#truly was 1 step from lowering the difficulty i was losing it

[deadrlngers]

[calliopesstories]

The Heart Of A King - Chapter 1

Relationship: Caspian X Susan, Caspian X Reader, Platonic!Susan and Platonic!Reader

Warnings: 18+, smut (I’ll try the best I can), historical inaccuracy, misogyny and belief of 16th century, mention of death and sex, arranged marriage, /!\ Not proof read and non-english speaker writter /!\

Summary: There are opportunities in life that you have to take but you were different tough. Since you were born you always had things given to you on a silver plate. Yet you decided to create your own opportunities the day you chose to follow your father in all of his travels. It was no surprise for your parent when you left them no choice but to take you with them to the court of Cair Paravel, heart of your homeland. Even in your wildest dream you would have never thought of what destiny had in store for you when you took that opportunity and stepped in the castle of King Caspian and Queen Susan.

Words: 3,027

Author’s Note: Narnia (and the islands as well as the surrounding countries) is located in the Atlantic sea next to the strait of Gibraltar. It’s a mix between Southern Spain in terms of architecture and temperature, UK/France in terms of landscape and of course what you can see in the movies and be described in the books.

Two days of sea then just as much by carriage to reach the most magnificent palace of Narnia. No need to say it was all worth it. Nothing could compare to the beauty of Cair Paravel, its garden viewing the ocean, its impeccable white walls made of marble and the stained glasses that was colouring the inside of the castle in various colours. Last time you had been within the walls of this palace you were a child no older than five and yet it felt like yesterday. Nothing was as breath-taking as the home of the kings of Narnia, not even your father’s castle at Narrowhaven which was praised for its uniqueness and atypic beauty. Anyone who would be away from their home would feel homesick quickly but not you, you had left Narrowhaven when you were nine and only came back last year.

 Your father was the Grand Ambassador of King Caspian; he had started his duty under the rule of the king’s father and had sworn loyalty to his son. Thanks to his duty to the crown he had met your mother, he had married her and sired you, their one and only child. They had never needed more; you were everything they wanted and one day you would inherit the land and titles hold by your father. You were already marchioness of Narrowhaven however one day you would become the Duchess of the Lone Islands, courtesy of King Caspian IX. Not a lot of noble houses could brag about the fact that the king himself had gave them the right of female peerage. Just a few of you – daughters of high-ranking nobles – could take on the titles even with a male heir in the line of succession at the condition of the girl being born first. Not even the royal family had that right. Not that it made you feel particularly lucky, it was nice to think the castle you had grew up in would stay in your family forever even after marriage.

 The carriage stops right in front of the palace entrance. A flight of stairs leads to wooden graved doors decorated with gold and silver. You remembered well the tree with two trunks engraved on the doors after an old legend of Narnia but your child mind must have deceived you as you thought the doors were so big that giants must have lived here before. Turns out the door were huge, but not that much. They were twice the size of a grow man. Behind you servants were taking your personal items in order to put them where you’ll be leaving from now on.

 “You have the right to breath you know,” your father took your arm and patted gently your hand. “It’s not the first king you meet.”

 “There is a huge difference between a foreign king and the one for whom your father is working.”

 “Don’t worry Y/N, King Caspian is gentle and patient man. He knows you had never done this before that’s why Lady Prunaprismia will stay with you for a month then you will need no one’s help,” encouraged your mother.

 She knew you by heart. Every look, every breath and every head tilting had a significance your mother had no difficulties to understand. So when she saw you biting your lower lip, she understood how unsure of her statement you were. She had no doubt you would do well on your job. There were a few prized places at court that a woman of your status could hope to have: lady-in-waiting to the women of the royal family or governess to the king’s children. Those were official jobs but there was one every noble woman craved to have: mistress to the king. You had seen how this works and from one country to another, things weren’t that different. all hoped to dethrone the queen, thinking the king who loved them enough to put an alliance forged for years into the dirt for the beauty of their smile or whatever prowess they were doing in the royal bed. Foolish girls with foolish dreams.

 You were content with the place your mother had found you. What better way to learn the way of life than to help one grow? Prince Rilian wasn’t the son of Queen Susan yet she was the one who appointed you governess of the sole heir of the kingdom. This was thanks to your mother, the former governess of the queen. She had raised the Queen before she became your mother and by the way she was speaking of the queen you knew she was like a daughter to her although no one could take your place in her heart.

 You finally arrived in the throne room. The glass roof and the stained glasses gave the place an ethereal look worth of kings and queens. At the end of the room was standing four thrones of marble in front of a golden stained glass. You knew only three of them were occupied because the two were for the king and his queen, one was for the crown prince and the last throne was for the royal advisor – who had been executed last year for treason. The royal couple was waiting, stoically in their throne. You had no chance to look at them as you kneeled in front of your king and your queen before your father did, he had the privilege to stand in front of the king he had seen grow up.

 “His Grace Y/F/N, Duke of the Lone Islands, his wife Y/M/N, Duchess of the Lone Islands and their daughter the Lady Y/N,” announced a man on your right. “Welcome to the court of His Majesty King Caspian X and Her Majesty Queen Susan.”

 “Thank you Trumpkin but I know Lord Y/F/N for long enough to need no introduction. Please stand up my ladies there is no need for that between us.”

 You stood up and saw for the first time the king with your own eyes. You had heard stories about how handsome of a man he was and he truly was but more than that he had this glimmer in his eyes, something close to melancholia although well hidden behind a dazzling smile. You could lose yourself in his eyes. It was the voice of your mother that made you realised you were staring at the king for far too long. The queen had walk to your mother and the both of them exchanged some words before they turned to you. You bowed before the queen who wasn’t older than you.

 “I heard so much about you,” said Susan taking your hands in hers. Her smile was infectious and bright, contrary to her husband she was glowing with joy. “I’m sure will become good friends you and I.”

 “I hope so Your Majesty,” you really hoped to be in the queen’s good grace.

 “Last time I saw you, you were unable to keep yourself still.”

 “You remember Your Majesty?” asked your father. You had been told that the King and you had met when you were younger but you had no memories of such event. “Well, I must say Y/N has changed since.”

 “I can only agree with you.”

 You smiled at your father; you knew what he meant by this statement. You had become less impatient, more careful of your words and most importantly you were smart, street smart. You had helped him many times and he liked to think he was the reason why you were doing so good around people. But you were lacking the subtility to leave at court for a long time, which was a good thing when you were traveling around the globe with your father, staying at court for short periods but now you were to live at Cair Paravel for as long as the king would want you around, and unbeknown to you the king was thinking about the length of your stay.

 A door opened at your right and a small child ran pass you to be catch by the king. The prince you were supposed to take care of and who look exactly like his father if it wasn’t for his light baby blue eyes that was surely from his mother’s side. The young prince laughed in his father’s arms; he tried to push away from his face from the beard his father bore and that was probably irritating his soft and sensitive skin. The prince was five years old – for what you’ve been told – but he was taller the average five years-old, something he must have got from his father. The woman with him was his great-aunt, the Lady Prunaprismia, wife of King Caspian’s former advisor and his aunt by marriage. Although he holds no grudge against the woman for her husband’s betrayal, she had been asked to leave court forever. The King was a kind man but he wasn’t a very forgiving one. Not when it concerned his father and by extension his mother.

 “Rilian, this is Lady Y/N, she’s going to take care of you once aunt Prunaprismia will be gone,” informed Caspian. He put the child back on his feet and Rilian bowed before you. You imitated the prince, a huge smile on your face, won over by the child sweetness. The King kneeled next to his son and looked at him in the eyes. “I want you to behave with Lady Y/N like you’ll do with your aunt. Be nice, can you do that for me?”

 The prince energetically nodded widening your smile even more. King Caspian planted a kiss on his forehead. You saw him saying something to his son but couldn’t quite hear what it was. The queen had reached a hand for the prince to take but he preferred to stay with his current governess. The hurt in Queen Susan’s eyes was left unnoticed by you. it was common knowledge that, after five years of marriage, the queen hadn’t been pregnant once. Some rumours said she was barren, others that she had been made queen for very political reasons – which was the case for most queens though – and others that the king was never sharing her bed, still mourning his first wife, the one that gave him his heir, the one he had been in love with. And, after all, with an heir alive did he truly needs another child if he doesn’t love his current queen?

 Rilian and Prunaprismia left the group alone after the lady gave you a meeting point for the next day. Right after your mother and you were taken to your quarters while your father staid with the King to discuss important matter. It took you fifteen to arrive there. There were four separate rooms: two bedrooms, one for your parents and one for you, both at the opposite from one another and with separate entrance. A common room with a fire place, chairs, shelves filled with books and it was the room you entered first. Next to it there was a dining room big enough to fit ten people around the table and was only furnished with a sideboard to contain plates, forks, knives and the usual.

 Your room had a view of the garden and the sea, although you had been assured it would be temporary – you were supposed to get the one next to the prince’s – it was provided with all the luxuries you could think of. The decoration was elegant and refined, suiting a woman of your age and status. You had everything you could need, even your ladies-in-waiting you were sure had stayed at Narrowhaven. Those ladies were from smaller houses, ranks below your high-birth but they were your closest friends. Your only friends for that matter. Marwen, Cora and Lyria had been in your life since you were four, they had been your friends before being at your family’s service. They had travelled the world with you and your father, not once had they complained. They were the most loyal people you knew. After your father that is. Just seeing them made you happy and ready to face whatever the future had in store for you.

 Later that day Lady Prunaprismia’s servant had come to your door to take you to her quarters – which was supposed to become yours in a month. Lady Prunaprismia was in the middle of the room, waiting for you, the king by her side. On the table behind them was a book, both of them assumed you knew how to read and write, you were part of one of the great houses of Narnia, it would have been improper for you and your family to be illiterate. The king was the first to sit down, quickly followed by his aunt; again there were side by side while you were asked to sit across the table. You never liked being outnumbered and it was even more intimidating with the King right in front of you.

 “You have the right to breath you know,” King Caspian had leaned on the table to comfort you. you let out a stressed laughed but it made you realised you had been holding your breath. You took a deep breath and felt better. “That’s more like it.”

 “Lady Y/N, this book is the most important book in this castle. It holds all of the prince’s needs, medical events and so on. Until the day you’ll be left alone with him I am going to ask you to study this book to the point where you’ll know it by heart, words for words.”

 You opened the book carefully and the first sentence you read spoke about the prince’s books preferences, one of them you knew well as your father used to read it to you when you were younger. That memory brought a smile on your face. The book was quite big, there was a lot of information about Rilian and one month seemed like a too short amount of time to memories it all.

 “My aunt is a bit extreme; some information is dated and don’t suit Rilian anymore,” you continued to flip through the book as the king continued to speak. “Besides you are to be is governess, not his nurse, you are tasked to educate my son, to teach him basic knowledge until he’ll be old enough for a tutor.”

 “I’m allowed to enter the prince’s chamber at any given time?” you were sure you just had thought that but your mouth had decided to actually put sound on it. “Without permission or schedule!” Wow, that’s what you call trust!

 “You won’t be the only one taking care of Rilian. As I told you he has nurses who are supposed to bath, to feed and to generally take care of his physical health. Make sure he’s in good shape, if you prefer. You are in charge of making sure they do their job.”

 The close the book. You had never realised it was that much trouble taking care of a child. well, you guessed it wasn’t all day long a joyful stroll through the garden but God! Did the child really needed someone dedicated to wipe his butt? You remembered your childhood quite well and, in your memory, your parent partook a huge part of raising you into the woman you were today. But you kept that for yourself, not all parents have the same parenting technics, maybe it was how the king had been raised and he was a fine man. Besides, who were you to tell him how to raise a child? You had no child!

 “I know it’s a lot to take in one day. Don’t worry, you have time,” Prunaprismia took your hands, a kind smile provoking another on your face. “And from what I heard from your mother; you are more than capable.”

 “But if it’s really too much for you, I…we will understand, the Queen and I know taking care of a child, especially one who isn’t yours, can be demanding and challenging. If you think you won’t be up to the task, say it now or never, I’d rather know now and don’t worry it doesn’t mean you are not allowed in court anymore. That would be too cruel.”

 “You can count on me, Your Majesty. I won’t let you down.”

 You rose from your chair, taking the book in your arms and confidently walk away. That was the plan and, in your head, it was the perfect plan to show both of them how serious you were. Of course the cat didn’t agree with your plan and you tripped over him, falling on the ground. You heard Prunaprismia and King Caspian gasped before joining you, asking how you were doing. You felt humiliated. You just had fall on your ass in front of the king! God must have serious grudges over you! As you got back on your feet you swear you could see your pride and dignity staying on the floor by the devilish Shame. Hello you, you’re back again? You thought, sure to have left shame on the continent, somewhere in England or France.

 You assured the King and Lady Prunaprismia that you were fine and – carefully – get out of the chamber. You had a month to learn everything about the prince and to create a bound with him strong enough to hold against the child losing one of the few people he had entire trust and love to. One single month for something that took five years for the Lady Prunaprismia to achieve. That was so you, accepting a challenge when you perfectly knew it would difficult and completely impossible. But ever since you had dared yourself to do things no one would have thought a girl of your birth would do, it had always opened a door to something interesting and bigger than you thought. If you think about it, what would have happened if you had stayed with your mother at Narrowhaven all your damn life? For sure you would have never met the Royal Couple and have a full conversation with the king.

Taglist:

@aleksanderwh0r3​ @learisa​ @hxrgreeves​ @blackst0nes7077​

[fellulahh]

Lucifer x MC x Satan Fic, Part 28/???

Read Parts 1-27 here!

-

Lucifer no longer cared about his pledge or his constantly shedload of work. All he cared about was MC and all he wanted was for her to finally know exactly how he felt about her.

And he needed to tell her everything before it was too late.

-

Stirring in bed, MC let out a soft moan as her body began to awake. As she fell back into consciousness, she was a little dazed and confused after feeling a pair of arms wrapped around her body.

But then the memories of the previous night came flooding back into her mind.

With her eyes fluttering open, she blinked for a moment before turning to glance at Satan. He was still sleeping peacefully with his head resting on MC’s chest. His blond hairs were stuck to his forehead as his lips were parted.

MC found it amusing how she fell asleep curled up in his arms yet in their slumber, they appeared to switch positions. Satan’s arms were draped across her body; as though he was afraid of her leaving him.

The human found herself gazing at him softly. Lifting her hand gently, she caressed his cheek with her fingers as he continued to sleep. While studying his face, MC’s eyebrows furrowed.

‘I can’t keep my eyes off him...’

Being held in Satan’s arms made MC forget about everything bad that had happened lately. Her heartbeat had quickened just thinking about how oblivious she’d been all of this time and just how happy Satan truly made her feel.

He made her feel safe, warm, beautiful but most importantly, loved.

Bringing her head forward, she pressed a kiss on the top of Satan’s head; lingering for a few seconds. Moving her arm around his back, MC gave him a gentle squeeze. All she wanted to do was tell him how she’d been blinded to her infatuation with him but she was worried.

Considering mere days ago she was crying over Lucifer, would people really believe her if she now claimed to love the brother who’d been her shoulder to cry on?

Letting out a sigh, MC fell back onto the bed; loosening her grip on Satan. Despite having conflicted thoughts, her mind soon eased again after the feeling the warmth radiate off the demon beside her.

Suddenly stirring, Satan stretched out an arm as his eyes slowly opened. It took a moment for him to adjust to the light but soon his tired face turned to MC. Although he was beyond happy to see her still beside him, Satan kept a soft expression.

“Hey.” He spoke in a hoarse voice, “how are you feeling this morning?”

“Good...” MC breathed, not taking her eyes off him. “I...that was one of the best sleeps I’ve had in months.”

“Me too.” He smiled.

Laying in silence, MC lifted her hand once more as she began pushing Satan’s hair away from his forehead, admiring the way his eyes were glassy having just woke up.

“There’s something I want to tell you, Satan.” MC spoke quietly, feeling herself growing tense as the atmosphere grew silent.

Despite being completely nervous, Satan didn’t seem to notice MC’s change in behaviour.

“If you’re going to thank me for last night, then please don’t bother.” He let out a chuckle, “I’ve told you time and time again that you don’t need to.”

“...okay.” MC spoke simply, deciding not to go with her original confession. “If you’re not going to allow me to thank you, will you at least let me make breakfast for you?”

“No.” He shook his head, “I want to make it together.”

Nodding her head, MC found herself gazing at Satan again. “Okay.” She smiled warmly, “I’ll go and freshen up and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

Wanting to leave but unable to, MC lingered in the bed. Although she needed to shower, she couldn’t find the strength to leave Satan; especially when their bodies were entangled. And especially when he was looking at her like that.

Feeling her stomach begin to flutter, MC’s eyes trailed to Satan’s lips and before long she was imagining kissing them again.

With any further hesitation, MC brought her face to Satan’s and kissed him quickly on the lips. Pulling back out with a blush, she smiled at him one last time before walking to the door.

“I’ll see you down there?” She asked hopefully, turning around as she was about to leave.

“Yeah...” Satan breathed, feeling a smile creep onto his lips, “I’ll see you down there.”

As soon as MC left, he flopped back down onto his pillow; unable to comprehend how perfect it felt to wake up in MC’s warm arms. Turning over in bed, Satan’s whole body relaxed when he felt the scent of her linger in his nostrils.

Closing his eyes, he imagined what it’d be like to experience this euphoria every morning.

‘Maybe she could grow to love me...’ Satan wondered.

Sighing, he began to realise that perhaps it was time to be open with his feelings. Regardless of whether he thought he was a rebound or not, he wanted to tell MC he loved her.

A small part of Satan clung to the thought that MC really could have fallen for him too.

Meanwhile, walking through the hallways, MC bit her lip and played with her fingers as the thought of sleeping with Satan crossed her mind. There was a small red tint to her cheeks as she neared her bedroom door. Despite being a mess barely 12 hours ago, things seemed to be clear for MC now.

But could that be changed?

Reaching her bedroom, she turned the door handle. As she stepped inside, she froze in her tracks when she saw Lucifer sat on the edge of the bed with her necklace entangled in his fingers. Despite being in her room, he seemed surprised to see her. As he glanced up, MC could tell that he hadn’t slept. Though his eyes were surrounded by dark circles, he still managed to look handsome.

“MC.” He spoke in his usual stern voice, standing up from the bed, “I was hoping you’d come back soon.”

“What are you doing here?” She asked quietly, concerned to see him in her room.

Shutting the door behind her, MC stepped closer toward him.

“I have been doing a lot of thinking.” He informed her, setting the necklace to one side. “My mind has been racing and I’ve been unable to sleep because of this.”

Despite seeming so open, MC could tell that it took a lot of courage for him to be talking to her. Usually his pride radiates off him but this morning was different.

Eyeing him up cautiously, MC remained silent as she listened to his words.

“I understand that I have hurt you not only once, but twice now.” He continued, “and for that I don’t expect forgiveness from you no matter how much I apologise. I just...I just need to talk to you.”

“I’m listening...” MC said slowly, intrigued by his conversation.

“My intentions are never to push you away, MC.” He stated, “I don’t expect you to understand but I find great difficulty in being able to commit myself to someone when my whole life is being restricted by a pledge.”

MC nodded, expecting to hear the same vague, generic speech that she had received weeks ago.

“As you know, I hold a lot of pride in my duty. But I am finding it even more difficult being able to go about my usual life like there’s nothing constantly riddling my mind.” He further explained.

“What do you mean?” She pressed.

“I wanted to be able to commit myself to you.” He admitted, “but I felt that I couldn’t because my time was always needed elsewhere. And yet I still couldn’t just say no to you; I was always drawn to you and couldn’t find it in myself to push you away.”

“But that’s exactly what you did?” MC furrowed her eyebrows.

“Please...” he spoke softly, “let me explain.”

“I’m listening.” MC stated.

“And then I kissed you.” Lucifer spoke, lowering his tone, “and in that moment, everything seemed to flash before me. The happiness that radiated off you in that moment made me realise how easy it’d be for me to rip it away. All I could think about was how I’d let you down if I tried to commit to you. I feared that if I were to put duty before love, it’d eventually drive you away or even hurt you.”

MC parted her lips and her heart began to thud.

“But after realising my fear for losing you to somebody else was far greater, I realised that I’d have to swallow my pride and take a risk.” Lucifer confessed.

“You saw Satan and I?” MC asked barely above a whisper.

“That I did.” Lucifer reluctantly confirmed. “And to see the one demon who loathes me claw into you after I couldn’t even bring myself to admit any feelings for you, I realised that I couldn’t go on acting oblivious.”

“Satan never clawed at me, Lucifer.” MC stated firmly.

“Try to see things from my perspective, MC.” He insisted, “he knows my weakness, he knows exactly what troubles my mind—“

“He knows?” MC questioned, “is there something I have missed?”

Although MC knew that Satan and Lucifer didn’t exactly get on, his words of disgruntle seemed oddly specific.

“I don’t want you to focus on Satan and I.” Lucifer spoke quietly, “I only want you to focus on what I am about to tell you.”

“Then start talking...” MC breathed.

“I may have fears and worries...and a pledge to Lord Diavolo but I don’t want to use them as an excuse anymore.” He stated passionately, “I don’t want any of those factors to rid me of the one beam of light in my life.”

“What are you saying?” She whispered, feeling her whole body freeze.

“I love you, MC. And I want to be with you.”

Standing on the other side of the door, frozen in his spot, Satan’s face fell. Despite making plans to meet downstairs, he still wanted to see her face one more time before getting ready.

He had a hopeful spring to his step as he made his way toward MC’s room. However, after noticing the door closed and two voices on the other side, he decided to give her some privacy.

That was until he recognised the second voice as Lucifer’s.

Satan didn’t want to invade MC’s privacy but part of him knew he couldn’t walk away after knowing she was alone with the one demon who hurt her. Therefore, not caring about what may happen to him if he’s discovered, Satan stepped closer to the door. Leaning against it, he slowed down his breathing as he listened carefully on the other side.

And that’s when his heart was ripped from his chest.

Not wanting to hear any more, he lost all hope as he swiftly stormed back down the hallways. His face completely soured after hearing Lucifer confess his love to MC; the one thing she’d always wanted to hear.

How could he be so stupid into thinking that MC could have fallen for him? Of course she only confided in him because he was a shoulder to cry on and Satan felt like he had himself to blame for that.

Passing Asmo in one of the halls, the fifth eldest spun around after feeling the rage radiating off his brother.

“Satan, what’s wrong?” He asked quietly. “Have you seen MC?”

“She’s busy.” He breathed before pushing his way into his bedroom.

Shutting the door behind him, he pressed his back to the wood before sliding down until he was collapsed on the floor with his face buried in his hands.

Though usually he’d force himself to be happy for MC, he just couldn’t find it within himself to feel that way now.

-

Oh no, Satan!

How do you think MC will react to Lucifer’s confession?

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Victor’s Qixi Event (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an event which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Victor’s Qixi date: here (translated by @lucienism)

[ Chapter 1 ]

At night, the stalls in the temple fair light up one by one, and what greets the eyes is a galaxy on earth. 

The “stars” illuminate every dazzling stall, and also shroud certain corners. 

In an inconspicuous corner, a fortune-teller is reading my fortune. 

Fortune-teller: Miss, looking at your face, have you met with some twists and turns recently?

MC: I have...

Fortune-teller: Do you have trouble sleeping too? 

MC: You’re right!

Fortune-teller: Your complexion looks quite terrible, and it feels like a bad omen.

MC: W-what kind of bad omen? 

Fortune-teller: Did you provoke an important fiend?

Looking at the fortune-teller’s exaggerated expression, I nervously recollect what happened. 

If he’s referring to someone “important” recently, that could only be--

??: Why aren’t you done yet? 

The fortune-teller and I whip our heads towards the source of the voice. In the next second, we speak in unison.

MC: What are you doing here? 

Fortune-teller: That’s him!

The three of us are left dumbfounded. I cast a glance at Victor’s unhappy face, then hurriedly explain to the fortune-teller:

MC: Taoist priest, you must be mistaken. This is my... friend, and he’s very good-natured. 

The fortune-teller looks Victor up and down, and it seems like he’s unconvinced by what I said. 

Fortune-teller: Mm... in short, be more careful, Miss. 

Just when I’m about to bid farewell to the fortune-teller, he suddenly calls me, and speaks. 

Fortune-teller: There are a lot of people at the temple fair. Be careful not to walk down the wrong path. 

Hearing the fortune-teller’s worlds, I feel a sudden tightening in my chest. 

Before I can ask him a question, Victor takes my hand in his naturally, and the warmth distinctive to him covers my palm. 

Victor: You won’t walk down the wrong path. 

The faraway lights only illuminate his outline, and I can’t tell for sure if he's smiling. He applies some pressure on my hand, then pulls me closer to his side. 

Victor: Let’s go.

-

[ Chapter 2 ] 

MC: This is my favourite event every year - the “strange-tasting basket”!

Pulling Victor, we reach a stall. Quite a number of people have been so tormented by the strange-tasting items that their faces have turned twisted.

MC: The ribbon biscuits in every basket look the same, but they have different flavours. Out of all the ribbon biscuits, only one is sweet. 

While I stare at the line of baskets and hesitate, Victor’s voice sounds in my ear.

Victor: Aren’t they all the same? Why do you need such a long time to pick?

MC: They aren’t the same! I need to pick that unique biscuit.

Victor: You can’t tell taste just by using your eyes. 

For a moment, I’m unable to retort. After hesitating a little longer, I hold up a basket.

MC: I shall begin! Ooh... it’s so salty...

I furrow my brows and manage to swallow it with difficulty. When I lift my eyes, I see Victor’s unsuppressed smile. 

MC: Hmph, don’t celebrate so early. It’s your turn!

Victor arches his brows and looks at the basket in my hand, then picks one to eat. 

MC: How is it? 

Victor: ...it’s bitter.

MC: Hahahaha, looks like this game is very fair. 

We continue eating the biscuits in succession. If they aren’t sour, they’d be spicy. The strange tastes accumulate, and my tongue is about to lose all feeling. 

MC: There are three biscuits left... Victor, which one do you think I should pick?

Victor: There’s no point if other people choose for you.

MC: But I’ve never picked the sweet biscuit for several years, so I don’t have faith in my own luck.

Victor: Isn’t this year different?

Looking at the slight curve on his lips, I smile as well. 

This year is truly different - I have him with me. I decide to close my eyes, and pick a biscuit blindly from the basket and place it into my mouth. 

MC: It’s sweet! I really picked it!

Victor: Mm, amazing. 

Victor pulls me and we leave the stall. Our pace is a little fast, but it doesn’t bother me because I’m still immersed in the joy of picking the special ribbon biscuit. 

After walking a short distance, I can faintly hear a little girl exclaiming happily from behind me. 

Little girl: It’s sweet! I picked the sweet ribbon biscuit!

MC: Eh? 

I subconsciously look at Victor, but he looks the same as always, as though he didn’t hear the sound from behind us. 

Victor: There seems to be a performance about to begin in front. 

The sweetness at the tip of my tongue has yet to dissipate. I lower my head and smile secretly. 

Even though he isn’t the vendor who prepared that sweet ribbon biscuit, the sweetness he has given me is also special.

There are people beating gongs in front. I brisk walk to keep up with Victor’s pace, and excitedly tell him about street performances. 

-

[ Chapter 3 ]

Stepping out of the lively temple fair, what greets my eyes is a wide clearing. There are lit-up lanterns floating on a small, slow-moving river.

Victor and I sit at a nearby teahouse to rest, and we gaze out of the window to look at the view.

MC: Legend tells of the reunion between Cowherd and the Weaver Girl. People are afraid Cowherd wouldn’t be able to see the magpie bridge in the night, so they light lanterns on the river so he can successfully reunite with the Weaver Girl. Perhaps people yearn for these kinds of feelings, so they can’t bear to see any obstructions separating them. 

Victor: Do you yearn for it too? 

MC: Of course. I used to release a lantern every year. 

Victor: Then why aren’t you releasing one this year? 

I hold the tea cup in my hands, sneaking a glance at him. 

MC: Because... because there are too many people releasing lanterns this year, so it's sufficient to make the magpie bridge visible. I’m also uncertain if the gods above can cope with so many wishes being squeezed together. 

Victor doesn’t respond. After a moment, a surprised cry floats from outside the window. 

Following the sound, I turn my head to look. Out of nowhere, great waves appear from the peaceful river, straightening the lanterns floating on the river into a snaking trail.

It’s reminiscent of a path leading to a goal, shining in the night. 

MC: Wow... how did that happen? 

Victor: No one has ever witnessed how a magpie bridge looks. But since it’s a path, the important thing is that it must be easy to walk on.

I turn my head back to him, my heart filled to the brim with warmth. I hold up my tea cup, and clink it gently against him. 

Victor: What are you doing?

MC: Replacing wine with tea, this is to thank you for paving a path for the lovers!

Victor looks at me, then averts his gaze unnaturally. 

Victor: I just find that having someone to journey together with isn’t bad.

-

[ Chapter 4 ]

As the night grows darker, more and more people rest near the riverside. The faint din finally allows me to return to my senses from my earlier restless emotions. 

Next to me, Victor remains expressionless, making it impossible to guess his emotions.

MC: Victor, are you satisfied with this festival? 

Victor: It’s noisy, but it’s still interesting. 

MC: There are many more festivals in the mortal world. Some are noisy like this one, and some are quietly and peacefully spent at home. If you’re interested, we can try them all once. 

Victor arches his eyebrows. 

Victor: At home? 

MC: Mm... it means spending it with family or an important person!

With my face red, I offer an explanation. Suddenly, another noise interrupts me. 

??: This is too difficult. Dad, you have to help me!

Not too far off, the sound of a child asking for help drifts towards us. When we turn around, we see a a little boy sitting in his parents’ arms, at a loss with what to do with the object in his hands. 

MC: It’s a Luban Lock. When I was young, my father would often play it with me too. Even though it’s just a few small wooden pieces, it’s very difficult to both fix it or take it apart.

[Trivia] A Luban Lock (“鲁班锁”) is a traditional wooden cube puzzle

Victor: It’s only when the pieces hold each other up can they be stable. That’s why it’s called a “Lock”.

We secretly take another look. The little boy’s parents can’t resist his pleading glance, and help him.

With three minds working together, they fix the Luban Lock very quickly. The wooden pieces are formed into an exquisite Luban Lock, mutually supporting each other, and firmly interlocked. 

Seeing the family with happy expressions adorning their faces, I can’t help but smile along with them. 

MC: That’s really nice. 

My fingertips are suddenly wrapped in warmth. I turn back and see Victor entwining our fingers together. 

MC: Victor...? 

Victor: We can spend subsequent festivals together. But a condition is that you have to stick close to me, and you’re not allowed to run all over the place. 

I look into his deep eyes, and hook onto his fingers tightly. 

No matter what weight we face in the future, as long as we support each other along our journey, I will definitely share it with him. 

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

“SHOULD I TRY?”

Gilly Lopez x Reader

Serie Index. Chapter 5.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: NSFW 'cause maybe has a little of explicit violence.

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💘

Author Comments: I hope you all enjoy. The gif isn’t mine.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​ @sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @losolvidad0s ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

Something unexpected hits your nape hard, making you fall to the floor bumping it with your head. All you feel is pain shaking your body with your eyes filled with tears. You want to fight, you want to get up, but the coup have get you knock out. Your eyelids are falling till the darkness envelops you and the last face you can see is Gilly's. 

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

Your breath is calmed, starting to feel somewhat awake with the throat dried and a metallic taste between your teeth. You cough moving your head slight, opening your eyes slowly. The grief is back shaking your body with little lashes. Everything is blurred, trying to focus your gaze and find out where you are. But everything you can know is that your hands are tied, finding it when you're about to rub your forehead. You look at both wrist, with black esparto ropes wrapping them on a rusted headboard. Wooden walls around you, furniture full of cobwebs. There's also a skylight at the end of the room, on the ceiling, almost covered by a dirty blanket. You don't have to be so smart to know that you're in an attic. But, where?

Your pulse accelerates when you're able to hear some heavy steps going upstairs, opening the door with a screeching sound too annoying for your ears. Then, you see him. Carrying on his lips the same smile that one day made you fall in love loudly. You can't believe this is truly happening. Every single inch of your body contracts in tension, feeling the rage running through your veins when he takes a seat on the edge of the bed. You want to hit him, but then you also figure out that your ankles are tied too.

“This is the part when you beg for your life”. He says with a jocular tone in his voice.

And when he thinks you're about to reply something, you spit his face. Bad move. The man slaps you with the back of his hand, breaking your lower lip by the left side because of the impact his ring makes on it.

“My brother will cut you into pieces to feed his dogs”. You chuckles, 'cause even if you're terrified, you're not going to show him.

“My back is well covered, mi amor”. He laughs loud, shaking his head for a second. “And you're gonna pay for betraying me”.

His right fist goes straight to your temple, provoking you an incessant and painful buzz till you finally lose the conscience again.

(Meanwhile at Mayans Clubhouse)

“We will find her”. Marcos says full of anger, narrowing Gilly's shoulder trying to stay calm.

“Is there any place he could go?”

“We asked to the cops of Tijuana. That son of a bitch has a property close to the east border, between the mountains”. José runs to the crew, with a record on his hand with all the information he received from Mexico.

“Let's fuck up that cabrón”. Angel says throwing away his cigar to get ready to ride his bike.

Gilly went this morning to bring you some breakfast and spend your day off together, but when he came to your house Alex told him that you went to throw the trash and she never came back. Your house-mates thought that you went to Gilly's house. Of course, he suspected that something was wrong, walking next to the trash cubes, finding there your keys. The first thing he did was call Bishop.

━━━━━━ ﹅ ━━━━━━

Mayans and Coyotes aren't stupid. The play smart leaving the bikes almost half a kilometer away, to not call the attention with the roar of his engines. They're all carrying different weapons. Shotguns, smalls hand guns, knives, even an AK-47 Marcus gave them. Dressing with dark clothes and bulletproofs vests, the bikers are more than ready to storm the house. Their steps become slow, hiding between the woods to have a look of the rustic house in the middle of nowhere, with a sport car parking next to the porch. Bishop looks at Marcos, who is rolling his eyes 'cause he knows how foreseeable he can be. That's why they never accepted in Los Coyotes de Tijuana.

Gilly wants to take the first step, but Coco stops him. If he goes inside first, everything could go wrong. Miguel walks bent over towards the windows having a quick look, to indicate that no one's on the first floor. Everything clean. 

“Jorge, Tano, back yard” Marcos whispers then. “Mayans, with me”.

“Gilly and Tranq, you stay here, watching if someone else is coming”. Bishop indicates.

“You're gonna have to put a bullet between my eyebro', if you want me to stay here, man”. Gilly says pushing his chest, before getting up to walk outside the woods following his brother-in-law.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

“Despierta, mi amor”. 

A cascade of cold water falls into your face and your mouth, making you drown for a while coughing with some difficulties, shaking your head and stirring your whole body. Your temple still hurting, as your wrists and ankles with the ties pressing and burning slightly your skin with every move, trying to get free. You can see Antonio leaving the empty glass of water on the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking your chin with two fingers.

“I know you still love me, but your dear Marquitos turned you against me”.

“He did nothen' and I don' love you anymore, you fuckin' bastard”. You spit him again, without worrying about the fact the he can hit you another time. But he laughs, so loud that terrifies you more than the silence.

“You just had to learn how to love me properly”.

“How? Ah? Punching me till almost kill me? You're fuckin' sick, Antonio. And you're gonna pay for all of this”. 

“When your new friends find this place, we will be so, so, so far away, mi amor”. He says then, caressing your swollen cheek with the back of his fingers. “And you will also carrying my child”.

“The fuc' are you talking 'bout?” You try hard to not show the tremble that shakes your voice.

“Sh... Relax, mi niña. You're gonna enjoy, for the old times”.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

“House clean!” Coco yells, being reunited with both crews at the hall.

“Shit!” Alejandro curses exhausted.

“Where the fuck he can be?” Taza asks facing Marcos with somewhat calm.

“I don' know... Did you register the car?”

“It's clean too, presidente”. José says shrugging with a gun in his hand.

“Another house, another property?” Bishop asks then desperate, trying to figure it out.

“I think... (Y/N) said something about... a cabin close to Mexico, the night at the hospital”. Jaime is trying to remember your words, not knowing of who could be the owner. 

“What about Sancho?” Alejandro turns to Marcos.

“Who's Sancho?” Gilly takes another step closer to the mexican charter.

“His boss. That perro has somewhat like a house in surroundings Mexico DF”.

“How much time?”

“Two and a half. Maybe two hours if we're fast enough”.

“Then run for her fuckin' life!” Gilly shouts, keeping his gun behind his back.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

The tears are falling down running your cheeks and your neck. You can feel the stabbing pain in your low belly because of his bites, dragging his teeth over your skin wetting it. He didn't touch you yet, he's enjoying torturing you and laughing at your terrified gestures and your begs to him for stop. You claimed for help, believing that someone could hear you, but nobody came. 

Antonio pulls down your pajama shorts, licking his lips with burning lust inside his orbs. He's ready to enjoy your body, even if you're praying him to not hurt you, trying to gain some time with the hope you can break free somehow as your brother taught you, when you were younger. Maybe dislocating your thumb, so you can strain a hand by the tie. Painful, but successful.

“I could never get tired of your body, mi amor”. 

He sighs placing himself between your legs, arching your back when he surrounds your waist with both arms. You can feel how hard is he, turning your stomach, making you want to vomit. You can't understand why you fell in love so loud with him, or why the hell you felt so lost without him the first months in Santo Padre. Now you see it. You were blind. He made you think you never could be good enough for anyone. Neither your family, nor your friends. He absorbed you in a toxic loop, romanticizing every punch, every hit, every drop of spilled blood, every bruise. But then, you met Gilly. You met the love, the self-care, the laughs for nothing, the warm his hugs bring you, the hours in silence looking at each other, the dearly smiles, how good it's feels smell your shirt and find his scent. 

And you know it's time to fight. For him. For your family. For your friends. For new life. For you.

For him, it's an unexpected scream full of pain. It hurt much more than you expected, feeling the agony running through your forearm up your elbow, flowing into your neck. But before he can reacts, your fist goes to his nose, with a soft crunch behind your knuckles. You have broken it. You know it's one of his weak points, after take so much cocaine that it made him a hole inside the bridge. That gives you some seconds, enough to take the empty glass of water to broke it against the floor and use a piece to cut the tie wrapping the other wrist. He gets up with the shirt soaked in blood as his lips and neck, and you can see he's furious, but you're not gonna give up pointing him with the glass.

“Cuando el coyote predica, no están seguras las gallinas”. (When the coyote preaches, the chicken aren't safe). You say, spitting every word, listening a high-pitch howl coming closer. You know it well, so he does. “Run, chicken, run”.

As he did two years ago, challenging your gaze with the difference that you're not drowning in your own blood but in pain and tears, he runs away. Antonio knows well what Marcos will do to him. But he doesn't know how much you have changed, and that your brother will be the less important problem. You hear him going downstair, giving him some seconds of advantage. Cutting the other ties, and placing on well your thumb with a crack and a growl, you stretch your numb legs and your arms. 

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)!” You can hear your brother's voice breaking the wooden front door, before some shoots and screams of pain.

The prey has been hunted after all this time hiding.

“(Y/N)! Where are you?!” Then you hear Bishop's.

You're trying to go down every stair step, supporting your weight over your palms in the railing. You find yourself crying. But you're not sure why. Pain, horror, sadness, but also happiness, relief, alleviation, run through your veins and your mind making you feel confused.

“Baby! Say something! Where are you?” Gilly is there. Your shaky legs fail, falling apart over the stairs, having a sit whilst your cry gets louder, enough to listen a lot of heavy steps coming to you. “(Y/N)!”

He runs towards you going upstairs, kneeling in front of you before hugging your body between his strongs and warm arms. And the world get paralyzed. You're at home, even if it's not your house, nor even your town. But it's him. It's all about Gilly. 

“The kid is here! We foun’ he’!” Coco shouts to the rest, from the beginning of the stairs.

“Give them a moment, now she's safe”. Alejandro says, pushing him away to the living room where they caught Antonio.

You need your time to wrap his back, feeling that your arms doesn't reply to any move tired of being in the same position for more than eighteen hours. He's trying to comfort you with gently caresses all over your head and back, sinking your face on his neck. You know he's blaming himself about what you said, about that you were scared that he could find you if the Coyotes traveled to Santo Padre. But at least, you caught him and he's gonna pay for all the pain he provoked you.

“Are you hurt?” He asks almost in a whisper, pulling you some inches away inspecting your face, with the desperation consuming his soul.

“I love you”. You answers, still drowning in your own salty tears, licking your lips. He laughs bittersweet, before helping you to get up, raising you on his arms. 

“You’re safe now, baby”. He mutter in your ear, resting your face on his chest.

“She will do it”. Marcos talks whilst Alejandro is nodding drawing a silver dagger, when the Mayan comes to the living room supporting you.

No one says nothing, while Gilly is helping you to put yourself on your feet. They’re kinda sleepy, but without letting go one of his hands, you raise the free one to the knife with a cross engraved on it. The both prospect of the charters are holding Antonio’s arms, kneeling above the wooden floor with his gaze filled by wrath. 

“Listen, if you don’t wanna do’et…” Bishop walks towards you, twisting his face, so only you can hear him.

“This is my job”. You deny with a scratchy tone in your voice. “This is what I used to do, and this is what I’m gonna do”.

Setting yourself free, you bend next to the man who tried to ruin your life and almost killed you. There’s no expression on your countenance, but he’s starting to look scared. Ripping off his shirt, pulling away both apertures and gently sticking the tip of the sharp knife into his chest, enough to draw a shallow slit to write the name of your charter on it. Yes, maybe you’re enjoying every shout wrapped in grief, while Antonio stirs under the grip. Mayans must be freaking out behind you, because your family have seen you so many times dealing with this kind of situations that they don’t even get surprised. 

“You wi—”

“I will nothen’!” You yell at him, hitting his mouth with your left elbow to make him shut up. “I told you that night, when the blood collected in my throat. One day I would find you and I would make you pay for every tear, for every bruise, for every time you raped me, for every time you hit me for no reason. And now, here comes judgment day, pinche perro”.

You’re feeling strong than never, maybe because of the adrenaline invading every inch of your anatomy, dragging every word you spit above your tongue. And his blood splashes your face, your neck and your shirt, when the dagger blade pierces his skin ripping it completely. A guttural growl comes out from his throat when your hand falls down holding the knife, cutting his chest till you reach the belt on his jeans. The blood bathes the carpet, taking away his last breaths while the prospect letting him go, making Antonio drop half dead. 

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

Your back is against the wall, sitting on one of the bed of the Mayans clubhouse, in the last room. You have been alone for the past three hours, after convincing your brother to come back to Tijuana. He wasn’t in accordance with your decision, but the fault wasn’t theirs. And you were calm because of that man was already dead. Although your mind was remembering everything that happened once and again, you knew that night you could finally sleep peaceful.

Bishop comes to the room, closing the door after his steps, sitting on the edge of the bed with some distance between both. He isn’t the Rey de los Mayas because of his age, but because of his intelligence. And you played smart when you told him you never were an active member. But you don’t need it, if you're somekind of nomad or hired assassin. 

“You ok?”

You nod slightly, raising your eyes at him.

“So… That was your job, rai’?”

You nod again. No words needed.

“Was it one of the reasons why he did all that to you?”

“He did it ‘cause my brother never wanted him to be part of Los Coyotes. Taking me to hell and teaching me that it was the only life I could have, it was the way to be close to them”.

Bishop puts his gaze away, having a deep breath by his nose, to let go the air by his lips.

“Gilly blames himself”.

“I know, but it’s not his fault, nor yours, nor anyone. I allowed Antonio to do it, it’s only because of me”.

“He wanna see ya’”. 

You nod a third time, in silence, letting know that you want to see him too. The president gets up of his seat, walking towards the door to let him cross it, leaving you two alone. He doesn’t know what say to make you feel better, or to make you feel safe. Without knowing, that you are already feeling this way. This was like another job, with the difference that you killed the man who pushed you to the limit of your capacities. Your knees are placed against your chest, surrounding them with both arms, when he takes the same seat Bishop had. His head down, his forearms supported on his lap and both hands on his nape. Gilly sets free a heavy snort with closed eyes, without moving an inch when you hug him laying your chest on his back, surrounding his neck.

“I’m so sorry ‘you have to see me doin’et”. You whisper leaving some kisses on his head. “I’m so sorry for everything that happened in the last weeks. I just… turned your world upside down”.

“You stabilized it”. He replies shaking his chin, turning to look at you. “I should listened you, and I di—”.

“Take me home, Gilly”. You ask him, making the reference to his house and the safe-place you two built there.

[clan-sayeed-fic]

Let me earn your trust (Kamilah Sayeed & MC)

Previous chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

Book: Bloodbound (property of Pixelberry Studios) Pairing: Kamilah Sayeed & MC: Amy (I do not own those characters, they're the property of Pixelberry Studios as well) Warnings: strong language, very little fluff/smut? (it turns out I don’t know what I’m writing about at this point hahaha)  Rating: Mature Author's note:  I'm not a native English speaker, I'm sorry for any mistakes (feel free to correct me).

I must say, I wasn't expecting to upload this story at all. And here we are, in the middle of what I have already written. And I haven't even got to the ending... let's say I'm gonna torture you with this story till you'll have enough of it. 😋

Today's chapter is the longest so far, hope you'll enjoy it. The first time I'm not giving hints about what will happen in the next chapter. I hope you like mysteries!😘

~ 2600 words

------------------------

Chapter 11

The smell of sweat filled the room.

Another scream echoed between the walls when Lily went flying through the whole length of the gym, finally hitting the floor.

"Again," Kamilah's cold voice was repeating the same word over and over.

Amy buried her face in her hands. She was sitting on the floor against the mirror on the wall. They were in the private training hall which apparently, Kamilah had in her company building.

"Come on," Lily panted, barely standing on her feet. "How can you not even stumble a little?!"

Indeed, for this whole time, Kamilah was barely touchable. The only moments when Kamilah was within Lily's reach happened because the woman by herself let her to. There was no sweat on Kamilah's body, no heavy breathing coming out of her lungs. She kept her upright posture the whole time. The only thing that had been changing was the color of her eyes, which turned red every time Lily planned to attack.

"Because I'm focusing, unlike you," Kamilah growled, annoyed.

Lily steadied her body. It was easy to recognize that she was losing her temper. Pain and exhaustion were reaching their limits within her. After each strike, her wounds healed impossibly fast, which was the advantage of being a newly turned. But it has its cons too. Her body was regularly devastated and healed.

And even the healing process could hurt sometimes depending on the injury.

Lily looked at Kamilah one more time, searching for weak points in her defensive position. Finally, she attacked, using her vampire speed, which made everything go blurry before Amy's eyes.

And then one more time: sounds of loud breaths, punching, scream, and Lily was on the floor writhing in pain.

Amy stood up momentarily, wanting to help her friend. She had an impulse to do it whenever Lily fell on the floor. And like every time before, now too, Kamilah's red eyes stopped her from doing this. The woman wanted the newly turned vampire to handle herself without help.

"Again," Kamilah was always ready.

"No," Lily stood up, her cracked bones healed loudly, making her bend in pain. "We did it like a hundred times, no more," sweat all over her face.

Amy knew already how this would turn out. Kamilah's eyes were still red. Not because of the fight this time, but the rage that burned inside of her. There was not much that Amy could do in this situation, so she stayed silent and watched the women.

"Do you realize that you are in no position to argue?" Kamilah's voice sharp like it could cut through anything. "The meeting will begin in a few hours. That doesn't give us much time to improve your skills."

"Yeah, exactly!" Lily shouted. "What's the point of all of this?" she made a gesture showing the training hall.

"Degree of your training might be our only chance to convince the Council from giving you a death sentence," Kamilah frowned at how reckless Lily acted.

Since they had no time anymore on convincing members of the Council before the meeting, they had to come up with a new idea. Adrian reminded Kamilah that back in the days the Council used to make its decisions based on how well trained the newly turned vampire was.

Kamilah did great by training Lily. And the girl by herself made enormous progress. But still, Kamilah was afraid that it might not have been enough. And she needed to be sure that it would be, thinking of Adrian's fate.

"I know," Lily became upset. At this point, Amy had a remarkably hard time standing in one place. "Just give me a break, ok?"

"Fifteen minutes," Kamilah ordered.

Lily inhaled deeply and turned to the exit. Finally, Amy moved into her direction, wanting to comfort her. But, to her great astonishment, that was not what her friend needed at the time.

"Don't, seriously," Lily didn't even bother to look at her. "I wanna be alone right now."

Amy stopped heartbroken. They had known each other for very long. Amy had time to learn that the best she could do in such moments was to let her be. No matter how hard it was for her to resist the urge of hugging Lily and telling her that she did great, it would do more harm than good.

Finally, Amy composed herself and turned around to Kamilah, feeling angry at her.

The woman walked to the corner of the hall, where she left her things. She drank water from the bottle and took off her training gloves, throwing them to the opened bag.

"You didn't have to be so harsh," Amy's voice was full of complaint.

"Live won't be easy for her either," Kamilah turned to face the girl. "Besides, I wasn't harsh. I'm sure even you could have dealt with it."

Amy's eyes raised. She was surprised by Kamilah's statement, and looking at her made Amy believe in the woman's words even less.

Kamilah stood in front of her wearing a black, simple sports bra and leggings. Her hair back into a loose ponytail, letting some of the hair fell from behind her ears. Her darker complexion was shining from the effort she put in training Lily. Muscles in her body highlighted by the faint light that was reaching the corner. Amy looked into her eyes and swallowed nervously.

"Yeah," she chuckled. "I truly doubt that,"

Amy wanted to turn from Kamilah when she felt her hand grabbing Amy by the wrist swirling her around till she stood with her back against Kamilah's chest. The grip on Amy's wrist was still solid when Kamilah lowered her head to her neck, making Amy shiver.

"Why don't you let me prove you wrong?" a sweet whisper from Kamilah's mouth straight into the soft skin.

Amy barely stopped the moan from escaping her mouth when the other hand moved from her hip, up to her waist. Slowly getting under her shirt, like she was waiting for a reaction.

You're angry at her, remember? Amy told herself in thoughts and with difficulty broke free from Kamilah's grip, causing her smirk with satisfaction.

"All right, I'll try," Amy's breath quickened already. "I can't see how this is supposed to prove anything since your way much stronger and faster."

"I won't use my advantages," Kamilah ensured, taking the position. "Try to hit me."

Amy inhaled deeply, showing a lack of confidence. But despite doubts, she made a fist out of her right palm. And when she wanted to attack, hesitation hit her with doubled strength.

"This is ridiculous," Amy laughed nervously.

"Of course, it is when you're preparing yourself to..." Kamilah said ironically.

Then, Amy hit her, acting impulsively. She certainly caught the woman off guard, but still, Kamilah blocked her effortlessly. She made Amy stumble a little, but there was no pain after Kamilah's defending move.

"Not bad," Kamilah said honestly, "try again."

"Oh no, I know how it goes with your 'again'..." Amy made an impression of Kamilah quite adequately.

Amy wanted to say something more, but she sensed the attack coming before Kamilah even planned to do this. Thanks to that, Amy dodged to the side at the right time, making Kamilah lose full strength on the missed attack.

The woman turned around with an impressed expression on her face.

"How did you do that?" Kamilah couldn't hide how dazzled she was.

"Um..." Amy looked at her own hands.

Then, Kamilah attacked again, trying to prove her theory.

Amy blocked every attack in a similar way that Kamilah did previously. The girl wasn't impossibly strong or agile. She just knew where Kamilah would hit and with what force.

After a series of attacks, Kamilahs stopped, her breath increased.

"This is quite a discovery," this time, the woman took Amy's hand gently, trying to figure out how was it even possible for someone without training to achieve something like that.

She didn't use her vampire abilities, but still. Amy was not muscular, her arms were weak, and she could not even beat properly.

"I guess," Amy smiled, but it was weird for her too. "I'm just better at defending myself."

"That's for sure," Kamilah stopped examining Amy, but her hand was still resting on her arm.

They stood close for long seconds, looking into each other's eyes.

Then, they heard a throat clearing, which ruined the moment.

"I don't wanna interrupt or something," Lily stood in the entrance, smiling widely. Her mood went back to its normal state.

Amy blushed, stepping away from Kamilah. The woman looked at the clock hanging on the wall to see that twenty minutes had passed.

"You're late," Kamilah stated a fact.

"Isn't that a good thing?" Lily couldn't help but tease.

"Why don't you find out and try to fight me?" Kamilah crossed her arms, with a daring look in her eyes.

Lily's smile faded when she understood that she just made her own existence a lot harder.

***

It was the hour of the Council meeting. Amy was told to stay in Kamilah's office while the rest of them went to the conference room to meet with the others from the Council. Amy knew that one of them would be Priya, and she doubted if the woman would vote on Lily's side.

There was the Baron who was at least likable from the men of the Council. Kamilah was sure that they would have to make a deal with him to persuade him on voting- aye. But nothing was certain with this vampire.

She heard about Lester. That Adrian had an argument with him recently, so they didn't even count on his vote.

There was their new Clan leader, Jax. He would undoubtedly vote on Lily's side since he knew how it felt to be Clanless. He remembered constant fear of becoming feral too well.

The last one was Adam Vega, the least predictable. He appeared fine but always needed more power. His vote depended on how beneficial the whole situation would turn out for him.

***

Amy kept walking from desk to doors, with her arms crossed.

It has been nearly an hour since the meeting started. How long could it take? She was curious about how Lily performed her skills before the Council members. If they even wanted to test how well trained she was.

Finally, Adrian walked in, making Amy jump.

"And?" she couldn't wait anymore.

Adrian looked at her with his eyes full of tiredness.

"It's not looking good," he said honestly, "We need to convince Adam to vote on our side," he was deadly serious. "He wants to talk with you."

"What?" Amy was shocked. "Why me?"

"He is considering you a threat," Adrian didn't have to put this gently. "He wants to know how did you manage to convince me to turn Lily. Of course, you don't have to agree on this if you don't want to."

Amy straightened up, feeling ready.

"I do," she forced a confident smile, "we win this today."

Amy followed Adrian to the conference room. When they walked in, the first person that she saw was Kamilah sitting in the most important seat. She was looking through the window, frowning.

Lily was standing by the wall, she wasn't smiling like before. Amy wondered what had happened there in her absence because the tension in the air seemed almost touchable.

Kamilah could smell Amy's perfume, and that's what made her took her eyes off the city. She was surprised to see the girl standing in the room next to Adrian.

"Adrian," her voice cold, "I thought we made a decision."

Adrian gulped unsurely under Kamilah's gaze. He hated to disagree with her.

"I..." he started, but Amy interrupted.

"You wanted to talk with me," her eyes moved to Adam, who was sitting between Priya and Lester.

"I did," he smiled, "I wanted to meet this infamous human being."

He looked over Amy's body like he was worried that someone of her average height could be a threat to him. Amy fought the urge to correct her pose as she managed to hold his gaze.

Priya obviously recognized Amy even if nearly 4 months had passed since they met. The fashion designer laughed loudly and spoke with irony.

"So first you're making me fire my employee... and then, Adrian to change your friend into the vampire," she licked her lips hungrily. "You've got some nerve."

Amy stepped nervously. She knew that Priya's words were not working in the interest of this case. And as she predicted, Adam became even more suspicious toward her.

"How could someone owning such a weak body, convince the most powerful creature walking on Earth to do something against its will," Adam said, wondering.

Amy could sense that Kamilah was trying her best, not interrupting.

"I would say that I can be pretty convincing," Amy smiled sweetly, trying to buy herself some time to collect her thoughts.

"I can see this happening," he said, scratching his beard. "But still, what Adrian could have from saving your friend? What could you possibly give him?"

I'm a fucking Bloodkeeper, Amy's thoughts screamed. She wasn't sure if she should have ever trusted Adrian or Kamilah. But, one thing was clear, Adam was far away from gaining her appreciation.

"Listen to me, Vega," Amy spoke with a strength in her voice, making everyone in the room freeze. "I know that I'm in the way. The human who knows about vampires... it can not be convenient." Adam wanted to deny, but she kept going, "You would like to kill me to keep me quiet, but it's against the rules," she was looking directly into his eyes. "On the other hand, a human who knows about vampires is... also against the rules.'' Noone interrupted her. ''There is only one solution."

Amy made a pause, giving everyone a chance to rethink her words. She knew she was walking a fine line, but there was no way back.

Vega seemed to be shocked by Amy's confidence. Actually, everyone in the room was, even herself. Words just left her mouth like she was a completely different person.

"Then, Amy," Adam said, "what solution would you suggest?"

Exactly, what do you suggest, Amy thought. It's not like she wasn't prepared or anything. She felt more afraid now that it would not be enough.

"We make a deal," Amy gulped, partially losing her confidence. "You, vote aye, and I..." that wasn't smart, she knew that right now, "will owe you a favor."

Everyone in the room moved significantly after those words. Adam let out a whistle as he was considering Amy's offer.

"That's not an option," Kamilah stood up, losing control.

Lily wanted to say something, but Adrian stopped her, keeping her by the arm. He didn't want things to go any more complicated than they already had become.

"Why would I want your favor?" Adam asked, ignoring Kamilah's words.

"You said it yourself," Amy kept his gaze. "How could I control two different vampires, "she kept on repeating his words, changing her tone to more sarcastic. "The most powerful creatures walking on Earth, right?" her left eyebrow lifted for a moment.

Adam leaned back in his chair. He kept on scratching his beard.

In the room fell silence of anticipation.

"Aye, then," Adam's voice, loudly cutting through the silence.

Kamilah let out a breath after hearing this. She should feel happy and relieved because they won. Lily was saved from becoming feral. Adrian, free from punishment. But at what cost?

Right then, Amy realized that she started playing a remarkably dangerous game.

And she was just the beginner since they all had been playing in it for centuries.

Next chapter: 12

------------------------

tag list: @onyxgaytrash, @lightning-fury, @scarlet-letter-a0114, @caliseds

[ohtheseboysilove]

omg! can you pls make a part 2 of your little fic where Roger and the Reader make Christmas cookies at 2 am? I absolutely adored it! I need them to kiss!!!

1744 words. Fluff.

  Part 1 is here!

You looked at your plates of cookies, neatly decorated and fresh from this night. Freddie was more than happy of your work and had pay you way more than he was supposed to. He always been a generous man, you couldn’t denied that.

"(Y/N), these cookies are absolutely delicious" You beamed at Brian’s words, Chrissie next to him, nodding along.

"Thank you Bri" You blushed slightly and thanked every guest who complimented you about your baking.

You used the occasion to do some publicity for your little shop, it never hurt to have new customers.

Until this girl came at the table where the desserts were, a red dress with a black belt, clearly trying the Santa Claus look.

"Hi there, did you cook those ?" She asked with a friendly voice, her fingers grabbing the little Christmas tree cookie before taking a big chunk. "It’s really good !”

"Thank you very much ! And yes, I own a bakery so I was on cookies duty for the party" You explained with a little chuckle, sipping your champagne glass.

"Well I will certainly need the address, you’re very talented" She grinned and took another cookie, a bright yellow star this time. "We really can feel the vanilla in this one, love it” She complimented you as she discretely wiped the crumbles from her dress.

"Here you go” You showed her the little cards next to the cookies with the address of your bakery and your number to pass order. "Are a friend of Freddie ?" You asked politely as she glanced at you card before sliding it in her bag.

"Oh I wish ! This guy is so extra, I love him !” You both giggled at the truth of her words before drinking more champagne. "But no, I’m just Roger’s date tonight, Meredith, he nicely brought me along" She chuckled and you felt your heart dropped in your chest.

Roger’s date.

You swallowed with difficulty and managed to put a tiny fake smile on your face. Clearly the past night didn’t have the same meaning for the both of you. Stupidly, you had think that maybe something could happen between the two of you but here he was, bringing a date few hours later. You felt sick and angry. Against yourself and him. And Meredith.

"I...I have to see Freddie quickly" You pretended and gently patted her shoulder as you walked away. "Something about the cookies !" You said and disappeared in the crowd, not checking how she reacted.

"Hi love" The soft voice of Roger’s voice felt like a slap in the face. It was literally the last person you wanted to see right now. It wasn’t his fault but you couldn’t face him. "You look beautiful" He purred against your ear for you to hear above the crowd.

"Thanks" You shortly replied, feeling your skin burned where Roger’s hand gently squeezed you. He was always so touchy with you, that was one of the main reason why you thought something could happen between you and him. "I need to go fetch more cookies from the kitchen" You lied and slid away from his grip, his confused gaze following you until he couldn’t see you anymore.

**

Two full hours into the party and you managed to avoid Roger every time he tried to catch you. It wasn’t very Christmas mood and all but for your sake, you needed that space between you.

"You’re a busy woman tonight, love" You grimaced as the drummer appeared on the little balcony behind you. "And you drinking directly from the bottle, what’s bothering you ?" He noticed the massive champagne bottle in your hands but only shrugged.

"Nothin’" You murmured and took a big sip, feeling incredibly sad suddenly. Pinning after someone who only saw you like a friend was really hurting. "Go back to the party"

"But it’s the first time in the evening that you didn’t run away from me" He whispered and wrapped his arms your waist, resting his chin on the top of your head. "Can you tell me what I did to piss you off ?" He pressed a little kiss on your hairs and you uncontrollably melted a little bit more against his warm body.

God, he was truly irresistible.

"I told you, it’s nothing" You weakly replied. The urge to just throw your feelings in his face was really tempting. But you needed way more alcohol for that.

"You’re lying" Your heartbeat speeded up when his callous fingers interlocked with yours, giving the posture an even more intimate meaning. You should pushing him away but you just couldn’t, his familiar perfume forcing you whole body to relax. "You don’t want to talk about it, I understand. Can I, at least, have a dance ? Before the clock struck midnight, hum ?" He let go one of your hand and spun you toward him, taking you by surprise.

"I don’t think your date would like that" You muttered, gaze falling on your still locked hands, confused feelings floating inside your belly.

You regretted your words because they made you sound bitter and jealous. Which was true but he truly didn’t need to know that detail.

"You met Meredith ?" His face lighted up and it felt like someone just stabbed you right in your heart. Maybe you were being over dramatic but it hurt like hell. "She is nice, right ?"

"The best" You looked away from his beaming face but he quickly grabbed your cheeks, forcing you to focus back on him. "Rog, I really think you should go back with her now. She is your date, not me"

His brows furrowed at your words and you shrugged, the feeling of sickness coming back.

"Are you...are you jealous ?" He asked, incredulous. You blushed furiously and shook negatively your head. "Yes, you are ! Oh my god, you’re totally are !"

"No, I’m not !" You crossed you arms and took few steps away, embarrassment rolling on you. "I don’t care"

"You’re such a bad liar" He giggled, a childish smiled lightening his whole face. "But let me tell you a secret about Meredith" He slid back his arms around your waist, his face burying against your neck and the soft touch of his lips on your skin brought goosebumps to your whole body.

"What ?" You couldn’t help yourself, you needed to know if it was serious with this girl.

"Meredith is my cousin" He murmured against the shell of your ear.

You looked at him with wide eyes and he started laughing like an idiot as you escaped his arms, shook by the news.

"You’re an asshole !" You slapped his chest weakly, relief and embarrassment confusing your mind. "You knew I was jealous for nothing ! And let me mope around for hours ! You should have told me, Rog !"

"Hey !" Roger grabbed your hands and pressed you flat against his chest, an amused smile on his lips. "First, I didn’t know you were jealous, I’m swear ! And secondly, love, how I was supposed to tell you when you spent the entire evening avoiding me ?" He arched a brow, clearly teasing you about your stupid attitude.

"I...but she...I thought..." You closed your mouth before sounding even more ridiculous and instead choose to bury your head further into Roger’s chest.

"You’re adorable" He chuckled and cradled your face, making you whined as you were still embarrassed by your attitude tonight. "Can we discuss about why you were jealous now ?" He softly brushed his button nose against yours, butterflies going crazy in your tummy.

"Please, no" You cried and closed your eyes to avoid Roger’s deep one. "It’s embarrassing" You murmured and shivered softly when his hot breath fell against your mouth. So close yet so far.

"I don’t think feelings are embarrassing" The drummer’s thumbs were gently stroking the skin of your face, his voice as sweet as honey, making your heart quickened ridiculously. "Expect if you’re embarrassed about the person you got feeling for" He added, his forehead now resting against yours and your eyes still closed. It was difficult but you knew as soon as you opened them you would lose control of the situation.

"I’m not embarrassed by you !" You replied in a whine, picking at Roger through your eyelashes. He was grinning widely, his thumb sliding under your chin and you didn’t like the cockiness in his smile. "What ?"

"Nothin" He shrugged then chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "You just agreed that you have feelings for me, love"

"What ? No I didn’t !" You sputtered, cheeks turning hot, making Roger only smiled wider. "I didn’t say anything" You weakly replied, completely mortified as the realisation rolled on you. You did confess your feelings. Indirectly but still.

"T’s okay, love" He quietly breathed into your ear, goosebumps rolling down your body. "Because I have feelings for you too" You looked at him with big heart-eyes, making him chuckled softly. "You’re too adorable"

"Adorable enough for you to kiss me ?" You whispered, taking him by surprise.

He giggled and shook his head, his eyes wandering between your sparkling one and your parted lips, covered in a light shade of red, practically begging to be kissed.

"Definitively" The feeling of his teeth gently tugging at your lower lip brought shivers down your spine, a little whine leaving your throat at the sweet torture. "I wanted to do that for a long, long time, love" He let go of your bottom lip and gave you a single and chaste kiss, sweet and soft, only making you wanting more.

Roger looked at you and smiled at your red cheeks and shaky breath, the reaction he was looking for. So he kissed you again, deeper this time. Your lips melting perfectly against each other, warm and soft and soon enough his tongue joined the kiss. You couldn’t repress the soft sigh falling from your mouth. His hands were firmly pressed against your waist, thumbs gently stroking your covered skin and you own fingers were on his neck, playing with his baby hairs.

"Merry Christmas, my love" He murmured as he slid one of his palm on your burning cheek, a stupid grin not leaving his face and perfectly matching yours.

"Merry Christmas, Rog" You replied against his lips, savouring another tender kiss, fingers completely lost in his blond locks.

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 10 of 83 : World of Sea

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 10 of 83

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2020

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

//////////////

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information   remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Before they could move, Master Juris spoke.  “Mistress Daeron, I speak to you as one Master to another.  Nobody stays in this shop unless I allow it.  I will tell you plainly that I am evaluating these children as possible apprentices.  I had not meant to say anything to them yet, but I must speak now, in order to keep them on.  Will you allow it?” he gestured to the hard-working children.

There was a confusion of “Of course,” and “Apprentice? Certainly!” and “Roper?  Yes, but what about the rope-walk?”

Roper looked up grinning and said, “I’ll still help you too, mother.”

Kurin looked away from the pulley that she was hanging and asked curiously, “Who told you that they were a being a problem?  We didn’t say anything to anybody.”

“Well, it was Silor.  He came to us and said that our children were bothering Master Juris.  That we should get them away from the boat-shop.”  They turned to Master Juris.  “The way that he said it, it sounded like he was relaying your request.  We apologize for interfering with your trial.”

“Think nothing more of it,” said Master Juris.  “Silor has been a cranky old Ord ever since I refused him an apprenticeship.  This is just more of the same.  Ignore what he says,” Master Juris paused, grinning nastily, before finishing, “in connection with this shop.”

With five boats working crabs and several more pulling nets for Glue Fish and Skelt, the Longin’s cargo space began to be filled.

When there was no more room for live crabs in the cargo vats, the cooks had to start processing the catch.  Crab cakes, dried crab flake, pressed into blocks and tallow dipped, and salted crab were laid in store.  Skelt dried, Skelt salted, Skelt pickled and Skelt in tallow blocks, joined the crabs in the cargo holds.  The Longin ran out of room for more.

Silor’s muscles strained as he helped to get the boat-shop hatch off.  They were launching the first boat that she had designed and built all by herself.  The crane lifted the boat into view.  Somehow, Silor felt just a bit disappointed.  It looks ordinary enough.  The way all of those white-haired-witch worshiping people talked for the last week, I had expected something more remarkable.

Everybody else was congratulating her and making a big thing of it.  The sides seem a bit thin to me.  He did as ordered and hitched it to the davits for lowering.  Crewmen were clamoring for the chance to be the first to use the new boat, as it floated along side.

Merkit and Forn, the lucky winners, clambered down and got into the boat and rowed it a short ways from the side of the Longin to put up the mast. They seemed to have a bit of difficulty at first but got it stepped and the sail up.  The boat gathered way. Maybe I was wrong. It is a fast one.

The mast began to bend and then broke off just short of half-way up. Merkit and Forn were clearing the wreckage of the sail when one of them yelled something that could not be made out due to the distance. He began to bail frantically.  A badly glued seam must have given!

“They’re taking water!  Get a boat to them, quickly!” Silor yelled.  Nobody moved.  They just watched.  In growing horror, Silor saw the tall, paired fins slashing through the water toward the men who were losing the battle to bail out the boat.

“Strong Skin!” Silor screamed.  Nobody moved.  They just watched.  The big, always hungry, fish hit the side of the boat with the large spine that made part of the front edge of its leading dorsal fin.  The poorly made side folded, breaking the boat and casting both men into the water.

Silor could only watch in dread as they struggled.  The fins of the Strong Skin disappeared.  There was a swirl of water and a brief scream. The powerful tail of the massive predator lifted from the water and slammed down flat, leaving only a stain of blood and a terrified Merkit who struggled against his certain doom.  The fish hit the man with its dorsal spine, ripping him open before it turned and took him in a bite.

Nothing was left but the sinking ruin of a boat, slowly sliding beneath the blood-stained waves.

I can’t believe it!  They don’t seem to care about Merkit and Forn. They’re all feeling sorry for … .

“Silor! Silor!  Wake up!” a hand shook him to sudden and shocked wakefulness.  Cron, his second lead deck-hand asked urgently, “How long have you been sleeping?”

Muzzily, Silor thought, Sleeping?  Was it only a dream?  It was so real! At least Merkit and Forn are OK.  Aloud, he said, “I don’t know, only a few minutes, I think.  Lucky you came down so soon. What got you down here at the start of the watch?  Is there a problem?”

Jolted, Cron answered, “Soon?  Soon!  Silor, it’s the start of MY watch!  You slept through the entire watch!  Can’t you smell it?  The vat water’s gone foul.  I can’t change it by myself now, I’ll have to get help.”

“You won’t be alone,” said Silor, following his nose to put the sluice over the worst of the vats.  “Go to the Captain and get men.  We need three for each of the four vats, and four or five of the biggest kettles the galley has.  They can dip water from the sea and lower it to us in the hold with the cargo crane.  The men and traveling cranes can take it from there.  Go!”

As Cron went, he could hear Silor opening the vat drains and starting to crank the bucket line.

Shortly, a grim faced Captain Mord and the equally somber First Officer Kotance came leading ten other men.  “Silor,” the Captain began, “you are relieved.”

“Sir, this happened on my watch.  I would prefer to stay and help until it is fixed.  I can offer no excuse, but I do know what to do and have started doing it.”  Silor had not paused in his efforts on the bucket line as he made his plea.

“Very well, Silor, you may stay,” said the Captain, “but only because we need every man.”  He paused in thought as he looked at what Silor had done and was doing.  “What do you recommend, Silor, to remedy this?”

“Sir, we need to leave the drains open for now, while we flush the vats. Once we get them to run clean, then we can close the drains and fill them back up.  I am flushing number three now.  As the pots of water come down on the crane, we need to use them to flush numbers four, one and two, in that order, because of the water conditions that I observed when I opened the drains.”

Captain Mord nodded silent agreement and began directing the men.  Big cooking kettles filled with seawater began to come down through the hatch.  As they came, they were hitched to the traveling crane and moved to the necessary vats.  Their life-giving seawater was dumped in and the pots returned to the crane repeat the cycle.

After a few hours of flushing, the first vat drain was closed and they began to fill it on up.  The watch was nearly over before the last vat was properly refilled.

At the Captain’s order, Silor followed him through the tidy passages of the ship, aft to the Captain’s cabin.  Captain Mord sat and gestured for Silor to sit as well.  He regarded the youth with serious eyes for a few moments.

“Silor, what am I to do?  You have put me in a truly difficult situation.” The Captain held up a hand and gestured at the books of Naral fleet Law and the Articles of the Longin, “These leave me little sea-room in dealing with you.  What you have done, is done.  We both wish to call it back and we both know that we cannot.

“There is much in your conduct to commend you.  You caused the problem but also solved it.  Your plan was sound and I followed it.  Only three of the Broad-legs died, due in part to your prompt and decisive action and your refusal to try to hide the problem.  It could have been much worse.

“It is past salvage that you fell asleep on duty and caused this.  Do you know your rights and avenues of action from here?”

Dully, Silor said, “I can put myself in your hands alone or I can ask a tribunal of three each of officers and Masters, with you to vote only to break a tie.”

The Captain said quietly, “There is another.  It was meant for officers but, as you do command men, you are qualified to it.  You can request a jury of those whom you command.  Of the options open to you, it might be best.  If I have the case, my action is proscribed by those books, and they are harsh.  The Masters and officers would be fair to you.  Your men are also your friends and may prove your best course. Whichever court you use, there is no appeal from a decision for this offense.”

“Sir, I will put myself in your hands.  I have known you all of my life and you have always been fair.  The others, well She has gotten to them, indeed most of the ship.  I will be safer with you.”

“Silor, please, do not do this.  I will have to break your well deserved rank.  The others do not.  That is why there are those courts available.”

“Sir, they could break me and worse, far worse.  She would see to it.”

“I do not understand,” said the Captain, puzzled.  What does he mean by ‘She’?  “You do know that you have chosen the hardest course to sail.  So be it.  Go, have the tocsin sound ‘general assembly’.”

Shortly, the sharp strong beat of ‘general assembly’ brought everybody not on watch to the quarterdeck.  Some, who stood night watches, were rubbing sleep out of their eyes.

Silor and the Captain stood before them.  Behind them was First Officer Kotance, quill in hand, with the current volume of the Ship’s Log open before him on a stand.

Clard, Master of Drums, called out loudly, “Justice at the Captain’s Hands has been requested by Silor Elon Longin.  He stands accused of sleeping on watch and thereby causing harm to our live cargo.”

To Silor, one face stood out in the crowd.  Kurin’s white hair drew his eye like a hungry fish to bait. She looks stricken.  She must have planned for any tribunal but this.  Whatever her plan was, it has been foiled.  It is a good thing that I chose the Captain’s Hands.  It’s the only justice she can’t reach.

Quietly, the Captain asked one more time, “Will you not take a tribunal? They can show mercy where I cannot.”

Firmly and loudly, Silor announced, “I will have Justice from the Captain’s Hands!”

Sighing at the foolishness that was costing him one of the best lead deck-hands that he’d ever had, Captain Mord said, “Silor Elon Longin, you stand in My Hands of your own will, having refused other tribunals.  You have admitted to falling asleep on watch, causing the death of three of the Broad-leg crabs in our cargo.  You are to be stripped of your duty as lead deck-hand for a period of three Gatherings.  During that time, you may not be made a lookout or given solo duty of any kind.  The Law of the Naral fleet and the Articles of the Longin demand this.

“Normally, the loss to cargo would demand a flogging to go with this punishment but you also formulated and directed the effort which saved us from much greater losses.  For this service, I can give reward.  The flogging is canceled unless any of the ship’s company demand it.” He paused and looked out over the assembled crew.  Nobody spoke. Silor had many friends and few who wished him any ill at all, had he been able to believe it.

The Captain turned back to Silor.  Regretfully, he asked, “I am in need of a new lead deck-hand.  Is there anyone that you would recommend?”

Silor actually considered the question carefully for a few moments before recommending, “Cron, Sir.  I think that he would be best.”

In the background, Kotance’s quill could be heard scratching across the paperfish parchment of the Log Book as he recorded the event.

“Thank-you, Silor.  You are dismissed.”  Then, with the same genuine concern that had caused Silor to trust him, the Captain added, “Go to the Galley and get something to eat.  You missed your last meal while saving our crabs.”

Afterwards, Silor lay in his hammock, dark thoughts running through his mind. Cron, the new lead deck-hand, and one of his oldest friends, came down the companion-ladder.

“Thought I’d find you here.  Tough break, that.  Hell, we’ve all taken a nap before.  Bummer about those three crabs, though.  That’s what did you in.”

“That and the little white-haired witch,” said Silor, grumpily.

“Yeah,” said Cron lightly, “if she hadn’t been showing off how she can find fish, we wouldn’t have the most valuable catch of crabs ever, and you wouldn’t have got in trouble.”

Silor sat bolt upright, causing his hammock to flip and dump him in a heap the deck.  “You’re right!” he exclaimed as he picked himself up.  “We voted against that stupid mapping thing, but they did it anyway.

“I wouldn’t be in any trouble if it wasn’t for her!”

Cron was dumbfounded.  That was supposed to be a joke!  I can’t believe it!  Silor’s serious.  He retreated up the companion-ladder shaking his head over the idea.  How can Silor prefer that the whole ship lose their shares in a rich cargo just so that he can get away with sleeping on duty?

That night’s dining assembly brought no relief for Silor.  The discussion was lively and optimistic.  As the Broad-legs had been believed to be the rarest of crabs, they were likely to bring high prices and therefore high shares.

The entire crew, even Silor, voted to make the existence of Kurin’s charts and the new, very profitable, method of crabbing Ship’s Business, with a penalty of expulsion and shunning for revealing it to anyone from another ship.

TO BE CONTINUED

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[mbti-notes]

(1/8) Yayy, I love Fleabag and I love your blog and everything you write, so I hope you're up for a discussion of your typings (and I hope all the asks come through). Agree about Fleabag, the Godmother and Harry's (his frequent breakups with Fleabag seemed INFJ door slams, but his endgame points to Si) typings. Boo and Fleabag seemed to have been the sort of BFFs who matched because their personalities were quite similar... What made you conclude ESFP rather than ENFP? Same goes for Martin...

Boo’s interests are all concrete, her thinking is always immediate and short-term, Ni grip was apparent in her hasty death.

Same goes for Martin. While I see signs of tertiary Fe in his deliberate manipulation of Claire and pleasure at bringing Fleabag down, and also the overall recklessness of unhealthy EPs, I couldn’t be sure whether he was Se or Ne dom.

I see no evidence of dominant Ne nor inferior Si but many vulgarities and desires that are indicative of unhealthy Se.

What about the Bank Manager? My memory of series one is fuzzy, but he makes an effort to work things out with Fleabag (and women in general) even if he judges too quickly, which could point at aux/tert Te-Fi, I guess.

He is honest and straightforward, no pretension, but severely limited in his perspective. His moral reasoning ability is rather rudimentary, which makes F unlikely. His life is in a deep rut and he is drawn to Fleabag because she is his opposite and helps spark his lower function development. She comes to symbolize the key to understanding his failures and frustrations (both in terms of how he treats women and his lack of function development), therefore, helping her succeed is also helping himself find his own way. He’s reconciling who he is by reckoning with his past mistakes through Fleabag.

The Father clearly struggles with expressing his feelings. He wants to communicate better with Fleabag, but he understands and prefers Claire (a T), so probably IxTx, perhaps Ti-Fe if we consider the main issues presented in the story plus the fact that he quickly fell for Godmother, a Fe dom? I’d like to know your reasoning for him. Anyway, I’d typed Claire and the Priest as ISTJ and ENFJ respectively, and these ones I was sure to have gotten right. xSTJ was clear for Claire, and episode 203 was the one that cemented her as ISTJ for me. She is constantly anxious and full of routines and rituals and micromanages everything, from actions to looks to even jokes, implying a lot of overthinking (I); she clashes with Fleabag because she’s insecure about the possibility of not being as interesting and funny as Fleabag (tertiary Fi). Also, she tries to pretend that she enjoyed the night, that her marriage is going well and that she thinks Fleabag kissed Martin rather than the opposite because of Si’s need to maintain security and stability and not lose what she’s conquered. By accepting her individuality, her feelings and the possibility of something better for herself, she takes action to improve her life, which implied much needed extraverted development. Also, most ESTJs I’ve met, despite being control freaks privately, are more adaptable and relaxed as well, especially in public (higher Te-Ne).

The show centers around Fleabag’s dysfunction. In Si grip, Fleabag tries to pinpoint Boo’s death (and her own hand in causing it) as the “point of origin” but her problems go far deeper than that, all the way back to her family relationships. Everyone in the family is equally messed up despite appearances. The show doesn’t go very far into the historical causes of their collective dysfunction, but it does a good job of illustrating the dysfunctional patterns as they exist in the present. The characters are largely products of old family patterns, therefore, it’s hard to understand each member individually without the context of their collective family dynamic.

A very common family dynamic involves projecting all of the family’s history of dysfunction onto the “weakest link”, aka, the black sheep. The black sheep is usually “chosen” according to their so-called inferiority for failing to live up to the family’s unspoken values, then they are routinely criticized and shamed for being something that is perceived as contrary to the family’s survival and well-being. Over time, this dynamic places an unspoken duty/expectation onto the black sheep, namely that they should always be “the one that ruins everything” whenever the family requires a scapegoat to deflect responsibility for dysfunctional behavior. Fleabag is obviously the black sheep, so everyone uses her as the punchline (for easing tension), the punching bag (for displacing their frustration), and the punch down (for a cheap win during power struggles).

As a defense mechanism, Fleabag believes that she is actually the superior member of the family because she’s “clever” enough to see through people’s fakery or hypocrisy. Despite the concrete proof of her own life being a total mess, she likes to think of herself as being more self-aware than others, i.e., she implicitly blames her life failures on the fact that she can’t fake it or lie to herself like everyone else. However, she doesn’t realize that playing the black sheep role is her form of self-deception. She is deeply caught up in a logical contradiction of knowing she is less than but also believing herself better than, and we see this over and over again in her asides to the audience. By exercising crude power in exposing other people’s fakery, she doesn’t have to look at her own and expose herself, and this plays perfectly into the family pattern that always ends up ricocheting back onto her. Whenever she exposes anything resembling the truth of the family’s dysfunction, regardless of whether she does it kindly or maliciously, she is roundly blamed for “acting out”, being “cruel”, “screwing up”, “ruining everything”, etc etc. The family immediately comes together to activate the scapegoating pattern and, in the end, nothing changes and the pattern repeats the next time they get together. Her twisted way of “caring” for her family is to play the black sheep, and their twisted way of “bonding” is to collectively reinforce their status as not the black sheep.

When people treat you like a black sheep long enough, you believe it and it becomes your identity, and playing this role so well leads her to blow up all of her relationships outside of the family. In accumulating many failed relationships, it’s very easy to slide into settling for less or settling for what you think you deserve, and she has been trained over a lifetime to feel less than deserving. As a defense mechanism, she’s romantically attracted to people who aren’t capable of knowing who she really is, which in turn gives her justification for blowing up each relationship as they are always shallow and meaningless anyway. But this automatic and destructive pattern hits rock bottom when she destroys the only person who’s managed to really know her. She then gradually becomes more aware that she’s repeating unconscious conditioning and could perhaps choose otherwise, but ingrained patterns are hard to change without help and guidance, which eventually invites the influence of the priest.

You might think that their father bears the brunt of the blame for the family being so dysfunctional, but he has plenty of his own unresolved issues that make him more like a child than a parent. The show does not offer any explanation for him but everyone has a history. It seems that he has always been emotionally absent and socially inept in that he allowed their mother to do all of the parenting and caregiving. He is not aggressive, obsessive, or controlling as you would expect for unhealthy TJs, rather, he is detached, distant, avoidant, and indifferent. When you talk to him face-to-face, there is some natural warmth there, but once you are out of his sight, you are out of his mind. You know that he loves you in his way, you know that he tries to empathize, but you also know that he utterly fails to understand anything about you no matter how hard either side tries to bridge the gap. It’s hard to fault him for what is clearly a “disability”? Because of his ineptitude, he traps himself in a codependent relationship with his shadow opposite type, a narcissistic person who calls all the shots in the relationship so that he never has to lift a finger, i.e., he never ever has to bear moral responsibility for anything, and taken to an absurd conclusion, he lives in a pitiful state of learned helplessness. You never have to feel bad if you never do anything, right? Wrong, he is still guilty of sins of omission, and for that he’s never able to truly be at ease no matter what he does to shed away every difficulty. Ideally, a good stepmom takes care of the step-kids, but he was not lucky enough to snag one, so he must accede to the bad stepmom’s judgment or else, heaven forbid, he loses his easy life by having to take responsibility for the girls on his own.

Unhealthy TPs need uptight Js to help them keep life in order, but they often prefer Ps for their amusing company. The father does not “prefer” Claire for what/who she is, rather, he merely appreciates that she doesn’t make any trouble for him, which he wants to believe absolves him of blame. He can say, “See, I have one good daughter, so it’s not my fault that the other one is bad”. There are many parallels between Claire and her father in how they approach relationships very passively and helplessly. Deep down, his heart actually prefers Fleabag for the fact that she more closely resembles her mother and the fact that she is braver than him and challenges him (to be better). He wishes to have a better relationship with her, similar to what he must’ve had with her mother, but he’s unfortunately incapable of containing the dysfunction that bad parenting and unresolved grief has wrought upon her.

You say that Claire should be more flexible if tertiary Ne, but why would you expect her to have any healthy functions? She clearly suffers inferior grip quite often and thus cannot use any of her functions optimally. Every SJ with unhealthy Si-Ne uses micromanagement of routines/rituals as a crutch, so this is true for both dominant and auxiliary Si - your claim here only proves SJ. She’s just as fucked up as Fleabag is, only she is better at repressing her feelings, and for this alone, ISTJ is very unlikely. ISTJs are introverts and they prefer to give up and be at peace rather than double and triple down on stupid behavior in the manner that Claire often does. Her main problem in life is that everything she does to “manage” situations results in her betraying herself in some way, which is strongly indicative of infantile Fi. I disagree that stubbornness is her fatal flaw ala Si-Fi loop; if that were the case, she’d be more than happy to give up everything to Fi loop and disappear into the background. She would also never ever go near Fleabag nor trust her with anything due to the fact that she has already encountered countless past experiences of Fleabag blowing up situations in awful and unpredictable ways. ISTJs are at their least forgiving and never forget whenever it comes to delegating important tasks.

I argue that what gets Claire truly upset is not being unprepared for “all negative possibilities in the abstract” but rather the possibility of LOSING FACE, i.e., being publicly humiliated and exposed as the uncool simpering hypocrite that she is, which is indicative of deep-seated fear of Fi (she envies Fleabag for her “cool” factor for this reason). Unhealthy Te doms, falling apart internally, are still capable of maintaining functionality in external life far longer than other types. She suffers from serious grip problems but still manages to perform her duties at home and at work, which simply wouldn’t be possible for Ne grip. With Fi grip, she instantly switches to very ugly self-pity and irrationally self-protective behavior when threatened by anything. Her instinct upon feeling the vulnerability of exposure is to go on and on and on about how “successful” she is, which usually includes a few rounds of punching down at everyone in an attempt to disown her bad decision making. ISTJs are rarely capable of bullshitting themselves to that extreme; they are more likely to react with humility and even resignation when presented with incontrovertible proof of their failures (see: Bank Manager).

Claire was probably expected to be “the responsible one” (aka elder/caregiver sibling archetype) because there was no one else to take responsibility. However, at this point in her life, she has achieved enough career success to be independent from the family. The fact that she can’t help herself from enacting her old role speaks to the lack of self-insight that is characteristic of inferior Fi, i.e., as much as she complains about hating the pressures and headaches of being “the responsible one”, she unconsciously LOVES it because it grants her a superior position in the family. She’s not willing to give up the pain because she’s not willing to give up the payoff, and this internal love-hate contradiction is what makes her relationship with Fleabag dysfunctional despite the love and affection they have for each other. I don’t think ISTJs are able to bear such obvious internal contradiction and still manage to claim integrity. ISTJs find it much more painful, if not impossible, to pretend and posture for the sake of appearances, because they are supremely stubborn people when it comes to preserving their subjective sense of integrity. By contrast, inferior Fi makes it very easy to ignore subjective integrity and choose destructive methods of obtaining feelings of power and superiority, hence she ends up betraying her own well-being all the time.

As for the Priest, we both agree on him being a Fe dom. What made me choose Ni rather than Si is that he admitted to have been quite a different person in the past by alluding to his many sexual experiences, probably a hint of Se as well. But then he met God and everything took a 180 for him (N, not S), implying that he was uncomfortably adrift for a while and needed a sense of meaning and a clear vision of his path ahead to feel whole (Ni). Also, PWB has said that Fleabag was drawn to the Priest because he has an established sense of purpose, which she’s been looking for, which highlights their P vs J and Ne vs Ni differences. You could argue that he was drawn to her because of tertiary Ne, but I don’t see signs of Si’s typical grounded outlook (he uses a lot of abstractions to explain his ideas) or typical adherence to traditions (the path to his faith wasn’t primarily through this motivation as it happens to many) or typical narrow-mindedness (quite the opposite, he used to be quite open to experiences due to Fe+Se). Oh, and I forgot to mention, the Priest can read and understand Fleabag so well that he even gets to enter her internal world and listen to her personal thoughts. To be able to understand people with this level of depth is, of course, more natural for xNFJs rather than xSFJs, who help people on a more practical level (Fe+Ni v Fe+Si).

I think your understanding of Si is still quite stereotypical. ESFJs have a common pattern of using Ne to “find themselves” only to end up lost because what they’re really doing is Ne loop. ESFJs tend to grow up feeling very pressured to be rule abiders and it is common for them to go through a rebellious stage a bit later in life compared to other types, once the pressure finally reaches a breaking point. After swinging from the painful oppression of “rule observant” behavior in youth to the painful failures of “rule breaking” behavior in young adulthood, they eventually boomerang back to old touchstones, i.e., they ground themselves by rediscovering comfort in the known. IIRC, the priest felt lost and eventually revisited religion for guidance, he made the beliefs his own rather than blindly following dogma, and he chose to commit his life to doing good because HE genuinely wanted to, not because family/society told him to. A healthy ESFJ establishes a stronger sense of self once they reconcile with the past and make “rule following” more palatable by turning it into a personal choice (rather than feeling obligated to constantly self-sacrifice). I disagree that he “transformed” from one person into a completely different one, I think it’s more accurate to say that he had no idea who he was and got increasingly lost until he discovered himself by looking backward and making sense of his past experience. 

Religion is an abstract concept, there’s no avoiding abstract discussions about religious beliefs when you’re debating a non-believer, especially when that non-believer is Ne dom. Ne is tertiary and people often use tertiary functions for relief, therefore, ESFJs tend to enjoy abstract discussions, especially of the Ne variety that is full of humor and playfulness, exactly like the kind that he gets with Fleabag. I dare you to try joking around with a “true believer” ENFJ. Their beliefs are deadly serious to them, so they show far less patience for sacrilegious play (unless, for some reason, they have developed an irrational fear of being criticized as dogmatic and pretend to be open-minded). Also, why would an *N*FJ be shocked and alarmed or seem resistant to using intuition to “read” people? Why would their intuition seem so painfully accidental? NFJs generally LIKE using intuition and do it naturally as part of who they are, they embrace it and feel more confident the more they are in touch with it.

Ns tend to speak in abstractions but not everyone who speaks in abstractions is N, similarly, every NJ needs a sense of purpose but not everyone who seeks a purpose is NJ -> beware this logical fallacy: “every cat has four legs but not every four-legged creature is a cat”. NJs need a purpose for materializing their personal potential, SJs seek a purpose for the sake of grounding themselves in something unshakable within - you point out the behavior without grasping the true motivation. When ESFJs develop Si well, they recognize that what makes them happy is to be of service, to be a positive contributor to their community, to be a reliable source of help and comfort to those in need. He is not a charismatic and boastful preacher of the ENFJ sort, rather, he sees himself as a humble servant who uses reliable traditional beliefs to help ground people who feel lost in hectic modern life, using his own past experience as the starting point. The fact that he has the strength to end the relationship with Fleabag before it becomes negative and destructive is a testament to Si steadfastness and how strongly the rules matter to him (Ns are very masterful at rationalizing that the rules don’t apply to them, and that’s often how they end up in bad places). Why would you expect him to display all sorts of negative signs of Si if he is meant to be the positive moral guidance for the show? And wouldn’t it make sense for him to use his well-developed Si to reveal to Fleabag the true extent of her dysfunctional Si? Would an ENFJ instinctively know better than an ESFJ how to remedy Si specific identity dysfunction?

Can you please allow us to submit things to you? In the case of long asks like mine, it helps to avoid any part not getting sent.

I have considered this before but I’m not sure I want to do that.

[dayseternal-blog]

A NaruHina Folktale/Gods & Goddesses AU

Summary: The folktale of the Japanese summer festival Tanabata, the story of Orihime’s and Hikoboshi’s love.

Chapter 1: Across the Amanogawa

Moonrays,

Woven into stardust,

Threaded through gossamer of clouds.

The finished piece glowed like the tail ends of comets, perfectly fit for the blushing bride.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.  

“He won’t be able to take his eyes off of you,” Hinata said, watching Ino, the Princess of Horn, turn so the cloth would catch the light.  

“Thank you...thank you so much!”  Kogaku-hime’s expression was one of pure hope and joy, one that the Weaving Princess had seen often enough to know that the bride was in love, that the wedding would be a success.  

She smiled, satisfied at another job well done, happy that her father would be pleased with her work.

Yet as she carefully wrapped the shiromuku to be later sent to the bride, she couldn’t help feeling wistful.  When would she have her own wedding?  Would she ever meet someone to smile for, to blush for, to love?  She was already at the later years of proper marrying age, and soon, surely too soon, she would be too old for anyone to want.

She worked long hours, practicing and perfecting her craft, creating beautiful fabrics for all occasions that were well-known across the celestial heavens.  Her designs were sought out, desired for their auspicious value.  She had a long list of prominent clients and an even longer waiting list of orders.

Despite her neverending duties, she loved her art.  She loved forging beauty from the natural world around her.  She loved even more bringing happiness to her family, friends, and loyal customers.

She knew she could live a fulfilling life in this way.

But she couldn’t help her longing sigh, she couldn’t help watching her friend’s marriage with some yearning in her heart.  

His daughter’s melancholy did not go unnoticed.  As strict as he was on his daughter, he loved her and wanted her to be happy.  “Hinata, the wedding was perfect, your work was admired by all.  Why do you look so sad?”

“Otou-sama, no, I am proud of my work and glad that I could contribute to the start of their marriage.”

“Then what are you sighing for?”

Seeing that her father would not leave it alone, she admitted her true feelings.  “I just...hope that one day I can also find such happiness...in someone to love and to care for.”

Her father was surprised, but realized that, indeed, it was time.  Though his daughter was fair and beautiful, and though she attracted many an admirer, she had never shown interest before, and instead spent all her energies in her work.  He encouraged her work ethic and enjoyed seeing the success she had found.  No one could weave the stars together as effectively as Hinata.  Nothing could promise a propitious occasion like his daughter’s fabrics, and surely, her work was now considered indispensable to the gods.  For all of her success, she deserved happiness, too.  She deserved someone just as honest, good, and hardworking as she.  And he had one such young god in mind.

“I can arrange a meeting for you with Hikoboshi.  Have you met each other?”

She shook her head.  She rarely left her workshop.  The only people she ever met were her clients, long-time friends, and family members.  Though she had heard of him mentioned in passing, she now wondered about who Hikoboshi was.  Her father had never spoken of him before.  “Who is Hikoboshi?”

“He lives across the Amanogawa in Akira, and herds the cattle of Northern Genbu.  He has earned a reputation for being reliable and trustworthy.  Would you like to meet him?”

Hinata took a moment to collect her thoughts, imagining the difficulties of such a hazardous occupation.  An unfamiliar hope, an excitement, rushed through her, and she nodded. “Yes, Otou-sama, I would like to meet him.”

He had heard of her.  

After all, who hadn’t?  

The celestial maiden beside the Amanogawa, Orihime of Raira.  Her starlit kimono were considered as beautiful as the heavens.  Her own beauty spoken of in hushed, admiring tones from those fortunate enough to have seen her.  Rumor said her hair was like night’s silk itself, her eyes the moonbows of misted nights, her skin as pure as the divine waters of the Amanogawa.  

When Tentei, the Heavenly Sky King, proposed the meeting to him, he was more than willing.  He felt more than honored.  He was shocked to even be considered, and ever since they settled on the date for their meeting, he couldn’t help but feel a strange self-consciousness tug at his heart.  

This mysterious beauty that captured the imaginations of many a young lord, and he, simple cowherd though he was, received the opportunity to meet her.  

Would it go well?

Would she like him?

Would he like her?

Would they marry?

He pondered these in his vigilance over the pastures, his gaze following the curves of the galaxies that dipped toward the horizons.  He took great pride in guarding this realm, in guiding the cattle across the fields and back to their respective starhouses. Though he was required to work for long periods of time, and the responsibilities were great, he enjoyed his job, and he knew no one else could map the constellations as well as he.  Perhaps it was due to this that the Heavenly Sky King recognized him as a potential suitor for his daughter.  Perhaps it was due to his dedicated work over so many years that he was being given this chance.

She took special care of her appearance as she prepared for their meeting.  She combed her hair and scrubbed her skin until they shone.  She dressed in a simple pale kimono of her design, the embroidered creatures along the seams small, yet auspicious in symbolism.  

She knew she did not have the same charm and wit as Ino.  She knew her only strengths to recommend her were her grace and refinement, painstakingly taught to her under the strict watch of her father.  The least she wanted to do was offend Hikoboshi’s eyes.  If she couldn’t banter and develop a quick rapport with him, she hoped that at least he might look at her and like what he sees.  She hoped she wasn’t already too old for his tastes.  She hoped he wouldn’t think her a waste of his time.  She felt she had little to offer, lacking in social and life experiences as she was, locked away in her shop with her loom and threads.  

Yet, despite her nervousness, she was hopeful.  Meeting someone different from her usual circle of acquaintances was already more novelty and excitement in itself than she was used to.

She had paid careful attention to the murmurings of gossip when she visited the palace last, catching snippets of conversation regarding the young god she would be meeting.

“The lightning storm passed through there,” they whispered.

“Did he make it?”

“He didn’t lose any of the cattle.”

“The air is shrouded tonight.”

“How can he see where he is going?”

“He is certainly a master navigator.”

Hushed tones that left her truly wondering, imagining what he might be like.

Wise and well-traveled?  

Strong and protective?  

Kind and considerate?

Would he tell her stories of life in the far fields and mountains of Akira?  

Was it more beautiful there than here in Raira?  

She daydreamed of their meeting, of what it might be like, and what it might lead to as she readied herself for the night, and even as she made her way to the decided-upon location, the Pavilion of Swans.  

She waited near the shoji doors for her introduction.  She could barely hear their low tones, her father’s and Hikoboshi’s.  His voice was textured and warm.  She imagined weaving the timbre of his voice into cloths of red aurora, with rays of purple and orange starbursts.  Even if the night’s meeting ended in a failure, she would remember this, the voice of the young lord who agreed to meet with her, who agreed to give her a chance, and she would memorialize it in her embroidery.

A quiet shuffle alerted her to the present, and the door slid open.  

Her father appeared and gestured for her to join his side.  

She stepped quietly, carefully to him into the doorway.  She kept her eyes lowered, only lifting them to meet the occupant of the room when her father introduced her.

Her gaze met blue.  Bright, bright blue eyes of the rarest and tallest atmospheres.  His hair spun golden like the treasures kept in the Jade Palace.  His features were distinctive, strong as if the current of the Amanogawa surged beneath his skin.

She shied her gaze away again in a motion of modesty, but truly her heart thrummed with nervous anticipation.  He was beautiful, unlike anything or anyone she had ever seen.

Once Tentei slid the door closed, leaving them to get to know one another, they sat down silently.

His gaze was fixed on her, entranced, trapped by the vision she presented.  She was everything they said and more.  The rumors of her beauty didn’t account for the way her dark lashes glimmered over moonlit, blushing cheeks.  No one spoke of the way her very presence radiated grace and elegance.

But most of all, he wasn’t prepared at all for how he felt when she looked up at him.  He was immediately drawn to her.  There was no describing her eyes.  Softer, lighter than the cirrus clouds that gather at the hoofs of his cattle.  Simultaneously, astonishingly, incandescent, like the solar winds that, at times, surge across his fields.  Electrifying.  Alarmingly alluring.

He was just the Cowherd, no better, no more virtuous than any other young god, and he knew, he, like so many others before him, was taken with the beauty of the Weaving Princess.  Every fiber of his being wanted her recognition, her attention, and he spoke before he knew what he wanted to say.  “Orihime,” he started.

She looked up at him, her iridescent gaze meeting his, sending a wave of satisfaction through him.  A little smile curled the edge of her mouth, like she was happy to hear him call her.

Her very look was riveting, one that nearly made him lost in his thoughts.  He took a silent, steadying breath and continued, “...I have heard much about you.  Your art...and your beauty.”  He couldn’t stop himself from appreciating the curve of her cheekbones, the line of her neck as it disappeared into her kimono.  “You are certainly more than everything I have heard,” he said, as honestly as he could convey.

She blushed and her eyes trailed down to the tatami mats beneath them.  

He wanted to hear her voice.  He wanted her to speak, but he didn’t really know what else to say.  If it was socially acceptable, he would gladly call her every name of beautiful for the rest of the meeting.  He watched her blush retreat from her cheeks.  “It is an honor to have this time to finally meet you.”

She looked up then, her lips parted, and he felt attuned to every motion and breath she made.  “Hikoboshi, I thank you for taking the time to meet me.  I am only but a weaving maid.  I do not deserve your words of praise.  I am the one who is honored to finally meet you.”

Her voice was soft, gentle, like the breeze that whispered through the pastures on tranquil nights.  His chest felt tight with overwhelming attraction.  “Please, call me Naruto.”

Her eyes widened in surprise.  She nodded once.  “Naruto-san?” she called, uncertainly, her voice caressing the syllables of his name.

“Yes?” he responded, carefully, as invitingly as possible, knowing he’d do what he could to have her comfortably call him without the honorific.  

“Could you please..tell me about your work?  I have heard of your incredible feats.”  She blushed, her gaze lowering as if she was asking for too much.

He smiled, happy to share with her his occupation, his way of life and his pride.  “Of course!”  He described as best he could the star plains, the time it took to memorize each starhouse in his youth, the dangers in driving the cattle across the constellations when the tradewinds swept northerly, or when they reach the zenith of Northern Genbu, and he must navigate through the corridors of the solar winds.  He told her of the way the celestial bodies rise and set over his home, the way the young cattle enjoy playing in the clouds, and the deities he meets upon completing each crossing.

She listened attentively, her expressions of awe gratifying in a way that made him feel more important than he really was.  

He realized, though, that he wasn’t learning anything about her.  While having her undivided attention was undeniably satisfying, he wanted to know more about her.  They were near the same age, yet she seemed so much more sheltered, more innocent to the world around her.  “Orihime, please tell me more about yourself.”

She blushed, her gaze ducking down to the table once more.  “I weave kimono.”

He could tell she was uncomfortable, but he wanted to hear more about the maiden who had so effortlessly captured his admiration with just a glance his way.  “Your kimono is renowned across the heavens.  How did you start weaving?”

“Oh,” she gasped a little, surprise evident on her face.  Her expression softened, and she smiled.  “My mother taught me when I was little.”  

He encouraged her to continue, and she told him of how she learned to twine the wisps of clouds together as a toddler, braiding them into simple jewelry she gifted to her parents.  How, as she grew older, she learned to pull and thread together the dust of the stars into fine chiffon, how she learned to weave in the glow of the moon to create lengths of gauze and silks.  She told him of inspiration she found from the natural world around her, from watching the interactions of her loved ones, or from the beauty she found in the little things.

And all too soon, their time together was over.  A knock on the wall alerted them to the time, startling both of them.  

“Naruto-san, I enjoyed learning about your home and work.  Thank you.”  She bowed and lifted her eyes shyly to him.

“I also enjoyed getting to know you better, Orihime.”  He meant it.  It was partially her beauty, no doubt, but it was really the way she spoke quietly yet cheerfully, the way her expression lightened when she shared about her weaving.  He found everything about her attractive, irresistible.

“Please, call me Hinata.”  She blushed and averted her gaze.

“Hinata-chan,” he tried.  It was an unspoken promise that he’d get to speak to her again.  How soon, he didn’t know, but the knowledge that she liked him enough to share her name with him was more than enough to make his heart clench.  He openly smiled at her, expressing his joy at her acceptance.

Notes:  The Wikipedia-researching blackhole I fell into while writing this story was amazing. In creating their world, I decided to reference aspects of Chinese, Greek, and Hawaiian/Micronesian astronomy.  Please take a look at a little of what I learned!

Chinese: The sky is separated into 4 Symbols, one of which is Black Tortoise of the North (where Orihime and Hikoboshi lie).  Each Symbol has 7 Mansions that house and classify important stars.

Greek: Orihime refers to the star Vega, which is a part of the constellation called Lyra.  Hikoboshi refers to the star Altair, which is part of the constellation called Aquila.

Hawaiian/Micronesian: Ocean navigators memorize "houses" that all of the stars rise from and set into to determine their direction.  Their mental map is called a star compass.

Thank you for reading!

[marias-studyblr]

hey mariaaaaa!! i love your blog! recently i’ve been struggling with my fear of failure/success which is preventing me from reaching for my goals. I overthink EVERYTHING which isn’t helping me in studies to my personal life. do you have any tips?

hellooooo!! 🌹💕 thank you so much i really appreciate it. 😊🌸

🐇 about fear of failure/success

I really relate to your message. when I’m dealing with the same concerns, this is what I do:

imagining i do fail. imagining everything goes the other way around. what would i do then? and i know this might seem unnecessary but it forces me into a rational mindset instead of a very emotional one. if I fail, what will my next step be? much of the fear we feel comes from not knowing what will happen, what we’ll do if the eventuality does come.

it serves us good to think about our future even in the prospect of failure. and also for us to understand that even if things don’t go right, we have a path too. planning and organization are what we need in times of stress and fear, to keep us grounded, to get us focused on our work habits and not so much on the end goal. take away some of the importance of the goal, to relieve some of the pressure that is suffocating you.

secondly, sometimes we make situations bigger than they actually are, especially when it comes to grades because it feels like it’s all people in a school environment care about, making us fear something that isn’t actually real. it’s not a life or death situation even if it may feel like it, and once again, there are so many paths to your future success that even if school throws you a curve ball, it is nothing that stops you from being successful in the future. nothing at all.

knowing what step to take next is really important to feel less afraid of a result. and it’s also important to know that you’re not being threatened in any way: that it’s just a grade and the fear you’re feeling can be somehow dissolved if you think about how small this event is compared to the big picture of your life. what am I afraid of exactly? 

the other thing I want to say is that no matter if we win or lose, in whatever situation, it’s important to be able to accept the circumstances of our lives that brought us to that moment and deal with our decisions and choices in the past. even if the thing that we chose to do was incredibly stupid in retrospective, we need to respect our past self.

I’ve had unfair things happen to me and I’ve made many stupid decisions in my past, but with persistence, I ended up alright and happy. and today, I am so proud of all the things that I did to better my situation and get to where I am today.

so, I believe that no matter what difficulties come our way, even if they hurt us or we were unprepared for them, or at the time we didn’t know how to react properly, both in our academic lives and in our personal lives, if we persist with hard work and determination, we will be able to reach a happier place in the future, even if we never had thought of it.

so with that in mind, it’s a lot easier for me to face stressful situations in school. the initial stress and fear are always going to come, but I can overcome it a lot more easily because (1) I know looking back at my past that even if things don’t go my way I can always find a better path and (2) it’s not half as much of a big deal than my anxiety is making it to be in my head. I can always look around and find the things that actually matter in my life.

🐇  about overthinking

I also used to overthink every little thing I said or did, so I REALLY understand you. I was always really shy throughout middle school and high school, even though I’ve always had strong opinions and with my family & close friends, I was not shy at all.

it came to a point it really stopped me from doing everyday normal things and thinking anything positive about myself. for those who don’t know what this is like, it might be a little difficult to understand how this could impact our daily lives… it’s kind of having anxiety about everything involving your person, especially social interactions. cringing over and over again from the tiniest things that happened months ago, dreading the way you talk and look, not being able to let go of mistakes, fearing talking to acquaintances/strangers, being completely destroyed by criticism, and constantly beating yourself up from the largest to the smallest things in your life. it really makes you feel isolated and lower your confidence.

only recently I started respecting myself enough and I am glad that with time I was able to become stronger. so the first thing I want to say is to be patient with yourself. trust with time, you’ll become wiser. I think it’s more of a mindset shift than anything else, and that comes with becoming wiser. you do evolve with time, which is great news! 😊 I can’t believe how far I’ve come in terms of my confidence in just a few years.

I think the cause of overthinking everything is probably some sort of emotional shock or abuse. I have an idea where mine could have come from. reflect on your childhood, middle school, even though it might stir up some emotions. the point is to understand that you don’t “just have a shy personality” or it’s not “just the way you were born” and give yourself some closure. let yourself know if you’ve been through tough stuff in your childhood, it’s ok, you’ve made it, and it doesn’t define who you are. there is always space for improvement. it doesn’t mean you’ll never be able to talk well in public, interact with strangers. I truly believe with practice anything is possible, so be patient with yourself and keep practicing your social interactions, learning how you can improve your social skills and correcting your mindset whenever you catch yourself beating yourself up. 

one mistake that I found to be more pertinent in this aspect of my mental health was thinking everyone else was so much better than me. everyone else was always right and I should try to be like them! why can’t this person like me? what should I change about myself in order for them to begin liking me?

I had such a toxic mindset it really took a heavy toll on everything in my life really, and it was very degrading and tiresome to constantly be finding non-existing flaws and comparing myself to everyone around me. the answer is simple (and what I wish I could tell my younger self): focus on yourself and not people around you… everyone comes in different shapes and forms, we all have different personalities, we come from different backgrounds. we don’t owe our lives to anyone, not your teachers, not your friends, not your classmates, not even your parents. we should rejoice in our individuality, we should feel confident in our skin. it’s YOUR skin, not the other person’s skin, it’s YOUR brain, not someone else’s.

each one of us is simply trying to make it through - everyone’s equally clueless about their lives. they are lying to you if they say otherwise. and everyone’s too focused on their mistakes to truly care about your own.

once I figured that out, things really started looking up.

slowly, I started overthinking less and less, I was much more confident. there needs to be a clear resolution in your head: you are NOT less than others. your work may not be the best but it is ENOUGH and GOOD. and “good” in the meaning of kind. kind to yourself, kind to others. and that’s where I stem my confidence from. I am good and I am enough, I have meaning and purpose.

and it really drove me to have a happy mindset, because I can do good, to myself and to others, and I will continue to work hard no matter what comes my way. I have so much in my life to be grateful for!! those things, to me, are what makes a happy life.

I was more open about who I was, gave more importance to the people who accept, love me, cherished the small (big) things that make my life good and comfortable, and less to the things that don’t actually matter in the big picture.

overthinking your everyday life to the point of self-deprecation will stop you from actually enjoying it! even if I get a bad grade, even if I have an awkward interaction, even if something difficult is going on in one of my classes, at the end of the day, no one’s died you know? I still have food and a roof over my head, my loved ones to love, my integrity and physical state. I will do better next time, and that’s that. I don’t want to reach my 60′s to start giving importance to the things that actually matter, I want to give importance to them now, while I can still cherish them.

🐇 more practical things to do

don’t isolate yourself. especially in times of fear and stress. being around people who love you will make you feel grounded. and when you are loved and respected in your close community, it will encourage you to accept yourself as well! when we are suffering, it’s easy to close ourselves and not talk about it, but being open about your struggles is exactly what will help you the most to overcome them. so talk to your closest people, eat with them, text them. let them know how you are feeling and let them support you, they will want to.

meditate and do yoga. this practice brings me a lot of serenity and peace and encourages quiet time, away from distractions. to be alone in a way that is not harmful. and from there, grow the roots to a healthy relationship with yourself. I especially recommend Yoga with Adriene, she was the one who really taught me the way of looking after myself, respecting myself as a whole.

watch ted talks! there are really good ones about public speaking, self-confidence, gratefulness, mindfulness! look them up, it really made a huge difference for me. 

journal, write, keep a diary, draw, sing, express yourself. through some tough moments of my life, writing about my feelings in a very private way, appreciating art that I felt related to me, was important to understand what I was feeling, what was happening, cope with it and try to find a way around. 

so, I hope all this made sense and helped even a little…!

I’ll repeat my first piece of advice: be patient with yourself. small changes in our mindset every day lead to big changes over the course of a year or two. overthinking about small things in our life will soon start to look pretty useless to you. :- )

YOU GOT THIS I believe in you 100%

you are doing better than you think.

⭐💛 thank you for your message, may it help others too who are going through the same 💖 let’s live our best lives please, unashamed, unapologetic!

[writinggeisha]

LazyGeisha's Note: I'm putting the text under the "read more" due to explicit words being used. If this post becomes a problem, I'll stick it all up on Google docs and post a link.

**Updated in 2017**

My name is Quinn Anderson, and I've been writing smut for over ten years now. I'm also a published author. I've written the Murmur Inc. series and several other LGBT+ erotic novels, which you can find in the references section, and I've been an active member of fandom since childhood. Now that my entirely unimpressive credentials are out of the way, let's get to the point.

·                     A friend of mine recently told me that she has difficulty writing smut, because she feels like she's being repetitive or boring or that she just can't create the right mood. To help her, I agreed to put together what I consider to be the building blocks of writing erotic fiction, both heterosexual and homosexual. This is a comprehensive list that she (and now all of you) can consult when you're writing if you can't think of a word/feel like you've said the same thing over and over/just want to get some fresh ideas.

·                     This article is free for everyone to consult, and there's absolutely no need to credit me if you use something from this list. Most everything on here is fairly common, and an experienced smut writer will likely recognise everything here. I've attempted to categorise it neatly for easy reference, and some things are mentioned in more than one section because they are equally applicable. I also have a tendency to switch tenses/perspectives, depending on the wording, so hopefully that won't annoy the dickens out of most of you. If you think of something I missed and want me to add it to the list, please don't hesitate to leave a comment.

·                     Disclaimer: I am no way trying to give the impression that I know everything there is to know about writing smut. Literotica is an ever-evolving beast, and I just want to help my fellow writers. I give some general advice at the end that you're absolutely free to ignore. I'm not trying to suggest that anyone who does the things I warn against is a bad writer, nor am I attempting to criticise anyone (except perhaps E.L. James. We'll get to that). If I at any point give that impression, please let me know, and I'll change my wording. However, please keep in mind that this is a FREE resource intended to help others, and I'm under no obligation to anyone but myself.

All further notes/comment from me will either be in parenthesis or marked with an *.

Table of Contents

(to reach any section, use the control and f keys, then search for the heading)

i. Introduction

ii. Reaction Words

iii. Adverbs

iv. Sexy Alternatives to "Said"

v. Generally Sexy Actions

vi. Kissing

vii. Blow Jobs

viii. Cunnilingus

ix. Penetrative Intercourse

x. First Times and Losing Virginities

xi. The Orgasm (.:chorus of angels:.)

xii. Generally Acceptable Slang Terms

xiii. Feelings When Aroused

xiv. Sexy Words

xv. Things that Sound Good Until You Imagine Someone Actually Doing Them

xvi. Some Dos and Don'ts of Smut Writing

xvii. References

i. Introduction

If you read/write fan fiction for long enough, certain ideas, tropes, and terms will get ingrained in you. For instance, in nearly every fic I've ever read, when characters kiss, one of them gasps, and the other "uses the opportunity to slip their tongue into their mouth" or some nigh-identical variation. Also, in nearly every porn fic, when one character orgasms, the "feel of their muscles clenching/pulsing" pushes the other character "over the edge." Sound familiar? We've all done it. We've all written it. Hell, I'm guilty of half the things on my Don'ts list, and I'm comfortable with that. Does the ubiquity of certain fan-fictiony phrases make them bad? Not at all. Should we all be trying to find new ways of saying the same ideas? Maybe. Maybe not. I like to think that these classics are simply one of the steps we all use to convey certain ideas in a way we know everyone will understand. I'm not attempting to denounce creativity, and certainly it's always a good idea to introduce new ideas, but we all need to start somewhere. That's the true purpose of this smut-writing guide.

When my debut novel was published, I had a lot of fan fiction habits violently beaten out of me. I had to remove about a dozen adjectives for "eyes" that bordered on absurd but seemed like a marvellous idea at the time, and I was forbidden on pain of death to ever use the phrase "ministrations" again. I also unwittingly changed my main character's name from "Nik" to "Nick" halfway through the novel. That, however, was not the worst of it. Let me tell you that there is nothing more embarrassing than going through your raw manuscript, reaching a sex scene and seeing that the editors ripped the ever-loving piss out of it. Having the anatomical impossibilities of your seemingly mind-blowing smut pointed out is enough to make even the most hardened of hard-core-porn writers cringe. It's even worse when you misspell the word "public" in a truly unfortunate way (hint: I forgot a letter), and it leads the editor to say, "This made me laugh so hard, my cat got up and sprinted out the room in a panic." I'm not here to do that to you. I'm here to try and keep someone else from doing it to you to the very best of my ability. Enjoy, and may the smut be with you.

ii. Reaction Words

·                     Shivers

·                     Shudders

·                     Trembles

·                     Quivers

·                     Quakes

·                     Shakes

·                     Gasps

·                     Moans

·                     Groans

·                     Jolts

·                     Jerks

·                     Lurches

·                     Startles

·                     Pants

·                     Huffs

·                     Gulps

·                     Cries out

·                     Melts

·                     Bites back a moan

·                     Breath hitches

·                     Babbling/sputtering

·                     Collapsing

·                     Knees buckling

·                     Swallowing hard

·                     Going limp

·                     See stars

·                     Makes a strangled noise

·                     Inhales (combine with an adverb i.e "he inhaled sharply")

·                     Exhales

·                     Skin prickles

·                     Brain short-circuits or stops functioning

·                     Sweating (there's loads to be done with sweat: the musky smell of it, tasting the saltiness of it, seeing a lover coated in a thin sheen of it, having it slick their bodies, etc.)

·                     Flushing (Flushing tends to happen in fleshy and sensitive areas. Armpits, cheeks, neck, ears, chest, genitals, and whole-body flushes for maximum effect)

·                     Eyes roll back

·                     Clenches

·                     Is stunned

·                     Gagging for it

·                     Dizzy for it

·                     Arch back/hips

·                     iii. Adverbs - Use these with prudence. An abundance of adverbs in a text can weaken your writing.

·                     Shakily

·                     Heatedly

·                     Desperately

·                     Incoherently

·                     Roughly

·                     Raggedly

·                     Headily

·                     Readily

·                     In a Needy way

·                     Deeply

·                     Breathily

·                     Noisily

·                     Loudly

·                     Heavily

·                     Dangerously

·                     Seductively

·                     Languidly

·                     Lazily

·                     Sensually

·                     Silkily

·                     Oily

·                     Hungrily

·                     Sinfully

·                     Darkly

·                     Warmly

·                     Softly

·                     Gently

·                     Tenderly

·                     Harshly

·                     Lusciously

·                     Quickly

·                     Slowly

·                     Frantically

·                     Wantonly

·                     iv. Sexy Alternatives to "Said"

·                     Purred

·                     Cooed

·                     Murmured

·                     Whispered

·                     Stuttered

·                     Breathed

·                     Rasped

·                     Cried out

·                     Begged

·                     Muttered (I'm not a fan of this one because I associate muttering with being angry, but I see it often enough)

·                     Growled

·                     Grunted

·                     Husked

·                     Howled

·                     Keened

·                     Mewled

·                     Choked

·                     Sobbed (dub-con warnings; use with caution)

·                     Whimpered

·                     Blurted

·                     Bleated (I like to use this for comedic effect)

·                     Teased

·                     Pleaded

·                     v. Generally Sexy Actions

·                     Sinking to their knees

·                     Licking

·                     Biting

·                     Nipping

·                     Pressing foreheads together

·                     Shoving a hand between someone's legs

·                     Shoving your hips together

·                     Pinning their wrists

·                     Caress

·                     Wink

·                     Wet/lick lips

·                     Hike a skirt up/ruck a shirt up

·                     Stroke (skin, hair, genitals, etc.)

·                     (when one character is pressed against a wall) A does something, and B slams/throws their head back into the wall in reaction.

·                     Undoing buttons/zips with their teeth (I suggest only having experienced lovers do this. It's remarkably difficult and you run the risk of getting your lip caught in a zip. It's not something to have a virgin get right on their first time in fiction if you want to be believable).

·                     Splay hands across someone's chest or lower back

·                     Rake nails across skin/through hair

·                     Hooking a leg around someone's waist

·                     Knee between thighs

·                     Biting collarbones/hip bones/ribs (the bones that tend to protrude beneath the skin and draw it taut)

·                     Sucking neck skin into the mouth

·                     Cupping their cheeks

·                     Grasping their chin and tilting it up/down

·                     Placing a finger against their lips

·                     Letting breath tickle their ears

·                     Digging your nails in

·                     Dipping your tongue into collarbone/bellybutton/ears/etc.

·                     Tugging on earlobes with teeth

·                     Push their hair back/card through it/rake through it

·                     Hair pulling

·                     Lips brushing ears

·                     Ghosting over their neck with fingers/lips

·                     Running fingers lightly over someone's palm or wrist

·                     Hip grinding/rutting/thrusting/rolling/shifting/rockin g together

·                     Dirty Talk (this can be anything from a simple "Oh, God, yes" to a full-on "I want to feel your name burning on my skin for days*." I suggest loads of cursing and using the lord's name in vain. "Oh fuck, oh, Jesus, fuck yes, there, just like that, fucking Christ" is a good start.)

·                     Nipple play (Use caution depending on gender. Some men love it, some hate it, the majority of women love it)

·                     Nuzzle

·                     Tease/torture/torment

·                     *Credit for that line to a Sherlock/Moriarty fic called "Crescendo" by PlainJaneDoe. It's amazing and a prime example of dirty talk. 10/10 Highly recommend. It's listed in the References section.

·                     vi. Kissing

·                     Lip play – biting, running your tongue over the lips, over where they meet, just inside of them, tracing their outline with the tip of the tongue

·                     Massaging the tongues together

·                     Rolling them over each other

·                     Imitating sex/fucking the person's mouth with your tongue

·                     Brushing lips together

·                     Pausing when lips are just barely touching and breathing each other's air (can cause dizziness akin to sexual arousal)

·                     Sucking their bottom lip into your mouth

·                     Bruising/crushing/kissing hard

·                     Teeth clicking

·                     Sucking on the tongue

·                     Swirling your tongue around theirs

·                     Flicking your tongue (also for oral sex)

·                     vii. Blow Jobs

·                     Reddened lips

·                     Swollen lips

·                     Slick

·                     Sloppy

·                     Lips darkened and wet with saliva

·                     Making eye contact

·                     Hollowing cheeks

·                     Swirling tongue

·                     Gently, gently biting or scraping teeth (quickest way to make a man cringe is to mention biting his thing, so please exercise with caution)

·                     Dipping tongue into the slit

·                     Fucking someone's mouth (for the receiver of oral)

·                     Deep throating (for experienced lovers, usually)

·                     Playing with balls

·                     Rubbing the perineum* or frenulum**

·                     Swallowing around it

·                     Engulfed in wet heat

·                     Pulling the foreskin back to expose the head

·                     Using hands and lips together

·                     Suction

·                     Pressure

·                     * The perineum is an erogenous zone for both males and females. In males it's the stretch of skin between the balls and the anus, which is receptive to massage. In females, it's the area between the vulva and the anus.

·                     ** The frenulum is a band of tissue under the penis that connects to the foreskin, which some men find sensitive.

·                     And then just for general knowledge, the glans is the head of the penis, or head.

·                     viii. Cunilingus (Female Oral Sex)

·                     Lapping

·                     Playing with the woman's wetness/juices

·                     Fingering (make note of finger nail length. Long fingernails need to be careful)

·                     Parting the lips

·                     Flicking your tongue

·                     Flower comparisons (these are an old cliché, but you can refresh it a bit if you avoid the usual)

·                     Fleshy pink (red and occasionally purple are also acceptable colour comparisons)

·                     Delving the tongue in

·                     Playing with the inner thing

·                     Using synonyms for the clitoris should be done with caution. Some like "button" and "nub" are commonly accepted, but if you say "pleasure button" or "Southern nipple", you may get some sniggers.

·                     ix. Intercourse (Anal* and Vaginal**)

·                     Sinking into someone/down onto a cock

·                     Riding – descriptions of bouncing breasts for females, working thigh muscles for both, watching the man's cock disappear into their body

·                     Pulling hips down harder

·                     Digging fingers into their shoulders/chest/hips/back

·                     Setting a pace/rhythm – losing that rhythm as climax approaches

·                     Getting seated

·                     Buried in a person

·                     Snapping/slamming/pounding hips

* There's a LOT of debate about the "proper" amount of preparation needed before anal sex. Some people insist you can just go for it, while others (myself included), think those people are ruining anal sex for everyone else. I've had loads of female-identifying friends of mine say they tried anal once and hated it and will never do it again. This is almost the result of people who don't know what the hell they're doing. IF YOU'RE READING THIS, STOP IT. STOP PUTTING DICKS AND SEX TOYS IN THINGS WITHOUT LEARNING TO DO IT PROPERLY. DO A DAMN GOOGLE SEARCH ON HOW TO PREPARE FOR ANAL.

I could write a whole article on this alone, but for the sake of brevity, I'll break it down: before anal, 1) you need to clean out your ass, 2) you need to use lube, and 3) some people say you need to get your ass used to taking penis-sized objects. Personally, I think fingering/rimming will do just fine, but literally everyone has a different opinion on this. On a personal note, I think writing preparation (lubing up, fingering, etc.) can be really hot. I'm not sure why people shy away from them, thinking that it "kills the mood." Just deciding who does the preparing can be hot. Does Person A prepare Person B for hours, until they're begging for it? Or just until they can take it without being hurt because they're so desperate to fuck? Or does Person B insist on preparing themselves, letting Person A sit back and watch them finger themselves? There are all sorts of sexy possibilities.

Also, let's talk about appropriate lube. I have read some absolutely horrific fics where people used inappropriate, unsanitary things as lube. Butter is not lube. Soy Sauce is not lube. Candle Wax is not lube. No, I am not kidding when I say I have actually seen these things in fic. Please don't do that to the characters. Some of us love them deeply.

** It's important to note that both the G-spot and the clit are involved in female orgasm (and are tied to one another. Stimulating the G-spot stimulates the clit), so a number of women like to stimulate their clit while having penetrative sex to facilitate an easier climax. You can add this for a bit of extra realism—or just for the sexiness of it (Blythe, M. J., Rosenthal, S. L., & American Academy of Pediatrics, 2007, pp. 1335-1337).

It is also important to decide if you are going to mention safe sex practices in your fic (you should do this for oral sex as well, since you're just as likely to get STIs from oral sex as penetrative, though you can't get pregnant). I'm personally in favour of mentioning getting checked for STIs and using condoms in fic. I think it's important to mention these things so people start thinking about them/recognising the issues of unplanned pregnancy and disease. However, the counterargument is that this is fantasy, and obviously fictional characters can't get pregnant or diseased without the author writing it. It's up to you, but in the interest of realism, I highly suggest you at least have the characters have a conversation about why they're not using condoms, such as "Here's my bloodwork. I'm STI free. By the way, I'm on the pill." Not that flippant, obviously, but hopefully you get what I mean.

x. Writing First Times and Losing Virginities

First Times can be a mixed bag. Sometimes they're pure, animalistic, I-must-throw-you-down-and-fuck-you-right-now humping sessions, and other times they're slow, tender bouts of lovemaking between two characters who have been building up to this moment for 356 pages. Either way, they can go horribly awry. It will be more realistic if the characters fumble a bit or spend time learning each other's bodies. No one is magically endowed with a perfect knowledge of their partner's sexual likes and dislikes, so let your characters experiment. Have fun with it. Whether you go for the hard fuck or the candlelit seduction, a first time should have a sense of reverence, if not in canon than in your writing. Draw it out. Don't be shy with the foreplay. Have someone come too early and then spend their refractory period ruthlessly pleasuring the other until they're ready for round two. You really can't go wrong.

For vaginal sex, if the woman is a virgin, please refrain from pulling a Fifty Shades of Grey and expecting there to be anything as ridiculous as a "weird, pinching sensation deep inside [you]", and it is not possible for someone to "rip through [your] virginity" (James, 2011, p. 101). Also, for the love of God, if you ever make your characters feel anything of the sort, do not have them shout "Argh!" as it happens. I've never face-palmed so hard in my life. Losing your virginity can hurt, yes, and there can be blood and the breaking of the hymen, but if you are properly lubricated and take your time, there is no reason for these things to occur (Brion-Meisels, S., Lowenheim, G., Rendeiro, B., 1982, p. 157).

- For anal sex, if you think a character can take a 12-inch cock with minimal preparation on the first go and experience nothing but soul-sizzling pleasure, you are mistaken. See "Intercourse."

·                     xi. The Orgasm

·                     The Earth stops spinning/stutters on its axis

·                     Dissolve into pleasure

·                     Lightning

·                     Electricity

·                     Waves (overdone, but you can jazz this one up if you try – i.e. waves of fire instead of the usual)

·                     Explosions

·                     Shockwaves

·                     Rippling

·                     Trails of fire

·                     Fire pooling low in their abdomen

·                     A spring coiling tightly and then being release

·                     Fireworks (please only use this sparingly. It's the oldest term for kissing/pleasure/etc. in history)

·                     Light – white light in particular, or everything cutting to white noise

·                     Vision fading to black

·                     Static

·                     Shattering

·                     Splintering

·                     Pulsing (also feeling someone pulse whilst inside them)

·                     Time slows

·                     Falling

·                     Flying

·                     Rocketing

·                     Going still/tense

·                     Jerking

·                     Vocalisation in any form

·                     Moaning a mixture of curse words and their lover's name

·                     xii. Generally Acceptable Slang Terms*

·                     Clit

·                     G-spot

·                     Cock

·                     Dick

·                     Prick and Fanny for the Anglophiles (penis and vagina)

·                     Slit (male and female)

·                     Entrance

·                     If you want to channel your inner porn star you can say cunt, pussy and hole.

Cum or come (I have seen ragging debates about which one of these should be used, but really it's either)

* There are some slang terms that are generally accepted but should be used with a grain of salt. These usually have to do with genitalia, like saying shaft, rod, manhood etc. for penis and mound, core, cave, tunnel etc. for vagina. It's sort of an odd line, because using clinical terms like penis in fiction can be just as jarring as using vague terms like cavern for vagina. It took me until I was 19 to finally say the word "cock" in fan fiction, and I still sometimes default to the softer "erection." Go with what you're comfortable with, but keep your audience in mind. This also applies for things like semen and vaginal lubrication. There's no need to use creative terms for those things. I've seen the term "spunk trumpet" used, and I may never recover.

·                     xiii. Feelings when Aroused

·                     Feeling hazy

·                     Drunk

·                     Intoxicated

·                     Heady

��                     Fuzzy

·                     Dizzy

·                     Dazed

·                     Breathless

·                     Heart pounding/racing/stuttering/skipping

·                     Blood buzzing/roaring in ears

·                     Hot (and all obvious synonyms – warm, burning, smouldering, scorching, blazing etc. These are particularly good for describing eyes. i.e. "The moment their gaze met, her eyes blazed")

·                     Shaky

·                     Overwhelmed (a bit dub-con, so use with caution)

·                     Light

·                     Light-headed

·                     Fumbling

·                     Drowning in pleasure

·                     Burst

·                     Combust

·                     Sizzling

·                     Sparking

·                     Crackling

·                     Fiery

·                     Teeming

·                     Searing

·                     Passion

·                     Ecstasy

·                     Bliss

·                     Pleasure

·                     xiv. Sexy Words

·                     Dark

·                     Sinful

·                     Carnal

·                     Lithe

·                     Lissom

·                     Supine

·                     Wanton

·                     Animalistic

·                     Unadulterated

·                     Undulate

·                     Lust

·                     Want

·                     Need

·                     Velvet/Satin/Lace/Silk

·                     Hunger

·                     Burn

·                     Wet noises/slick/liquid/squelch

·                     Frenzy

·                     Frantic

·                     Frenetic

·                     Desire

·                     Heat

·                     Arousal

·                     Adrenaline

·                     Clenched

·                     Intensity/intense

·                     Intoxicate

·                     Flutter

·                     Strip

·                     Sluice

·                     Tease

·                     Spark

·                     Ignite

·                     Ride

·                     Friction

·                     Frisson

·                     Flicked

·                     Sinuous/sinewy/willowy

·                     Lilting

·                     Sonorous

·                     Rumbling

·                     Sweet

·                     Slide

·                     Frustration

·                     Squeeze

·                     Press

·                     Torturous

·                     Massage

·                     Pressure

·                     Tightening

·                     Possessive

·                     Raucous

·                     Cacophonic

·                     Harmony

·                     Taut

·                     Tension

xv. Things that Sound Good Until You Imagine Someone Actually Doing Them

- Shaking their head to clear their thoughts. Think of a wet dog drying itself off. That is what this would look like.

- Rolling their eyes back into their head. All I think of is The Exorcist.

- Having their mouth pop open in surprise. Unless something really, really surprising has just happened, this should not.

- Someone speaking in a way that their tongue seems to "caress your skin/name." This makes me again think of a dog slobbering all over someone, or else they're wearing a name tag and that person is literally licking it.

- Spending several minutes staring after someone who's left the room. Seconds, sure. Minutes? Um, no. I want you to go to any public place in the world and stare forward with a catatonic look on your face for several minutes. Count how long it takes for someone to ask you if you're all right, assuming that they don't just call for an ambulance to begin with.

- Rocking back and forth happily. Again, try doing this in public and see what happens (Parkins, 2012).

- Any and all entirely orchestrated moves, such as a character whipping their glasses off angrily or stroking their beard whilst thinking. No one actually does those things; we just see them in films and add them into our writing to convey outdated mannerisms.

xvi. Some Do's and Don'ts of Smut Writing

It's easy to get carried away when writing smut or to get self-conscious and end up writing something that sounds like your mum was looking over your shoulder the whole time. Remember to relax and just do what feels right. If the scene makes you feel hot, it'll probably do the same to your readers. But just in case, here are a few fan fiction pitfalls and tips.

Do describe how your characters are reacting/feeling in detail. There's a time and a place for quiet, controlled sex, and it's usually when your characters are in a public place and might get caught. Otherwise, feel free to have them grunting like beasts and throwing furniture about. Expressive sex is rarely viewed as a bad thing.

Don't be afraid to be realistic. Not all sex is magical, perfect, orgasmic sex where both characters are Porn Star-level Sex Gods who climax at precisely the same time. It can be messy, it can be sloppy, the friction can be too much, it can be painful and the characters can make embarrassing noises. A level of realism can actually make the sex hotter as opposed to spoiling the mood.

Do take that advice up there ^- with a grain of salt. Most people do like for their fantasy sex to be just that: a fantasy. You can use realism to advance the plot line (such as having two characters get walked in on when they didn't bother to lock the door), or you can use it for too much realism, like having someone accidentally burp while kissing their lover. Things like the latter example do happen in real life, and you're welcome to include them, but doing something like that in the middle of a sex scene for no reason can kill your audience's boner.

Don't feel the need to equate dirty talk with name calling or degradation. I read loads of fic when I was younger where characters would call each other sluts and whores when it wasn't a humiliation kink fic, and they were in a monogamous, loving relationship. Humiliation kinks are perfectly fine, but if you're not writing that sort of fic, you don't necessarily need to have one character call the other one a dirty slut just for the sake of doing it. "Oh yes, take my cock, you filthy whore" can be hot in the right circumstances, but if it's in the middle of 'regular' sex, it seems out of place. On a personal note, if a man or woman called me a filthy whore during non-roleplaying sex, I'd burn their clothes in my back garden and then turn them out. Sex is not something you should be made to feel ashamed of unnecessarily.

Do use metaphor (with caution). Comparing the sexual tension between two characters to a string drawn taut or crackling electricity is perfectly fine. Comparing someone's arsehole to the dark, unexplored stretches of an Amazon jungle is probably going to get you put on wtffanfiction. However, metaphor is one of the most honoured traditions of smut writing, from the crashing waves of the orgasm to the pert, pink buds of a fair maiden's nipples. Use it wisely and regularly.

Don't say that one of your character's voices jumped or dropped several octaves. That is a personal pet peeve of mine, and I see it in fiction all the time. The average human vocal range is one and a half octaves. A trained singer can reach two or three, and at four octaves, Freddie Mercury's voice was considered so exceptional, it's widely believed that very few people can properly sing his songs. Do not say your character's voice lowered several (i.e. three or more) octaves unless they went from a high soprano to a pitch only elephants can hear (Parkins, 2012, Kindle Location 393). This obviously does not apply to characters who aren't human. You're welcome to say their voice dropped an octave, however.

Do make sure that what you're writing is anatomically possible. For example, during gay intercourse where two males are face-to-face, the one who is receiving needs to have their hips at a relatively high angle because the arsehole is further back than a vaginal entrance. During straight sex, if a woman is twisting around to look at a man who's taking her from behind, don't have her go to such a degree that she should theoretically crack her spine. When writing things like this, imagine doing them yourself (or better yet, try to do them). If you can't manage it, chances are your characters can't either.

Don't use epithets if you can avoid it. Epithets are other ways of referring to someone, such as saying "the blonde" or "the shorter man". These are incredibly popular in fan fiction, but publishers will make you remove them (Trust me, my novel had 157 corrections of this sort alone). This can be quite difficult to avoid if you're writing male-on-male or female-on-female porn, since you can end up with a sentence like, "He pulled his hands above his head and drew his body up until he was a long, sinewy line" that leave you thinking, "Who the hell did what to who?" The trick here is to use their names and pronouns interchangeably, so you get, "Nik pulled Seth's hands above his head and drew his body up until it was a long, sinewy line."

Do get a trusted friend or beta to read over your work for you. There's no shame in using a beta; it's just like having an editor go over a manuscript. They'll tell you if you made any unfortunate typos (like mine. See "Introduction") or if something seems implausible. Be open to constructive criticism, though if anyone is unnecessarily or mean-spiritedly critical, send them my way, and I'll shove a virtual boot up their arse.

Don't use words without making sure you know what they mean. For example, loads of people are under the impression that "bemused" means "amused." It means "confused." Nonplussed" can mean surprised or not surprised at all, inflammable and flammable both mean easy to set on fire, nauseous means you're making everyone about you feel sick, droll does not mean dull—it means curious in a way that incites wry amusement, and "all right" is two words. Alright is not all right. Unique means literally one of a kind. Something cannot be "quite unique." It's either a golden flamingo or it's not (Clark, 2012, p. 3).

[xtrapapers6]

Math and the Nontraditional Student - Power Tips to Get Past the Math Barrier

Math is formative in that your insight and abilities in math are added to in progressive courses with each class being a basic stone in the establishment fundamental for passing broad investigations math (frequently College Algebra or Finite Math). On the off chance that you two or three terrible years or then again on the off chance that you have been away from math for quite a while you truly will not know until you attempt in case it will resemble getting back on a bike or getting run over by a truck.

However, there are a few things you can do previously and during your gutsy endeavor into mathland as a non-conventional understudy. Talking from my long stretches of mentoring, aiding, and instructing nontrads Pearson Maths Past Papers, here are a few hints and ideas:

Prior to You Start Class

1. Go TO MIDDLE SCHOOL AND HIGH SCHOOL MATH BOOKS TO PREPARE YOU. Issues with any number related course are arranged in earlier courses. As such, If you expect having issues in College Algebra, the issue won't be with understanding the new material as much as in not having the option to arrange the primary information and abilities from High School Algebra II. In the event that you had the stuff of Algebra II at the tips of your fingertips, you would have the option to attract from that to use in the somewhat higher application level of College Algebra. Center school and early secondary school writings will help you return to the establishments you need and will do it in a manner that is straightforward, clear, and not as surged as the one part survey that is frequently toward the start of a College Algebra text. Truth be told, it is the packed first part that frequently adds to a deficiency of expectation at a basic point in the fresh start for a non-customary understudy. We should move beyond that, will we?

2. GET YOUR OWN SUPPORT GROUP. Enroll an amigo or two to return to class with you. Promise from the start that you will empower and uphold each other through the difficulties ahead. Pick cautiously. Keep away from contrary characters that will drag you down as opposed to working close by of you. Pick somebody you can speak with, somebody who will tune in and "talk reality in affection." You need somebody who will actually want to have compromise with you so you can assist each other with changing how you each think and how you approach the difficulties both mentally and inwardly. Ideally, this individual will be just about as engaged as you and will endure to the culmination of the degree.

3. Get some information about THE PROFESSORS. Before you focus on a specific segment and educator, do what keen undergrads do: get some information about the teachers. Do this with an insightful ear. On the off chance that you distinguish that the individual giving you the lowdown on Professor H is a complainer, then, at that point think about that data while taking other factors into consideration. Get some information about Professor H and set up a general profile of that educators style, homeroom practices, and character. It may be the case that they are requesting however extremely clear and reasonable. That would be acceptable. As a nontrad, you truly don't need the least demanding way since you know at this point that learning is difficult and you would prefer to REALLY adapt now so the work that you will be reliant upon is simpler later. The nontraditional care group or focus nearby might have the option to help you. It's conceivable that middle representatives would not be alright with naming names and directing you away from that teacher who is a genuine jerk. However, I bet everything working and congregating there would give you a tongue-lashing!

 4. In the event that NECESSARY, DROP BACK A LEVEL. Most schools and colleges will give you a free demonstrative test to advise you in case you are prepared to begin with the overall investigations math course or on the other hand on the off chance that you should drop back to a formative number related course that is at a lower level. In the event that you have any questions, step through the examination and discover. It's smarter to place in a semester firming up the establishments and afterward cruising through College Algebra or Finite Math than it is to come up short and lose the semester and a ton of certainty and positive progress.

For More Details, Visit us:

Pearson Past Paper

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GCE Past Papers

[thedasreacting-blog]

So how about DA:I companions and advisors react to a blood mage Inquisitor? (maybe romanced reactions too?) thank you

Thank you for the request, dear anon! I’m sorry this took a bit longer; I wanted to consider each reaction carefully before answering. I hope I did them all justice. Enjoy! ^-^

~Hakkon

Cassandra: When the only survivor of the explosion at the Conclave turns out to be a mage– and a blood mage, at that– it takes a great effort for Cassandra not to antagonize them. She is cautious, to say the least; until the Inquisitor manages to gain her trust, they are on thin ice. A Seeker’s job is to protect, and should they become a danger to innocent people, she will do what must be done– Herald or no Herald.

Cassandra, if romanced: Her lover turns Cassandra’s world upside down in more ways than one. The Inquisitor is everything the Chantry warns about, and yet here they are: helping people, saving lives, mending a broken world by making use of– yes, blood magic. So what if they’re a blood mage? Cassandra is not unreasonable. She can change her opinion based on new information. What she cannot do is stop worrying for her lover’s safety as her heart skips a beat whenever blood is spilled in battle.

Solas: Blood magic is magic like any other, and a most effective tool when properly used. He has said it before, and he will say it time and again when everyone else seems to condemn the Inquisitor for their choices. Solas is curious to find out how they have learned the skill, and always happy to lend his expertise. It is good to have someone who is not indoctrinated by the Chantry around.

Solas, if romanced: He is proud of his vhenan for standing up to a world that would see them slip up and fail. He knows they are more than capable of taking care of themselves, and he does not insult them by offering perfunctory warnings about the dangers of demonic possession. The only grievance Solas nurses is about the difficulties a blood mage faces when attempting to enter the Fade. But even so, he helps the Inquisitor tune their magic to make it easier for the two of them to meet in the realm of dreams.

Vivienne: “A fool,” she calls them. “Irresponsible, weak, and ignorant.” She has no reason to hide her disapproval. Why would she? The situation is crystal clear for Vivienne, and she is not interested in hearing the Inquisitor’s excuses. She has heard it all before. More than anything, Vivienne finds it pitiful. The Inquisitor has the chance to set a positive example as a mage, but they are throwing it all away by resorting to blood magic. Alas. She can only hope that they will find it in themselves to keep it hidden, and not flaunt it in everyone’s face as if it is something to be proud of.

Sera: Wait, this is a joke, right? A bad joke. Inky can’t be a blood mage. That’s just frigging daft! They’re the Herald of Andraste and Andraste hates blood mages. It doesn’t make sense, but they’re here anyway and they help the little people and they stop the baddies, so Sera will make sense of it: Inky is not blood magic; Inky uses blood magic. It’s different, yeah? Just need to keep that demon shite at bay. Can’t stop Cory-friggy if you’re possessed.

Sera, if romanced: Sera isn’t picky with her lovers. She’ll take whoever is right and feels right, and few things are actual deal breakers. Demons and blood magic and Fade rubbish are among them. So here’s the dilemma: Inky feels right, but Inky is a blood mage. And they’re so frigging– normal. Shouldn’t they be scary, with an army of demons following them around, all “Muahahaha!” and “Obey me or perish!”? If some blood mages can be good people– better than all the noble shits she’s met, even– then Andraste may as ruddy well suck it up. Sera loves Inky. They’ve never given her reason not to.

Blackwall: Maker’s balls, now how’s that for a turn of events? “You are who you choose to follow,” says Blackwall as he follows a blood mage. Can’t sink much lower now, can he? He’s well aware he’s in no position to throw stones at the Inquisitor, not after all he’s done. Too many people die in wars that aren’t theirs to fight, and Blackwall knows this better than anyone else. He’ll be there to make sure the Inquisitor won’t hurt the innocent and the helpless; he can promise them as much.

Blackwall, if romanced: Blackwall’s lover is an honorable person, a capable fighter, and a leader worthy of following. It so happens that they’re also a blood mage. Any weapon, when wielded responsibly, can help and protect, and Blackwall is relived that the Inquisitor uses it as such. When they’re fighting demons, he throws himself in battle harder than anyone else, and the demons meet his sword before they get a chance to take notice of the Inquisitor, always a few feet behind his protective shield.

Cole: “Blood that burns and boils and bites. It’s an old song they know, but they can’t sing it. It’s real, more real than they’ll ever be, and they want in. They don’t want to hurt you. They want to be like you. If you bind me, they’ll stop. The other mages will stop too. We’ll both be safe. Please, please– don’t let them use me.”

The Iron Bull: Demons crap and Fade crap and blood magic crap were to be expected when he joined the Inquisition, but Bull always assumed they would fight all that shit. Turns out, the blood mage is not only on their side, but also leading them. As uncomfortable as he is with this arrangement, he can tell the Inquisitor’s intentions are sincere. “You should’ve been a ‘Vint, boss,” he says and he laughs, but his good eye scans their face for signs betraying hidden motives all the same.

The Iron Bull, if romanced: His kadan is the toughest, wisest, most beautiful person Bull’s ever met. The fact that they choose to practice blood magic doesn’t change this reality one bit. Through them he learns how to allow himself to love and trust the things he was trained to be apprehensive of his whole life. The Inquisitor is what the Qun hates and fears the most, but at the end of the day Bull loves them enough to make up for it.

Dorian: He’s seen enough blood magic for a lifetime, and recognizes the Inquisitor as a blood mage before they even have the chance to practice their skill in front of him. Blood magic is not inherently dangerous or evil, no. Few things are. But the temptation to push for more is always there, and Dorian worries, but jokes about it nonetheless, as he always does.

Dorian, if romanced: “Please be careful. Please don’t do anything stupid,” he thinks. “Ah, isn’t it wonderful? Just like home,” he says. Dorian’s amatus is a blood mage, and the notion alone makes his own blood run cold. He loves them, he trusts them, and he knows that they wouldn’t turn against him. Not all blood mages will try to break his mind– Dorian knows this. There’s a long way from knowing to truly, genuinely believing, and each day spent with the Inquisitor is one step closer.

Leliana: Sister Nightingale is one of the first to hear the rumor that the Inquisitor might be a blood mage, but doesn’t jump to conclusions before checking the information with the Inquisitor themselves. “Nowadays a mage sneezes and someone will cry blood magic.” It’s a risk they’re taking, yes, but she’s unfazed because she trusts they’re capable enough to hold their own. If the Hero of Ferelden is a blood mage too, she’s even more adamant in supporting the Inquisitor.

Cullen: Out of all people who could have found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time, it had to be a blood mage that would survive the explosion at the Conclave. It had to be a blood mage that would end up leading their efforts to stop Corypheus. For a long time, Cullen is suspicious and uncomfortable around the Inquisitor. Years upon years of templar training aren’t so easily forgotten. Torture at the hands of blood mages even less so. Despite all this, he’s willing to give them a chance. Just the one. 

Cullen, if romanced: Relationships between mages and templars are strictly forbidden by the Circle. “You must act quickly, without hesitation. Your judgment cannot be clouded.” But he’s no longer a templar, the Circle is no more, and the Inquisitor might be a blood mage, but they’re not a monster, not like the Chantry teaches. They’re putting themselves at risk, more so than being a mage already entails, and he shudders to think about everything that could go wrong. Andraste preserve him, he can’t lose them this way. He will not lose them. 

Josephine: Josephine is not particularly well-versed in matters pertaining to the arcane, but two things she knows for sure: 1. blood magic is dangerous, and 2. blood magic is scandalous. While the Inquisitor may be able to deal with the former on their own, the latter falls on her. There is no way the nobles houses of southern Thedas would ever publicly support a Chantry-shunned organization led by a blood mage. Josephine does admire and respect the Inquisitor, but at the same time she wishes they would be a little bit more discreet with the blood magic. “It is such a terrible mess to clean up.”

Josephine, if romanced: The Inquisitor and the ambassador being involved romantically is already seen as outrageous by many. The Inquisitor being a blood mage and involved romantically with the ambassador is truly the stuff of legend– and not the good kind, Josephine fears. In spite of all this, she’s willing to go to great lengths to protect them from the public’s unforgiving eye as well as she possibly can. She doesn’t doubt her lover’s ability to defend themselves, yet each time the Inquisitor is away, she watches Skyhold’s main gate from behind small windows, with restless steps and her heart in her throat. They have to come back. They always do.

Varric: Well, shit. Blood mages really are like lost socks– they turn up where you least expect them. He’s not surprised, of course, not after meeting Merrill and possibly a mage Hawke. It’s almost funny; ‘Home is where blood mages are’ should be the title of his next book. He doesn’t try to change their mind or convince them to stop. There would be no point in doing that. Still, he does keep a close eye on the Inquisitor lest it all ends in tragedy.

[theindifferentdroid]

Bad Moon Rising: Part 10 [Modern!Kylo x Reader]

BMR Masterlist // AO3

A/N: This is it!! This is the 10th and final part to Bad Moon Rising. I won’t ramble too long because this chapter is over 5,000 words, so you’ll have plenty enough to read. But I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who has read this or left feedback or reblogged or rec’d or anything! The response has been overwhelming. Part 1 was my first piece of fan fiction ever (EVER!), and while I never expected it to turn into this, I’m so glad it did. Thanks for coming on this journey with me. Enjoy!!

Warnings: Pretty much anything from the previous chapters: Angst, mentions of blood, death, violence, weapons, language, more angst.

Word Count: 5300+

It was like you were in a dream. A really bad dream. One where you feel things at the ends of your nerves and see things with your own eyes. Except it was real. It was all very, unfortunately real.

Your eyes were closed, but you began to see white light attempting to seep through your eyelids. You were waking up. But you didn’t want to let it on. There were people around you, their voices incomprehensible mumbling, but they were there.

You relaxed your face, trying not to grimace from the uncomfortable position you were in.

A woman was speaking, her words coming into focus the more you woke up. Her accent was thick, almost beautiful. Her tone was hushed enough to seem like she was trying not to wake you. "Oh, don’t be daft. Of course I didn’t kill her."

Did you look that bad someone thought you to be dead? You tried not to laugh.

Keeping your eyes closed, you slowly began to survey the damage. You were alive. That was… good. Your head ached. It felt like someone was stabbing you in the lungs. You wiggled your toes in your shoes. No pain there. You could feel your hands at least, even if they were asleep from laying on them.

"The girl is awake." A man’s voice spoke up out of the silence. It was enough to make you jump.

You thought about acting like you weren’t, in fact, awake, but you determined quickly that wouldn’t get you very far. Gradually, you let your eyes open, squinting to adjust to the light that you hadn’t seen in God knows how long.

There a woman, a tall woman. At least you assumed she was tall from the way she towered over you, though it was tricky to tell since you were on the ground. Her hair was white blonde, and you could have sworn you had seen her before.

You blinked hard once, still trying to adjust, and a memory flashed in your mind. You had seen her. She was the blurry smear of white you’d seen right before…

Focus.

You opened your eyes again. Next to her was a man. He was seated, so you couldn’t get as good a read on him, but he looked frail. His bony fingers gripped the edges of the armrests, his knuckles nearly transparent against the paleness of his skin. You ran your eyes up his body, quickly moving up to his face once you had seen the shape his neck was in, how the scars twisted around his throat like fingers. His face wasn’t much better. He made eye contact with you, his eyes deep and intimidating. There was something missing behind them.

"Sit her up. We need to talk."

The woman stepped up to you, grabbing your arm and opposite shoulder to help you rest against the wall. "Up you go," she spoke. She was surprisingly gentle. You were thankful for that, though you had a feeling she had something to do with at least some of the pain you were currently in.

She walked away and leaned her shoulder against the wall across the room. She must have been the muscle, the guard. You would be dealing with the old man.

"Do you know who I am?" the man asked. His tone wasn’t mean or pompous. He was truly curious.

You had an idea, but you didn’t want to let on what you knew, or anything that would put Kylo in a bad spot.

Kylo…

Focus.

You squinted at the man, pursing your lips. "Should I?"

"Depends on how much your little boyfriend told you."

You could approach this one of two ways. You could try to be the innocent bystander. You were pretty sure Kylo kept just enough from you that you’d be able to lie about what you didn’t know. Or you could divulge everything. It just depended on what would be more convincing: naïveté or fear.

"You must be Snoke."

The man nodded, though his facial expression was steady, not letting on whether your knowledge upset or satisfied him.

"How much would it take you to go away?"

The question struck you. So you clarified. "How much…" You trailed off, allowing Snoke to complete your sentence.

"Money."

This is what it had come to, being bribed by the mob.

However, this was it. This was your opportunity. You could take the money and run, so to speak. No more mobsters, no more danger. No more Kylo.

"How much do you have to offer?"

You thought you heard a chuckle from the blonde woman’s general vicinity. Snoke tilted his head, the wrinkles in his neck grotesquely straining with the movement.

"You'll take the deal, then?"

"If it still stands. It sounds like you're backing out now."

The blonde woman laughed again. She was enjoying this too much.

Snoke opened his mouth to speak but the words eluded him. He reserved himself for a moment, linking his hands over his crossed knee, before trying to speak again. "My sources led me to believe it would be a little more difficult to rid of you."

You answered immediately, now fully invested in your storyline. "I'm a broke twenty-something with a part time job. And you're offering me money to no longer affiliate with a dangerous, organized crime group. I fail to see the difficulty of that scenario."

Snoke looked over his shoulder at the woman, who only shrugged her shoulders.

"I mean," you continued, "it'll take more than a few dollars, but make me an offer."

"Phasma," Snoke called to the woman. "Go check on Kylo for me. See how he's holding up."

Your heart sank. He was here. And he was alive. Possibly. Maybe.

Snoke eyed you curiously, and you made a very labored attempt to control your emotions. You nearly had him convinced; you couldn’t let up now. You had a sudden feeling that this wasn’t going to be as easy as you had bragged it would be.

Phasma pushed herself up off the wall and sauntered down the hall, and you removed your gaze from Snoke to watch her. It was only then that you realized that you were in Kylo’s house.

There was something unsettling about being here, some weird invasion of privacy. You imagined how Kylo must have felt to be a captive in his own home, and your body shook with a chill.

You heard a door slam shut down the hall. The silence after that flipped your insides. The anxiety of waiting to know how he was. The fear of being alone now with Snoke. You were finally waking up enough for it all to hit you at once.

The brash demeanor you had felt minutes was gone but you had enough left to ask a question. "What are you going to do to me?"

Snoke looked down at you. His eyebrows furrowed and something like genuine concern crossed his features. "I’m not sure what he’s told you, but we’re not in the business of killing innocent people."

You began to sigh but before you could completely evacuate your lungs, Snoke spoke again. "So I'm not going to do anything to you. But Kylo..." Snoke paused, taking in a contemplative breath. "You must know by now that Kylo is not very innocent."

It felt like all the air had been pulled from your body at once. You slumped your shoulders and did everything you could to keep your head up. Bile singed the back of your throat.

Snoke leaned forward in his chair and lowered his voice. "It's quite simple, really. If you don't take the deal, we kill him. If you come back to him, we kill him. He's worth a great deal to me, but in his recent state he's rather useless."

Suddenly, a deafening scream echoed down the hall. You had never heard such a noise from Kylo, but you knew it was him.

You kept your face as calm as you could, but you could feel the sweat begin to form on your temple, and heat rose in your cheeks. You stared at Snoke, who only lightly smiled.

"I need to ensure my investment in you won't become a liability," Snoke began, "so if you need some convincing, that can be arranged."

The pain. Fuck, the pain. It pulsed through his calf; sometimes he could feel the sting radiating all the way up his leg. Kylo had nearly passed out from the pain, multiple times, since he’d been seated in the chair he was currently, uncomfortably attached to. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been shot before; it had happened on multiple other occasions. Occasions where he would have no choice but to work through the injury for fear of his life. But to have been left alone with just his thoughts, his body tied to a chair, his long legs bent at odd angles, that was only magnifying the pain. He couldn’t ignore it.

And the way Phasma had entered the room, gently kicking the toe of Kylo’s boot – the one attached to the injured leg – only made it worse.

Kylo clenched his jaw, breathing heavy, labored breaths through his teeth. "Why’d you fucking kick me?"

"I thought you were asleep," replied Phasma, her tone nonchalant.

Kylo stared at her, mouth agape, incredulous.

"You're pathetic," said Phasma.

Kylo took another deep, seething breath. "I have a bullet in my leg."

"No, you don't," Phasma said, pacing the room. "It was a through and through. You're fine."

Kylo adjusted uncomfortably in the chair, subtly trying to signal he wanted to be let out.

Phasma ignored his efforts and continued. "I see you got your ass kicked last night. There were rumors, but I didn't expect that from you."

Kylo huffed. "Where's Y/N?" he asked.

"So it is true."

"What's true?"

Phasma rolled her eyes. "Snoke says you're distracted." She paused, expecting a rebuttal. "He's right."

Kylo sighed heavily, trying not to lose it on Phasma. She was too valuable to Kylo for him to be on her bad side, especially right now. He attempted to speak calmly. "Where's Y/N?" he asked again.

Phasma shook her head disappointedly. "She’s with Snoke."

The name made Kylo's blood boil. He pulled against his restraints in a fit of anger, the ropes only seeming to tighten against his muscles as they flexed. He felt something warm creeping down to his ankle; he was bleeding again.

"Fuck, Phasma. Untie me. I have to - I need -. God, come on. You know what he's going to do to her. Please."

Phasma pulled a chair up to sit in front of him, trying her best to ignore his pleas. She crossed her legs and leaned an arm over the back of the chair. "He's not going to do anything to her." She paused, a calm sort of expression washing across her face, as if she had just convinced herself of this as well. "He made her a deal. And she's going to take it."

Kylo stopped fighting the restraints. "You're bullshitting me."

"I am not."

It was silent besides a slight murmuring of words seeping under the door. Kylo's brows furrowed. It pained him to think of that, of you out there, making a deal with the devil.

Through the haze of his mind, your words from earlier echoed in his ears. If I’m not with you, then I won’t be in danger.

"Fuck," Kylo whispered. "You sure Snoke doesn't have anything up his sleeves?"

"I don't believe so," Phasma answered. "He seemed pretty serious about it. She's no threat to him. He'll just wave some money in her face and she'll be gone. But you can't go after her, you understand? He'll have your head."

Kylo's breath shuddered. "How did he know?"

Phasma bit the inside of her lip, twisting her features, deciding if she should divulge the information, but ultimately decided Kylo probably already knew what she was about to say. "Hux has been trying to get back in Snoke's good graces."

Kylo let his guard down for just a moment, fueled by pure rage, and the words slipped out before he caught himself. "Won't have to worry about that bastard anymore."

The moment the words left Kylo's mouth, Phasma's eyes narrowed. "Pardon?"

"He - he was about to hurt Y/N. I couldn't let him do that."

"Unbelievable."

"Please don't-"

"Un-fucking-believable," Phasma interrupted. "When was this?"

"Right before you crashed the party," Kylo answered, with a little venom in his voice. "He's still in Y/N's apartment thanks to you."

Phasma hummed.

"Exactly," Kylo continued. "So I've had a pretty shit day already. If you could just let me go...."

"You know I'm actually supposed to be inflicting physical pain right now, hm?" Phasma's face had changed in an instant. Kylo often underestimated her, and now was not an exception. She stood up from her chair, clearly done with the previous conversation. "That's why Snoke sent me in here. To scare off your little play thing."

"Come on, Phasma," Kylo pleaded. "Don't do this."

"Don't do what?" Phasma began pacing in long, slow strides around his chair. "This?" she asked, with a swift half-hearted kick of her boot to his injured leg.

Kylo released a painful scream that rattled his chest. He cringed when he realized this was exactly what Snoke wanted. He bit his lip hard to distract from his leg; the taste of iron singed his tongue. "Phasma," he said, voice lowered. "Come on. Let me - let me make you a deal."

"You lost your bargaining chip when you admitted you killed Hux."

"Bullshit, Phasma. You know you couldn't care less about him. Or Snoke." Kylo added the last part in a rough whisper. His eyes darted to the door and back to Phasma. "I know how you are."

She only looked at him, a very unfamiliar pang of worry crossing her features.

"I might make mistakes, but I am not stupid," Kylo said. "I know you have no real allegiance to anyone but yourself. Even I know that. Just – just get me out of this. And I'll make it worth your while."

Phasma returned to the chair in front of Kylo, and he released a sigh of relief that her boots were nowhere near his foot anymore.

She sighed, running her hands through her hair. "Go on. I'm listening."

You stared straight ahead, past Snoke, and fixed your eyes on the wall. They burned, begging to be relieved with a blink, but if you did that you knew the tears would fall. The last scream you heard had been worse than the first, and you could only imagine what was being done to Kylo. If you couldn't help him, you just wanted to get out of there.

"I get it, okay?" you said, straining to keep your voice steady. "Can I just go now?"

Snoke feigned disappointment. "So soon? We haven't even agreed on a deal yet."

"I'm not interested anymore. I'll leave. I'll leave and... I won't come back. I swear. Just let me go. And leave Kylo alone. And you'll never see me again."

Snoke sat in silence for a moment, mulling over what you had to say. He pulled out his phone, pressed some buttons and held it to his ear. He stared down at you as he did, and even though you refused to look at him, you could still feel his eyes tracing over your features.

After a few moments, Snoke spoke. "I have a task for you. Get it done and then we can talk about getting your job back. Return this call immediately or there won't be any more favors."

Your eyes grew wide, still fixed on the wall. Snoke likely had a handful of employees, but how many would have recently lost their job? There was only one you knew of, but it had to be him. It had to be Hux.

And Snoke didn't know he was dead.

Snoke ended the call and gently placed the phone onto the end table. It was then you noticed his gun. He slightly rotated it on the table, tracing his long fingers over it threateningly, but seemingly thoughtless.

"I'm arranging for someone to bring you home. I can't have you left to your own devices. We will monitor you for an undisclosed period of time, of course. I don't think I have to explain what will happen if there are any missteps."

You shifted your eyes to Snoke, nodding quickly. Your lips curled inwards and you bit them, doing your best not to speak.

Snoke huffed and averted his gaze. The second he wasn't looking at you, you put your head down against your arms that were wrapped over your knees. There was no way to get out if your ride wasn't going to show up. Phasma would be a good replacement for the job, but there's no way Snoke would let it go without getting suspicious.

"Hux!" Snoke's voice rang out. Your body jerked and you looked up at the man again, who was yelling into his phone. "You of all people should know I am not a patient man. You're running out of time." He ended the call again and stood up gingerly from his seat.

You eyed him with caution, getting a better look at him now. He was slender, perhaps tall, but surely not as tall as the woman had been. He seemed frail and weak, no doubt a man more accustomed to gleaning his dominance from threats of the verbal kind.

As Snoke turned to pace down the room, he noticed you were watching him. He stopped walking and placed his hands behind his back. His eyes changed, just subtly, but the look was unnerving, almost as if he could hear your thoughts.

"You know something," he spoke calmly. It wasn't a question.

"No," you answered, your tone full of uncertainty.

"What do you know?" Snoke walked over and stood in front of you, leaving over you. "Tell me."

You blinked, but your eyes refused to open again, your mind trying its best to repress everything around you at the moment.

You felt bony fingers clench around your upper arm in an attempt to drag you up off the ground. Your legs were weak from sitting for so long and did little to help you up. You felt the bruises blossoming under his fingers already.

“Look at me!” Snoke yelled.

He shook you, both of your arms now firmly in his grasp. With your back against the wall, you looked at him as commanded, your lips involuntarily curling in disgust.

"You know something," he insisted again. "Tell me."

You were on high alert now, your brain running in a million directions. The logical side of you was trying to stay calm, to get you out of here alive. The other part of you wanted to spit in Snoke's face and scream for help, for Kylo.

But without knowing what was going on in that room, you couldn't do it. You didn't want to put him in any excess danger.

You hoped the middle ground of the two would get you somewhere.

"I know where Hux is." Your voice was far steadier than you had expected it to be.

Snoke didn't answer. His hands only tightened around your arms, and his gaze hardened.

"Your lackey’s dead," you said, unsure if the words had actually made a sound.

Snoke must have heard them because he instantly let go of you. You fell straight to the ground, the friction of your back dragging against the wall only somewhat slowing your descent.

You curled up against the wall, doing whatever you could to protect yourself. You quickly reasoned there wasn't much you could do to defend yourself against this man, so you looked up. Snoke was at the end table, his back turned towards you. You heard a distinct metallic noise. The gun had been racked.

Snoke's shoulders heaved raggedly as he took a few labored breaths. You waited for him to turn around, to say something. But his next motion was away from you, towards the hallway.

He wasn't going after you first. He wanted Kylo.

"No!" you screamed, starting to push yourself off the floor.

Snoke spun around with the weapon drawn, and you fell back to the ground quickly. "The chances of you leaving here alive are becoming slimmer by the minute. Don't test me."

You ignored Snoke's threat the second he turned his back on you again. You didn't know what you were going to do, but you couldn't just sit there.

You jumped up onto your feet and took quick, large steps towards him before he could hear you coming. Just before he got to the hallway, you had kicked out his legs from beneath him and he fell to the ground on his side. The gun was still clenched tightly in his grip.

"Stupid girl!" Snoke hissed. His voice sounded pained as he attempted to stand up.

You lunged towards him. You were committed now, you couldn't let up. Landing behind him on the ground, you wrapped one arm through his elbow, attempting to pin it behind his back and reach for the gun in his other hand. He tucked his arm towards his body, pulling the gun out of your reach. You dug your hand into his side, snaking between his arm and his body. You felt it, the cold steel of the gun. You pulled on it. A string of curses flew from your mouth, not making any sense. All of your efforts were focused on the feeling in your hand. If you could just....

A gunshot erupted into the broken silence. Hot metal scraped against your hand. You felt a sting. Your body shook violently, your quick breaths doing nothing to quell the movement. Suddenly, Snoke's body wasn't resisting anymore. A warm sensation in your hand allowed the gun to slip easily from his fingers and into yours.

You scooted back from him on the ground, your shaking arms trying their best to support your weight. One hand slipped from underneath you, and you looked down to see blood smeared against the floor.

Snoke's body moved just slightly, his head tilting up one last time.

"Foolish..." Snoke began.

Another shot rang out, hitting him in the chest. He fell. You only realized you had done it by how your arm jerked back from the recoil.

Kylo and Phasma stared at each other for just a moment, eyes wide, before Phasma sprung up from her chair, tending to the knots in the ropes around Kylo's arms and legs.

"Y/N?!" Kylo yelled while he was waiting to be released. His breath hitched. "Fuck. I swear to God..."

He jumped up from the chair hastily once he was no longer bound. Phasma slapped a heavy hand against his chest before he could open the door. "Wait," she said.

"But-"

"No. You wait."

Phasma gently opened the door, checking the hallway before she stepped out into it. Kylo watched her slink slowly down the hall, stopping at the end. She poked her head around the corner, but flung her body back violently at the sound of another shot, moving just quickly enough to avoid the bullet that went whizzing past her head.

Phasma pushed her back against the wall, catching Kylo's eye. She held out a flat hand to him. "Stay," she mouthed.

She stuck a hand out from the hall, waving into the living room. "I'm coming out now." She took a deep breath before bravely stepping back out.

You fixed the gun on Phasma, your finger dancing against the trigger. You really weren't sure if you could even pull it again with the way you were shaking. You were surprised you were even still capable of standing at this point, and you weren’t even sure when you had stood up.

Phasma was outwardly collected, though you could see her chest heaving from deep breaths and an unsteady heartbeat. She slowly raised her hands. "It's okay. Don't shoot. Again. Please," she pleaded to you. She turned her head slightly and lowered her voice. "It's Y/N. Can you talk her down perhaps?"

You squinted at the woman. But soon enough Kylo cautiously lazed around the corner of the hallway, a noticeable limp in his gait. "It's okay," he pleaded to you. "She's with me... now."

Your heart seemingly sank and fluttered simultaneously. You were relieved to see Kylo, a familiar face, his face. But whose side was he on anyway? You were supposed to trust Phasma now?

You kept the gun raised. Kylo was in your sights. "What's going on?" you asked, aiming the gun back on Phasma. “Why shouldn’t I shoot her? She shot you.”

Kylo hesitated, unable to properly gather his thoughts looking down the barrel of a gun. Besides, you weren’t exactly wrong. "I convinced Phasma to help me. Help us. But you clearly don't need help anymore. The only bad guy here was Snoke. And..." he paused, looking down. "And you took care of him." Kylo slowly approached you with his hands up. "Come on. It's okay. It's over."

The scene in front of you became blurry as tears welled up in your eyes. Soon, Kylo was right next to you, your arms still outstretched and shaking, when he stood beside you and clasped his hands into yours. The warmth and steadiness was welcomed, and you felt the cold metal slip through your fingers as he pulled the gun away. He slid it across the floor to Phasma, who deftly released the magazine and racked the weapon, unloading it.

"Y/N," Kylo whispered, reaching an arm out to put around your shoulders.

Silently, you stepped away from him, not meeting his gaze, and ran out the front door.

The air was damp and bitterly cold. Night had fallen since this whole thing had begun, the sun taking every bit of warmth with it in its absence. You went to run your hands against your arms and noticed the blood smeared on them. You sat on the steps and wiped your hands on your jeans hard enough to rub the skin right off of them.

Your breaths quickened so fast you didn't know what hit you. You doubled over, resting your arms on your legs and buried your face in them. The thumping of your heartbeat echoed through your ears accompanied by he seething of your heavy breaths through your teeth.

The door open behind you, and you stood up immediately, still short of breath, and started walking down the sidewalk on uneasy legs.

"Don't go," Kylo pleaded.

You stopped. "Kylo," you said, voice nearly cracking. The way you said his name almost gave him some type of hope. You turned slowly to face him. The scene was surreal. Besides what had just happened inside, it reminded you of the first time you had seen him like this, his gorgeous features lit up in the artificial yellow light. Your heart ached. What you wouldn't give to go back to that time, before you knew any of this.

"Kylo," you spoke again. "I don't even know if I still have a job. I can't go home because... because there's a fucking dead guy in my apartment." You paused, trying to steady your breathing and your shaking hands. "I can't..."

He knew what you were going to say and he couldn't bear to hear it. He turned away from you with fervor, right after you saw the fire build up in his eyes.

Kylo was stopped quickly just inside the door, Phasma reaching out a hand to plant on his shoulder. He raised his head to look at her. She had a rare look of sympathy on her face.

"Breathe," she said curtly, more command than comfort.

Kylo huffed, taking in shallow breaths through his nose. His fingers began to ache under the pressure of the fists he'd subconsciously made.

"I know you don't want to lose her, but if you care about her and love her-"

Kylo interrupted, almost too quickly. "I - I didn't..."

"I know you didn't say you loved her. But I'm not blind, Kylo. I truly do not give a shit, but I'm not blind."

He took a heavy breath, his shoulders sinking as he exhaled. His eyes fixated on a wall in his living room, and his body shook with a chill, suddenly acknowledging the frigid temperature flowing into the house.

"Just let her say her piece," Phasma said quietly. "You owe her that. She’s been though enough."

She squeezed his shoulder before letting go, allowing him to turn around to face you again.

The warmth returned to Kylo's body when he saw you again, but not for long. Your face was strained, your forehead creased, eyebrows furrowed so tightly that it looked painful. You were gnawing on your lip nervously, and Kylo instantly recalled a time not so long ago when he dragged your lip between his own teeth.

But that’s when it hit him. This is what you had become because of him. A physically drained and emotionally compromised version of what you had been when he’d met you. And he could take no pleasure in that.

You saw the way he was staring at you, but you couldn't make out what the look in his eyes was. He was deathly silent, so you took it as your cue to start talking again.

"I just need some time, you know? This has all been... a lot."

"Right," Kylo said, his voice flat. He hopped down the few steps to get closer to you. You didn't move.

He kicked lightly at the concrete, distracting himself with the noise of his boot scuffing against the ground. "If you need anything, you know where to find me," he said quietly.

Kylo hadn't expected it but it was all he had hoped for. You stepped forward quickly, wrapping your arms around him. You squeezed tightly, but it never felt like enough, his body barely giving way underneath your grip. Kylo hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was something he should allow you to do on your own, but soon the urge overcame his concern, and he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, burying his face in your hair. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. If this was going to be the last time to hold you in his arms, he was going to make sure he'd remember it, committing every last smell and touch to his memory.

This felt so incredibly different than everything else. Before this, each touch would make your hearts race, send your blood pumping through veins with lust. But you could feel your heart and hear his, slow and steady. Calm, collected, and at ease, if just for a moment.

Kylo placed a kiss on the top your head. He cleared his throat, and the noise rattled his chest and vibrated against your face. "Phasma is going to take you to her place tonight," he spoke deeply into your ear. "She's hard to get used to, but she's not so bad. She'll take care of you, though. And I'll let her know when it's safe to send you home tomorrow."

His voice melted you, as it always did. You wanted to take it back in that moment. This side of him, this caring, protective side is what you loved. But you had to remind yourself of the baggage it came with, why he needed to be protective.

You only nodded into his chest, tightening your fingers against his sides one more time before letting go.

Phasma slid herself between the two of you before any more words could be exchanged, casually slipping her arm to hang over your shoulder. You looked up at Kylo before Phasma turned you away, but he was staring at the ground, with a hand tightly woven into his hair.

He wasn't going to watch you walk out of his life if he'd never get to watch you walk back into it.

A/N: I was going to leave y’all hanging, but I couldn’t do that. Don’t worry. There is an epilogue. It’s already written.