.

I love you, bébé.

-Kyks

You pressed the card dramatically to your chest, humming at the sweetness overload from your boyfriend. Though you wanted to relish in that moment, you couldn’t take it anymore. You had to see what the hell was in the box.

“Oh, wow…” You gasp as you catch the first glimpse of the dress that sat neatly on the tissue paper. You pulled it out, putting it against your body. It was a pink floral midi dress, form-fitting at the top, looser on the skirt and a slit that ran down the side. It was gorgeous. Perfect. Thank god that Kylian has a sense of style or else you’d be making your debut in an ugly outfit… Even better, you were thankful he knew your size because that thing fit like a glove. Goddamn… you look so sexy in this.

Time flies, it really does. Especially when your brain is working overtime thinking about the absolute worst things that could happen. You couldn’t stop yourself from taking two shots of tequila to calm your jittery nerves, hoping the shaking in your hands or the knot in your stomach would subdue before the knock on the door came. But, alas, it came…

You took a deep breath in the mirror, checking yourself from head to toe. Confidence is something you had to build, and it’s so much harder than people make it out to be. Fake it ‘till you make it can only take you so far, the rest is real work, especially in a world that praises people who look the opposite of you.

You’d hear your thinner friends complain about how fat they looked right in front of you, as if you didn’t have to live in that reality every single day. It was like their worst nightmare was looking like you. They’d tell you “you’re not fat, you’re beautiful!” As if you couldn’t be both. You’d walk closely to the wall and try and take up the most minimal amount of space possible — as if you could hide your size, feeling like every judgmental eye was on you all the time.

It was the little things that added up (along with the more brutal comments you’d get through life), but your skin was thick. Thick, yes. Unbreakable? You were about to find out. As soon as you stepped out under the mercy of the public eye with him… you’ll be tested how much you can actually take. How much this relationship could actually take.

You swung the door open to reveal the most handsome sight you’d ever seen. Kylian wore an all black suit. You thought to yourself that this must be what the models of the past were used to opening their doors to. Now, it’s finally your turn.

Kylian was holding a bouquet of flowers that matched your dress, showing off a huge smile. He seemed like he wanted to speak words, but his eyes spoke for him, much louder than anything his voice could come up with.

He eyed you up and down, a visible gulp making you want to retreat into yourself shyly. “Hi.” You meeped, cheeks sore from the smile you couldn’t shake.

Kylian cleared his throat, blowing out a raspberry. “You…”

He continued to eye you, walking in slowly as you shut the door behind him. “You did good with this dress.” You complimented, taking the flowers from his hands and walking them to your sink to grab a vase.

“The dress is just a dress, amour.” He growled, watching your backside like a lion would his lioness, infatuated with every curve and crease your body created under the material. “You in that dress? Tu blagues?” Are you kidding me? He stood behind you, wrapping his arms around your stomach and kissing your shoulder. “Oh lá lá…”

You laughed, lulling back into his touch, basking in his warm and secure embrace. “You always say the right things, Mbappé.”

He hums, unwrapping his arms and taking the flowers you were cutting from your hands, taking over the process. You stepped back and watched him as he filled the vase up with water, dropping them in with precision, one by one until they displayed beautifully.

He set them next to the bottle of tequila and shot glass you'd left out. He raised an eyebrow at you.

You shrugged. "For the nerves."

"Ah..." He nods, opening the cabinet and grbbing a tiny glass for himself, pouring the golden liquid into each one, holding one out to you. "To nerves of steel." You clinked your glasses, throwing your heads back and shivering as it went down. With a grimace, he shook off the taste of the drink. "Ready?"

Your mouth was dry despite the liquid that still lingered in your mouth. You inhaled deeply, faking a smile on your face while grabbing your purse. "Yep."

Kylian sensed the waver in your confirmation, reaching out to hold both your hands. "They're going to say whatever they're going to say. We can't control their thoughts on our relationship." He kissed your knuckles and all the rings you'd decorated your fingers with. "But we can't let them keep controlling us."

"I love you." You say, looking deep into your man's eyes and thinking about all the emotions you've seen them hold. The frustration after a loss. The playfulness before sex. The adoration during the first I love you that slipped his tongue. The relief that washed away the anxious look when you said it back.

"Your carriage awaits, princesse." He takes your purse and hold your hand, leading you both to the door that he opened for you.

You thanked him as he helped you into the large town car, running around to the other side and sat next to you.

As you neared the restaurant, his hand never leaving your thigh, you just looked at him, taking in every ounce of his being.

He wasn't ashamed of you. He loved you. He cared, he listened, he was perfectly yours. You knew no matter the things you'd surely read about yourself, the things you'd surely think about yourself at times, that Kylain would be a constant. This new chapter might bring some hard times, but you'll stand with Kylian. And he'd stand with you. You knew he would.

A/N: Plus sized ladies never get nearly enough representation on this platform. Hope you all enjoyed, this is something I wrote from my own feelings/experiences being plus sized! Love you all so much.

Taglist: @trentione @mentalbaddie @neymarsrealgf @akiraquote @mrswhitethornbelikov @kymb-10 @formula101x @photmath @marcelineslove @tsikik @iheartkyky @freshfraise @jokertbh @germanapples @urfuturesoccerwife @nightlockcornucopia @laylaynaynay130 @starlight8374 @depressoesssspresso @mbappesbae @ maddyperrezz @gigiboss @xanjoy @lovekm @jkkiks @vvbasmavv-blog @suzysface @ lolarmy72 @lizzz2967 @kylians-world @superswaggycooch @shashla @mehrmonga @abayo222 @missmo79 @tties24-7 @gurleenkl @drewstarkeysbae @ vibinwkay @ctn26 @ippid @i0veless @abayo222 @http-isabela

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bijouxcarys · 4 months ago

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𝑻𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑩𝒊𝒏𝒅 (𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝑹𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒔 𝒙 𝑶𝑪) - 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑭𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏

Masterlist

Character Profiles/Face Claims

Playlist

A/N: We have a new banner! What do we think? I prefer it to the last one for sure. Anyways, this chapter was fun to write. Remember to let me know your thoughts, any feedback is greatly appreciated. And thank you all for the support on this story so far. Enjoy!

CW/TW: Suggestive themes, mild gun play, angst

Tags: @trippinsorrows @empressdede @thetribalqueen @heauxvibez @bigsimperika

@cyberdejos2 @keyaho @headoftheetable @jstarr86 @southerngirl41

@tshepisho @cry1nwhileimcumm1n @maeb99 @thedesireds @dzdndcnfsd

@expert-texpert @niknakbucks92 @sillyteecup @trentybenty @pittieprincess22

(If you want to be tagged in any future Roman fics, just let me know!)

April 2011

Most girls, when turning sixteen, expect glittering parties or sentimental gifts. There’s the Americanised commercialism of the sweet sixteen. Not yet an adult, but not too young that they’re seen as entirely incompetent. A child with little to no responsibilities beyond schooling and perhaps a part-time job or two.

For the Volkovs, turning sixteen was a rite of passage—one that cemented a place in the family business.

As Nate stood in front of her mirror, she smoothed down her silky black dress, carefully chosen to reflect the maturity she was assuming. There was a time when she detested her body as a young teen, not appreciating how her chest increased in size at a faster rate, and a lot earlier, than a majority of her friends. Her friends still had a ways to go, in terms of their growth. Stick thin, for the most part, and bore little curves until years later. Nate, however, seemed heavier than the other girls of her age group, and was often mistaken for someone at least five years her senior.

But now she was sixteen… and this dress… God, she loved how it made her feel. How it made her look. Finally, she was able to wear something she knew would always look good on her.

Barely having another moment to assess the rest of her reflection, Katya came bounding into the room through the swung open door. Full of light, innocence, and unbridled joy.

“Happy birthday!” Katya squealed, her small arms wrapping around Nate’s waist.

Nate grinned, bending slightly to hug her sister back. “Thank you, Kitty Kat. You ready for all the excitement?”

Katya beamed up at her, nodding eagerly. “Yeah! It’s your birthday! That means cake, right?”

It was sweet, how Katya’s definition of excitement was much simpler than what the day truly signified. Nate smoothed a hand over her little sister’s hair and said, “Yeah, cake and everything else.”

The two sisters made their way downstairs, where the living room had been transformed for the occasion. The house was alive with guests, most of them close family friends or trusted associates of Dimitri. Among them were the Sokolovs, whose presence was hard to ignore. Boris and his family had arrived early, as expected. The Sokolovs and the Volkovs were bound by more than just friendship—there was a deep alliance, one Nate had only begun to grasp.

Boris was lounging near the fireplace, already nursing a drink. At twenty-three, he carried himself confidently—arrogantly. His eyes swept over Nate as she entered the room, a smile forming on his lips.

“Natalka,” Boris called out, standing from his chair with a grin. “Happy birthday.”

“Spasibo, Borislav,” she replied, her voice laced with polite indifference. She didn’t particularly like Boris, but she learned early on to tolerate him. He was family, pretty much, and had at least some redeeming qualities. He was just… annoying.

As Nate accepted greetings and congratulations from various guests, she noticed her father standing at the centre of the room, commanding everyone with a clap of his hands to fall silent.

“Today is a very important day,” Dimitri began. “My daughter, my eldest, turns sixteen. And in our family, sixteen is a time of transition.”

The room fell even quieter. Nate stood tall, anticipation building in her chest. She knew what was coming—she had been waiting for it, eager to prove herself, to step into the role she had been raised for.

Dimitri turned toward her, something wrapped in dark velvet cradled in his hands. The crowd shifted, watching with bated breath as he approached his daughter. Unwrapping the velvet with deliberate slowness, he revealed a brand new, polished 9mm SIG Sauer handgun. It gleamed in the soft light, sleek and deadly.

Nate’s eyes widened, but her excitement couldn’t have been louder. She had been around guns before, but this—this was hers. Her own weapon. It symbolised more than just protection or violence. It was a mark of responsibility, a sign that she was no longer just the Volkov princess. She was being brought into the fold.

“S dnem rozhdeniya,” Dimitri said, smiling proudly. “It’s time for you to learn what it means to truly be a Volkov.”

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

4:30pm. She was supposed to be at Roman’s by 5, like they had agreed over text that morning. A boulder threatening to drop at any moment, the arrangement hung over her head. But time was slipping through her fingers like sand. And still… no call from her contact.

Nate wasn’t exactly in a state to go anywhere, especially not to Roman’s place without information. The past few days had been an absolute whirlwind—Roman’s thinning patience with the entire situation, the engagement party, and the constant sense of walking a tightrope with no net to catch her. She could barely focus through the haze of exhaustion. Sleep had been an elusive luxury these last few days; she’d barely strung together four hours in the past 72.

Lana had been kind enough to lend her a car—another favour she’d promised to repay by sending her and Rusev on a trip to Bali or something… God, she owed them big time. But even with their generosity, Nate felt a suffocating loneliness creeping in. She glanced at her burner phone, its blank screen taunting her.

Why hasn’t she called yet?

Resting her head in her hands, Nate rubbed her temples, trying to stave off a headache. She had to get it together. Roman didn’t tolerate excuses, and he sure as hell wouldn’t appreciate her showing up empty-handed. But she couldn’t walk into his house without a shred of information. That was suicide. As formidable as she could be, she knew she wasn’t in the correct frame of mind to withstand his brooding nature.

Her fingers itched to dial her contact herself, but that wasn’t how these things worked. She’d made the call hours ago, left the message—now it was a waiting game. A game she was losing, and fast. Her heart rate picked up. The anxiety crawled under her skin, making her restless, frustrated.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, pushing herself away from Lana and Rusev’s garage wall and pacing the space.

The world felt off-kilter after the engagement party. Spending the evening with Boris, his hands constantly on her, her father’s speech—still sickening her with the chilling finality of his words being the future of the Volkov empire. And Katya… God, Katya.

Nate’s fists clenched. She hated it. All of it. But this—working with Roman… It could be good for her. Could be. Only if she delivered.

She looked at the clock again. 4:42pm.

“Fuck.”

The idea of texting Roman, letting him know she wasn’t going to make it on time, should have occurred to her. Any sane person would have done it by now. But something held her back. Maybe it was fear. Or maybe it was pride. She’d become a master at dodging unnecessary confrontations long ago, and the thought of admitting failure—even something as simple as being late—tore at her. If she could just hold out a little longer…

The silence in the room was unbearable, so she grabbed the burner phone again, staring at it like she could will it to ring. Roman was expecting her in 18 minutes. And she had nothing.

Time stretched, her frustration building until her hands began to shake.

For a moment, she thought about just getting into the car and heading to Roman’s place anyway. Maybe something would have come through on the drive over. Maybe she could stall, give herself more time. But she wasn’t sure she had the energy for that level of bullshit.

As she debated her next move, the burner phone rang. Nate nearly dropped it in her scramble to answer.

“Nate,” the voice on the other end sharply greeted.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Roman was in one of his moods—the kind of foul, brooding temper that had everyone around him walking on eggshells. Large frame tensed, strong arms crossed over his chest, he sat back on the couch. His family sat scattered around the living room, waiting for something, anything to bring some clarity. But what they had was silence, the uneasy kind.

“We’ve been at this since morning,” Roman growled, tossing the tablet he’d been using to search for any sign of a connection to the Irish onto the coffee table. “Nothing. Not a single fuckin’ thing that’s useful.”

Solo sat silently in the corner, arms folded, watching his cousin with a steady, unremarkable expression. Jey leaned forward, fingers tapping on the edge of his knee in barely concealed agitation, while Jimmy kept his gaze down, not daring to stoke the fire. Even Sami remained quiet.

“I told you, man,” Jey finally muttered, his tone light, cautious but laced with frustration of his own. “We shouldn’t be trusting her.”

Roman’s glare shifted immediately to Jey. “Who?” he challenged. “Nate?”

“Yeah, Nate,” the Uso shot back, unable to stop himself. “She’s a Volkov, man. You gonna just trust her like that? We’ve been digging all day an–”

“She’s our only fucking lead right now, Jey. What, you wanna throw that away because you don’t like her last name?”

Jey clenched his jaw but didn’t back down. “It’s more than her last name, Uce. She ain’t one of us. She got her own motives, and if we ain’t careful, we the ones that are gonna end up screwed.”

Jimmy gave a slight nod in agreement, glancing towards his twin for support. “Jey’s right, man. She’s late, she hasn’t given us much, and now she’s ghostin’ us when you agreed to meet today.”

“She’s a liability,” Solo added. “We don’t know where her loyalties lie.”

Roman was about to snap back when Paul decided to interject. “Gentlemen, perhaps we’re letting emotions cloud our judgement here. We’re frustrated, yes. But that frustration doesn’t mean we can abandon reason.”

Silence settled over the room once more as everyone assessed the Wise Man’s words. And, unfortunately for him, it was Sami who chose to break it.

“R-Roman… Maybe we should just take a break. Look over all the files with fresh eyes? I’m sure—”

“You’re sure what?” Roman cut him off, tilting his head at the redhead who just sat there, looking like a deer in headlights. “I asked you a question.”

Sami swallowed, hands fumbling together in his lap. “I-I’m sure we could find something… A pattern or something that we didn’t see before…”

Roman stared at him, nodding his head slowly, eyes narrowing as he stood up from his place on the couch. “A pattern…” he mumbled, strolling over to the chair Sami was perched on. “Always somethin’, huh?”

Sami’s eyes darted back and forth between Roman and Jimmy. “Wh–”

“Always got a little thought or opinion.”

“I was just s—”

“Are you tryin’ to be me?” Roman asked with a chilling softness as he peered down his nose at Sami.

Sami’s face dropped, and he stuttered. “W-what?”

“You wanna be the Tribal Chief? You wanna make the decisions?”

The newest member of The Bloodline opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Roman’s gaze was burning through him.

“You want my seat?” he barked, his voice growing louder with each word. “You think you can run this? You think you can handle it?” He leaned in, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Tell me, Sami. Are you tryna be me?”

“No, no, I—” Sami stammered, but Roman wasn’t interested in listening.

“Non mentirmi!” Roman spat, slamming his hand against the back of Sami’s chair, face twitching with unbridled rage. “You think I don’t see you? Think I don’t notice? I see everything. And I see you. Sittin’ there, always tryin’ to worm your way in. Always wanting to have a little bit more control. But you’re not me. You’ll never be me, and you better remember that.”

Sami swallowed hard, face paling as Roman’s fury hit full force.

Paul shifted uncomfortably but said nothing. He knew better than to intervene when Roman was like this. The twins exchanged uneasy glances but didn’t move. Solo remained stoic, watching on, but even he knew this wasn’t the time to speak.

Before anyone could say anything more, Roman’s phone buzzed on the table. His jaw clenched as he glanced at it.

Nate.

Finally.

“She’s outside,” Roman grunted, shoving the phone back in his pocket. “Jimmy, Jey,” he called, eyes still locked on the terrified redhead as he straightened up. “Go get her.”

Both brothers sighed inwardly. Of course, they had to be the ones to go get her. As if things weren’t tense enough, now they had to deal with her. “On it,” Jey muttered as he and Jimmy walked out of the room.

“This some bullshit,” Jey muttered as the two made their way outside. Jimmy huffed, shooting a sideways glance at his twin.

“You’re tellin’ me. Uce got himself all worked up over some chick that’ll probably lowball us anyways.”

“Nah, he ain’t mad at that.”

“Did you not hear him back there?” Jimmy jabbed a thumb behind him.

“A’ight he’s mad as shit about that, but,” Jey lifted a finger. “Ain’t no way that’s the only thing he’s mad at right now, man, I’m tellin’ you…” He shook his head, reaching the front doors. “Nobody gets that angry about not findin’ information on someone they never even met.”

Outside, Nate leaned against the borrowed car, arms folded and eyes squinted as she looked down the street. The sun had lowered, and the whole area was aglow in gold. It was one of those rare moments when she could just stop to look at her environment without worrying if somebody was about to pop out of nowhere and shoot her.

She wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of facing whatever mood Roman was going to be in. She knew she was late, but he’d just have to deal with it. He was the one who wanted her to come, he was the one who needed answers. Nate had the answers. He didn’t. And something told her that he wasn’t one to accept that comfortably.

Yawning, she rubbed her eyes, willing herself to stay as alert as she could, before she saw the familiar figures of the Usos approaching her from the gate. She barely lifted her head, barely adjusted her posture, rolling her neck like she was trying to get rid of a kink in her muscles.

Even though she’d only met them all once, been around their territory once, Nate already knew that her limited relationship with The Bloodline was contentious. But if she was asked to choose which Uso she preferred, the answer would come as natural as breathing.

“‘Sup, Volkov,” Jimmy greeted with a friendly nod of the head. Friendly may not be the best word to use, but at least he wasn’t grimacing and shooting daggers through her skull like his twin brother was.

“You’re late,” Jey simply mumbled, wasting no time in turning back toward the house in a silent prompt for her to follow him.

“I’m aware,” Nate answered, chewing the inside of her cheek. As she followed them inside, she watched her feet, unwilling to pay attention to the surroundings. Sure, it was getting easier to go against her father without his knowing, but on occasion, she’d be logical—realistic. One slip up, one teeny tiny preference for being at Roman Reigns’ home over her own, and she’d be dead within a week.

“Tribal Chief ain’t happy.”

Nate lifted her head and looked at Jey, who had his lips pursed and brows angled downward, as if putting on a strong face in the presence of his family, and more notably, Roman himself. She got it. If that was what was happening, anyway. She knew the pressures of having to act a certain way in front of a person that pretty much owned you. Still didn’t give him the right to be a dick to her about it, though.

Rolling her eyes, Nate shook her head. “Is he ever happy?”

Jey’s brows shot up, and he sent a sideways glance to Jimmy. Silently asking his twin if this woman who’s infiltrated his family’s space really just bit back a retort in rejection of the Tribal Chief’s disposition.

“I’m just sayin’,”Jey smirked slightly. “Maybe don’t poke the bear tonight.”

“Noted,” she muttered under her breath, mood souring further.

The three of them walked in silence, the estate’s grandeur doing little to ease the tension. As they entered the living room, Nate felt her pulse quicken. Everybody was there, every single one of them. Staring at her like she was some stray animal that had wandered into their den.

Roman didn’t waste any time, though. “You’re late,” he said coldly, narrowing his eyes at her.

Nate dropped her head and rolled her neck, taking a deep breath before locking eyes with him again. “Traffic was a bitch,” she replied nonchalantly.

“Traffic, huh?” Roman took a step forward, peering at her like he was trying to see into her soul. “What list of excuses you pull that one from?”

“I told you I’d be here, and I’m here. What more do you want from me?”

“You don’t get to be late, Volkov,” he clenched his jaw. “Not when you got somethin’ we need.”

“Do I?” Nate challenged, trying to ignore the emphasis he put on her last name, using it like a weapon. “Because last I checked, we’re supposed to be working together, not playing house, suka. You’re not my father.”

The room went dead silent. For a moment, she wondered if she’d pushed him a little too far, at least too far for his current mood. But instead of exploding, he took a step back, his eyes clearing her from head to toe, assessing.

She shouldn’t have enjoyed that.

“You know what your problem is?” he muttered, shaking his head. “You think you’re untouchable. Walkin’ up in here like you got all the answers. Like you in control, but you’re not–”

“And neither are you,” she shot back before he could finish. “Not right now, anyway.”

The temperature seemed to drop several degrees, Nate’s words triggering a timelapse as Roman fought to keep himself as calm as possible.

Stuck up little bitch…

It was at that moment that Nate finally surveyed the rest of the room, eyeing each occupant and noting a hint of shock on each face. But in that, her eyes landed on Naomi. It took her a moment to register the familiarity, to place the face from somewhere other than here. And then, like a fog lifting, it clicked.

“You…” Nate said slowly, her body angling in Naomi’s direction. “You were at my engagement party.”

Naomi gave her a faint smile, almost guilty in nature, before she looked over at Jimmy. Yeah, she probably should have told him what she’d done for Roman… But in her defence, her husband would have done absolutely everything necessary to stop her from entering Volkov territory. She had to keep it to herself.

Nate turned to Roman, disbelief flashing across her features, the golden hue of her eyes shooting lasers into his much darker, yet much more alluring, eyes. “Oh my God,” she huffed out an irritated laugh, running a hand through her hair. “You sent her?”

“You expected me to just trust you?” Roman responded, almost over the situation, like it was the equivalent to gum on the bottom of his perfectly kept Jordans. “You—a Volkov?”

“No, but after the conversations we’ve had, I expected at least a fraction of respect for the fact that I defended you and your family to my father, my flesh and blood. Instead, you fucking send one of your minions to watch me?! Te egoistic, vysokomernaya pizda…”

“And you’re fuckin’ lucky that’s all I did,” he growled, almost completely stepping up to her, her entire form encased his his figure’s hulking shadow. “I dedicate my life to taking down people like you and your daddy. I’ll be damned if I trust one of you without makin’ sure I ain’t being screwed at both ends.”

Her nostrils flared as she looked deep into his eyes, sighing slowly and hollowing her cheeks in an earnest attempt to make sense of his logic. Had she been more… alert, awake, she probably would have seen sense, understood where he was coming from. But two people on the verge of some kind of mental break, going at each other and subconsciously pissing each other off like a sport was never going to conclude amicably.

“You don’t know anything about me, Roman.”

“I know enough,” he scoffed, dropping his voice to a mere mutter. “You’re desperate. Clingin’ to this idea that if you keep shit together, if you succeed in whatever it is you and that pretty head of yours is concocting… that maybe, just maybe you could get out of this life. That you can come out clean, stayin’ in the middle. Juggling both sides. But newsflash, Princess,” he leaned down, his lips right by her ear. “You deep in the mud. Same as the rest of us.”

Her eyes glanced to the side, watching his face as he stood back up. She swallowed thickly. “Maybe,” she admitted quietly. “But at least I’m trying. I sometimes wonder if you could say the same.”

For a second, something shifted in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. She’d flicked a switch in his head, triggered him somehow. But she couldn’t understand why… She knew he was trying, of course she did, she just really wanted to get under this fucker’s skin right now. So for him to react like that… God, he is in a weird mood, isn’t he?

Roman glanced around the room, as if daring anyone to speak up. “You see this?” he said, pointing at Nate. “This is why I don’t trust anyone.”

Jey couldn’t help himself. “You shouldn’t be trustin’ her at all, Uce.”

“Maybe I don’t want your opinion, Jey!” Roman snapped, whirling around to face him. “Why you always gotta butt in, man?”

His cousin shook his head, backing up. “I’m just sayin–”

“Naw, you ain’t just sayin’ nothin’. I don’t need your ass to ‘just say.’ I need you to fall in line, or you can get the hell out!” His voice was a vicious bark, and it seemed like he had truly stumbled off the edge.

The tension skyrocketed, and Nate could feel the air charged with a strong energy between each and every one of them. Her eyes darted between Roman and Jey, who looked torn between speaking his mind and keeping his head down. Oh, she knew that place well.

“You’re really going to let him talk to you like that?” she found herself saying to Jey, unable to stop herself. “You’re supposed to be family, right?”

“Shut up,” Roman pointed at her again. “You don’t get to talk about family. You don’t get to talk about loyalty. Not when you got one foot in, one foot out.”

“Okay, well, both my feet are currently standing in your house because you let me get information from my contact about the Irish, so if you’re just gonna keep banging on about loyalty this, family that, my Tribal Chief feelings are hurt because you’re late, then I have no problem with turning my arse round and going back home. Because, quite frankly, I’m fucking tired, I’m on the verge of hallucination, and I really cannot be fucked with some cocky, arrogant bastard’s precious attitude today. Your pick, Mr Head of the Table.”

Roman’s eyes narrowed as he listened to Nate’s sharp words, stillness settling in over the room as she punctuated them with a fold of her arms. His breath tightened, anger radiating from him in waves, but yet… lash out he did not. Battling with the temptation to throw her out or hear her out.

“Alright then,” he growled, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. “You got somethin’ to say? Say it.”

Nate held his gaze, clenching her jaw; she was as pissed as he was, if not more. “Fine,” she said, taking a deep breath, her exhaustion once again creeping back up on her. “I spoke to my contact. We’re meeting tomorrow. Whether or not the information they have is actually worth anything… I don’t know.” She looked around the room, her voice wavering. “But it’s the closest we’ve gotten to anything solid on the Irish. Trust me.”

Silence. The others exchanged looks, some uncertain, some frustration. Jey scoffed, shaking his head.

“That’s it? You got nothin’. You got a meeting? That’s all?” he scorned in disbelief. He pushed off from where he was leaning, stepping towards her. “You’ve been talkin’ big this whole time, and all you got is maybe a meeting? That’s what we’re supposed to rely on?”

Nate’s patience was wearing thin, her already ragged nerves fraying under Jey’s attack. “It’s more than you’ve got, isn’t it?” she bit back.

“Yeah, well, at least we ain’t the ones screwin’ around with our own families, makin’ deals with anyone who’ll listen.” He took a small step closer, almost getting in her face. “Y’all are all the same, man… All a bunch of lyin’ asses preyin’ on desperate people. You, your daddy, your sister…”

For a split second, Nate’s breath completely stopped. The air around them seemed to freeze. Her eyes flashed with fury, the comment striking her like a physical blow to the head. Her fists clenched at her sides, and without thinking, she fired back.

“You know something, Jey,” she sneered. “It really isn’t hard to sense the insecurity from across the room. Must be difficult, no? Always being the second choice. Never good enough… Always in the shadow of your brother.” She watched Jey’s eyes intently, the same fire igniting behind them. With a small smirk, she dropped her voice to a menacing whisper. “Why would anyone need you when they can get two for the price of one?”

Jey’s face contorted with rage. He lunged forward, and it was only Jimmy’s quick reflexes that stopped him from getting completely in Nate’s face. “Say that shit again, I dare you.”

“Enough!” Jimmy hissed, struggling to hold his brother back. “Both of you, cut it out.”

Naomi and Sami exchanged nervous glances, neither wanting to get involved but knowing this wasn’t going anywhere near the realm of pleasant. Solo focused on Roman and his reactions, noting his own disinterest in intervening. In fact… is… is Roman smirking? Is that a smile? Why he lookin’ at her like that?

Nate stood her ground, glaring at Jey as if daring him to try something. “What, you can’t handle the truth?”

Jey fought against Jimmy’s hold, his temper flaring. “You don’t know shit about me, Volkov!”

“And you don’t know shit about me!” she shouted back. “But that doesn’t stop you from running your mouth, does it?”

“I swear to G–”

“Jey, enough!” Tamina snapped, grabbing the back of his shirt to help with holding him back. “Tuputupu ae le tagata.”

Jey wasn’t listening. Didn’t want to. He just continued, trying to convince his family to back him up, to listen to him, to throw this infiltrator out of their house—well, Roman’s house, but that’s not the point!

But, finally, Roman stepped in. He hadn’t said a word during the exchange, watching as Nate and Jey tore into each other. And yes, maybe he enjoyed watching Nate in this mood a little more than he should have, but it wasn’t until Nate made her cutting remark about Jey being a twin that he considered intervening.

“Enough of this shit!” Roman’s voice thundered through the room, silencing everyone instantly. His expression was livid, his entire body rigid with barely contained fury. He stalked forward, grabbing Nate’s arm with a rough jerk. “You. With me. Now.”

Nate glared back at him, yanking her arm out of his grip, but she followed him nonetheless. Everyone watched as Roman stormed out of the room with Nate in tow, the door slamming eliciting a collective exhale.

Tamina shook her head, smacking Jey in the back of the head. “You had to go there, didn’t you?”

Jey shrugged, still riled up. “She had that shit coming.”

“Her sister, though?” Sami mumbled, clearly unsettled. “That’s low, even for you, man.”

“Yeah, well I ain’t remember askin’ you…” Jey mumbled. He couldn’t care less about what the others thought. To him, Nate was the problem. Hell, he’d tolerate a lifetime with Sami Zayn over one hour with Nate Volkov.

“I don’t get it,” Naomi shook her head, crossing her arms. “She’s trying, y’all. Roman sees something in her, otherwise, why would he even bother? I watched her at that party, and let me tell yo—”

“You were at some bougie-ass engagement party for a bunch of criminals. Don’t act like she a sain’t ‘cause she was playin’ nice,” Jey interrupted with a roll of his eyes.

Naomi shot him a look. “I’m not sayin’ she’s perfect, but damn, Jey, you don’t even give her a chance.”

“She’s dangerous,” Solo added quietly. “The wrong connections. We could all be dead by the new year…”

Tamina sighed, rubbing her temples. “Roman’s not an idiot. If she was a real threat, he wouldn’t let her get close.”

Jimmy, finally letting go of his brother, looked down at the ground, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe. But Jey’s right about one thing… she don’t belong here.”

The room fell silent again, the uncertainty of Nate’s loyalties settling on everyone’s conscience. But one thing was clear—Nate had stirred something up in this family, and whether it was for better or worse, nobody could say.

Roman didn’t tell Nate where they were going. She half-expected him to shove her into the next room and start yelling, but instead, he stormed through the house, his pace quick, purposeful. Barely having time to register what was happening, he grabbed her wrist again, pulling her down one of the downstairs hallways she hadn’t noticed until now.

“Where the hell are you taking me?” she snapped, wrenching her wrist free again, though she still followed him.

He didn’t answer, his silence an answer in itself. His long strides forced her to keep up, the intensity of his anger palpable. He didn’t slow down, didn’t stop, just moved forward like a force of nature, leaving Nate with little choice but to follow.

Leading her through a back entrance of the house, they descended a set of concrete stairs to what looked like a private basement. It wasn’t until they passed through a heavy door, the sound of it clicking shut behind them, that Nate realised where they were: Roman’s shooting range.

The sudden shift in atmosphere hit her immediately. The faint scent of gunpowder lingered in the air, and the walls were lined with a vast collection of firearms. The cold, clinical feel of the place contrasted sharply with the heated emotions nestled within both of them.

Instead of looking back at her, Roman walked straight to the far end of the room, leaning against one of the long tables that lined the wall, his hands gripping the edge. He stayed there for a moment, silent and seething, before turning to face her, his eyes dark with fury.

“What the hell is your problem today?” he growled. “You’ve been nothin’ but a bitch from the moment you got here.”

Nate bristled. “Oh, I’m the bitch today? Are you serious?” She strode forward, refusing to let this… man intimidate her. “You dragged me all the way down here to fucking insult me? Like I actually want to be here right now?”

Roman narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw tight. “You think I enjoy watching you tear into my family? You think I want to deal with this shit, with you pushin’ everyone’s fuckin’ buttons just ‘cus your feelings get a lil’ hurt?”

“Maybe if they stop pushing mine, I wouldn’t have to!” Nate shot back, her voice rising as the anger she’d been holding onto for days finally bubbled to the surface. “I don’t like fighting with your family, I didn’t ask for this shit, Roman.”

“You didn’t ask for this?” Roman scoffed, crossing his big arms over his even bigger chest. “You made the choice to be a part of this, of my family’s plans. Findin’ out who stole our fuckin—”

“I didn’t choose shit!” she spat, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “I didn’t choose any of this! Everything’s chosen for me, Roman—everything! My life, my choices, my fucking freedom. And I definitely didn’t sign up to be spied on at my own bloody engagement party!”

“So what? You mad at me for sendin’ Naomi? For tryin’ to make sure your ass ain’t pullin’ shit behind my back?”

“Of course you don’t trust me, you don’t trust anyone, I’m not a fucking idiot. God forbid someone actually try to do right by you.”

“Don’t turn this on me,” Roman shook his head. “You come here, you step on my turf, my land, my yard, and all you do is look for a fight.”

Something deep inside, somewhere in the dark subconscious of her mind, snapped.

She made the conscious decision to step even closer to him, standing toe to to with him, her chest heaving. “I haven’t slept in three days, Roman. Three fucking days. Do you know what it’s like to be so tired you can’t even think straight? To have everything you worked for, everything you thought you had set, slowly taken away from you right in front of you?”

Roman’s eyes flicked between hers, hollowing his cheeks and almost grimacing at her. But in all that, he lost the edge, if for a fleeting moment. He leaned down, his face inches from hers as he took a deep breath, catching the faint scent of her Carolina Herrera perfume as he did.

“You have…” he gritted his teeth, “No fucking idea.”

“Clearly,” she huffed, rolling her eyes.

Roman’s eyes once again journeyed over her face, the rage and frustration still evident, but there was something else in the way he held her gaze now—darker, primal. They were both standing on the edge of a dangerous intensity neither of them could pull back from.

Nate’s breath came fast and shallow, heart beating at a pace unlike any other as she locked onto his eyes. His face was so close now, she could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint traces of his cologne mixed with gunpowder. She didn’t back down, didn’t pull away—if anything, she leaned into it, daring him with her stare, wanting to see what his next move would be.

His lips twisted into a cruel smirk, the same one she saw many times the day they questioned Bunny’s men. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” he murmured darkly. He reached up, his large hand wrapping around the back of her neck, pulling her just a little closer. “I could end you right here, you know that?”

Her pulse quickened, but she didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, she met his words with a defiant tilt of her chin, her stomach twisting as his grip on her neck tightened slightly.

Roman’s smirk deepened, his eyes practically gleaming. “You’re standin’ in my shooting range,” he said slowly, the words almost seductive in their menace. “You know what that means, don’t you? You know I could put a bullet right between your eyes before you even had time to scream.”

Nate’s throat tightened—not out of fear, but something far more twisted. Stomach in knots, body reaction in ways she couldn’t explain. Didn’t want to explain. The more he spoke, the more he leaned into that predatorial edge, the more her body responded, as if every word ignited new sensations that had been buried under layers upon layers of exhaustion.

His grip shifted, his thumb pressing just under her jaw, forcing her to look up at him, to see the way his gaze darkened by the second. “You in my yard, Volkov,” he continued. “Could pull my gun right now, press it against your pretty little head, and no one would question it. No one would care. You think anyone would come lookin’ for you?”

Her breath hitched in her throat, and she didn’t know why, but she found herself shaking her head.

“Exactly,” he grumbled, leaning in so close his breath landed hot on her cheek. “You don’t belong here, and you know that shit. All I have to do is pull the trigger… and it’d all be over for you.”

He loosened his grip just enough for her to move, but she didn’t. Instead, her lips parted, letting out a shaky breath. “Then why don’t you?” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.

Roman’s eyebrows raised and then narrowed, eyes shifting to the side as if he were weighing his options, deciding just how far he wanted to take this. He released her neck only to reach behind him, pulling out his gun. He turned it over in his hands, almost casually, like he was considering it.

“You wanna know what it would feel like?” he asked smoothly. “You wanna know what it’d feel like to have this pressed right against your skull? To know that at any second, I could decide it’s over?”

It was like thunder rippled through Nate’s chest, her mouth drying up. But she couldn’t look away. Couldn’t move. The gun in his hands, the cold steel gleaming under the dim light of the range—it sent a special thrill through her body that she couldn’t control.

Roman reassumed the position, his body well and truly towering over hers. Suffocating her with his size, his presence.

Slowly, he raised the gun, his intense glare locked firmly on hers. He pressed the barrel against the side of her head, just above her temple, the chilled metal shocking her heated skin.

“You feel that?” he whispered, his voice like gravel. “That’s the power I have over you, Nate. You wouldn’t even have time to scream for help. One pull, and your ass is gone.”

Nate should have been terrified—everything in her should have been yelling to run, to pull away, but she didn’t. Instead, her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, the pressure of the barrel pushed up against her, the weight of Roman’s power over her, causing a distinct throbbing sensation throughout her veins. If she could bottle up this feeling, and inject it daily… she would.

Opening her eyes again, she stared up at him, breathing raggedly. “Then do it,” she sighed defiantly.

Roman was stunned for a moment; surprise, amusement, maybe even admiration? But he didn’t move the gun, he just held it there, their bodies as close as they could get.

“You're crazier than I thought,” he hummed, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw, before it travelled along her chin, and further up to swipe delicately over the plump flesh of her lower lip. “But maybe that’s what I like about you, Princess.”

Swallowing her pride, Nate glanced down at his own lips, along his perfect beard, and back up at his eyes, whispering up at him through an unsure sigh.

“Nu… ya znayu… chto mne v tebe nravitsya.”

Roman’s brow furrowed slightly, obviously not understanding the words but the way they rolled off her tongue, the tone behind them, triggered the familiar tightening below the waist. He didn’t need to know what she said. Speaking in her native language—it always did something to him. So foreign, yet when she spoke it, it seemed to dig under his skin and make a temporary home.

He inhaled sharply, his grip on the gun shifting as his hand twitched. With a grunt, he pulled back ever so slightly, but not without dragging the barrel of the gun slowly along her temple, down the side of her face. It brushed against her jaw, sending another wave of chills through her as his eyes followed its path, dark and deliberate. He traced it down to her neck, letting the muzzle hover just above her pulse point, teasing, before sliding it down further, stopping right at the centre of her chest.

Nate lost the ability to breathe steadily, her body going completely rigid as every nerve flared with electricity. Roman’s movements were agonisingly slow and calculated. It was a power play, one she recognised too well. His thumb pressed just under her collarbone, right next to where the gun rested.

Then, without warning, he took the gun away entirely, slipping it back into his waistband nonchalantly.

He stepped back, his demeanour shifting almost instantly, like a switch had flipped in his brain. The predatory glint in his eyes dimmed slightly, replaced with something calmer, though no less commanding. He let out a breath, running a hand over his beard as if to shake off whatever had just passed between them. Lips twitching into a faint smirk, his eyes lingered on her a moment longer before he spoke again.

“You can sleep here tonight.”

Nate blinked, her body still thrumming with the adrenaline from their exchange. “What? I-I have a car, I’m not staying here.”

Roman’s almost-laugh was short but unmistakable, a low sound rumbling in his chest. He crossed his arms, shaking his head as if amused by her stubbornness. “You ain’t drivin’ nowhere, Volkov, not when you’re as tired as you are. Look at you.”

She scoffed, still too wound up to completely fall into the change in his mood. “I’m fine.”

“Nah, you ain’t.” Roman’s tone was softer now, but there was no mistaking the authority behind it. “You look like shit.”

Nate narrowed her eyes at him, opening her mouth to protest, but before she could get the words out, Roman cut her off with a tilt of his head toward where they had come from upstairs. “You can take the couch. I’m not havin’ you crash your car halfway back and have that shit come back on me, just ‘cus you too tired to keep your damn eyes open.”

Her mouth opened and closed in silence as she processed his words. She was exhausted, beyond exhausted, but the idea of staying in Roman Reigns’ house overnight wasn’t exactly the most appealing of thoughts. And yet… she didn’t have the energy to argue anymore. Not with him.

Finally, she let out a resigned huff, her shoulders sagging just a little. “Fine. But only because I’m tired.”

Quiet satisfaction flickered in his eyes as he smirked again. “Good. Not that I was giving you much of a choice.” He turned to leave, pausing just long enough to glance back over his shoulder, his eyes lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary. “Oh, and make sure your ass stays downstairs.”

Without another word, he walked away, leaving her standing in the limited lighting of the shooting range, her body still thrumming with the remnants of their encounter. Nate let out a slow breath, running her fingers through her hair.

The room felt empty now without him, but the fire he’d sparked in her chest still burned bright.

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hetalia-club · 7 months ago

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Another rant about my ex hopefully the last one ever as I decided in some self reflecting to distance myself from him entirely, hopefully not even acquaintances.

I need to vent to someone, the problem is I don't have anyone I'm comfortable enough IRL to share all this with without them giving me those sad eyes and a 'there there'. So I'm using my blog. You don't have to read this. feel free to scroll on by. If you don't get triggered easily I would like if you did, you don't have to give me feed back or advice, I'm not looking for that. I'm mostly wanting to get what he did to me in the open so I can hopefully move on with my life. Throwing it into the void of the internet is better than writing it into a book and locking it in a drawer forever. People have to know how terrible he was to me. He shouldn't get off scot-free and have happiness while I still suffer. I tried to keep this as vague as possible and I'm not going to go into deep detail of all my abuse because a lot of it I still don't want to face for myself. Tw for abuse of all kinds. If you read this and at any point think "Hey that sounds kind of like my relationship." This is your wake up call to run far far away and not look back.

I Would just like to put it out there that I am NOT still in love with my ex. I hate that mother fucker. I hate that I probably gave him a confidence boost by trying to get back together. He does not deserve that. He deserves to be as miserable as he made me for 5 years. I genuinely believe he is objectively a terrible person. I know him very well and he is a very manipulative person. I don't think he truly cares about anyone but himself. I think the only reason he wants a GF is for someone to take care of his house chores and 'other' needs. That's it. He does not enjoy being in relationships. He does not like having serious conversations and he is mean as hell when you try and make him do something he does not want to do...which is anything. And he also won't tell you he didn't want to do it until after he did it and then he'll make your life miserable all week.

Was I just 'jealous' that he moved on? No, I don't think that's even correct really. I Truly think I'm petty and I don't want him to be happy. I want him to stay alone and miserable because that's all he deserves really. He mentally abused me for actual years why should he get to have a new girlfriend? He doesn't deserve one. He also STILL has not told me he's seeing anyone which I find INSANE because he texts me all the time. I normally reply lately I've been ignoring him. I know now that I mentioned getting back together he thinks I 'want him' and he gets off on the idea that I'm 'waiting around for him'. Well truly it couldn't be further from the truth. I think I hate him. I hate how he treated me, I hate how he moved on and I hate how he refuses to tell me, I hate his stupid Jeep Truck, I hate his temper, I hate his stupid uggo face, I hate his body, I hate his mustache he never trims no matter how many times I asked, I hate how he would bully me into crying and then once I started crying he would tell me I was over reacting and try and frame it like I were the crazy one and I would believe that I was. You don't have to beat someone to abuse them....Right? No he wouldn't do that...he loves me, he says so all the time so he must mean it, right? Some men are more upfront about their abuse, others hide it in crafty little ways eating away at you until you believe you are the problem. It MUST be you right? He keeps saying so. I mean... he's never hit you. He's never threatened you or scared you, he's never hurt you, or has he? Honestly you can't really remember, but it doesn't sound like something he would do. And he said he didn't. You're just over reacting like he says. You're hysterical. You need help. You should get therapy to make his life easier. You should stop bothering him so much with 'relationship problems' that you probably caused. You're such a bad partner. You're lucky he's with you. Who would want to be? You're actually crazy! You're losing your mind. He said jump, now ask him how high. He bought you designer clothes, how could he be abusive? He spent so much money on you! So what if he just wants you to do 'a little something' to pay him back for it later? It's not asking much. Those sunglasses were 600 dollars. It's just thirty minutes of your life it'll be over soon, don't be dramatic. Oh my god! It's not even that big of a deal you're over reacting again. He said he loves you, if you love him you should give him these things he wants, he gives you what you want, right? right?

Just a small story to help you understand the kind of relationship I was in for 5years. One weekend he asks me if I want to go out to eat. I agree. He tells me I can pick the place. I say I want Outback. I was super into Cheese Fries these few months and they have really good ones. He said okay. Didn't say it didn't sound good or maybe we eat someplace else. He said it sounded good and he would pick me up at 7, cool.

He picks me up and we're talking about dumb shit on the way to town we live in the middle of nowhere so it's a 45 minute drive to any decent civilization. Well about half way there I just casually ask him if he called ahead at Outback. This was right after Covid when everything just started to open back up, so places were doing limited seating, so I knew we would have to call or there was no way we would get a table. He said that, "yes" he did in fact call and he told them 8. After he said this our previous conversation just sort of stopped I would say something and he would give me like a one word answer but he was being really quiet. I knew something was up but didn't pry because he doesn't like that.

We get to Outback, go inside and I ask him. "did you give them your name?" as we wait in line at the host booth. He straight ignores me, pretends i didn't say a word. We finally get up there and i look at him and he just stars ahead at noth and I'm like "Um 2 for 8 under *his last name*" The lady was like "Yeah we don't have anything for 2 at eight at all." I look at him and i was like "Didn't you call?" And he was like "Hua? What? No..." And I was like. "Dude you said you called when i asked you in teh car?" and he goes. "You never asked me if i called, if you did i would have told you no." And i was like. "Why are you lying? I'm not stupid you can't tell me i didn't ask you that it was 20 minutes ago my memory isn't that bad. and he goes. "Okay well I didn't call!" In a loud whisper and then I look to teh lady and was like do you have anything? And she was like it's a 2 hour wait.

So I'm pissed obviously, he's pissed for whatever reason. We leave and when we get back in the car I was like. "Why did you lie to me about something so stupid?" And he starts SCREAMING. Telling me "He knew this would happen" That "I'm just mad because I didn't get my way" That I'm "Spoiled" and "I know you're just mad because we can't eat at Outback you always get this way about food!" and you know I was pretty pissed we were no longer eating at Outback seeing how he told me I could pick the place and I told him I wanted cheese fries. But I was mainly pissed that he just lied to me about something so dumb to my face and like I wouldn't find out when we got there. So he's yelling at me and I'm just sort of meekly trying to plead my case while he flies off the handle like a crazy person over something so dumb. And I was like "Just take me home, I don't want to be here anymore." he panics and was like. "I'm not taking you home I drove all this way to eat I'm not wasting money on gas because you're throwing a bitch fit. Pick somewhere else." So I picked Roadhouse, they also have cheese fries, not as good but beggars can't be choosers. I could tell that this choice irritated him. But he begrudgingly called and I could hear the phone conversation because it was just me and him in the car and the guy on the phone said it was only a 45 minute wait. He got of the phone and looked me in teh eyes and lied to me again saying they said "it was a two hour wait there to." I didn't tell him I heard the dude on the phone say only 45 minutes because I didn't know how he would react and honestly. It's been like 30 minutes now of just sitting in the car and him screaming at me so I'm just like "Pick anywhere I don't fucking care I would rather you took me home but just pick someplace. I will eat road kill at this point if we can just stop fighting" He insisted I pick so I was like "Okay Chilies, let's go there no one is ever there." They also have cheese fries, and our Chilies sucks so there truly is no one ever there idk how they are even still open, I believe it may be some sort of Mafia front, that is the only explanation. The parking lot is always empty.

Then he flips it... See this is how you start to see just how he would wear me down mentally until I just gave up. He goes. "Why do you always get to pick the place we eat?" And I was like "You told me to!" And he was like "Only because You'll get mad if I say anything about where we eat, see you're so mad at me now because we can't eat at Outback like you wanted everything is about you. You never ask where I want to eat." And I was like. "OMG WTF are you talking about!?" which was the first time I raised my voice this entire conversation. So he starts punching the steering wheel over and over again. So hard that the car is literally shaking and he broke the volume control button on his steering wheel. I'm just sitting there looking at him like 😒 when he stops there is like five minutes of silence as he just glares ahead of us in the parking lot and he goes. "How about *insert name of our local sushi place*" And I'm like "That's fine, let's just go anywhere." Then. There is a complete 180 on his personality. He's all smiles on the drive there, opening up a conversation about something (can't remember what) and I'm still seething inside because, that was all so stupid and immature. When we get there it's an hour and 1 1/2 wait and he tells the guy "yeah that's fine we'll wait" Like fuck you...we could have stayed at Outback. I still want French fries you bitch you took me to maybe the one place in town I can't order cheese fries, the whole reason we are out tonight, because I told you I was craving cheese fries. He took me to the bar and he was all flirty and he bought me an expensive drink with his typical. "Anything you want baby" Okay sure anything I want except fucking cheese fries, I guess! This is how he would get when he were trying to show off. But it was all just a mask he could take on and off as easily as normal people blink their eyes. I asked him. "So what was that punching the steering wheel all about?" And he was like. "What do you mean?" And I was like. "How you were repeatedly punching the steering wheel, why were you doing that? Was that supposed to be me or what?" Well if you guessed denial and gaslighting you would be right, though it happened less than 2 hours ago. According to him "I never did that. what are you talking about? I mean I put my hand on the steering wheel but I never punched it." So I dropped it. Why argue with someone who is a pathologically liar? We fought a lot because I never knew when he was telling me the truth because he would lie all the time about the dumbest shit, stuff he KNEW I was there for, conversations he denied happening. Ones I could literally prove with text messages and he would tell me, you took that the wrong way.

These are the kind of fights we had CONSTANTLY. (Along with some other bigger ones involving other things) So yes. They did start to feel normal. Being told I didn't know what I was talking about when I knew better was just a weekly occurrence. I always assumed he was lying to me. He eventually succeeded in convincing me I was 'crazy' and I went and got a major increase on my medication, with the promise from him that he would go to therapy for his anger issues, never happened. He all but forced me to go get on the birth control shot because I couldn't take the pill, it makes me violently ill and I have morning sickness while on it and am miserable every day. And the shot absolutely destroyed my hormones and I don't think my body ever recovered from it to this day. Which he assured me he would pay for, and then after the third shot I asked to him why hasn't he paid me back he claims this never happened and he never said he would pay for my birth control and why would he? It's not his birth control (okay crazy was of looking at it, i guess this is only for me then) So I told him I was going to go off of it because it was 300 bucks every month and I had to drive all the way to Fort Wayne to a woman's clinic. He said "No don't go off it I'll pay" he paid for it once, saw how much it was and was like "Fuck that" Also funnily enough the shot made me lose ALL attraction to him. Once it got regulated in my system I and nothing for him anymore, he disgusted me. Everything he said and did gave me the ick. I was in denial for about 2 years and tried to convince myself I did find him attractive and that it would come back eventually, never did. Both of these were medical abuse btw, I am aware of that now.

So as you can imagine as I was not attracted to him anymore I hardly wanted to sleep with him. But he would guilt trip me for it until I would feel bad and just do whatever he wanted. Even going as far as to mess with me in my sleep, I would pretend I didn't know but I did. It always made me so sad that the next morning he would act as though nothing happened, I know he knew I was awake, I am an extremely light sleeper. It's almost like he liked the idea that I didn't say anything to him about it. But he also knew I wouldn't say anything because I don't like confrontation and I knew he would deny it anyway. And this is just straight up SA

The entire idea of a new relationship to me now just feels so...what's the word I want? Tainted maybe? I don't think I believe in romantic love. I don't think he deserves love. I also don't think he's capable of giving love. I don't think he'll ever change, he has told me before. "This is who I am and I'm not changing for you or anybody." he truly believes he is a nice and good person which is the worst part. He thinks he's just fine the way he is. That everyone else is the problem. But the way I see it there is a common denominator. I should have realized when we first got together that his apprehension to tell me about ANY of his past girlfriends was odd. Not even their names. I still don't know who he's all dated or how many people or anything. Even if he insisted I give him my entire sexual history basically on the first month of our relationship. But I ask him who his last GF was and he gets all "You shouldn't be asking me that, the past is the past, don't worry about it" I thought that was weird he didn't even want to tell me names your GF knowing who your most current ex is, is not weird, it's very normal. He never spoke about them, it was like they never existed. But I knew he dated a girl with a kid once. I asked him about it and he pretended to not know who I was talking about, of course surprise surprise. Before we got together I overheard his cousin at a party say that he is a "very sneaky guy and a liar". She didn't say it in a nice way either she said it with a lot of distain like she was speaking from past experience. She was calling him for what he was and I wish I would have absorbed what she had said. I wish I would have asked her "What do you mean?" I wish could go back in time and tell myself not to say yes to a date with him. I should have known that the first time we ever hung out he pressured me to do things even though I pushed him away multiple times and he kept moving his hand back. I should have know he was terrible I should have been able to see it. I hate myself for not seeing it. I would always give him the benefit of the doubt, I would blame myself for not speaking up, not calling him out. But I know it was all him. He had me right where he wanted me, he knew me better than anyone he knew what I wouldn't react to out of social anxiety. I hate myself, but I hate him more for what he's done to the way I look at all men. Oh how I hate them! They all unfairly get blamed for the way he treated me and it's not fair. I hate that I meet a new man and assume he is terrible, a wolf in sheep's clothing. A liar and manipulator. I always wonder, what is he like when he gets mad? What does he think about the word no? I hate it. I've never hated anyone more. The worst part is I can't let him go. He is still in my mind after 7 months he still creeps in and I think about him. I wonder what he's doing, how he's doing. I hate it. And sometimes i miss him. But why? Why do I miss his abuse? What's wrong with me? What's wrong with him? Why do I fantasies about men who would treat me badly after being with him? Why do I feel like I'm not worthy of being treated like a decent human? Why do I only write relationships that are toxic and depressing with abuse and then apologies only for it to happen again? Is it a way of self therapy or is it something I really secretly desire? Why do I think that's what a relationship should be? Why can't I get him out of my head? Why can't I write cutesy romance with 'love' and kisses, why does it always turn into a tragedy? Why does it not feel like a good 'love' story until I've written abuse in some way? with someone hurting teh others what should be beyond repair for them to just forgive and forget? You all want to know like...the worst part honestly? In hindsight he kinda ugly fuckin' tho, fucking tragic. Like he's not even hot. What's the damn point.

#tw abuse #now i will proceed to burry this in my blog

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hi-i-do-stuff · 2 years ago

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I just found out how to do this

Can you ermmm errrm pretty please do Ghetsis telling us we aren’t ugly :3

Ghetsis moment Get comforted IDIOT! /ref

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Ghetsis x Reader

gender-neutral reader TW mild body dysphoria Enjoy!!!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

You stand before the mirror, scrutinizing every inch of your body with a critical eye. You pinch your cheeks and tug at your stomach, wishing desperately that they were just a little bit different. It's late, and you should be getting ready for bed, but instead you're lost in a sea of self-doubt and self-loathing, your fingers kneading your flesh in a vain attempt to reshape it. You know that this behavior isn't healthy, that it's just reinforcing your negative body image, but you can't seem to stop yourself. As you gaze at your reflection, you wonder how you got here, to this place where you can't even look at yourself without feeling ashamed. You want to make a change, to feel confident and beautiful in your own skin, but you don't know where to start. So you keep pinching, keep wishing, keep hoping that someday you'll wake up and find that everything has changed.

As you stand in front of the mirror, lost in your thoughts, you suddenly hear the door open. You turn to see your partner, Ghetsis, entering the room. He is a very tall and handsome man, but what stands out the most is the eyepatch he wears over his, it sorrowed you a bit to know the fact that he has been slowly going blind in the other as well. He looks at you quizzically, taking in your pinched and pulled expression, and asks softly, "What are you doing, my love?"

You freeze, embarrassed to have been caught in this vulnerable moment. You try to play it off, smiling weakly and saying, "Oh, nothing. Just checking myself out." But Ghetsis can sense that there's something more going on. He steps closer, his hand reaching out to touch your arm. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" he says, his voice gentle and reassuring. "I'm here for you." You peer over at the mirror once more and see your own lip quivering in your reflection. You're horrid at keeping your feelings down when it comes to him, he always had this odd aura around him that made you feel a sense of vulnerability. Not that that was a bad thing, you could often keep your composure in public settings, but otherwise you melted like butter at him, especially when he spoke with such softness in his tone towards you. You turn back to him, his hand that he had reached to you with was still held up but was pulled back closer to himself. He looked down at you with concern and confusion in his expression, and you felt a little bad for worrying him, but you sighed and relaxed a little, taking a step towards him before wrapping your arms around his stomach area, he in return wrapped you in his own. You both quietly stood there together for a while before you spoke up finally, "I'm surprised you settled for me.. I'm far from perfect." You said with a sorrowful laugh, burying your face in his chest. Silence fell over the two of you for another moment, before Ghetsis finally spoke up once more "I want you to know that you are perfect exactly as you are. Your body may not feel like it fits, but to me, it is a beautiful expression of who you are. Your quirks, your flaws, every part of you is uniquely and wonderfully you, and that is what makes you truly beautiful in my eyes. Please know that you are loved and accepted just the way you are, and that your body does not define your worth as a person." He kisses you on the head and pulls back from the hug a bit "I may not see the very best anymore, but I know you are certainly the most perfect person I have ever set my eye upon." You smiled up at him, your eyes a bit watery as you put your palm up to your face to get rid of the forming tears, he smiled right back and guided you out of the bathroom "Come now, my beloved, let's get some rest." he said, keeping an arm around you as you both walked back towards the bed, you could feel how really tired you were now as you said, "Yeah... sounds like a plan."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Hehehe ghetcis [IS KILLED IMMEDETLY BY GHETSIMPS] Dw love yu all, hope this made you feel good!!!!!!

#ghetsis #ghetsis x reader #ghetsis harmonia gropius #x reader #pokemon x reader #pokemon #drabble #fluff #comfort

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drkarenhawk · 3 months ago

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#dr karen hawk psychologist #dr karen hawk az #dr karen hawk arizona

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dramatea88 · 4 months ago

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Kill Me Love Me episodes 8-11: The show stumbles, then rights itself a wee bit

Episode 8 & 9

Murong Jinghe and Mei Lin go … dating? More cute moments with our "couple" as they put on a show for the whole of Yan and the Crown Prince to convince him that, nah, he isn't up to anything and he's 100% a lecherous bastard.

The crown prince makes moves with General Luo and she's not impressed. Yue Qian gets a shock when his manservant's Shumo plan to smuggle Mei Lin out of Yan goes horribly wrong. Murong Jinghe manages to capture Minister Zhang, one of the Crown Prince's henchmen.

NGL, episodes 8 and 9 were the eps that got me really worried and fearing for the drama's health. I don't think the writers (or perhaps Wang Jinyan) managed the transition from stoic angry assassin to semi-bubbly accomplice very well. I found the comedic moments between Jinghe and Mei Lin rather painful and wanted them to stop lol.

Episode 10

My faith in the show is raised when Jinghe's public displays of crackheadedness make a reappearance. Hello, mad prince! I missed you! Our fake couple ramps up the Public Displays of Affection. Oddly this was far more tolerable for me than their cutesy moments.

And then more palace intrigue stuff. More please! So much so that it leaves General Luo mad and the Crown Prince smirking that he's winning General Luo. (Yeah, no.)

Episode 11

The crown prince and Jinghe fights over "ownership" of Minister Zhang in a dramatic way.

I'm enjoying the poisonous banter between the Crown Prince and Jinghe. Ah, shades of Joy of Life, where Fan Xian and the second prince exchange pleasantries laced with threats. Jinghe and Crown Prince's exchanges may not be as delicately terrifying as our JOL duo but it's really wonderful to see two great actors - Liu Xueyi and Baron Chen - duke it out.

(Speaking of Baron Chen, you really need to check out Meteor, Butterfly, Sword.)

Something shifted in episode 10.

While episode 8 and 9 made me wonder if the show had jumped the shark, 10 and 11 made me worry a little less.

I was especially ecstatic when I saw trailers for eps 12 and 13. 100% celebrated when I saw that our "couple" is back to being furious with each other. Yay! Can we keep them this way, please?

Also, Mei Lin, if you thought what he did with the 10 beauties was bad, wait till you find out about that master of yours …

To be honest, I initially worried about the direction of the show. But after rewatching the trailers and the feature on how they made the drama, I regained some of that lost confidence because I could see that there are some exciting upcoming arcs, and I really want to see them played out, such as a rebellion by the Crown Prince, a war, some shenanigans with dead bodies with Jinghe being the unhinged prince again…

So, I'm back to enjoying the drama. Maybe I'm just an eternally optimistic person who can see the silver lining in everything. Maybe it's the sight of Jinghe in his resplendent burgandy robes, staring down at Mei Lin as she dances. (Damn you, producers, for weakening my rational side.) Who knows? I'm just enjoying myself.

To be honest, I never really wanted Jinghe to be thoroughly dark despite what the trailers hinted. I knew that it also wouldn't be 100% possible with the rules in Cdramaland right now, but most of all, I don't think I'd have enjoyed it very much if he was truly callous, cold and basically mad like he is in the novel.

In my heart, I knew Jinghe would be a green flag cloaked in red. But my disappointment stemmed from the poor character writing of Mei Lin and the awkward transition of Jinghe being menacing to … nice? I get that's the face he shows the people at his side, but I feel that it was too quick with Mei Lin.

Perhaps it'll improve.

I'm quite pleased with Jinghe's character writing, however. (Ok except for the quick acceptance of Mei Lin.) And even the Crown Prince has a good treatment by the writers. But Mei Lin needs better definition and steel to reflect her supposed deadliness and resilience.

So, I think I'm on the side of, "I'm still enjoying this drama, but I'm lowering my expectations a tad."

I have to remind myself that Legend of Shen Li lost me for a good half a dozen or more episodes, so much so that I nearly gave up on it. Then, somehow magically around the 20th episode or so, it regained its initial spark, and it ended up being one of my favourite dramas of 2024.

#chinese drama #cdramas #liu xueyi #costumed drama #cdrama #cdrama kill me love me #kill me love me #wu jinyan

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lucielxbe · 11 months ago

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NGS2P2. ⋆ interview; reflecting.

the usual interviews, luciel is used to answering questions in front of the camera. he’s relaxed, but he maintains his posture straight. an interview is yet again another performance of playing a role. while he waits for his turn, he thinks the list of possible questions that would be asked. since this is after the performances, there’s most likely going to be some reflecting.

as someone with a classical music background, what do you think of your performance? was it unusual?

there it is. luciel rests his clasped hands on a leg, tilts his head to the side as if pondering. “it was something relatively new to me. i’m more used to performances with an atmospheric feel to it that evokes strong emotions to the listener from the soundscape… so i’ve learnt a lot of new perspectives. i think i did quite well for my first time, and i’m satisfied with it. but of course, i’m not stopping at just being satisfied. i’m going to be even better the next time and come back with an improved version of myself.”

were there any challenges you struggled with particularly?

“rapping was one of them,” an embarrassed chuckle came. “it’s not something my parents are going to be too happy about… so the entire time i wasn’t, feeling it, you know? if i can’t feel it, then i can’t do it. there was some fear and guilt that was lingering at the back of my head. it took me a while… for that, i’m grateful to seira for helping me overcome it. i have more confidence in rapping now, and i want to explore more styles in the future.”

do you think your rank will go up after the performance? is there a specific rank you’re aiming for?

at this, luciel makes an ‘aah’ expression. he presses his lips before answering, “i would hope so. if my rank didn’t go up after all that, i won’t be too happy about it. it means that i didn’t improve at all from my auditions. as for what rank i’m aiming for… i don’t just want to jump by one or two ranks, i want to be somewhere near the top. it’s natural that everyone wants a high rank, i’m the same. i didn’t come here to just only be satisfied.” although what luciel was truly aiming for is the rank at the very top. he doesn’t say that… not yet. for now, he wants to remain a little humble.

you were labelled as part of the ‘strange cast’ during your auditions, how do you feel about that?

just strange, huh? that was rather hilarious. “was it because i surprised the judges with a variety of skills from me?” his expressions didn’t change much throughout the interview until now, it seems like he finds this question amusing. “i don’t think it’s strange, rather, i believe i’m fortunate. it’s thanks to my family that i was given the opportunities to try out various things in my life — them approving of it is… an entirely new point,” he adds the last part with a lighthearted laugh. “i don’t just try out new things, i also make sure that i work hard in everything i try out and to not leave it as just a memory in my life. i always, burn the experience in my body.”

is there anything you’re looking forward to as the show moves forward?

“working together in a group, that’s what i’m looking forward to. it’s been solo performances up until now, and even back in the classical scene i’ve always been more of a soloist. so i’d like to expand to performing in a group. every individual is unique here, so i want to get to know more of how everyone conveys their story in music. how they feel about it.”

the interview stops there, but luciel’s thoughts did not come to a halt. he thinks about what his friend, a fellow contestant, had said to him: are you here to feel something?

he’s right. that’s what luciel is here for — to see if this show can start a fire within his empty darkness, to see if he can have a taste of what it means to be truly alive. he’s felt it for a brief moment when he was performing the first mission, but it faded away as quickly as it came. it’s as if god blew off the candle the moment it was lit.

#be:ngs2p2 #* solo.#* wc: 748 #/iamsoTIRED

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sian4chatsworth · 1 year ago

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Size

Paloma Elsesser

Model Paloma Elsesser joins Precious Lee and Jill Kortleve on the cover of the April issue of British Vogue, under the tagline the "new supers". The trio are a powerful force within the industry, who all share a vision for purposeful fashion and imagery and ask for a more thoughtful and inclusive approach. Paloma is one of the most influential models on the circuit, and was named Model of the Year by Models.com in 2020. In the April issue, she describes confronting an industry that is largely white and thin-centric, and getting to a place where she feels supported "alongside my sisters and the game".

The Brilliant Women Who Brought London Fashion Week To Life

The mood was high on female empowerment at London Fashion Week, as designers cast women of all ages, ethnicities and sizes to model their condensed collections, born during the reflective period instigated by the global pandemic.

Devyn Garcia

youtube

Devyn Garcia is very much of and defining the moment, inspired by and moving into the space opened up by models and fellow i-D cover stars like Precious Lee and Paloma Elsesser.

They’re a generation of models broadening what we see in fashion, and Devyn has found herself emerging into the spotlight, effortlessly encapsulating the new mood of freedom in fashion.

Paloma: I wonder also whether the fact that you’re dealing with social media as you start out, has that affected you at all? How do you see yourself? How do you see your body? Your identity?

Devyn: I personally don’t like social media. I find myself comparing myself to other girls - whether it’s the work we’re doing or how we look. We all have our days where we feel super confident. In general, I love the way I look, I love this little mark on my body. And then some days I want to crawl into a hole and just lay there. So I do still find myself comparing myself to other girls where it’s like, oh, why isn’t my stomach as flat as hers? There’s another side of it too - that a picture never captures how you look in real life at all; whether it’s a picture from a professional photographer, or just something taken on an iPhone. Sometimes you look smaller. Sometimes you look bigger. You don’t look like that.

Zoe Elyse

Signed with Wilhelmina Models, Zoe Elyse's career as a petite model has garnered her a following of over 75k followers on Instagram. Known for her quirky style and edgy personality, Zoe interlaces her work with her personal life in an act of transparency.

The petite model explained in an interview with Dazey Lady that becoming a model at her height was a difficult road to head down. "It doesn't happen overnight and the let downs I've experienced only push me forward and help me grow." Zoe's passion for the industry and support from her family kept her eyes on the prize.

Now, Zoe posed for a Teen Vogue campaign and has modelled for Refinery29 to Dolls Kill. She continues to push onwards and truly believes modelling should be based on skill, not body requirements.

"Have fun and don't take yourself too seriously."

Crystal Renn

Having overcome her eating disorder, Renn is now on a mission to foster self-esteem in young women of all sizes.

A lot of people know about your before and after modelling careers, what do you like about modelling at your current size?

“I don’t have to worry about my weight. I’m not someone who says everyone should be plus or everyone should be thin. I fluctuate. I am what I am. And I don’t think I should gain weight for people. I would never take back my experiences because I learned that at a very young age and that’s helped me in all areas of my life. I think this job has the potential to change young girls and to make them into well-rounded human beings if it’s done right.”

What do you see for yourself in the next 10 years?

“Many, many things! I’d really like to design a line for fuller figured women. I think it would be extremely positive for them because I probably have a different taste in clothes than most of the plus-sized clothes that have been put out there and I’d like to offer that to them in some way.

Harvard Referencing:

Fig 1. MONDADORI PORTFOLIO/GETTY IMAGES. (2022) Paloma Elsesser walking in the Andreadamo spring/summer 2023 show. [Photograph] Available from: https://www.vogue.co.uk/news/article/paloma-elsesser-facts [Accessed: 6th September 2023]

Fig 2. ELIZA SYS. (N/A) "It's The Perfect White Tee" [Online] Available from: https://issuemagazine.com/zoe-elyse/#/ [Accessed: 25th September 2023]

Fig 3. LE SEGRETAIN/GETTY IMAGES. (2010) SAINT TROPEZ, FRANCE - MAY 11: A model walks the runway during the Chanel Cruise Collection Presentation on May 11, 2010 in Saint-Tropez, France. [Photograph] Available from: https://www.glamour.com/story/crystal-renn-hits-the-runway-f [Accessed: 26th September 2023]

SPEDDING, E. (2023) 5 Things You Didn't Know About Paloma Elsesser. [Online] Available from: https://www.vogue.co.uk/news/article/paloma-elsesser-facts [Accessed: 6th September 2023].

NEWBOLD, A. (2020) Meet The Brilliant Women Who Brought London Fashion Week To Life. [Online] Available from: https://www.vogue.co.uk/fashion/article/real-women-london-fashion-week-casting [Accessed: 6th September 2023].

www.youtube.com. (n.d.). Fashion Model Devyn Garcia Discusses Body Inclusivity And Beauty Standards. [online] Available at: https://youtu.be/crFrs297Piw?si=BysJHh12dILOGsEq [Accessed 22 Sep. 2023].

ELSESSER, P. (2021) Devyn Garcia: “I didn’t want to be a typical curvy girl selling a T-shirt.” [Online] Available from: https://i-d.vice.com/en/article/qjbbww/devyn-garcia-interview [Accessed: 22nd September 2023]

DAWSON, N. (N/A) Top 10 Petite Models Changing The Game. [Online] Available from: https://thephotostudio.com.au/all/inspiration/10-petite-models-changing-the-game/ [Accessed: 25th September 2023]

HUFFPOST. (2010) Crystal Renn is Big on Beauty and Brains: Why This Positive Plus-Size Model is Poised to Change Fashion. [Online] Available from: https://www.huffpost.com/entry/crystal-renn-is-big-on-be_b_527831/amp [Accessed: 26th September 2023]

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luccy224 · 1 year ago

Text

am at peace with my past.

I am a knock-out!

I look terrific!

My skin is becoming softer and smoother every day.

I deserve to look and feel fantastic.

My hair makes me look even more beautiful.

I let go of all reasons and excuses for not looking and feeling beautiful.

My body is muscular and well-sculpted.

People enjoy being with me as I radiate inner beauty.

I am the vision of perfection that I seek.

I have a perfect height.

When I walk into the room, everyone is drawn by my natural beauty.

My beauty is worth seeing and appreciating.

I have unique beautiful eyes.

My fingernails grow longer and stronger every day.

I love my morning face.

Others enjoy my company for my exterior as well as inner beauty.

I am naturally beautiful.

My lips are sexy and subliminal.

I express so much gratitude each day for my beautiful and healthy body.

I walk gracefully and carry myself elegantly.

My eyes sparkle like stars.

I am crazy beautiful.

I see the natural and perfect beauty in everything around me.

My skin is glowing and healthy.

It’s okay to accept compliments.

I choose to eat a healthy diet and only eat foods that nourish my hair, skin, and nails.

Accepting myself as I am right now is the first step in growing and evolving.

I am the most confident, attractive, and beautiful woman to have ever graced this Earth with my presence.

When I look in the mirror I absolutely adore what I see.

My smile is radiant and reflects my inner beauty.

I now have the body of my dreams.

I have beautiful hands and lovely manicured fingernails.

I love taking care of myself.

I love the way I look and I feel good about myself.

Everyone sees me as pretty and attractive because I have beautiful facial features.

I enjoy life and love to laugh which shows all over my beautiful face.

I adore my hair.

No one has the power to make me feel bad about myself without my permission.

I have clear, healthy skin.

I have a healthy head of hair free of dandruff.

People find me very attractive.

I am allowed to feel good about myself

People compliment me on what amazing hair I have.

I was beautiful, I am beautiful and I will always be beautiful.

I am happy and content with myself.

I am overjoyed with the way I see myself now.

I choose to love myself every day.

I deserve to often hear how beautiful I am.

I take good care of my skin by only using natural skin care products.

People light up whenever they see me because they see how beautiful I truly am.

I feel more beautiful every day.

My expectations for hair growth are realistic.

I look beautiful, I dress beautiful and I speak beautifully.

Being a beautiful woman comes naturally to me.

I have thick and luxurious hair.

My skin is healthy and youthful.

I have beautiful eyes.

I am beautiful because I know I am a powerful goddess and beauty flows through every part of my being.

The opposite sex finds me sexy and attractive.

My inner beauty radiates positive energy into the world.

I welcome positive and healthy energy with open arms.

My body is sexy and gorgeous.

I have beautiful perfect hands and feet.

I am grateful for my good looks.

My skin is smooth and soft.

I am a positive being, aware of my potential.

Meine sexy und verführerischen Lippen ziehen Männer an und wecken den Wunsch, mich zu küssen.

Ich habe ein großes Gespür für Stil und das zeigt sich darin, was ich trage und wie ich mich präsentiere.

Ich liebe meine Ohren, weil sie mir die Möglichkeit geben, wunderschöne Musik und Geräusche zu hören.

Ich kleide mich schön und spreche schön, weil ich schön bin.

Ich war immer genug; Ich bin mehr als genug, und ich werde immer genug sein.

Ich bin nicht perfekt, aber ich respektiere, schätze und liebe mich selbst, weil ich weiß, dass ich schön bin.

Meine Haut ist klar, gesund und strahlend.

Wo auch immer ich hingehe, strahle ich positive Energie auf andere aus, was mich jeden Tag noch schöner macht.

Jeder wird von meiner schönen, positiven und liebevollen Energie angezogen.

Meine Schönheit spiegelt sich in meiner Haltung wider, weil ich elegant und anmutig gehe.

Ich sehe in jedem Outfit, das ich trage, wunderschön aus.

Ich erkenne jeden Tag die schöneren Aspekte meines Körpers.

I release all of my insecurities. I release all of the hate.

I have no blemishes.

I am grateful that I have eyes to see the magnificent beauty in the world.

I choose to be pretty, to be attractive, to be beautiful, to be gorgeous.

Being beautiful is one of the top priorities in my life, and I practice this feeling every day.

I find time to nourish my skin.

Zum Inhalt

Es fällt mir leicht, meine Gewohnheiten zu ändern

Meine Gefühle liegen in meiner Verantwortung und ich sorge dafür, dass ich mich von innen heraus glücklich fühle.

Ich werde strahlen, egal was passiert.

Ich zeige meinem Körper Dankbarkeit, indem ich ihn gesund halte.

Ich treffe immer Entscheidungen, die für mich am besten sind.

Ich kann es kaum erwarten, zu strahlen.

Ich ziehe aus allem und jedem das Beste heraus.

Ich fühle mich selbstbewusst.

Ich kümmere mich um meine Haut und ich kümmere mich um meine Haare, weil sie mich großartig aussehen lassen, wenn sie gesund sind.

Ich setze jedem in meinem Leben immer gesunde Grenzen.

Heute sehe ich wunderschön aus und fühle mich auch so.

I release all worries about imperfections.

Maintaining and creating healthy boundaries is easy for me.

I am getting closer to a stable peaceful mind every second of the day.

Setting health boundaries support my wellness as well as improves the quality of relationships in my life.

Whenever there’s a decision to be made, I always take time to understand all the consequences before making a decision.

I can easily convey my boundaries to others.

I can easily take up new habits.

I allow all the toxicity to leave from the amazing relationships I have in my life.

I always dress in a fashionable manner that suits the occasion and place.

I love to stay fit and it is one of my priorities.

I allow good and positive changes to take place.

I appreciate all my good features whenever I look in the mirror.

Discipline is important to me because it helps me grow.

I am proud of myself for staying persistent to achieve all my goals.

I’m becoming more confident day by day.

I always dress appropriately & what I wear becomes fashionable.

It is very easy for me to stay disciplined.

I attract positive experiences and positive events.

Anyone can glow up.

I am very grateful for my appearance, taking care of it and appreciating is being kind to myself.

I embrace my flaws because nobody is perfect.

I listen to my body and give it enough rest.

People want what I have.

I let go of any negative thoughts.

I deserve to look good.

I admire so many things about myself.

I see myself as the person I want to be.

I celebrate myself and my successes.

Every day, in every way, I’m becoming better and better.

I know that true beauty comes from within.

I am ready to become the best and most fit version of myself.

It is easy for me to decide because I know myself very well.

I release any negative beliefs about mental and emotional well-being.

My mindset is evolving.

I always remember to celebrate and pat my back every time I accomplish something important to me.

Practicing expressing gratitude adds to my happiness.

I can express and convey everything with ease, positivity, and kindness.

I allow positivity to enter my life.

I allow disciplined to enter my life at a pace that is aligned with myself.

Affirmationen für ein strahlendes Aussehen

I enjoy eating nourishing meals.

Every day, I’m getting closer to my glow up transformation.

I am optimistic and positive.

Every part of my body radiates beauty.

I find it satisfying to take care of myself every day.

I radiate beauty from the inside out.

I choose not to take things personally.

I am confident in my abilities.

It is ok to forgive because it can open the ways for peace to enter my mind.

I am a magnet for love and positive attention.

My energy makes it easy for everyone to feel connected to me.

I am grateful for everything I’ve accomplished successfully in my life.

I trust myself to create an amazing life.

I always choose the outfits that suit me the best.

The more I love myself, the more beautiful I become.

I’m working on myself every day.

I am expanding my perception of what is possible for myself.

I always make myself look and feel the best.

I am allowing mutual respect & trust in all my relationships.

Seeing situations and things in positive light allows me to become peaceful.

I feel motivated to take care of my health.

I control my fears, they don’t control me.

I recognize and appreciate all the positive events that happen in my life every day.

I make sure to make myself feel special and good whenever I can because I deserve my attention.

My relationship with food is great.

I have a very recognizable and amazingly different way of talking.

Kindness and the energy of love are very apparent in my personality.

Everyone is going to be so shocked by my glow-up.

I am unique and special.

I embody my confidence with kindness and manner which makes me stand out.

I love taking care of myself.

I am grateful for everything good and positive that has happened to me in any form.

I feel good in my own skin.

I cherish all the positive things in my life.

I have a clear vision of myself.

Success comes easily to me.

I enjoy the idea of becoming my ideal self.

My fears do not hold me back.

I am allowing love and gratitude in all the relationships in my life.

I focus on my growth.

I am always able to tap into my intuition when making decisions.

I forgive myself.

I love and adore every inch of my body.

Meditation and deep breathing help me calm and I can easily do them.

This is my time to shine and I am stepping into my power.

I am conscious about what I eat and how food is affecting my body and this allows me to stay healthy.

I’m proud of what I have accomplished so far.

The more I recognize my successes the more accomplishments come into my life.

I take out time to do things I enjoy.

My relationship with my body is great.

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I give myself time to process my emotions.

Setting healthy boundaries also helps me get closer to success because it helps me maintain my integrity.

I enjoy following a routine and staying disciplined.

I open my heart to experience all the emotions with an awareness that the value of happiness increases as I allow myself to feel my feelings.

I prioritize and take care of my health.

I feel more beautiful every day.

I enjoy working out.

My dressing and fashion sense is improving every day.

I am ready to allow discipline in my life.

I am never alone, the universe has got my back.

I allow myself to feel confident and worthy.

The more I smile, the more beautiful I look.

I do not judge myself or others.

I am aware that everyone I love loves me and has my good in their heart.

Good habits are actually very easy to take on.

I am allowing family, friends, love interests, and social interactions, all to heal.

My body is my home and it’s my responsibility to make it as beautiful as I want.

I have the power to change my life.

It is easy for me to stay consistent when I am adopting good habits.

I know who I am and my confidence comes from knowing myself so well.

My confidence is growing every day.

I’m proud of myself for wanting to change my life and body.

I love myself fully, deeply, and completely.

I enjoy my company and because of that, I am able to enjoy solitude.

I emit the energy of love.

My hair looks healthy and shiny.

I embody my ideal self every day.

I always dress the way it makes me feel confident and comfortable.

It feels good to glow up.

The source of my confidence comes from within that’s what makes it so powerful.

I let go of the things that hurt me and allow peace to enter my life.

My love for myself is unconditional.

I become more and more peaceful as I become aware of the truths of life.

I allow my higher self and my guardian angels to help me make great decisions.

I am deciding to step into my powerful self of who truly I am.

I take care of my mental and emotional well-being.

I allow myself to process my emotions at a pace that is aligned with me.

I recognize and celebrate all the successes in my life.

I feel beautiful today.

I take care of my needs because I love myself.

I am not my negative thoughts or emotions.

I allow myself to enjoy life and feel happy because I deserve happiness.

I am beautiful.

I choose to view life in a positive light.

My mind is focused on becoming the best version of myself.

My skin is smooth and healthy.

I’m taking control of my life.

I have a great sense of style.

I take out time to take care of my beauty.

I am blessed.

I am the creator of my own reality.

0 notes

himetsuri · 2 years ago

Text

A Man’s Fight

It was because she believed in him. He would definitely come save her. He would break everything about this horrible situation to pieces. He might be in a bit of trouble now, but he definitely won’t lose. After all, he'd promised her as much–––"I'll never, ever die." That's why she wasn't scared. That's why she was smiling. “Jus’ look at me! Can’t believe I’m…what am I wussin’ out fer!?” Azumi believed that she was only alive due to her mother's sacrifice. There was value in experiencing death firsthand–––without that knowledge, it was difficult for one to truly know the value of life. But she was still young, and so she was scared, terrified of "losing something precious, and it was all her fault.” At this rate, Azumi would, in her fear of getting hurt, become unable to care for something ever again. "Azumiii! Jus’ lie dere a li’l bit longer, ‘cuz I’m comin’ fer ya!” Kagetora tossed aside all his hatred for Kurotaki and fear of being hurt. There was only one feeling driving him now. He wanted to let Azumi know. He wanted to let her know that "in this world, there are things that you don’t have to worry about ever breaking," that if a child like her was to splay her arms and legs out and fall back, someone would be there to catch her.

"Kurotaki! Yous only got five shots left in dat finger gun ya love so much…go ahead an' hit me wit’ all of ‘em!” He spread his arms out wide and egged her on; Kurotaki was, of course, apprehensive. "What…are you…" "I ain’t gonna dodge an’ I ain’t gonna run! I win if I’m still standin’ after takin’ dem all, an’ yous win if I bite da dust…howzzat, piece ‘a cake, right!?" He threw away his broken sunglasses and licked the blood dripping down from his forehead, a daring smile spreading across his face. (What is…he thinking?) Was it a bluff? Or did he have some sort of ulterior motive? Many thoughts swirled around in Kurotaki's mind, but she just couldn't understand what in the world Kagetora was thinking. "What sort of…such foolish…ah!?" She realized that Kagetora’s unfathomable yet intense resolve had caused her to unwittingly take a small step backwards. Kurotaki always wore a smile and an expression of unyielding confidence. It was always oozing with both her delight and just how much she looked down on her opponent. (Afraid…? Me? Of some foolish little punk!?) At some point, she had begun to fear Kagetora, and being forced to recognize this meant her pride took a severe blow. "Very well…I shall take you up on that offer with all I have…please, do not think my ability is a mere pistol knockoff!" When she raised her left hand, holding it level, all five of her fingers from thumb to pinky began emitting light. "Fifth Finger Bombs!!!" Five "Finger Bombs" shot out at the same time–––her Burst had been charged up into bullet-form, a synergy that caused an explosive spike in power that would be able to obliterate a person without a trace. Rrroooooaar!! Kagetora was engulfed in flames from the explosion, the blast whipping up a violent wind. "Ahahahahahahahahahaha!!!" Certain of her victory, Kurotaki burst out laughing, unrestrained. She would always cover her mouth with her hand when she smiled. It was to hide a smile brimming with malicious glee that seemed to reflect her twisted personality. However, there was no need to hide it any longer. That punk had just been blown to smithereens––– "Ahahaha–––eh?" The dust that had been kicked up was slowly starting to clear. And within it stood a man's shadow. “Impossible…such absurdity…” His suit was burned away, his shirt was in tatters, his skin was covered in burns, and he was bleeding from countless areas. But even so, Hyoudou Kagetora was still standing. “’Ey…looks like it's my win, huh…?” Death was something he no longer feared. Pain was something he could endure if he readied himself for it. But the one thing he could never do was betray someone who believed in him. If he did, "he was better off dead."

That fierce resolve granted his body a power that far surpassed Kurotaki's Finger Bomb. "Impossible…this is inconceivable…" Step Kagetora took one step forward. "Eek!" Kurotaki took a step backwards as if she'd been shot. Step Again, Kagetora took a step forward. "S-Stay back…" At this point, Kurotaki couldn’t care less about her pride. She was simply terrified of the man before her, slowly approaching, who resembled some sort of demon. That fear made half her body go rigid; she lost control of her legs and collapsed right where she stood. From this position, Kagetora was coolly staring down at her as he continued to come closer. "A-Aaah…forgive me…I-I lose…” The image of him closing in like the incarnation of strife, after powering through an attack that she put everything into, finally made Kurotaki let out a shriek as loud as she could. Kagetora had won without their fists meeting even once.

“‘Ey, yous okay, Azumi? Nuthin' hurts, right?" “Mm-hm…I’m okay…are you okay, Tora?" He helped her up and untied the rope binding her. "Ha ha ha, I'm good. One ‘er two more scratches means squat ta me by now.” Kagetora laughed heartily at Azumi’s concern for him. "Hey…Tora, what about…what about Kurotaki-san?” "…Aah." Kurotaki had acknowledged her defeat, her spirit broken, fear carved into her being. She was holding her head with both hands, curled up and shivering. Laws didn’t exist in the underside of society. In that world, it was “the law of the jungle,” “kill or be killed.” But that in itself was the reason why there was an implicit law. “Anyone who attempted to kill was fair game to kill”––– Kurotaki had killed four of the Shuueikai's members, at least that Kagetora had witnessed, and would've killed Kagetora himself ten times over if he'd been your average Joe. But above all else, she'd deceived Azumi and made her suffer. "Tora…I’m…I’m okay, see…?" Azumi, however, was looking at Kurotaki with a sad expression, as if she was looking at herself. "Ahh…nn…" The woman had to pay up for what she’d done. But Azumi was a kind girl. She took others' pain as if it was her own. She would never be able to accept using someone as a sacrifice in order to save herself, consider it “inevitable,” even if it was someone wicked. “Guess it would be…a bad lesson fer ya…” And in truth, raising a hand against a woman also left a bad taste in Kagetora’s mouth. Silently, he nodded an "All right" to Azumi. Perhaps a little reassured by this, Azumi went over to Kurotaki and politely lowered her head. "Kurotaki-san…goodbye, and…thank you very much for everything you’ve done for me.” It had been for no other reason than to get everyone to relax their guards, but Kurotaki was the one who took care of Azumi up until this point, ever since Azumi had lost her mother. It was unfortunate that their parting had to be like this, but Azumi tried to convey her gratitude and farewell candidly, even so. "Azumi-chan…" Kurotaki was trembling as she raised her head, her eyes open wide like she'd seen something unbelievable, and touched a hand to her mouth. Beneath it lay that smile filled with cruel joy. "–––!? Azumi! Get away from her!" Kagetora noticed it and shouted right away, but he was just barely too late. "Kyaa!" Kurotaki stood and grabbed Azumi's collar violently, pulled her close and pressed her right thumb to Azumi's head. “Might I have you refrain from moving…Hyoudou-san?" “Cut da bullshit…yous already outta ammo…!" Kurotaki had shot her "Finger Bomb" once to start things off, three consecutive times after that, once more to pierce Kagetora's gut, and then five times simultaneously to make ten shots in all–––she should have nothing left. "Now…Hyoudou-san…what makes you think that?" Upon hearing Kagetora's words, Kurotaki's smile grew even more smug, to the point he could practically hear it. "This is no third-rate novel…surely you do not believe your enemy would just tell you the limitations of her abilities?" A single charge would load all ten fingers on both hands one at a time. However––– "So dat was…another load ‘a bunk…” Kurotaki herself was the one who’d relayed that to him. “Are you aware of the concept of ‘reserves’?* A hunter will purposely leave her last shot unused in case of emergency…an ace in the hole remains concealed until the very end. This, too, is basic strategy.” "Kurotaki-san…why…" Azumi cared for Kurotaki from the bottom of her heart. She’d lost her mother and sunk into grief, and it was Kurotaki who comforted her and became a mother figure to her. “Do you…not like me anymore…? Though she was still young, it wasn't as if she couldn't understand that her grandfather’s “occupation” had something to do with Kurotaki’s deception. Despite this, she just couldn't believe that every smile Kurotaki had aimed at her up until now had been nothing more than fakes. She didn't want to believe it. "You read me picture books…" "Why, yes, you quite liked that picture book with the pig…I read it to you so many times, I now remember it word for word." "You made my…favorite hamburg steak for me…" "Why, yes, and you hated carrots…so I grated them up and mixed them in. You never realized." “You were…I…” The only reason Kurotaki had deceived her was because of that "occupation,” and in actuality Kurotaki cared for her as well–––Azumi was clinging onto that hope. "Azumi-chan…you truly are a kind child…but you are quiiiite the little fool…try thinking, if you would? Even should I survive, the ‘organization’ would not forgive me for failing my objective…and even should I escape them, my reputation has been tarnished; I have no means to live in the underworld…” Her “Finger Bomb" wouldn't work on Kagetora anymore. But it could still blow away the head of a young child like Azumi. Kurotaki was aiming an ability at Azumi that could steal her life in one shot. She was aiming it with a smile at a child who believed in her to the very end. "If you truly do feel so grateful towards me…then allow me to kidnap and take you hostage like a big girl. Honestly…for you not to understand something so simple…what a stupid little brat you are…” There were despicable, irredeemable people in this world. Kagetora had known this, yet he still let his guard down; even if it had only been for the slightest moment, he could not blame himself enough for that foolishness on his part. “Why you sonuva…how da hell d’ya think Azumi feels…" "Yes, that was also part of the plan." "What…was dat!?” Having considered the off-chance that things could go south and leave her in an unpredictable situation with her life in danger, Kurotaki had implemented a “slow-acting poison.” Her year-long infiltration was for the sake of getting everyone to relax around her–––but, at the same time, it was also so Azumi would grow attached to her and therefore “stick up for her” if that time came. "Just how…low can you be…yous irredeemable…” "The irredeemable ones are you and that brat. Would you not agree? To stand by the one who executed her mother…she must be an irredeemable little fool." “Exe…cuted? Bullshit, so yous sayin’ dat ‘er mother died…” "Yes, under the pretense of an accident, you see?" In order for her to make her entrance as a "kind lady" that Azumi could take a liking to, she first needed to eliminate the one preventing that from happening. If a professional was someone who completed their objective, even using others’ hearts and emotions to their advantage to do so, then Kurotaki was undoubtedly an exemplar. "Mama…you killed…my…" Azumi was trembling in a vortex of anger, grief, hatred, and countless other emotions. "My…no…nooo…" The torment from this preposterous fate wasn't something a five-year-old girl could bear, and her heart seemed as if it would burst. "Now, let us cease the small talk! Hyoudou-san? Would you kindly forgo any attempts to resist? Simply relax, do not utilize Rise, and obediently allow me to pierce your heart with my 'Finger Bomb.' If you do…I shall, at the very least, guarantee this child's life♪" "…I'll never…ever forgive you…" “Like I give a fuck about that, you shitty thug! If you regret how this turned out, then curse your own idiocy for not killing me when you had the chance!" He no longer had any means of resisting. Azumi's life was irreplaceable. He had to do as Kurotaki said. "Don't you dare…hurt Azumi…" He relaxed, lowering both arms and closing his eyes to signal his compliance. "Yes, that is perfect." Bang! A bullet of light shot from Kurotaki's thumb.

"God, are you an idiot? You die here and that kid'll be sad forever! You really think that'll count as protecting her!?"

(Eh…?) He thought he was just hearing things. But when he opened his eyes, standing before him like a valiant and noble god of war was none other than Yagumo Matsuri, stopping the bullet of light from coming towards him. "Y-Yous…” "Hmph! What a lame peashooter!" In the blink of an eye, Matsuri effortlessly shattered Kurotaki’s bullet of light. Her "telekinesis" had forcibly canceled Kurotaki's "Finger Bomb.” It was an impossible feat, unless the difference in power between the two was as great as the distance between Heaven and Earth. "Wh-Who the hell are you!? S-Stay back…I've got a hostage–––huh?" Her “Finger Bomb” might’ve been used up, but a run-of-the-mill Psychicer like Kurotaki could still kill a child with her bare hands. But that little girl had disappeared from her grasp. "Is this who you're looking for?" And there, resembling a kitten with the back of her collar in Matsuri's grasp, was Azumi. "Wh-When did you–––!?" It wasn't just Kurotaki. Kagetora and even Azumi joined in. “What’s with the shock? I just snatched her up faster than your brains could process what was happening." In other words, she'd saved Azumi “faster than the eye could see.” "Anyways…so you're Azumi-chan?" Matsuri aimed a bright grin at Azumi, resembling the ladies on children's television shows. "Y-Yes…" "You're a good girl, huh? So kind, honest, and brave! Your big sis here loves kids like you. But…as things stand, a 'cute woman’ is all you’re gonna be.” "Y-You…tell me who you are! Which organization are you–––“ "Shut your trap! We're in the middle of class here!" "Eek!?" Kurotaki, who'd tried to interrupt, was silenced with just one lion-like roar. "Today's lesson is 'how to become a good woman.'" After saying this, Matsuri gave Azumi to Kagetora and slowly approached Kurotaki. “You listening? Now, in this world, there are foolish women who use the fact that they're women to their advantage, use devious means to get what they want, and sneer at people. For some reason, they think this makes them cool. They are, in a sense, the number one 'enemy of women.' You might say that leaving such idiotic women alone is a danger to the world as we know it! And that is when ‘the good woman steps in'!" Kurotaki could feel an aura of pure rage, or maybe something akin to a battle aura, welling up behind Matsuri and the terror broke her spirit. Her legs had already given out on her. "W-Wait! It is my loss! I shall return that child to you, yes? And then I shall never dare to appear before you again! So, please–––" The frantic pleas for her life only added more fuel to the fire of Matsuri's rage. Matsuri had appeared so suddenly out of nowhere for some unfathomable reason and Kurotaki didn’t truly understand the reason why she was so angry. As a fellow woman, Matsuri could never forgive Kurotaki for using a child’s yearning for a mother's love against her; for sneering at Azumi, who'd never forgotten how to be kind despite all the pain she was in, and calling her an "irredeemable little fool.” "Shut your fuckin' trap!!!" It was over in a heartbeat–––Matsuri's slap was enhanced to the utmost by Rise, launched as if to destroy the twisted reality that had spread itself before the young girl in its entirety. "Gwaughh!!!?" Kurotaki let out a foolish sound and flew back, hitting the wall like a pinwheel before peeling off and falling to the ground like a squashed bug moments later. “Make sure to finish things off with some flair, just like that! Just don't forget to hold back some." Kurotaki's arms and legs were twitching. It was undoubtedly an incredible feat, to use such tremendous strength and still hold back enough to not kill. "You got it? Little girl." "Y-Yes!" "All right, good answer!" Azumi's eyes were practically sparkling as she looked at Matsuri. Kagetora was of the opinion that “he just wanted her to grow up healthy and strong, even at the cost of a little mischief.” At the same time, he couldn’t help but think, “Did it really have to go this far?” "God, you're a dumb man. Can’t even launch a shitty woman like that into next week…well, you're still leagues better than the trashy men who hit a woman and then gloat about it." Matsuri drew closer to Kagetora and lightly poked his scarred chest. "Ah…" Kagetora had only exchanged words with her for a little bit, but long enough to tell that she was plenty holier-than-thou–––and now, it felt like she’d just acknowledged him. "Uh, what's wrong? Is there something on my face?" "N-No…I, er…" He'd fallen hard. For her striking and noble eyes. “…I mean. O-Oi…how didja manage ta sneak in here?" There should've been dozens of members, if not more, hanging around the "Dakugoukai's" headquarters. "Haah? 'Sneak in,’ what, are you trying to make me look bad? Do I look like a phantom thief babe to you? I didn't do anything out of the ordinary, for your information. I came in through the front door and walked here like a normal person." “Dat's impossible!" Flustered, Kagetora opened the door of the "Execution Room"–––and his mouth fell open as he found himself dumbfounded. "What…da hell…" What greeted him was a landscape of ruins. Aside from the "Execution Room" that Kagetora and Kurotaki had fought in, everything of the "Dakugoukai's" vast and vaunted estate had been reduced to mountains of rubble. Throughout the rubble, yakuza members lay strewn about, half dead. "Ha–Haha…hahahahaha…" On this day, the extensive criminal group, the "Dakugoukai,” enemy of the Kantou Shuueikai, had been completely wiped out by one self-proclaimed extraordinary pianist babe.

And so, "the organization's" plan of using the "Dakugoukai" as a stepping stone to further expand into Japan ended in failure. The underworld placed a heavy value on reputation. News of their plans being thwarted by only two people was fatal, and therefore it was impossible for them to be any threat to the Shuueikai–––in other words, peaceful days had returned to Azumi as well. And several days later… In a seafood restaurant in a certain port district, Yagumo Matsuri and Hyoudou Kagetora sat with a table between them. “So what’s up, calling me out to a place like this?" Kagetora had wanted to meet Matsuri, no matter what. He tried calling her a number of times, but it was clear she was pointedly ignoring him. With no other choice, he left a message of, “I know a place where y’can drink super rare wine not found easy in Japan.” He received a reply of, “Tell me more” immediately. “Ahh…well…dat’s…” With Matsuri gulping down her drink right before him, Kagetora was uncharacteristically, unusually, and extremely nervous. “Yous been…a big help ta me…” “I told you back then, too, but I didn’t do anything for your sake. It’s too much of a pain to have you feeling like you owe me. Well, I’ll have you foot the bill, though, since you were the one who asked me out here. He~ey, Mr. Waiter! Fetch me a bottle of this wine here with the nice six numbers for the price!”

After everything was over, Kagetora had asked Matsuri while carrying an exhausted and sleeping Azumi on his back. About why she’d come to save him after telling him, “See if I care” and, “Go ahead and die.” And Matsuri had replied to that question with an indifferent expression on her face. “Don’t get any wrong ideas. I really couldn’t care any less for you.” To Matsuri, those who “wasted their lives” were the epitome of idiocy. If people wanted to throw away their lives for some sort of moral code, then she’d let them do as they pleased and look the other way. “If you guys want to get excited over ‘Battles Without Honor and Humanity’ and go out in a blaze of glory, go right ahead. I don’t really care, I won’t stop you…however, this child is unrelated.” As she said this, she gently stroked Azumi’s cheek. “For her to be tossed about in an absurd fate…and then ultimately lose her life…who’d leave that be!?” For a brief moment, Matsuri’s eyes took on a grim shine, as if she was remembering something. “The reason I saved you–––the reason you ended up being saved was because this girl wished for it. Because she was scared out of her wits and still believed in you ’til the very end and I didn’t want to make her sad.” “Mmmnn…” Perhaps in response to the talking, Azumi began mumbling in her sleep. “Mmmnn…good woman…mmmnnmmn…flair…mmmnn…” “Ahahahahaha, reviewing in your dreams? She’s gonna become a fine woman. Kind, clever, strong, and extraordinary.” Azumi’s heart had sustained deep wounds because of Kurotaki. But Matsuri’s words and actions had, without a doubt, taught her “strength” and “fortitude.” In a sense, she had saved Azumi’s life and heart both. “Well…I may have said ‘I couldn’t care less,’ but I can’t deny that seeing you risk your life for a child made me reconsider you a little. You were kiiiiinda cool, just a little bit.” As she spoke, Matsuri smiled softly like a goddess.

“Dere’s somethin’…I gots ta tell ya…” “For the hundredth time, I don’t need your gratitude–––” Fwoosh! Abruptly, Kagetora whipped out the bouquet of roses he’d been hiding underneath the table. “I…I’ve fallen for ya.” “Huh?” “Yer noble, strong, cool…no…er, I mean…I’ve fallen fer everythin’ about ya! I love you…” Days after he and Matsuri had separated, he couldn’t get her face out of his mind. She was all he could think about whether asleep or awake, to the point he started wondering if something was wrong with him. Even just seeing “Sanja Matsuri in Asakusa” in a newspaper headline got his stomach doing flips. And then he realized–––this was love. “…” “…” Matsuri drank from her bottle with a cool expression, while Kagetora stared at her with sweat pouring down his cherry-red face. “U-Um…?” “Ah, excu~use me. I’d like more of this wine! Preferably the whole cask.” “Yer just gonna ignore meeeee!?” Kagetora fell right where he stood, the roses scattering into the air. “Sorry, but I’ve got no interest in guys weaker than me! That’s that, there’s your answer.” “N-No waaaay!”

This––– “Don’t say dat, Sis! Jus’ gimme a chance!” “Who the hell is ‘Sis’!? ‘The hell are you even saying? *kick*” This was the very first of Hyoudou Kagetora’s “Thousands of Proposals.”

~~~~~~ [Notes: *The word used here is 命玉 (inochidama), the definition of which is exactly as Kurotaki goes on to describe: it is a bullet that a hunter has but never uses for the actual hunt, instead saving it in case he needs to protect himself

The ‘Sis (nee-san)’ that Kagetora uses to refer to Matsuri is specifically the one used in the yakuza when referring to a well-respected, high-ranked woman in the yakuza, like the boss’ wife for example]

← Part 2 |

#psyren #hyoudou kagetora #yagumo matsuri

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literary-motif · 4 months ago

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Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori. (I am sobbing inconsolably)

Where do I even begin with this?

Historical fiction. Absolutely divine. I adore the premise of this, setting a Xanthus fic during The Great War is such a perfect, heart wrenching idea.

The atmosphere in this was off the charts. The way you captured the feeling of the scenery as well as the overarching terror of war is sublime, truly.

What I have noticed in a lot of media concerning WWI & WWII, as in mostly retroactive retelling, the horrors experienced are narrated by children. The idea behind it is clear: children are innocent (so to speak), ignorant of the bigger picture. They see things as they are, a dead body is just a corpse that steals away their illusion of reality. It normally does not lead them down a path of political reflection, and questioning their loyalty to a state that allowed this war to happen. I have always thought of this narrative choice to stem from a sort of laziness of the authors writing it. It feels like they do not even attempt to capture the horrors of war --- something that literature and art of any kind will certainly always fail at, but to at least try capture the feeling evoked by it would be a start --- and instead choose to break it down so much (to fit into the child's perspective) that everything becomes jumbled and loses the very essence of the history of the historical fiction they were writing.

This is the polar opposite of that.

Xanthus understands the extent of war perfectly, sees the atrocities of mankind's creation and reflects on them. This is what I want when I read historical fiction set in a war. This is the anguish I want to feel, when a vampire who has lived for centuries thinks the world has hit rock bottom.

(Scarlett write a book, I beg you. I would devour it. You are exactly the author I have been searching for in all my literary adventures.)

There are just so many poetic lines in this. God, the way you formulate your sentences is sublime. You find a way to put words in just the right order to make everything flow so smoothly. It feels like I'm reading narrative poetry.

The reference to All Quiet On The Western Front (a movie that has left me shaken to my core and a book that made me sit in silence for a solid hour when I finished it during a free period in school one day) made me gasp. Very clever. The reference hurt, however.

The history you managed to convey in such a short piece is fascinating. I love the brief overview of Ypres, and the gas. Oh dear.

Even still. Xanthus Claiborne: A murderer, an unnatural; and Lawrence Claiborne, the soldier. All his duplicities should have shielded him from this horror. All it managed was to kill his dreams – war was still carnage, and for as much as he could pretend he was distanced from it, bloodbaths would still reflect his face when he bore down on murdered men.

This whole paragraph is absolute gold. It captures Xanthus so perfectly, his history, his views, the pessimism and careful disdain he has for the world nowadays. It is so painful to read because it contrasts the aloof, confident and uncaring version of himself to the heartbroken, bitter and scared one this war has reverted him to.

This war was an assault on all senses, Xanthus thought as he brutalized himself. Sure, the smell and the taste and the sight, but by God, it was the hearing that came first. How ironic that now it was peaceful, now there was quietude, after the dread took its strongest. Where was it when Xanthus stood, more attuned than anyone, to the rattle of gunfire and men screaming? Rushing across no-man’s land left him able to hear out to the German trenches and everything between. He simply had to suffer it. And where was it when he laid at night, a being without need of sleep, but desperate for it so he could drown out the tanks and the roaring aviation? When he heard the few friends he made hearts stop pumping? Where was it when Xanthus turned his rifle on an ear, and shot the organ clean off? And where was it when it, after he blamed it on battle, regrew in four months?

Sobbing uncontrollably. This whole segment is beautiful. The exploration how his heightened senses would cause him to perceive the war is so heartbreaking, and you thought about this so well. Xanthus is so human throughout this entire fic (in his fear, paranoia and even in his actions and yielding to his impulses (which is so very rare for him)) that this reminder that he is, in fact, now is such a gut punch honestly.

Of course he is not human. Of course he hears everything. And this is what I mean when I applaud your atmosphere, because it is so easy to imagine the gunfire, and the men screaming, and the firing of the tanks and the aviation above. I can see him, laying on his back, looking up, looking beyond whatever obstructs his view of the sky and see the vessel bringing down hell.

The string of questions is so very poetic, and it works on so many levels. It shows Xanthus' helplessness in the situation, his desperation. It is a frantic, paranoid mind asking why while it is his bitterness, his rage at the world doing the same.

It also works perfectly in breaking my heart, the slow ascension to the last part --- shooting off his ear, feigning a battle wound only for it to heal because vampire --- done so perfectly that I could cry. It is such a great exploration of an immortal between mortals, someone who can't get hurt in any meaningful way while those around him drop dead like flies.

He had witnessed humanity’s descent – ascent? – into this madness. Hell, he was older than the country his fellow soldiers lauded as their savior. And yet he was here, with them. Suffering, dying in the great quiet, knived by the mental games their very species played.

"dying in the great quiet" is such a raw line, I can't fully put it into words. It ties in perfectly with the beginning --- Xanthus disheartened, paranoid because of the quiet around him (war is rarely quiet, after all) and only waiting with bated breath for something to happen --- but is is so much more than a simple stylistic stitch. It is the very essence of war, it captures the death of it, the destruction after the bombs have drops and the gas disperses. It is the field of corpses, it is the blood-red tainted no-man's land with only the angel of death to bear witness. It is the overwhelming quiet after everyone around him has died.

"the great quiet" of such a masterful synonym for "The Great War." Very well done, I am in awe.

He had never expected to truly be hurt, to be affected. But in their efforts to decimate each other, they managed to even wound immortality. A vampire reduced to human fears, because of humans, without the possible human release.

"wound immortality" is again such a poetic expression that I cannot help but let my dinner run cold because I simply can't shut up about this masterpiece. Wound immortality. Just try to picture that. And this is what I mean when I say you capture the horror of war, because this right there is just the right thing to do it. Wound immortality. It is incomprehensible --- on a metaphysical level, of course Xanthus is wounded because of the mental strain the war has on him but we are looking at the bigger picture here --- and vague enough to incorporate all of humanities suffering, and the impossibly deep red stain (both) the world war(s) has left on history. It is a scar that can never fade. It is a terrific part of history that can never be erased, suffering that can never be atoned for because the pain it caused is simply too great to grasp and too much to forgive.

The segment with the soldier is practically twisting the knife, a perfect ending to a perfect masterpiece. The thought of draining him --- killing him --- being mercy rather than a selfish act, a yielding to his impulses to feed, makes my heart ache, especially combined with the idea the soldier has of Xanthus being an angel, and this particular line:

To ‘save’ as many as he could from this war, only to force them into a future more brutal than anyone could dream.

because we know the future turned even bleaker after WWI, Xanthus reflecting the time from his own death a few centuries prior and wishing to have been spared witnessing the madness of WWI. And at this point, he does not know that it will get worse, the few years afterwards merely a short respite before new atrocities tore apart the world anew. Which makes it all the more poetic and all the more symbolic that he kills the soldier in the end, truly showing him mercy, both by taking him out of the First World War and preventing him from living through the second, a mercy Lawrence was not shown and a price Xanthus must pay for eternity.

Thus:

The blood stayed warm, even as a body turned to a corpse. And Xanthus, who could do nothing but remain, drank.

is the perfect ending, tying up the narrative exquisitely and leaving a hollow feeling ringing in my chest.

Scarlett, you've outdone yourself.

Dulce et Decorum est

↳ Xanthus serves in World War I. ↳ 2.4k words / also available on ao3! ↳ This fic is far from accurate to the actual Ypres Salient. I wanted to explore Xanthus' mentality as he canonically served in WWI. So, while I did some research, most of this fic is inspired by wartime poetry, particularly 'In Flanders Field' by John McCrae and both 'Dulce et Decorum est' and ‘Exposure’ by Wilfred Owen. Also! I discovered this painting while writing that's basically the exact setting of the fic. ↳ Content warning for blood, disease, guns, and (specifically trench) warfare.

It was hard to believe that, even in the midst of war, silence could envelope the world. Thick layers of it painted the Ypres Salient, as disturbing as the starless midnight it shared the hour with. Not the skuttle of a rat, not grass in a breeze. Death, it seemed, had a way of silencing.

For all intents and purposes, it was all quiet on the Western front.

Xanthus didn’t trust it one bit.

How could he trust the very thing he cheated? His eyes drifted across no-man’s land, the scorched earth left by the Germans, with a tremble he hadn’t felt since his first time serving in the British army. Fog obscured the skyline. Corpses of trees barely stood, crooked and black. For as far as he could see, there was no green. Just the torn-up dirt and puddles of not-quite water.

Xanthus’ grip tightened on the rifle. His nails were bitten to the quick.

His gaze never left the scene. Even from the shallow view allotted to him by the firestep, shadows and whispers danced, him a beat behind their rhythm. They would disappear as soon as he glanced at them, then reappear in the peripheral gloom. Still, he chased them, eyes darting from ghost to ghost.

War, it seemed, had a way of invoking paranoia.

Xanthus’ trench was along the front lines, and he, given the honor of being on nightwatch during the tense time. Just two years ago, Ypres had been fought for again, and the Entente had lost. Badly. The Germans overran the old British and French trenches which had cleaved into their conquered territory, the Allies calling upon their own for assistance. Canadians, Indians, Algerians, and Moroccans now fought for a war forced upon them, the same way Belgians had to step up and defend Ypres as the Germans marched ever-forward.

New allies were not the only introductions during the second fight for Ypres. Chlorine gas had swept through the battle and choked out countless men.

Apparently, that wasn’t enough.

Xanthus’ gaze flitted back down to the ground. Glass pools replicated the hell above. Swirled in them, the only color was a murky red from the slaughter of soldiers. It was an easy trick. But below, sunk to the bottom of the mixture, was a colorless poison. They had all thought it to be the same as the chlorine; when the smell was faint of mustard and men didn’t immediately drop, they even spat about how the Germans were growing weak.

It took a few hours for the effects to set in.

Xanthus darted his sights back up to the wasteland. He had known better than to trust hope – the Americans had joined the war not long ago, and the news managed to enhearten some, but not Xanthus. This was penance for that longing for a better future.

When the men in his regiment blistered and screamed and died, Xanthus knew that this was a new evil.

The rifle shook in his hands. Pointed out into the graveyard of a clearing, Xanthus’ memories reminded him of just how futile the gun was. Not when the gas wiped them out. Not when it still lingered.

Xanthus’ teeth bit into his bottom lip, for a moment forgetting his fangs.

Xanthus had survived the chlorine’s initial deployment, back in 1915. His healing worked wonders in keeping him alive, if incapacitated. The same happened with the new mustard gas. He hid the blistering well enough so as to not alert suspicions, and they dissipated within the day. Most everyone else had dropped like bullet shells.

But this gas remained. Not just in the soldier’s bodies – it polluted all water and sunk into the dirt. The other faded, but this time, standing in the dug-out trench, the smell and chemicals never wafted away.

Even with each hollow breath he took, Xanthus could smell, could taste, the abomination. And even with his miraculous healing, it was a cancer. His eyes burned. Blisters he thought were gone popped up across his body in changing places. A cough clawed up his throat (he feared his lungs were regularly filling with fluid, then draining, then refilling – a vicious cycle which murdered the rest).

He was nothing more than an animated corpse, and for the first time in these long centuries, he felt like it.

Xanthus’ rifle loosened in his hands. He scrunched his eyes and drew one hand up to massage his temples. Memories of medical bays fueled his mind. “The lucky one,” they all said. They weren’t all from the Great War.

For a few more minutes, he stood, gun propped on the parapet. But marionettes could only dance around him for so long. A trickle of sweat ran from his forehead to jowl.

He knew they were not coming. The silence echoed back. He did not trust it.

When he jerked to the side, dangerously slinging the gun as well, he collapsed back into the trench.

A sight of mud turned to gray. The small enclave he used for nightwatch was nothing more than piled stones, but a respite nonetheless.

Xanthus sat for a few moments, heaving. When his gun dropped and rattled to the floor, he grunted, and slammed his knuckles into the bricks. Hot pain instantly rushed from his shaking hands and he watched, in more agony than the impact, as the wounds healed over. Surfaced blood streaked, but dried in mere seconds.

His breath was ragged. He shoved his fist into the stone, over and over again.

Where was it when Xanthus stood, more attuned than anyone, to the rattle of gunfire and men screaming? Rushing across no-man’s land left him able to hear out to the German trenches and everything between. He simply had to suffer it. And where was it when he laid at night, a being without need of sleep, but desperate for it so he could drown out the tanks and the roaring aviation? When he heard the few friends he made hearts stop pumping?

Where was it when Xanthus turned his rifle on an ear, and shot the organ clean off?

And where was it when it, after he blamed it on battle, regrew in four months?

Xanthus’ thrusts into the wall slowed, his hand going limp and running down the bricks, until it rested beside him.

It didn’t matter. He could not get hurt, not in a meaningful way. He could already feel the wounds closing, the battery insignificant.

He threw his head against the stone wall carelessly.

The flesh stitched itself back together in the passing minutes. Meanwhile, Xanthus fueled his disquiet with memory.

Lawrence had known war. But it was never this, never all-encompassing; there was, after all, a world beyond England and Scotland during the Second Bishop’s War. Xanthus, it seemed, did not – or at least, not the stratagem of modern warfare. He had followed the stepping stones, ignorant until they dropped, himself caught in the freefall.

A cough ground up his throat, and bile rose with it.

Because the gas was a game. Its purpose was the tricks, deployed with shells that broke into a giggling hiss.

War could not kill Xanthus. But it could do everything else.

When his fist curled, the nails bent into his palm. Briefly, he panicked without the familiar weight of a gun. He snatched it off the ground and brought it to his chest.

In some small way, Xanthus felt human. Artificially – their misery, their desires, fitting for a finite life. He knew it was a false mirage. But still, he reached for his gun in comfort, as if his teeth weren’t markers of a much more vicious retribution.

He hated it.

He fucking hated it.

Finally, he and his kind were welcomed back into ‘personhood’ – not because they were deemed more acceptable or humanity grew collective empathy, but because even humans stooped to their level: fodder.

The vast silence was cut with bitter laughter.

Subconsciously, Xanthus curled into himself as the laughter turned to coughing. He forced himself to swallow down the mucus. The rifle sat between his legs, pointed upwards, with his hands clenched to it.

As his fit died down, he rested his forehead on the warm metal.

And the silence was back, as deafening as ever.

Except for the heartbeat.

Xanthus didn’t move his head, but slit an eye open to watch the opposing side of the trench. The beat was coming from inside it – not an enemy – but there was no due for a guard switch.

A man stumbled around the corner. His pulse was faint, barely a whisper – more powerful was the sound of liquid sloshing in his lungs. Sucker-like sores grew along his arms and chest. His wool coat was unbuttoned and rolled up to the elbows, and he wore no hat.

He paid Xanthus no mind as he crept forward, walking like it was his first day out of the womb. With too hard of a sway, he collapsed against the wall opposite of Xanthus and sunk to the floor. His eyes remained, though bleary, attached to the sky.

Closer, the rush of blood echoed. Xanthus’ tongue flicked across a fang.

It had been so long. He’d staved off desiccating with enemy soldiers or, when in a ward, blood saved for transfusions. He hadn’t properly feeded since his conscription. As if answering his thoughts, the hunger struck, a well in his stomach.

The man’s chest heaved, face still upwards.

He would die anyway.

Xanthus shifted off the firestep slowly so as to not start him. His movements drawled with a predator’s muscle-memory, though more ridge with the discipline of a soldier.

He drew to the man. It was only when he towered over him, rubies starch in the darkness, that the man looked at him.

“Hello,” he muttered. It would’ve been unintelligible to anyone else.

What happened next was methodical. The vampire slid down to his level and applied weight to the others hands, constricting him. His knee buckled on the other’s leg. He leaned forward, and with a swift motion, released his arms (only now did he drop the gun), hands jerking to maneuver his neck as he bared fangs. They sank into the skin with ease.

It was bitter, he instantly noticed. The blood pumped lazily, carrying with it the poison which seeped into his skin. Despite his own cyclical conditions, Xanthus pressed on, refusing to let his only meal waste away.

Naturally, the man resisted. He was weak. His burned arms tried to push the vampire’s away, off his neck, though managed nary a scratch. His legs bobbed. His neck strained. Still, it was futile to Xanthus.

The man continued to mutter to himself. Xanthus pressed on.

Even as the blood replenished him, it was sickening – he was starved and drank like it, but it was a drunken haze brought on by spoiled wine. Xanthus doubted he’d ever willingly eat mustard again.

Just as he was about to break for air, the man’s fingers threaded into Xanthus’ hair. For some odd reason, it eased him out of the spur, as his fangs gently retracted. Both of their breaths heaved off-sync. Xanthus was still so close, the heat he expelled onto the man ricocheted back to him.

The vampire tilted his head slightly, glancing up through mangey threads of hair. Playing on the man’s face, in the depths of night, was the hint of a smile.

His lips still moved, though silently now; Xanthus still recognized their shape. A common soldier’s prayer, said by those dying or over the beds of those who were.

He didn’t understand it, not until the man looked down at him. With a bleeding neck and a shattered voice, he made a sound below silence, the illusion of words more than anything – “Thank you, sweet angel.”

His fingers stayed soft in his hair.

“You have come to save me. I am welcomed into His kingdom.” A wiry grin now broke across his face, peeling the skin taut. He was missing a front tooth.

He thought Xanthus was saving him. That he was an angel, ready to take him to Heaven. To his God. Away from hell on earth.

For a heartbeat, Xanthus could not move. He suddenly felt carved out, nothing but bones and skin.

There were memories of another dying soldier-boy, the wound-up toy which had marched itself right into the tinderbox. For glory. For God.

And he remembered his death. Another soul believing they were being saved, only to be taken advantage of by a vampire.

And it was that thought which frightened him the most.

If you could believe it, the soldier’s heartbeat slowed even more. Yet in his eyes, the dullness now shone without dust – not reflecting the monotonous shattering of a psyche, but heavy with the need of sleep. He was so close to it.

Xanthus could become Audric. To ‘save’ as many as he could from this war, only to force them into a future more brutal than anyone could dream.

So instead, Xanthus gave him what he wanted – what they both wanted. He could not tell which side of him it belonged to, if there was anything truly mortal or supernatural about mercy.

A soft lullaby drifted from his lips, a soothing command. And the man closed his eyes and mouth, relaxing into Xanthus, like a child in his mothers arms.

The blood stayed warm, even as a body turned to a corpse. And Xanthus, who could do nothing but remain, drank.

#pardon if I am not that coherent #I tried putting my thought into words #but my emotions got the better of me sometimes #I hope this is comprehensible at all #(I'll get dinner now)

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