#I want nothing to do with that vile woman that shall not be named as I stand for everything that she's against | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

licentious-sanguinity · 2 years

Note

☕️ + The VVV ;)

“Mmmm. The V trio, hm? Well, I mussssst certainly admit, they are a force to be reckoned with. It’sss natural to hear of Overlords grouping up when it comessss to making a proper foundation for their empiressss to prosper, though a trio is definitely rare within the unending power sssstruggles of the Pride Ring, and even rarer for such triosss to last more than a few months or years. But thosssse three together have managed to last for a good 50 yearssss, and if they can make another 50, then they’ll have a proper century of alliance under their belt. An impressive one, in a place like this, for certain.

…Ah, but you probably mean ssssomething more persssonal. What I think of all three of them, perhapsss? Very well. I’m in a good mood today, so I shall indulge you. Let us ssssee…

Valentino. Oooh. Now that is a name that ssssends all sorts of delightful shivers down my spine. What can I say? Hard not for a demon of lusssst such as myself to grow so very enchanted by a demon of sssin and sickly ssssweet charisma such as him. A wonderful body that makes the mouth drool and the loins ache, and a lecherous mind of pure corruption, wicked and licentiousssss through and through with how deeply he seeks to reduce others into toys for his amusement, how much he adores in pulling his captivated little pets along with sweet words and promises of fame, wealth, power, luxury. It’s something to be obsssserved, a demon of such vileness, and even admired for those who relish in such cruelty, and I always make a note to do so from afar. Wouldn’t want to get too close and become enssssnared in the moth’s web.

Vox…Mmmm. The man that is the rival and opposite to everything that smiling deer stands for. I will admit, I do admire the strength and sheer power that one has, forged from decades of being power and light to the whole of Hell, of placing phones in our pockets and lighting up the airwaves with signals and noise and images in places where there simply used to be silence, rather than simply rolling a magical roulette wheel and managing to score a jackpot the second he hit the ground. I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing Vox in action in a fight, but I’m sure it would be a sssspectacle. But what really makesss me so intrigued by Vox, in truth, is the oh so inssssidious nature of the gift he has given Hell to begin with. Wiretapsss in our phones to listen to our voices, eyes peering at us from beyond our screens on our televisions, cameras in our security systems recording and selling off everything that they see within our homes, data mining every button you ever tap, every ad you ever click, everything your eyes so much as absorb from the view of your phones and your computers. He wields his power of subterfuge and manipulation as a painter wields his brush and his canvas, bending and molding the minds of the masses that see him into buying whatever he sells them, into never doubting him, remaining loyal and happy and content with their miserable little lives like a cultist leader guiding their flock within a valley of silicone. And I persssonally can’t help but find it so very amusing to watch, even now, while I hold a phone in my hand, knowing that it’s listening to everything I say. Why would I do so, given everything I said? Simple. What would a whore like me have to hide at all?

Velvet. Dear, dear Velvet. The trickster, the jester, the harlequin to the group, the merry man who dances and jokes for the rulers and kings without the monarch not having any clue of just how easily the fool could tip the balance and leave the both of them for dead. Not that I think Velvet would ever do such a thing unprompted, but the air of cunning is certainly there. It clings to her, like the scent of metal underneath a fine sugary glaze of sweetened honey and melted gumdropsss, and it makes me laugh, seeing all the idiots who think she’s nothing more than a joke. The woman gave me a cake pop laced with so much drugs that a single bite would’ve sent a lesser demon into cardiac arrest on the spot, frothing at the mouth and puking up blood, I know proper well that there is more than her that meets the eye. She’s like a perfectly good caramel toffee that has a razor blade inside, ready to slice your tongue to ribbons the moment you let your guard down for even a moment. It’s a lucky thing that I just happen to be such a fan of sweets so much to begin with, otherwise, if I were any other coward, I would’ve been running for the hills. But no. If she wants to play her little game, to joke and dance and see how long it takes for me to look away just long enough that she may gut me when I’m not looking, best to dance along and have some fun.”

#succubus pentious #i’m all ears…(ic)#ask meme #winters club #suggestive tw

1 note · View note

thesolferino · 3 years

Text

Blood Red

⤷ knight!dream x assassin!fem!reader.

— summary: technoblade hires you to kill sir dream at king george’s ball while he’s off duty; sir dream wants a dance with the peculiar lady wearing a peculiar gown.

A red gown flashes past the sea of white and baby pink ones in a dazzling fashion, one of a Duchess or a Countess, surely not of a simple lady, but it flies by quick, so quick that you simply don’t get to catch the face that matches it. Quick enough that it leaves you stunned, slow enough for a knight’s eagle eye to spot.

The red is dark, darker than the simple scarlet red that the women wore on top of their buns or at the ends of their braids in the form of carefully tied bows. It’s dark, a dark maroon red, walking the line between uncomfortably red and obviously brown finely, careful not to cross each side. It’s an unsettling red, which makes it even more intriguing, especially to a knight - a knight who dances, off-duty, but fails to keep his eyes on the Dame in front of him, and he’s sure it might’ve gotten him in trouble if the porcelain mask hadn’t stayed stapled on his face, shielding his eyes from betraying him.

The red is outstanding, eccentric amongst all the pale, and the knight isn’t the only one who steals a look - the red was noteworthy, among the rest, and wasn’t that what a killer like yourself was made to avoid? Getting seen, getting noticed? Being the center of attention was for the masterminds, after all, not the ones who get their hands dirty; somebody might catch them staining.

It was a bad idea, the ones in charge had said many times before, but you always wore red to the job. They always dumbly ask why, you always repeat the answer. The blood would become invisible, you said. It was as if nothing had happened, at all.

That’s why your maroon flashed amongst the sea of ivory and lavender unapologetically, beautifully shining against the blush pink tiles, matching red heels clacking in obedience with your footsteps, feet moving lightly, gracefully, as if made for such a setting.

And when the song decrescendoed into silence and the violins started moving in a different pattern, the knight callously let go of the Dame’s hand and his feet carried him to where his eyes remained fastened on for hours, pale hand outstretching to your own, finally getting to see your face for the first time in the evening.

The red was too much for a Lady, and that’s why he knew exactly who you were. Maybe not by name, or by age, but profession and motivation were a strong guess. He’d been waiting for this moment - might as well make the most of it.

“May I have this dance, miss?” He spoke, hand still hovering in the air calmly, as she stared dead into the mask, right where she could imagine his eyes were. The stare gave him the answer to an already solved question - your gaze gave away absolutely nothing, and that’s what made him sure of it all. You’re good at your job, he supposes.

Beats of silence pass as couples sway behind you, some more gracefully so than others. You set your hand in his, lightly, carefully, so timidly it almost made him rethink it all. How could such a hand commit such vile things?

“Alright.” You spoke in return, placing your hand behind his shoulder, touch still as soft as before before slipping your other hand in his, not letting your fingers intertwine the way he may have wanted them to. He placed his arm on your back, just below your armpit, beginning to dance and move towards the center of the ballroom.

“From what I’ve observed, you seem to be a good dancer.” He mused, stretching his hand to let you spin, gown flapping around as you did, and he could’ve sworn it might’ve left trails of stardust on the floor everywhere you stepped. You smiled, in a way that screamed at him to escape, but his hand stayed glued to yours, moving further.

“I know a couple of things here and there.”

“How come? Excuse me if I am being intrusive, but I have not seen you at many balls. At least not the ones I attend.” He knew exactly why this specific ball was the one she attended, and the whole conversation inevitably leads to the answer he’s already aware of - he just wants to see how good of a liar you are, though.

“This is my first time here. I’m not a woman of some importance.” You replied, charm beaming off you like rays of light off the sun, and Dream could almost feel his legs tripping after the very hem of your dress. He’s playing with fire, and he knows it, but he just can’t help himself and pour heaps of gasoline. He’s always been like that, and perhaps George hates him for it, but George doesn’t matter anymore - he doesn’t exist as long as he doesn’t look at him. He’s off duty, and if he wants to play with the fire that lights just to burn him, then he shall do exactly that.

“Oh, believe me, you are of utmost importance if I’ve ever seen some.” He says, and you reply with nothing, simply spinning another time under his arm that holds yours firmly. He takes it as an invitation to spark some panic in you.

“Besides, the color of your dress would suggest otherwise. How come a simple lady’s wearing such kitsch cloth?” Dream points out when the two of you move a bit farther back, led by you, and he’s just about impressed at how well you are at suppressing all of this, especially when you let out a perfectly timed, airy chuckle in response, not a single flash of fear or danger in your eyes. It’s the first time that night that he’s actually felt like prey. Techno taught you well, didn’t he?

“I don’t think you’re one to speak on that, Sir Dream.” you respond, eyes flashing from the collar of his basil green suit to the nicely paired olive points of his shoes, back to the hollow eyes of the mask with a mischievous glint in your eye. He exhales a laugh.

“The color is pretty, isn’t it? Aren’t simple ladies allowed to feel like Duchesses every once in a while?” you continue, pulling the two of you mere centimeters closer, enough for any of the passing guests not to spare a single look, and enough for him to notice what you’re doing. He can almost feel a bead of sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. Maybe he’s more scared of death than he thought.

“I don’t think you’re a simple lady.” He professed, following your lead. You were pulling him dangerously close to the south side, where the balcony stood. You were impressingly good at this. “Simple ladies don’t have knives strapped to their thigh.”

He waited for a slip up, and he got none. Not a single hitch in your breathing, a stutter of your tongue - your lips, marked with a red lipstick that suddenly looked a lot like smeared blood even though it wasn’t, simply stretched into another coy smile. You say nothing, simply keep dancing, feet moving in a little bit of a different direction now, as to delay the operation, and he likes to think that’s enough of a slip up.

“Are you scared of death, Sir Dream?” Violins stammer in staccatos behind him, an awful representation of the tension he knows both of you feel, yet not a single other soul in the room can behold. The back of his neck grows warmer, and maybe it’s fondness, maybe lust, or maybe danger and that known feeling of being the prey in this situation, that he taps in with one foot, the other safely yet artificially placed on predator territory, because he refuses to admit he’s no longer the one with the upper hand, and his leg has lifted off predator land long, long ago.

“My death will be nothing more than a false victory to you.” He offers instead of an answer, hips swaying to the music and steals a glance at the rest of the couples dancing. It’s such an airy atmosphere, so calm, casual yet fancy, elegant. Gowns fly around and snake around naked ankles, but none of them are as pretty as yours. Dream refuses to think about the way his blood would look soaking it, and that’s when it clicks. You’re not so dumb, after all.

“I suppose it will, but your murder will be a true one.” you say, and your feet are tapping on the tiles a few feet too close to the balcony. Dream feels crazy, still dancing like this. He feels crazy, and maybe he should ask for help, scream, but he doesn’t. He dances on, dancing until either the stars or you take him.

“Will you feel alive if I take it off? Will he be more satisfied?” His head moves comically, just to bring attention to the mask that feels so unbelievably tight and suffocating, the strings pressing to the back of his head, threatening to snap. He wants them to snap so badly.

“It’s too late for me to feel alive now. I’ve been dead for years, and I’ll stay that way. Whatever you want, though, honey.” Your voice feels more like music than the actual musing of the fuse of piano and strings in his ears, and he still feels crazy. He feels high on something he’s never known. You haven’t killed him yet - maybe you’re high as well.

“I can bring people back to life.” He replies simply, six simple words that are nothing more than conversation fuel, but they hold so much meaning that he can’t miss the glint in your eyes. Your step falters for a second, but the knight’s eagle eye never misses.

“You don’t want me alive, you want yourself alive.” You whisper, heels clacking louder and louder now. Dream is convinced he’s going insane, but his feet move at their own accord, of their own body and soul.

“I want both of us.”

“Only one gets to stay.” You say, and it doesn’t make his blood go cold like he expects it to. It’s sort of depressing to know that his heart accepted his morality so quickly, much quicker than his stubborn brain.

“I don’t think you want me to go, though.” It’s one hell of a ballsy move, but when you press your lips together, he knows he’s done it. Unsure how, but happy he did, nonetheless.

“I’m quite unsure of what I want, I must say. Sir Technoblade does, though.” You spit his name out, and it forces an unwilling laugh out of Dream.

“Be careful, it’s death you’re dancing with.” You say, gaze as fiery as ever, reflecting the blood of your dress and the blinding lights of the chandelier that light your eyes on fire. He returns the gaze just the same.

“May I get one last dance with Death, then, before she makes up her mind?” The knight cheekily smiles, even though you can’t see it, but he’s sure you feel it. Your hand manages to go warmer in his own when you grip it tighter, and he thinks he’s got his answer.

“You know what? Death’s a pretty good dancer, but so are you. She’ll allow it.”

#dream x reader #dream imagine #dream fanfic #dreamwastaken x reader #dreamwastaken imagine #dreamwastaken fanfic #dream angst #dream x y/n #dreamwastaken x y/n #mcyt imagine #mcyt x reader #dream fluff

539 notes · View notes

animereaderinsertwriter · 3 years

Text

Cupbearer (Eren/Reader)

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV (in progress)

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (im watching you, if you see this, begone!), vampire!eren, hunter!reader, fem!reader, smut, some amount of predator/prey dynamics but only kinda?? there is also a significant age difference but only cos eren is immortal and all that jazz. we're all adults here. there will eventually be smut.... and do i really need to say that there's gonna be blood in a vampire fic?

Description: A story of falling in love in 4 parts.

Eren is a bad man (well, a bad Creature) who has done bad things. When he meets the great-great-great granddaughter of one of his former friends in his favorite blood bar, however, he thinks it might not matter so much what happened in the past, so long as he can make the future something worth living to see.

Ao3 link here

Part I

A lamb in a den of lions, he thought, watching the newcomer as she settled in, ordering whiskey neat. A fool, for sure.

A fool she may be, perhaps, but even fools could be dangerous. Eren had known that the young woman was a Hunter from the moment she entered the bar (everyone else had, too) but something told Eren that she was hardly cut from the same cloth as the average Bane of Creatures. There was something in her movements— a predatory grace in her stride, perhaps, or a stiff, straight posture, with muscles tensed and ready for action— that betrayed her power to him; but for all that, she really was lovely, and the image of a rabbit caught in a patch of bramble came to mind whenever he looked at her.

Sitting in a corner, drinking his B-neg, he watched the woman as she sipped her drink, checking over her shoulder now and then. She was wary— as anyone with good sense would be— but she didn't appear frightened, and Eren's curiosity was piqued. It wasn't every day that someone so bold happened across his path, and it became harder and harder for him to resist the urge to approach her.

Eventually, Eren gave in to his curiosity— he never had been very good at or even particularly fond of restraining himself— and when he came silently up behind her, the newcomer didn't even notice his presence until he murmured a greeting close to her ear.

"Hello, little love," he said, and she startled in her seat. "Are you lost?"

She turned around then, her eyes big and bright in the dim lighting of the bar, but by the time she managed to look at the spot where Eren would have been, he was already seated on the barstool beside her. Eventually, though, her eyes found his, and when their gazes met, Eren was amused to find no fear in her visage.

"Far from it," she told him, turning her body towards him. "I am precisely where I mean to be."

Eren blinked, nonplussed.

"Curious," he said, leaning forward so that she could see the sharpness of his teeth as he spoke. "Do you fancy yourself a wolf among sheep, little Hunter? Did you really not think we would know you for what you are the moment you crossed the threshold of this place?"

Any normal, human ear would have missed the way her heart leapt in her chest, but Eren missed nothing. The fear he had hoped to inspire in her was present after all, but her face never moved from its impenetrable mask— an affectation that was somehow both soft and steely at once.

"That's not what I'm here for," she told him, widening the distance between her knees as she readjusted on the stool. "I'm here to discover the truth."

The truth— what an odd notion!— and yet Eren sensed no lie in her.

"You're a strange one," he told her, but forced himself to relax his posture to appear lazy, almost drunk. "Most Hunters— even ones so pretty as yourself— shoot first and worry about the truth later. What's your name?"

Her nose crinkled. "It's polite to give your own first."

Sharp, he thought, watching her closely. Names have power.

"Eren Jaeger."

"Eren Jaeger," she echoed, then extended her hand. "My name is (Y/N)."

That name sounded familiar to Eren— and though most names did after living a few centuries, this one seemed to hit closer to home. He knew that name, and knew it well…

"What's your surname?"

(Y/N)'s eyes flashed with an emotion that Eren didn't catch.

"Kirschtein," she replied, averting her eyes. "I'm Jean Kirschtein's great-great-great granddaughter."

And damn if Eren didn't want to laugh. Perhaps his nosiness into the posterity of his old acquaintances really was as bad of an idea as Armin always seemed to imply.

"I see," he said, and he truly, truly did. "Then you know who I am— what I am— and what I've done."

More than that, if she truly did know who he was, it was unlikely that she had come without a specific purpose in mind.

(Y/N) nodded, confirming his suspicions. "I was digging around in my family history and— well— I read what my grandfather wrote, and I just— I wanted the truth."

So wide-eyed, so innocent— so alive. Eren could see now her resemblance to Jean; if they were not similar in looks, she had his sharpness, his humanness… and, as he always had Jean, Eren envied her for it.

"If that's the case, then I'm sure you know that you don't get something for nothing," he told her, sipping his drink just to watch the expression on her face as he let the warm blood slide down his throat. "And that dealings with me can be dangerous."

"Jean Kirschtein loved you, Eren Jaeger," she told him fiercely and with such conviction that Eren nearly choked on his drink. "To take such a tone with me, to threaten me, the last living remnant of him, is the most disrespectful thing I've ever heard."

Eren was about to say that he didn't owe her, Jean Kirschtein, or anyone else any sort of respect, but she plowed on, unwilling to let him say his piece.

"You broke his heart a million ways by doing what you did, but— but he was your friend through all of it, no matter what side each of you were on," (Y/N) continued, passion aflame in her eyes. "I can't even imagine what inspired such a love, such a loyalty from him that he would forgive you for the horrors you caused. That's what I'm here to find out— what you have that a man such as him would find you redeemable."

The reproof in her words stung, but Eren was too old to argue. She could never understand what it was like back then.

"I understand more than you think," she snapped, and Eren actually flinched. "I understand that you hurt the woman my grandfather loved immeasurably, and that he forgave you for that even though he never even particularly liked you. I understand that you were ready to sacrifice the world for that selfsame woman, for Jean, and for all the others. I understand that you're a monster who loved and was loved back, but I want to know why."

How? Eren thought, shaken.

How had she known his thoughts? It was as though she had seen straight through to his innermost being.

Without speaking, she answered his question. (Y/N) took a hand and rolled up her left sleeve, presenting to him a scarred marking in the shape of a pentagram.

"My grandfather didn't settle down with just anyone," she told him, holding his gaze. "I come from a line of powerful witches, all of whom possessed strong claircognizance. Paired with my nature as an empath, you can assume I know what you're going to say before you say it."

Eren hummed, trying to appear less perturbed than he was.

"And yet you hunt Creatures for a living; strange, since you're practically one of us yourself."

(Y/N) glowered. "I hunt monsters that prey on my people, not Creatures. No innocent has died by my hand."

The unlike you went unsaid, but that didn't mean that Eren didn't hear it anyway.

"Don't get high-and-mighty with me, girl," he told her roughly. "Knowing is one thing, but experiencing what we experienced is another."

"I'm not here to judge you," she replied. "I told you, I'm here for truth, nothing more."

"And I told you that the truth doesn't come for free," he told her darkly. "You must give me something in return."

(Y/N) set her jaw.

"What would you have of me?"

It was a mean, base request. Eren was wicked for even thinking it, and vile for wanting it— but looking at the great-to-however-many-degrees granddaughter of a good man that he had once known, seeing the vitality that brought a flush to her cheeks and thumping to her heart, he knew he couldn't pass up this golden opportunity.

It had been so long since he'd had a Companion.

"Become my cupbearer for six moons," he told her, crossing his arms. "Starting with tonight, the moon becomes new; let me drink from you until six of these have passed, and along the way, you will learn what you want to know."

(Y/N) eyed him warily.

"Can you assure my physical safety?"

Eren grunted, almost amused. It was a bit late to be worrying about that.

"I think you know that I can."

"And will you let me continue in my duties as a Hunter?" she asked, her eyes searching his own as if she would find the answer to her question there inside the same eyes he'd had since he was nineteen. "Completely uninhibited?"

"That depends. Will you kill Creatures in the discharge of your duties?"

(Y/N) made a face. Eren had forgotten how expressive mortals could be, but he found that being reminded was not altogether unpleasant.

"You know I will," she replied, "But you have my word that any killing won't be unprovoked."

Eren supposed it was as close to a compromise as he could expect.

"As you wish it, so shall it be."

He turned away, signaling to the bartender for another drink, but a lightning-fast hand shot out to grab his wrist.

"Swear it," she demanded. "I need us to be Bound by it."

The meanness in Eren finally won over. He reached forward, grabbing (Y/N) by the neck, and the silver rings on her fingers burned him as she pulled at his hand to try and restore her breath. Eyes from all around the room were on the two of them— had been, since the very beginning— but it was only once the Hunter before him began to look appropriately humbled that he withdrew.

"Do not touch me without my permission," he said, "And I will return the favor."

(Y/N) looked at him then, but there was still no fear in her eyes. Anger, yes, but no fear.

She must be mad, or foolish one, he thought, considering her for a moment. I always have been partial to mad fools in general, but…

Something about her seemed different, and Eren didn't know what to do other than accept what she had to offer. Heavens knew he was getting the better end of the deal anyway.

"Swear it," she repeated, this time more quietly. "Give your word, and I will be your cupbearer."

Eren brought his hand up and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt. At his will, the nail tip of his forefinger sharpened, hardening into a point; he used it to draw an 'X' onto the skin just over where his heart rested inside his chest, cold and dead. Blood welled into the cut— precious little, compared to that of a human, but still enough to run down his chest in smudges— and it was by that blood that he swore. He spoke the terms of their agreement, then took the blood from his wound with the pad of his finger and marked the same spot over (Y/N)'s own heart.

"Satisfied?" he asked, their faces almost touching, and (Y/N) shivered.

"Yes."

Her warm, living breath fanned over his face with her reply, and Eren took the moment to close his eyes and appreciate the scent and sensation of it.

"You may think you're satisfied," he told her, pulling away, "But you don't know the meaning of the word."

She eyed him warily, but before she could speak, he added, "In six months' time, I'll ask you the same question, and it is then that you will truly know what it is to feel satisfied— satiated in every way."

"As you say."

It was a throwaway comment, nothing more than a dismissal, really; but Eren felt like it was the start of something truly remarkable.

#aot x y/n #aot x reader #aot #aot fanfiction #eren x reader #vampire!eren jaeger #aot smut

95 notes · View notes

systlinsideblog · 3 years

Text

Part 2

The Lady walked, unseen and unheard, through the grass.

She looked out from the eyes of animals, felt through the grass, through the soil. She was, after all, a goddess of soil and fertility and life, and all life was her domain.

She followed her child, as Systlin walked.

It was cruel, sometimes, the uses to which she must put her chosen champion. The Lady regretted it, on occasion. But it was necessary, and her champion had the fortitude and skill to accept such hard tasks, to stand her ground though the whole world be against her. Her champion had the power to change worlds.

There was much on this world that needed changing. The cries of pain had reached the Lady, though she was not the native goddess of these people.

But the gods here were silent. The Lady was, among other things, a goddess of mercy, and she’d not been able to bear it.

Justice was what was needed, but there was none of it to be found in this place. Justice was not one of the Lady’s domains. But there was one for whom it was, even if that one still railed against what she’d become when she’d taken the soul of a slain mad god into herself.

She watched, as her champion killed, and though it was not her domain she could taste the justice of it. She’d brought justice and protection to a world with none, and granted mercy to the millions who cried for it. It was honey in her mouth.

A breaker, to break a whole world. The Lady thought, and smiled.

The leader of these...people...would not been pleased with her. She knew this, because she would not be pleased with anyone who came before her in her court and challenged her as she planned to challenge him. She would probably have had them seized, had they tried such a thing, and likely killed.

But then, Systlin was fully ready to burn this entire camp down, and quite honestly the only reason she hadn't yet was because there were helpless innocents in among the monsters who called themselves men.

Every step she took led her past women collared like dogs. Some wore nothing but bells, and Systlin was no fool; she guessed the purpose of such things. Some were chained to wagons. The ones allowed clothing wore little of it. To a one, the women gave way to men. On some of them, Systlin could see whip wheals and healed scars from beatings.

Her power curled within her, and oh but the lure of it was a powerful thing, as her blood ran hot and the red rage misted her vision.

But that was a dangerous path, and for now she kept her power under tight rein.

The women she passed looked at her with something like wonder; they had never seen, she supposed, a woman armed like she.

One woman, a chained girl wearing little but scraps of leather, had in fascination reached out to touch the hilt of Ice. Systlin paused to let her, and smiled.

"Warrior caste?" The girl's voice was wondering. "But..."

"Women," Systlin said, her voice gentle. "Make excellent fighters. It was a woman who trained me."

The girl smiled, and then all at once a man angrily grabbed for the back of the collar around the girl's neck, and moved to cuff her. The girl yelped and cowered, apologizing, begging forgiveness, and it was enough.

Ice was in her hand without conscious thought as she moved, and then she was standing over the cowering woman, legs planted, the point of her sword at the man's throat. The Power-bound blade, sharp as a razor, drew a drop of blood where it dug into skin.

"If you touch her." Systlin's voice was a snarl. "I will kill you."

She let, at last, the tiniest curl of her curse rise. It came cold and eager, and she reached out, feeling, feeling the million tiny flaws in everything around her, in her bones, in the bones of those around her, in the girl's collar...

"How dare you!" The man was furious. "She is mine! I will do with her as I like, I am her master!"

Systlin pushed, a thin little thread of Power, delicate as a needle.

The girl's collar cracked with a sound of over-stressed metal, and fell from her neck in two halves.

"She," Systlin hissed, "Is a woman, and a person, and not to be owned. What the bloody fuck is wrong with you people?"

"She is a woman!" The man hissed right back at her, heedless of the sword at his throat. "Her place is as a sla..."

It was the last thing he said. Systlin ran Ice through his throat, out the back of his neck. The sudden gurgle as his windpipe was severed was as sweet as music.

There was a roar of outrage, and she felt rather than saw the lance shoved for her back. She bent away, and it went past. She whipped her sword around, getting her back to the wagon, and looked down the length of ice-blue steel at the snarling faces of hundreds of furious warriors.

“Eighteen.” She said, coldly. “Whoever wants to be nineteen, step forward first.”

“Give me one reason, woman.” Kamchak was deadly serious. “Why I should not order you slain where you stand.”

“Because you said that you would take me to this Kutaituchik.” Systlin shrugged one shoulder. “And go on and do it. I would be delighted to kill some more of you.”

“You’re mad.”

“I fear that I am the only sane one present.”

“I should kill you.”

Systlin’s patience snapped. She called again on her curse, and with a terrible cracking of wood fifty lances snapped in a moment, dissolving into splinters in their owner’s hands. There was a cry of astonishment and…ah, yes, there it was…fear.

Several warriors…didn’t quite step back, but leaned back a bit, and looked uneasy.

“Try.” She said, very softly. “Please try. I’ll make a soup bowl of your skull.”

Kamchak regarded her for a long moment. “So you are a sorceress.”

“The next thing I break will be you, and the twenty men closest to you, unless you take me to this man as you promised.”

There was a long, tense moment, and finally Kamchak turned and jerked his chin at her to follow. Systlin did, warily. She did not tamp her power down and lock it away; she kept it to hand, a constant itch under her skin, a temptation to crack the femur of the man ahead of her just to hear him scream.

She did not. She’d long ago mastered her power, as perhaps no other Breaker had. She ruled it, not the other way around. She felt the temptation, but discarded it, and kept the terrible boon of her power close at hand.

She would need it. She knew it in her bones already. The sun was dipping towards evening. She’d been a warrior for decades. She was a warrior, a conqueror, a queen who’d fought two wars against people and one against a god. She’d won all three.

She knew, in her bones, that tonight she’d be spilling blood. A lot of it.

The girl rushed to stay near her, trembling. Systlin let her; the poor thing was terrified, traumatized, and clinging to perhaps the one thing that had ever offered her a helping hand. She had never been particularly good at comfort, but she tried; she patted the woman on the shoulder, somewhat awkwardly. The girl flinched, but then looked at her with wide frightened eyes.

“It’s all right.” Systlin tried to keep her voice gentle, for all murder was singing under her skin and gleefully anticipating a slaughter. “It’s all right. To touch you again, they’d have to go over my dead body.”

This seemed small comfort to the woman. “They’ll like that.” She said, in a very small voice.

“They won’t. I can and will kill every man in this camp if I must.”

A wide-eyed look. “No one can do that. No one but a god.”

“And I killed a god once.” Systlin shrugged. “Men die easier.”

The look she got was skeptical, but the girl clearly remembered the shattered lances. The trembling faded perhaps a little.

She was led to an open area before a wagon of exceptional size and make. Jewels and gold glinted and glittered everywhere. Systlin waited as men ducked into the wagon and hurried conversation were had. She waited as rugs and cushions were brought out, and finally with ceremony an old gray robe was spread over them. She waited as an older man was escorted with great deference from the wagon. He assumed the seat, still chewing a string of some substance. Systlin noted the somewhat sleepy detatchment in his eyes.

The lines of his face were familiar. She looked from him to Kamchak, and back. Kamchak was just turning, and took up a position very close to the older man.

Ahhh. She remembered the deference shown Kamchak by the other warriors, and noted how they looked to him even now. Ahhh. I see.

The old man… Kutaituchik …looked her up and down. She looked back, with all the self-assurance she had, which was enough to break an army against.

“I am told,” The old man said at last. “That you killed eighteen of my warriors.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Because they offered me insult and implied that they would put me in chains and enslave me.”

“You are a woman, are you not?” The old man said mildly.

The rage boiled again, and Systlin forced it from red hot into ice. “Slavery is abomination.” She said sharply. “It is among the greatest crimes, to hold another person in bondage. Those who would break another person to their will are monsters, and killing them cleanly is too good for them. Enslaving another for the purpose of sex is beyond abomination, for rape is another of the greatest of crimes. To even suggest such a thing is vile, and I sincerely wonder what in the name of all the gods and spirits is wrong with the men of this camp.”

A short laugh. “Ahhh. Another sent by the Priest-Kings then, new to Gor?”

Gor. The name of this world, then? And Priest-Kings; gods of some sort? “I am not from this place, no, and thank the Lady’s mercy for that.”

“You’ll find,” said Kutaituchik, “That the ways of Gor are different. You may as well get used to them, woman; you’ll find that the Tuchuk are quite fair masters, all in all. As you are new, I shall not have you killed. The male kin of those you have slain will draw lots, and the winner may put his collar on you and claim your sword as recompense. If he is charitable, he will loan you to the other men seeking recompense.”

There was a general murmur of approval from the surrounding men. Systlin felt the itch under her skin grow more insistent. The girl clinging to her side sobbed. “I told you,” she said. “I told you!”

“I have a counter offer.” Systlin said. She was drawing up power now, and readying it, because she knew with absolute certainty that she was nearing the point where it would turn to blood. She looked Kutaituchik dead in the eyes. “You acknowledge me as your new chieftain and acknowledge my word as the new law. You remove the collars from every slave in this camp. You renounce your crimes, and abase yourself for forgiveness before those you have wronged. You pay recompense and escort every newly freed woman wherever she wishes to be taken, and leave her there with funds and supplies enough to piece a life back together.”

She smiled horribly, a smile that held no mirth. “Since you are new to this new law, I will not kill you for your crimes.”

There was utter silence. And then a great roar of laughter all about.

“Kamchak.” Kutaituchik said. “Kill her.”

Kamchak nodded, and the men who’d been creeping up behind her moved. Systlin had been tracking them for some time; she’d felt the disturbances in the air and the patches of too-silent space behind her. They intended, she guessed, to strike her without warning. It was wise. It was what she would have done to kill a sorceress, were she without power.

Systlin reached into that yawning pit of coldly eager power within her, and she broke the men trying to kill her. Bones shattered into splinters. It was utterly soundless, save for the sudden screams of agony as men collapsed into piles of bloody meat.

It was easy. It was terribly easy. Her blood sang with the last agonized gurgling screams.

“Good effort.” She said, and she could not keep the smile from her face. “You should have taken my offer. Now I extend you my second; you submit to me, here and now, and I make your death painless.”

“Kill her!” The words were roared in utter furious rage. “Tuchuks! KILL HER!” A thousand voices roared, and a forest of lances rose.

Systlin drew her sword, and her dagger, and smiled, and in that smile was ruin. And as the first warriors rushed forward, she began to kill.

37 notes · View notes

allysketches · 1 year

Note

what's ur opinion on TERFs

not welcome in this blog or anywhere near me in general, in fact, if I see someone like that interacting with my posts it's an automatic report/block.

but I understand the ask and I must make it clear that I want nothing to do with that vile woman who shall not be named as I stand for everything that she's against, and since I can't simply delete her from reality (or send her to prison, since, frankly, that's where she should be) the least I can do is be vocal about it.

it pains me and saddens me deeply that this beloved story that has been for so long a refuge to many people, especially those of marginalised groups and minorities that saw themselves in some aspect of this fantastical world, despite its flaws, and felt empowered by its positive themes - friendship, acceptance, belonging and its power to triumph over evil and hatred - turned out to be written by this terrible, hateful, egotistical person that is now actively harassing and persecuting one of these marginalised group non-stop and with seemingly no consequences... it would be ironic if it wasn't utterly tragic and didn't have very real consequences to very real people.

this simply isn't something we can overlook. she is using her influence and her money to hurt people, and the more she gets the more evil she'll do. trans people's lives have to come first, so above anything, support them, amplify their voices, do what you can. I, for a while now, no longer consume or support anything officially hp, the movies, the books, licenced merch, bc under no circumstances I want to support this woman, whatever small the difference may be at the end of the day...

and, for this same reason, I heavily debated for a long time if I should even post anything hp related to begin with and why I ultimately decided to. I saw how the fandom reclaimed this story and characters and made it their own, working with passion and creativity to transform this universe, each making small differences for the better, to give it more depth, make it more unique, more personal, diverse and inclusive - from short headcanons, to gigantic fics - and so I thought that maybe that's what matters: this collective transformative power, building a wonderful, welcoming community for everyone. adding your own voice to a conversation but also listening to others. going against whatever the creator thinks or wants, in favour of your peers.

it is an admirable thing to love something and not only be capable of acknowledging its flaws, but to try to make it better.

and for those that grew up comforted by this story, and realised, because of it, that you were not alone, that there is a place for you, that you could be truly yourself and be loved for it: all of this still stands true, nothing that that woman says or does can destroy that, you already yield the power of this message and the meaning of it lies with you, not with her. we can't let the bigots win.

#ask #anti terf #(btw the same goes for any type of discrimination or bigotry #I don't stand for hatred or invalidation of anyone's indentity or their right to exist ✌️)#it's the paradox of tolerance #the one thing we cannot tolerate is intolerance itself #otherwise simply be yourself be kind and don't hurt others and you're welcome here

20 notes · View notes

chaoticpuff17 · 4 years

Text

A Dangerous Game

part 7

masterlist

Kim Namjoon. That was the name of the devil. This was the information that they had wanted her to find. How ironic that she had it only after it was too late to do anything with it. She wanted nothing more than to call the police force and scream the information to the high heavens, to tell them where she was, who he was. More than that she wanted to go home. She wished she had never come her at all.

“At least it’s better than RM.” She huffed bitterly under her breath wrapping her arms around herself in her some semblance of comfort although it really wasn’t all that comforting.

“You should get used to it, jagi.” He hummed looking quite pleased with himself. “You are the lady of the house now.”

Her head shot up at that gazing at him with eyes wide and fearful. “The what?” she whispered hoping she had misheard him.

“The lady of the house.” He repeated smiling at her as though there was nothing wrong with the current situation. She could name a hundred things that were wrong with the situation she had found herself in. Her chief concern was RM, Kim Namjoon. “That is what the staff have been referring to you as.” He explained picking up his cup to sip at his tea.

Her brow furrowed in thought thinking back to her interactions with Miss In. “Bu-in.” she murmured contemplatively. “Is that what that means?” she nearly shrieked jumping up from her seat in a panic.

“Sit down, jagi.” He barked giving her a stern look. “You’re still recovering. All this upset isn’t good for you. Drink your tea.”

She glared at him wanting nothing more than to launch the tea cup at his head, but thought better of it choosing instead to sit down and glare at him from her seat. How could he go from barking at her to cooing over her health in less than a minute? She had called him insane before, but maybe he actually was.

“The tea, jagiya.” He reminded elegantly motioning towards the cup she had left sitting on the coffee table untouched since it had first been handed to her. “It’ll make you feel better.” He encouraged as though he had any right to care about her wellbeing when he was the one who had put her in this mess.

“Don’t act like you care.” She scoffed harshly.

“I care very much what happens to you.” He refuted taking another sip of his tea, infuriatingly calm.

Her eyes narrowed as she hissed at him. “Bullshit. You don’t give a damn about anyone but yourself.”

A frown marred his features pulling down the corners of his mouth as his eyes lost their warmth and sharpened back into the cold calculating expression she was used to. “I don’t appreciate your tone, jagi.” He tutted shaking his head slowly as though he was disappointed in her. “You’ve already tested my patience once today. Let’s not do it again.”

The warning was clear. Behave or suffer the consequences. So she picked up the cup and took a sip allowing the ginger tea to warm her from the inside out and settle her rolling stomach.

“I forgave your lapse of judgement earlier, but I won’t allow such disrespect in my house, Y/N.” his entire body radiated dominance as he spoke, watching her with those cold dark eyes. “There are rules here, even for the lady of the house.”

“I’m not the lady of this or any house.” She hissed through gritted teeth allowing the anger to seep into her tone. “I’m not your god damn wife.”

He smiled. She hated that smile. Nothing good ever followed it. It was cold and cruel, predatory in nature. “You and I both know that in this world the legal trivialities don’t matter. If I’ve claimed you as my woman, then by the laws of our world, you are as good as my wife. No one can touch you here.”

“Except for you.”

“Except for me.” He agreed pleased by her understanding of her place in this new twisted world he had thrown her into. “Let’s go over the rules shall we, jagi?” His tone was suddenly cheery giving her whiplash. “Unfortunately your little stunt will have consequences.” He tutted though they both knew he didn’t have any real remorse for anything he was about to do. “I can’t have you throwing yourself out windows or causing harm to yourself or the staff. Until you’ve adjusted you’ll be confined to these rooms.” He announced watching with a gleam in his eye as she stiffened. “They were prepared with you in mind, jagi.”

She couldn’t stop herself from scoffing. “I don’t give a flying fuck who you prepared the rooms for.”

“Language!” he barked shooting her a harsh glare. “I will not have my wife swearing.”

“I’m not your wife!” she shrieked gripping the tea cup tightly in her hands debating whether or not it would be worth it to chuck the porcelain at his head. The look on his face told her it wouldn’t be. As satisfying as it would be, she couldn’t afford to incur his wrath any more than she had in the past few hours.

“Y/N.” She didn’t like that tone. She didn’t like how patronizing it was. “Watch your tone.” He warned. “You are the lady of this house now, but I am still its master. If you behave I can give you a very good life, Y/N. And if you don’t I can make your life very miserable.” It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise. “Now be a good girl and listen to what I tell you.” God how she wanted to slap the smirk right off his face.

She clenched her jaw but made no move to do or say anything else. “Until you can be trusted not to be a danger to yourself or others you will remain here. The staff is, of course, at your disposal, but they will not help any of you with any ill-conceived escape attempts. They are nothing if not loyal to this house.” She nodded slowly, and he seemed content that she understood and was listening. “Once I’m satisfied that you’ve… adjusted, you’ll be allowed free reign of the house and the gardens. You will not be allowed outside the estate without my supervision, though I suspect you won’t be ready for that privilege for a long time.”

The look he sent her was pitying, and it did nothing but make her skin crawl. They both knew that he held no pity for her. He was more than pleased to have her settled within the confines of the estate. Marcus had been a controlling and vile man, but he had never actually locked her away from the world. This was a new form of torture even for her.

“You are a rare bird, and I enjoy your fire, but I will not condone the same behavior I saw today. You will not swear. You will behave in a way that befits the lady of this house. And you will never lie to me. Do you understand me, jagiya?” He asked leveling her with a hard stare. “I’ve already told you that any more of your ill-conceived attempts at freedom will result in punishment. Oh!” He paused as though a thought had just come into his head. “The windows. I’ll be having them sealed until sure you won’t try to throw yourself out of them again. I’d prefer not to put bars on them, but I will if I have to.” He warned, and she knew he meant it. No more window themed escapes for her.

“Don’t fret, jagi.” He cooed getting up and strolling around the coffee table to kneel in front of taking her hands in both of his. His hands dwarfed hers. “You’ll be well taken care of here. I even have a gift for you.”

“What more could you possibly do to me?” She spat trying to pull her hands away from his, but his grip tightened preventing her from doing so.

“I haven’t done anything yet, jagi.” There was that smile again. It would have been such a warm expression if only it could reach his eyes, but those remained cold and hard. “I have no intentions of hurting you.”

“I doubt that very much.” She huffed trying once more to pull her hands from his though the effort was futile.

He took one of his hands away to reach for something on the coffee table, a little black box that had previously escaped her notice, and her eyes widened at the sight of it. The box was opened to reveal a ring nestled against the velvet. It was large and glinted wickedly in the light. The center stone rested proudly in a nest of smaller diamonds that ringed it in sharp contrast all tied together in a silver band. The black diamond shimmering in the middle reminded her rather sickeningly of his eyes. They were both dark and cold.

“What is this for?” She asked eyes the piece of jewelry suspiciously. “Please… please don’t tell me this is meant to be a wedding ring.”

He smiled at her again, this time the expression reached his eyes, and she wasn’t sure which expression was worse. The cold hollow smiles seemed to suit him. They were unnerving and dangerous, but they suited him. This smile held a genuine fondness to it that was far more disconcerting. It suggested that somewhere in that twisted head he actually cared for her, and that was far more terrifying than any anger he could show her.

“Of all the jewelry I plan to give you, jagi, this is the most important.” He explained carefully, removing the ring from its box and taking her limp left hand in his. “This ring is never to leave your finger.” He slipped the offending jewelry onto her finger keeping her hand tucked between both of his. “And I do mean never, Y/N. You won’t like the consequences of if it does.”

“What are the consequences?” She whispered her eyes transfixed on the stone that now weighed down her finger.

He hummed contemplatively reaching up a hand to tilt her chin up so that she was looking at him. That retched smile was still there accompanied by those damned dimples. “I won’t hurt you, Y/N. I’m not a man who takes pleasure in beating his woman like some savage, but I have other ways of punishing you, rest assured. I went to a lot of trouble to bring you here. I won’t have you harmed while you’re under my care.”

She huffed out a laugh bordering on the hysteric as she moved her head away from his hand. “I’m sure the great RM had so much trouble kidnapping one foreign girl.”

“You will call me Namjoon, never RM, not to you.” The correction was emphatic as though it offended him to hear her call him by that name any longer. “You are after all for all intents and purposes, Mrs. Kim.”

“No.” The word came out as a whisper. She shot up from her seat breaking away from him to pace in front of the fireplace ignoring the nausea and light headedness the sudden motion caused. “No!” She was more frantic now. “You can’t… you can’t…” She had stopped pacing a rush of dizziness going through her causing her to lean on the fireplace for support as she swayed on her feet.

“Y/N.” Concern colored his features as he slowly rose to his feet. “Y/N, come sit down.” He held out a hand to her trying to convince her to come back to the sofa.

“You can’t just… just…”

He watched horrified as the color drained from her face, her eyes wide, blinking in an attempt to banish the black dots that spotted her vision. And in the next moment she dropped crumpling like a rag doll as she did.

part 8

#bts #bts fic #yandere bts #namjoon #namjoon x reader #mafia namjoon #yandere namjoon #rm #rm x reader #mafia #mafia au #dark romance #soft yandere

425 notes · View notes

the-fiction-witch · 3 years

Text

Mariée Au Mal

REAL LIFE X DEVIL / WITCHES COUPLE: TBS X READER RATING: FLIRTY

I walked the stone streets hearing my boots against the stone. Hearing the movement of my dress almost touching the stone. I felt the chill of the wind around me. The darkness crept across the village as the sun set beyond the hill. Every step I took I could hear and see, children being ushered inside, doors being bolted, windows being shut and locked. The whispers of the name they had given me. 'mariée au mal' I knew what it meant. I knew their assumptions about me. I tried not to think of it.

I looked at my shadow walking down the path with the light from the sunset, I looked to my left to a shop the blind already down, but a few shutters where someone peaked out, those instantly dropped as I looked and the door bolted I saw my reflection my long purple dress, black petticoats, black corset, my black hooded cloak, my tall riding boots, my twisted y/h/c hair and blood red lips. I continued on my way moving my wicker basket up my arm a little more, checking on the lavender and honey I had gathered across the forest this afternoon. I walked quickly trying not to draw attention to myself before reaching the graveyard and the little river that ran beside it, perched on the graveyard gate sat a raven it cawed at me so I smiled and offered my hand letting it perch on my ring as I walked over the little stone bridge over the river pushing open the little gate to my house. The twisted metal whining as I did I walked the sweet path through my garden until I arrived at my little thatched cottage with leaded glass windows and the conversatory. I smiled and headed inside my little house though the glass conservatory door putting my basket down emptying out my herbs and honey into my apothecary as the raven flew off into the house and perched on the sofa on his usual pillow

"Hello my little princess" he smirked

"Will you just. One damn minute" I told him

"What? What have I done?" He whines getting up and coming over fixing his clothes a little but I did my best not to look at him

"I'm working" I said

"Umm working? I think your just being mean to me" he smirked into my ear untying my cloak and pulling it off me "come in you can work anytime, I don't get to visit to much anymore, not half as often as I'd like my sweet little princess" he cooed cuddling me from behind "and I have missed you, so badly" he smirked almost growing in my ear as he pushed himself against my dress

"Thomas. Five minutes alright, you've been gone six months five more minutes isn't going to kill you" I laughed

"It might"

"Nothing kills you"

"Why? Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"No."

"Good." He says kissing my shoulder "I'm sorry I was gone so long."

"Umm" I said ignoring him

"Aww? Is that why your so grumpy with me?" He laughs before turning me around to face him as he stood in my conservatory his golden hair reflecting the sunsets light, his red textured button down shirt undone half way down his chest, his tight black almost leather pants against him, black braces or suspenders on his shoulders to keep them up even if I don't think he needed them, stubble gracing his chin and the corners of his upper lip but nowhere near as bad as I had seen before when he's been away for longer his hands around me softly his foot between my own "I told you it was work, you know I wouldn't leave my little princess unless I had to" he cooes caressing my cheek "it's a busy job you know, I keep telling you I'll... Take you with me if you want?"

"No thank you" I said turning back to my work "I wish you wouldn't wait there"

"Where? On the gate?"

"Umm. Why not in the garden?"

"You might not see me, besides I like them knowing I'm here"

"You might I don't. It makes them nervous and when people get nervous they get scared and when people get scared they do stupid things." I explained

"Well... Maybe they need a little fear in them"

"I don't want to be feared, Thomas..."

"Don't you?" He laughs sitting in my work bench so I had no choice but to see him "you get off on it"

"What?"

"Oh come on" he laughs "riding boots with the six inch heels? The long purple dress? The black corset? Blood red lipstick? Long black hooded cloak? And you're telling me you don't want to be feared? You love it"

"It's fun sometimes" I admit

"I know it is princess, maybe you and me should go walking in the town sometime really frighten them" he smirked

"No Thomas. We're in enough trouble as it is" I told him

"mariée au mal" he smirked to himself

"Shut up" I sighed

"It's a good name for you"

"I said shut up Thomas"

"Bride of evil"

"Married to evil"

"Depends on your translation." He shrugs

"Why did I marry you?" I asked leaning on my desk to slightly glare at him

"I don't know, you asked me remember" he smirked, kissing my cheek and jumping off the desk going into the cottage "you coming to bed? Or do I have to drag my pretty bride down to hell with me to fuck her?" He smirked,

I smiled as I laid in my bed listening to the wind in the tree's, the sounds of animals in the woods, the babble of the river under the bridge, the quiet of this peaceful little town. I could hear Thomas Gently breathing, his arm around my waist spooning me as he often did wanting to keep me safe in his arms so if I even moved much less left his arms he would know and it would wake him. I couldn't help my mind flooding with the memories of the first night I ever spend on his arms.

I was young, but old enough to know better. I would go and play by the tall willow tree in the forest. I would go and spend hours and hours reading books and gathering flowers. Often times I would speak to the tree and many times it would speak back to me. I had always been a woman on the darker side of the world. I liked the grim and the spooky, I had a fondness for the darkness and what often times lurked within it. I had always been wary of straying too far, never leaving a door open, never offering things without consistency, never going too far if you won't commit to it. Rules I followed like laws, until one night. It was a blood moon, it hung over the willow and that night I decided I wanted to see just how far I could go.

I made an altar at the willows roots, with candles, herbs, a salt circle, flowers, and tools. I called out things but nothing answered. Each time I called out going deeper and deeper until someone answered me.

"Hello, aren't you beautiful" he smirked as he saw me "not often I get such a beautiful woman calling out to me"

"I uhh i-" stuttered in shock

"Shh, it's alright. I guess you don't get answers very often. No need to worry, sweet girl. I won't hurt you"

"I seek what is to be" I said

"Do you?" He smirked "clever girl as well as beautiful. Are you sure that's what you want?" He asks

"Yes"

"Then a smart girl like you understands the price it takes"

I nodded and took the cage from my basket of the small bird I had found he laughed at me

"You have been misinformed" he says taking the cage and letting the bird loose

"Then what is the price?"

"The price is different for everyone."

"Then for me?"

"For you?" He smirked "I can give you what you seek. But for you beautiful lady, the price is simple. Your utter love and devotion, swear your life and love for me, be mine and you shall have all that you seek"

"How do I do this?"

"... Be with me. And swear your devotion to me" he smirked taking my hands

"Yes master" I nodded

"Whoa... Just Thomas little princess, I'm not your master, and I won't be. You'll be my bride, still happy?" He asked and I nodded "good. Now... We're all done with the formalities, shall we? my pretty little princess? My sweet little wifey?"

I nodded and he smirked looking at me, licking his tongue slightly across his bottom lip. He moved forward holding my Waist before leaning in and kissing me softly, he was warm, and soft, he tasted and smelt like ash, mahogany, petricorn and mint. He was gentle with me as he kissed me his thumb stroking my waist as we kissed in the moonlight, surrounded by the tree and it's leaves, the gentle breeze as the kisses got faster, deeper until he pushed me to gently laying me down on the grass in the circle of salt with him laid over me…

I woke up peacefully to the sweet symphony of bird song in the tree's. The gentle breeze whistling through the branches and leaves. The hushed sounds of the world before people rise. I was warm between the layers of my dress, one protecting me from the ground the other protecting my body, his arm around my waist his head nuzzled in my shoulder and arm fast asleep barely making a sound but his breaths. I looked seeing his sweet mop of hair nuzzled so close to me, looking up seeing the sunlight cascading through the tree as it rose, the sunlight peeking in through the leaves and branches.

"Uumm good morning" he yawns

"Hi" I blushed

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing"

"No, come on tell me"

"So… that's that"

"Aww what? Was I disappointing little princess?" He whines

"No, no. It's just that's it you know"

"Well, We’re married now”

“What?”

“We’re married. And mated.”

“So… I’m a real witch now” “You were a real witch before. But Now my bride”

“So? What are we going to uhh… going to do?”

“Well, I have to get to work soon. I’ll be down there for a couple of days but I’ll come back and snuggle up with my little wifey, I might not be home some nights. But it’s work. I'll always come back to my little princess, Like any husband and wife when a husband works away” He explained “So? Shall we head home?”

I stood in my conservatory, the sunlight flickering through the glass, Through the leaves of the forest, the stems and petals of the flowers that grew in here or in the garden, The flicker of rain bows where light flickered through the glass or though sculpted bottles of potions and viles, as well as though light catchers.

“Hey” Thomas smiled Leaning on my door to stare at me

“What?” I laughed

“Nothing, I just like looking at you” He shrugs

“Go Look at your pit of sluts”

“It’s not a pit. It’s a…. Box”

“Go look at that then”

“Why would I go look at them? When I have my wife?”

“Go hang out with one of your other wives then”

“What over wives?” he laughs

“I can’t be the only witch who summoned you and… let you, you know”

“Of course not. You’re my only wife princess.” He says

“What about all those other-”

“Shhh, You’re my only wife princess, and if I get summoned by any other little witches in the forest I send the demons. I only come when my wife summons me” He smirked giving my cheek a kiss cuddling me tightly and stroking my stomach “Besides. I’m going to be staying from now on, as much as I can now you have the baby coming” He cooed, kissing my neck and down my shoulder as he stroked my stomach “My beautiful princess, My Beautiful bride. I get to spend all day with you now, My pretty wifey and our baby”

“Sure thomas” I laughed “Maybe soon I’ll get to go down there?”

“You will, when the baby is born. My sweet little princess,” He cooed kissing my cheek

33 notes · View notes

radi-17171 · 3 years

Text

Rhett's proposal to Scarlet to be his mistress

Scarlett, you do like me, don't you?"

That was more like what she was expecting.

"Well, sometimes," she answered cautiously. "When you aren't acting like a varmint."

He laughed again and held the palm of her hand against his hard cheek.

"I think you like me because I am a varmint. You've known so few dyed-in-the-wool varmints in your sheltered life that my very difference holds a quaint charm for you."

This was not the turn she had anticipated and she tried again without success to pull her hand free.

"That's not true! I like nice men--men you can depend on to always be gentlemanly."

"You mean men you can always bully. It's merely a matter of definition. But no matter."

He kissed her palm again, and again the skin on the back of her neck crawled excitingly.

"But you do like me. Could you ever love me, Scarlett?"

"Ah!" she thought, triumphantly. "Now I've got him!" And she answered with studied coolness: "Indeed, no. That is--not unless you mended your manners considerably."

"And I have no intention of mending them. So you could not love me? That is as I hoped. For while I like you immensely, I do not love you and it would be tragic indeed for you to suffer twice from unrequited love, wouldn't it, dear? May I call you 'dear,' Mrs. Hamilton? I shall call you 'dear' whether you like it or not, so no matter, but the proprieties must be observed."

"You don't love me?"

"No, indeed. Did you hope that I did?"

"Don't be so presumptuous!"

"You hoped! Alas, to blight your hopes! I should love you, for you are charming and talented at many useless accomplishments. But many ladies have charm and accomplishments and are just as useless as you are. No, I don't love you. But I do like you tremendously-- for the elasticity of your conscience, for the selfishness which you seldom trouble to hide, and for the shrewd practicality in you which, I fear, you get from some not too remote Irish-peasant ancestor."

Peasant! Why, he was insulting her! She began to splutter wordlessly.

"Don't interrupt," he begged, squeezing her hand. "I like you because I have those same qualities in me and like begets liking. I realize you still cherish the memory of the godlike and wooden- headed Mr. Wilkes, who's probably been in his grave these six months. But there must be room in your heart for me too. Scarlett, do stop wriggling! I am making you a declaration. I have wanted you since the first time I laid eyes on you, in the hall of Twelve Oaks, when you were bewitching poor Charlie Hamilton. I want you more than I have ever wanted any woman--and I've waited longer for you than I've ever waited for any woman."

She was breathless with surprise at his last words. In spite of all his insults, he did love her and he was just so contrary he didn't want to come out frankly and put it into words, for fear she'd laugh. Well, she'd show him and right quickly.

"Are you asking me to marry you?"

He dropped her hand and laughed so loudly she shrank back in her chair.

"Good Lord, no! Didn't I tell you I wasn't a marrying man?"

"But--but--what--"

He rose to his feet and, hand on heart, made her a burlesque bow.

"Dear," he said quietly, "I am complimenting your intelligence by asking you to be my mistress without having first seduced you."

Mistress!

Her mind shouted the word, shouted that she had been vilely insulted. But in that first startled moment she did not feel insulted. She only felt a furious surge of indignation that he should think her such a fool. He must think her a fool if he offered her a proposition like that, instead of the proposal of matrimony she had been expecting. Rage, punctured vanity and disappointment threw her mind into a turmoil and, before she even thought of the high moral grounds on which she should upbraid him, she blurted out the first words which came to her lips--

"Mistress! What would I get out of that except a passel of brats?"

And then her jaw dropped in horror as she realized what she had said. He laughed until he choked, peering at her in the shadows as she sat, stricken dumb, pressing her handkerchief to her mouth.

"That's why I like you! You are the only frank woman I know, the only woman who looks on the practical side of matters without beclouding the issue with mouthings about sin and morality. Any other woman would have swooned first and then shown me the door."

Scarlett leaped to her feet, her face red with shame. How could she have said such a thing! How could she, Ellen's daughter, with her upbringing, have sat there and listened to such debasing words and then made such a shameless reply? She should have screamed. She should have fainted. She should have turned coldly away in silence and swept from the porch. Too late now!

"I will show you the door," she shouted, not caring if Melanie or the Meades, down the street, did bear her. "Get out! How dare you say such things to me! What have I ever done to encourage you--to make you suppose. . . . Get out and don't ever come back here. I mean it this time. Don't you ever come back here with any of your piddling papers of pins and ribbons, thinking I'll forgive you. I'll--I'll tell my father and he'll kill you!"

He picked up his hat and bowed and she saw in the light of the lamp that his teeth were showing in a smile beneath his mustache. He was not ashamed, he was amused at what she had said, and he was watching her with alert interest.

Rhett's confession and proposal again

"'I could not love thee, Dear, so much, loved I not Honour more.' That's a pat speech, isn't it? Certainly better than anything I can think up myself, at the present moment. For I do love you, Scarlett, in spite of what I said that night on the porch last month."

His drawl was caressing and his hands slid up her bare arms, warm strong hands. "I love you, Scarlett, because we are so much alike, renegades, both of us, dear, and selfish rascals. Neither of us cares a rap if the whole world goes to pot, so long as we are safe and comfortable."

His voice went on in the darkness and she heard words, but they made no sense to her. Her mind was tiredly trying to take in the harsh truth that he was leaving her here to face the Yankees alone. Her mind said: "He's leaving me. He's leaving me." But no emotion stirred.

Then his arms went around her waist and shoulders and she felt the hard muscles of his thighs against her body and the buttons of his coat pressing into her breast. A warm tide of feeling, bewildering, frightening, swept over her, carrying out of her mind the time and place and circumstances. She felt as limp as a rag doll, warm, weak and helpless, and his supporting arms were so pleasant.

"You don't want to change your mind about what I said last month? There's nothing like danger and death to give an added fillip. Be patriotic, Scarlett. Think how you would be sending a soldier to his death with beautiful memories."

He was kissing her now and his mustache tickled her mouth, kissing her with slow, hot lips that were so leisurely as though he had the whole night before him. Charles had never kissed her like this. Never had the kisses of the Tarleton and Calvert boys made her go hot and cold and shaky like this. He bent her body backward and his lips traveled down her throat to where the cameo fastened her basque.

"Sweet," he whispered. "Sweet."

Rhett's marriage proposal

Rhett Butler: So I'll change the subject and say what I came to say. Scarlett: Say it, then, and get out! What is it? Rhett Butler quote: That I can't go on any longer without you. Scarlett: You are the most ill-bred man to come here at a time like this with your filthy Rhett Butler: I made up my mind that you were the only woman for me the first day I saw you at Twelve Oaks. Now that you've got the lumber mill and Frank's money you won't come to me as you did to the jail. So I see I shall have to marry you. Scarlett: I never heard of such bad taste. Rhett Butler: Would you be more convinced if I fell to my knees? Scarlett: Turn me loose, you varmint, and get out of here! Rhett Butler: Forgive me for startling you with the impetuosity of my sentiments my dear Scarlett. I mean, my dear Mrs. Kennedy.But it cannot have escaped your notice that for some time past the friendship I have felt for you has ripened into a deeper feeling. A feeling more beautiful, more pure, more sacred. Dare I name it? Can it be love? Scarlett: Get up off your knees. I don't like your common jokes. Rhett Butler: This is an honorable proposal of marriage made at what I consider a most opportune moment. I can't go all my life waiting to catch you between husbands. Scarlett: You're coarse, and you're conceited. And I think this conversation has gone far enough. Besides, I shall never marry again. Rhett Butler: Oh, yes, you will, and you'll marry me. Scarlett: You? You? I don't love you! And I don't like being married. Rhett Butler: Did you ever think of marrying just for fun? Scarlett quote: Marriage, fun? Fiddle-dee-dee. Fun for men, you mean. Hush up! Do you want them to hear you? Rhett Butler: You've been married to a boy and an old man. Why not try a husband of the right age, with a way with women? Scarlett: You're a fool, Rhett Butler, when you know I shall always love another man. Rhett Butler: Stop it! Do you hear me, Scarlett? Stop it! No more of that talk. Scarlett: Rhett, don't, I shall faint. Rhett Butler: I want you to faint. This is what you were meant for. None of the fools you've known have kissed you like this, have they? Your Charles, or your Frank, or your stupid Ashley. Say you're going to marry me. Say yes. Say yes. Scarlett: Yes. Rhett Butler: Are you sure you meant it? You don't want to take it back? Scarlett: No. Rhett Butler: Look at me and try to tell me the truth. Did you say yes because of my money? Scarlett: Well yes. Partly. Rhett Butler: Partly? Scarlett: Well, you know, Rhett, money does help, and of course I am fond of you. Rhett Butler: Fond of me? Scarlett: If I said I was madly in love with you, you'd know I was lying but you always said we had a lot in common. Rhett Butler: Yes, you're right, my dear. I'm not in love with you any more than you are with me. Heaven help the man who ever really loves you. What kind of a ring would you like, my darling? Scarlett: A diamond ring. And do buy a great big one, Rhett. Rhett Butler: You shall have the biggest and the most vulgar ring in Atlanta. We'll go to New Orleans for the most expensive honeymoon my ill-gotten gains can buy. Scarlett: That would be just heavenly. Rhett Butler: And I think I'll buy your trousseau for you, too. Scarlett: Rhett, how wonderful, but you won't tell anybody, will you, Rhett? Rhett Butler: Still the little hypocrite. Scarlett: Aren't you going to kiss me goodbye? Rhett Butler: Don't you think you've had enough kissing for one afternoon? Scarlett: You're impossible. You can go and I don't care if you never come back. Rhett Butler: But I will come back.

#gone with the wind #gwtw #scarlett o'hara #rhett butler #mine

60 notes · View notes

inkandpen22 · 3 years

Text

Shared Minds and Shared Souls (12/?)

Pairing: Spike x Female!Reader

Warnings: Mild swearing, mentions of trauma

Word Count: 1.4k

Part Summary: When Tara and Willow get into a fight, Y/N goes searching for Tara and instead runs into an old enemy.

Masterlist

When Spike and I leave my room to start the day, we find Buffy and Xander in the foyer appearing rather distraught.

"What's going on?" I question hesitantly.

"Tara and Willow are fighting again," Dawn announces as she appears from the dining room.

"Again?" Spike repeats in confusion.

"They fought a lot when you away," Buffy explains briefly.

"Let me go find Tara," I offer, already heading to the hook to grab my jacket.

"I'll go find Willow," Buffy adds.

Spike interjects worriedly, "Y/N, I don't know if-"

I bring my palm to his cheek comfortingly and he leans into my touch. "It'll be okay."

"Alright, Love, but I'm coming with you," he compromises.

"But the sun," I remind him.

“Oh balls!” He curses under his breath. "The bloody sun, I swear to-"

"Bye," I lean up and peck his cheek before I slip out the door. "See you soon!"

_____________________________

I search all over town for Tara, but to no avail. My last spot in the park. I hope to find her on a bench somewhere. Instead, all I see are some kids playing on the swing set and joggers. Hours have passed and Spike calls me every thirty minutes, filled with worry. He hates that he can join me until after sunset. He's gone as far as insisting that I come home. I can't stop until I find Tara.

"Well hello there," an eerily familiar voice projects behind me.

I whip my head around and my eyes land on the vilest goddess in existence.

"Glory," I mutter her name with fear.

The wicked woman smirks, lurking toward me like a snake. "Well if it isn't the Slayer's favorite witch. I've been looking all over for you!"

"I wouldn't call myself that..." I explain as she begins to circle me. "Especially after you royally fucked my head."

My body tenses when Glory strolls behind me. Her close proximity sends a chill down my spine.

"Aw, the Slayer wasn't supportive after your trip down under?" She pouts as she stops in front of me.

"Not quite," I hiss through my teeth.

Glory's hand reaches up and brushes strands of my hair behind my ear. I flinch away, much to her dismay.

"Don't touch me!" I growl warningly.

"Or you'll what?" Glory barks hushedly between us. "If you make a fuss, I'll kill every single person here. I'll kill them," she nudges her head in the direction of a couple having a picnic nearby. "I'll kill her. All of those kids and it'll be all your fault."

My eyes flicker over to the children playing on the swings and my heart sinks.

Mocking me, she leans forward to whisper in my ear. "Isn't that your thing? You don't believe in killing or causing harm. Are you even a witch or are you more like a harmony fairy? How would you feel if I kill everyone here?" She snickers wickedly.

"I can't... I can't go back there again..." I stammer anxiously. The thought of her bringing back to Hell makes me shake. "Please..." I plead quietly.

"Aw, are you talking about my precious home? My favorite place on... well, I guess it isn't Earth," she speaks casually despite the tension.

She's truly psychotic. When she's threatening someone she can act so normal.

"What do you want?" I hiss.

"Oh, you know what I want, but I'll give you a hint. It starts with a 'K,'" she winks.

"I don't know where or what it is," I assure her.

"But I think you do," she narrows her gaze.

When I don't give in, she tucks her hand around the side of my neck and digs her nails into my skin. I yelp at the sudden surge of pain and I feel the warmth of my blood glide down my skin.

"Stop, I-"

"What about that hot piece of English vampy ass you're glued to?" Glory dares to mention Spike. "Would he mind us holding hands like this? Would he get jealous?"

"Don't speak of him," I bark, jolting at her.

My actions cause her to dig into my skin harder and my legs grow weak.

"Ooh, did I hit a touchy subject?" She snickers mockingly.

"You're not worthy to speak his name," I snap at her, not afraid to meet her gaze.

"Aw, I'm not?" She frowns, pretending to be offended.

I pant, doing everything in my power not to scream or cause a scene. If an Innocent died because of me, I would never be able to forgive myself.

"You know, I learned something very interesting the other day," Glory tells me, easing up her grip. "I learned that none of my minions knew you existed until a few days ago... that's the perfect time frame for the key to morph into a human. So, is it you're not a witch at all and instead the key mocking me? Let's find out!”

In a flash, Glory brings her hands to my temples, and a piercing pain lodges in my mind. I yelp but do everything in my power not to struggle under the severe pain as I fear Glory will hurt others.

“You’re right,” I lie to protect Dawn, better I die then she does. I don’t want to leave Spike, but I have to protect her. “It’s me. Now what?”

"You'll regret standing against me and as for your lover... he's next," she warns.

Then, my vision goes black.

On the ground, I flail in pain as my skin burns. I scream out, but no help comes. Voices fill my head, evil, vile, alluring voices. My eyes flicker open but tears blur my vision. Around me, all I see is red, a bright evil red. I’m in Hell again.

I can't be here again. No, this isn't real! If I repeat it to myself I'll wake up! This isn't real. This isn't real. Why isn't this working?!

Then, four black mist-like figures appear in a circle around me. Their eyes are as red rubies and stare sharply at me. No, no, not them again. Please, no.

“Who brought you here?” One figure yells at me.

“Speak you, foolish girl!” Another laughs wickedly.

"This isn't real," I whisper to myself, covering my ears to block out the voices.

“This is your future,” the third insult with amusement. “Weakness consumes you.”

“You shall suffer from the others for all eternity,” the original demands.

Suddenly, I feel something tug at my hands. Similar to how it was when I was in Glory's mind, I see the root-like ground reaching up and pulling me down through the cracks of the red ground. I scream, but nothing comes out. I attempt to use my powers, but nothing is working. I kick and fight off the roots traveling up my body, yet they’re stronger. I fall to the ground and the roots consume me. I feel them crushing me. I scream, but nothing comes out.

One of the figures kneels beside me, “And you shall die a miserable death….” it snickers.

The original figure hovers mere inches above me, its red eyes peering directly into my eyes. "If we can't have you... we'll certainly have him.”

“And you’ll watch him die,” another laughs wickedly.

"No!" I try to scream pleadingly, but I'm silent.

"Y/N!" I hear my voice being called.

"Y/N!" I hear again.

Abruptly, my eyes flicker open and I gasp for air. It felt so real, it must've been. Is this the dream? I can't tell anymore. Everything feels so real.

"Get it off of me! Get it off! No, stop! No more! No more, please!" I scream at the top of my lungs to get the jet-black roots off of me.

"Y/N!" Spike appears at my side. I begin to sob as Spike takes my shaking hands in his. “Y/N! Y/N, I'm so sorry I wasn't here! I should've... fuck!"

"Am I really here?! Is this real?!" I pant anxiously, searching the surrounding area.

I'm still in the park, which is now empty. The sun has been set for a while now. I must've fainted and been out for hours.

"Yes!" Spike assures, cupping my face to meet my gaze. "Yes, this is real!"

"It seemed so real again," I cry to him. "The heat, the dark figures... never make me go back there again, Spike! I couldn't bear it."

He pulls me into his chest and wraps his arms around me protectively as I continue to panic. "Never again, My Love. I'll make sure you'll never have to go there again if it's the last thing I do. I'll kill Glory for this!"

____________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream @hexmancia @mx-pibbles @setsuna-meiou31 @nightowl1115

#Spike x Buffy #spike fanfic #spuffy #spike #buffy summers #Angel x Buffy #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy #btvs imagine #btvs fanfic #btvs imgaine #btvs

44 notes · View notes

germygilbert · 3 years

Text

The Problem With Klaus

So, TVD has been a part of my life for a very long time. I watched it first when I was sixteen years old, shortly after the show had ended. And the show is not without its problems, stemming partially from technical problems like plot holes and whatnot, and partially from more serious problems like race (the show's treatment of characters of color is a battle for another day)

And recently, having rewatched the whole series with my girlfriend, I noticed that the problem I had four years ago when I first watched it had not dissipated, in fact with my more nuanced understanding of storytelling, it seems to have gotten more glaring.

Klaus's whole character arc is a cold sore on a gallery of incredibly compelling and nuanced characters. I mean no hate towards klaus stans, in fact, I think Klaus deserved better. If not a better redemption arc, a better villainous reign.

Everything about his buildup is absolutely fucking pitch perfect. He establishes himself as utterly terrifying without ever appearing on screen. There were multiple villains in season one, all pretty gnarly, and the most menacing was by far Katherine. Katherine not only could manipulate others like nobody's business, she had spies all over mystic falls. she was smart, cunning, and always one step ahead.

And she was fucking terrified of Klaus.

Katherine is a character who, by all means, doesn't seem like she would be afraid of anything. She's managed to cheat death by most everyone she's come across, most everyone she's come across wishing she was dead. and she's scared. This is a very good way to establish that he's a bigger and badder villain than she's ever been, and that in turn terrifies the audience. Because Katherine forced Jenna to stab herself, who knows what Klaus could be capable of.

His brother is scared of him. Anyone who knows his name is scared of him.

And then he shows up, and something happens. He's not scary. He's a wretched little thing, more vile than an animal turned inside out, he commits horrible acts. but he's not menacing. You know that he wants to kill our main cast but there's no pizzaz about it. No drama to it. Katherine was always fun to hate. Kai was hysterical. Julian was utterly terrifying. Alex got under your skin and stayed there. But Klaus, at least comparatively, was close to nothing in terms of charm and showmanship. His motivation was clear, that's always good, but he had no hook.

His motivation was family. Which is a noble and compelling motivation for a villain to have. Katherine wanted love. Kai wanted power. Klaus wants family.

One of his most vile acts, the end of season two, he forces Stefan to drink bags and bags of blood. it's an extremely upsetting scene to stomach, especially for addicts and friends and children of. He forces Stefan to relapse as an aid for his plan. He forces stefan to turn his emotions off for his own amusement later. It's gross, reprehensible, but it's not a calculated villain move. it's a spur of the moment one. He knows the Stefan that he once knew doesn't want to be drinking buddies anymore, and he can't stand this so he drives Stefan to the brink, removes his quality of life, just for fun.

We see rebekah. We see their backstory. He, whos ultimate motivation is family. tells Rebekah she is pathetic for loving too easily. He tells her she's worthless. In New Orleans, we see him offer Rebekah an ultimatum. Stefan or him. It's an illusion of choice that he gives his baby sister, who's only ever loved him. And Rebekah, who's only ever known love and devotion as fear, her father, her mother, her brothers. Slammed doors. screaming about how they know what's best for her, is thrilled with the option to choose her own fate.

She chooses wrong. She picks Stefan. And instead of begrudgingly let her go, he stakes her, forcing her to miss out on a century of her life. She mentions having run from him until she came to her senses. What was that development like? Did she choose him over fighting, petty squabbles? or did she meerely decide that it was worth being controlled to remain alive?

The hybrids are another example. They are said to be his family. Let's look over that familial bond, shall we? He turns them against their will. They are sired to him, compelled to follow his every whim. And when they break that bond, he murders them. Cuts their heads off, rips their hearts out of their chest. He doesn't even entertain the idea that they might want to stick around even without their sire bond, and he doesn't care.

Because it's not about family. It's not about equal partnership. It's about control.

Klaus stabs Caroline and is ready to let her die until she throws out some schlock about love and redemption. We're supposed to buy he saves her because he loves her. He puts her in danger, the woman he supposedly loves, because she won't do what he wants.

We get the scene where he heals Caroline from the illness that he caused, on a whim might I add, and a scene where stefan nobly says we've all done horrible things. And then suddenly the narrative simply begins believing that he's suddenly one of the good guys with little to no narrative effort! Easy!

He controls Tyler for loving the girl he does. For ruining his family.

The conclusion of this arc, for the most part, is him going to New Orleans. And he's not upset that witches have been outlawed because it's morally repungeant to try to control them, He is upset because he himself has lost control of the city. When Marcel ruthlessly kills a witch,he's not upset because he killed a witch for doing magic. He's upset because he "wanted to talk to her"

And why does he save Haley? Again, not because it's the right thing to do, but because she's carrying his child. Who he says will be an heir to his throne.

One of the last times we see Klaus is when he shows up, has sex with Caroline, and leaves again. She decides to fuck him for undisclosed reasons. She finds him hot. That's all. Not only is this utterly out of character for her, it makes no narrative sense.

Tyler is understandably furious. he lists Klaus's atrocities back to back, at the top of this list being the fact that Klaus killed Tyler's mother.

These atrocities are never addressed or narratively dealt with. At least, not in TVD.

Klaus confuses love for control and fear, emotional manipulation. He's narratively rewarded for this.

And his arc, his character, after all the hype and narrative weight it was given, deserved better.

#long post #anti klaus mikaelson #germ.txt

24 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

tapestry 👑 II

Warnings: eventual dark elements (tags to be added as fic continues)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The reader finds herself drawn into courtly intrigue.

Note: Here’s part 2. I’m having fun and I have so many ideas for this. Yes, this is inspired by lots of medieval shows like the Tudor and the White Queen etc. but this will be 100% gratuitous whatever I want it to be so hold onto to your panties. I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

Rose played with the pearl at her throat. You watched her fingers as she toyed with the small orb. The queen’s voice filled the small chambers as she read the poem in a gentle rhythm. You hadn’t caught enough words to string them together.

You tore your eyes away and watched your hands smooth out your charcoal coloured skirts. Your drab attire stuck out grossly among the pale silks and rich satins. You father loathed your plainness, your insistence on simplicity. But he hadn’t enough money for seamstresses and you made your own dresses or altered your sister’s worn garments. You didn’t mind simple. You didn’t need beading or gilted embroidery. No pearl or jewel hung at your throat.

The spectre of your father loomed in your mind. You’d received a letter that morning with news of your sister’s labour. A boy. Healthy. Your father would be pleased but when he returned, your own failure would be even more stark in his mind.

You had no husband, no prospects either. You could not spend your life as one of the queen’s pets. Especially given the events of the banquet. A day passed since but the scene remained in the minds of the court. The queen betrayed little concern but Rose was all too obvious in her newly found spite for you. You only wanted to hide behind your hood and be forgotten.

“My lady,” The queen’s voice drew your attention. She looked at you with kind eyes. Perhaps she didn’t begrudge you the king’s fleeting eye. Perhaps, you reassured yourself, she knew it was little more than a show. “I know you do prefer this ode, would you grace us with a reading?”

You stared back at the queen. She was talking to you but you wondered why. The ladies took turns at recitation but you weren’t a favoured narrator. You liked to listen and found your voice too brittle to compare to Eleanor’s refined evocation.

“As you wish, your highness,” You stood and stepped forward to take the book from her. You cleared your throat and resumed your seat as you eyed the verse. ‘Upon the morrow she waits…’

You kept your voice as steady as you could. Spoke to the room instead of your chest. Your habit of tucking your chin in threatened to lower your head.

“Listen to her…” The whisper underlined your voice but you ignored it. “Sounds like a dying sparrow.”

You refused to look at Rose as she simpered. As she muttered her displeasure. A hush came from the other side of the room, you suspected the queen’s gentle breath. You were thankful for her diligence.

You spoke to the ceiling, not the ladies. Pretended you were some great jester regailing a tribe of travelling knights. Imagined you were anywhere but here. And when you finished, you were dragged back to the insufferable room of ladies.

You held the book open and offered it back to the queen with a small thank you. She nodded and took it. You sat and held back a sigh. Rose sneered at you from across the room and leaned over to whisper to Beatrice. You turned to watch the queen give the book to Mabel. You folded your hands together and listened.

You lowered your head and the dread rose again. Your father would return shortly and what would he think? You prayed that the voices turned to other matters. That the rumours continued to swirl around Rose and left you alone. She relished in the courtly gossip, eager to be the inspiration for such tales. You wilted at too much light and felt yourself much too exposed already.

Some time, during your ruminations, Mabel’s voice was replaced again with the queen’s. Eleanor read another lyric and closed the book. You glanced up as she dismissed the circle of ladies, bidding them to ready for the evening’s meal. No banquet that night, a simple gathering in the queen’s receiving chamber followed by your night prayers.

The ladies stood and you waited for the others to shuffle out. Their skirts filled the space and pressed against each other as they made their exit. You made to follow but a familiar voice called your name. As you turned back, another peeked too. Rose’s blue eye was sharp as she took note of the request.

You turned and smiled at the queen. Your lips quivered nervously as the skirts continued to whish out the door. Finally, the hinges whined and the wood clattered. You were left alone with Eleanor.

“My lady, would you sit with me a moment?” She asked as she resumed her seat on the cushioned bench.

“Your highness,” You approached and sat next to her. Her green eyes shone like emeralds in her oval face. “I would be most pleased.”

“You…” She paused and her lips parted as she chose her words. “You are a sweet girl. Quiet, naive.”

You swallowed and your smile threatened to crack. You nodded intently.

“That is not meant as an abuse, you understand? I mean it as a compliment. I say it out of concern.” She shifted closer and touched your hand. “Because there are people at this court who should wish to take advantage of such a kind person as yourself.”

“Your highness, I--”

“You’re honest. I’ve always admired that in you. You speak when it is necessary, not merely to please.” The sapphire on her ring finger shone in the lantern light. “So I would ask that you are truthful with me. That you humour me and tell me what it is my husband said to you two nights past.”

“I would never lie to you, my queen.” You pled and your smile fell at last. “I didn’t--”

“I am not accusing you. I know it was not of your desire to draw the king’s eye. I shall listen without contempt.”

You breathed in. So deeply you feared you may faint. You nodded again and mustered your voice. “He...The king asked how long I’ve been at court. I answered him honestly and he… apologized for his oversight. Then he asked after my father. And then…” You thought back and blinked. “He said I did not belong here. At court.”

“Oh,” The queen considered you and her straight brows drew together. “You understand his intent, my lady?”

You stared at her. Too embarrassed to reveal your thoughts. Not foolish enough to think he truly wanted you, but too ashamed to admit that.

“Lady Rose,” She smiled venomously. “He is playing his game with her. My husband may act a stranger but I know him well. He revels in the power he holds over women. I suppose it is why he is not so fond of me.

“And so, forgive me for being blunt, but he would spark her envy by overlooking her for a much plainer lady. A more modest lady. Very unlike herself. So unlike her that she is insecure and his hold over her is reinforced. Do you understand?”

“I do, your highness. I am aware of myself. Of my shortcomings. My station is clear to me.” You assured her. You spoke evenly and without emotion. You looked into her eyes and she smiled. There was something within; a momentary commiseration.

“You’re a very intelligent girl,” She mused as she rescinded her hand. “But you don’t let on.”

She stood and you did too. She swept away from you and twisted the ring on her finger as she thought. She laughed softly to herself.

“I suspect you’re smarter than Lady Rose, dare I say it, the king too.” She looked to you again. “My lady, I did not intend this as remonstrance. I hold no ill will towards you, only seek to help you, should you need it.”

“Your highness.” You bowed your head.

“You may go,” She said softly. “I shall see you at supper.”

“Thank you, your highness.”

“Very well.”

She dismissed you as her attention flitted away to her thoughts. You took it in stride and found your way to the door. You were reassured that it would all soon fade away. That your part in this theatre was done.

The corridor was airy as you strolled through it. The heavy tapestries hugged the stone and the padding of your slippers echoed along the corners. At the first corner, you slid to a halt. A figure in peach silk appeared before you.

Rose approached you haughtily as she pushed out her chest. She looked down her nose at you and pouted her round lips.

“How amusing,” She purred.

You frowned and watched her slink towards you like an angry cat. “What do you mean?”

“The queen. Does she really concern herself with you? To think you any true contest to me?” She batted he lashes. “Eleanor may think me a fool, but I am not. I know the king was only toying with me.” She smirked. “Though I did wonder if you had wit enough to realize he was also toying with you?”

“I have no intent towards the king. No misconceptions. And no obligation to you, my lady,” You replied. A surge of anger, unfamiliar and uncomfortable, straightened your spine. “You might lay with the king but it does not make you a queen.”

She scoffed and her delicate features contorted. “Rest assured he hasn’t any intent towards you either. Be it known that it was my bed he visited last night. Not yours. Not his frigid queen’s. Mine.” She gloated and stepped closer.

“I know as well as the rest of court of your liaisons,” You were surprised by yourself. “If you’re fortunate, some countryside earl may not have heard and may even marry you on the promise of a new mare.”

Rose’s face paled and her hand grasped her chest with a gasp. “You’re vile.” She spat. “I always knew you were a beast. You can fool the rest of them but not me.”

You stared at her. You shook your head and grabbed your skirts. There was nothing to say to this woman. So self-assured, so convinced of her own importance. Let her think what she may, it did not change what was.

“Where are you going?” She whined as you sidestepped her.

“To ready for supper,” You didn’t stop, nor did you look back. “I am much too hungry to listen to your tripe.”

👑

You were quiet at supper. That wasn’t unusual. The tension, however, was. Before you weren’t concerned enough to notice, but now you were the crux of it. Eleanor maintained her usual stony demeanour towards Rose but Rose made no pretense of restraining her irritation with you. You weren’t a queen, thus she could openly display her displeasure.

Her whispers carried. You acted as if you couldn’t hear them as Eleanor sent an empathetic glance your way. She could hear and she easily changed the discussion to the harvest celebration. The first day of autumn approached and was to be marked with yet another feast.

You were thankful for the diversion but it did nothing for your mind. You thought of your father’s reaction. He’d surely hear about his daughter dancing with the king and even if it meant nothing, it would to him. It meant that you could be the enemy of the queen. And to follow in the footsteps of a dozen women before you would ensure your failure as his daughter.

When at last the meal ended and you said your prayers, you were dismissed. You returned to your chambers with the ladies. Those yet to be wed, shared their board. There were three other girls in your room; Joan, Sybil, and Marion. Rose roomed with Beatrice and Mary. She snarled as she passed your door.

The door was barely closed when a knock sounded. You looked to the other ladies and Joan opened the door. Without, a slender man stood patiently. The king’s footman, Hugh, was short and his dark hair was laced with silver. The wrinkles under his eyes betrayed his endless duty.

“Mister Hugh,” Joan greeted, confused.

“My lady,” He bowed his head cordially, “The king has sent me to bid for the lady.”

“Have you the wrong chamber?” Joan smiled. “Rose--”

“The king does not seek Lady Rose.” Hugh interjected. “Forgive my interruption, lady, but he calls for another.”

You looked to the other women. Each of you baffled though the tickle along your spine nipped at your doubts. It couldn’t possibly be you. After such an uneventful dance. A whole day between without disturbance. It must be a mistake.

Hugh said your name firmly. He looked to Sybil, blonde and beautiful, but was surprised when you stepped forward.

“That would be me,” You said. “May I inquire as to why the king requests my presence?”

“I am merely the king’s messenger. I only know he wishes a private audience with the lady.” Hugh said dimly.

It was as if he was used to the routine. The none-so-subtle invitations. You’d seen him before at the next door as he awaited Rose; at this very door when her predecessor had slept there. You pushed your shoulders back as you sensed the other ladies listening.

“Private audience?” You repeated, “Well, sir, you can return to the king and inform him that as a lady, it would be improper for me to attend an audience with him unaccompanied. So it is, I must respectfully and regretfully decline his invitation.”

Hugh look as if he’d been struck. For the first time his grey eyes lit up and his surprise deepened his wrinkles.

“My lady?” He blinked. “You would refuse? A king’s invitation?”

“An invitation, not a command, as I understand it.” You remained stern. You thought of Eleanor, of how she would hold herself, how she would speak. “So it cannot be treasonous. But I will not risk my honour as a lady. As a maiden.”

The man frowned. Then he nodded as if only then understanding you. He hooked a thumb in his belt and bowed his head. “Your lady. I shall carry your answer to the king. I apologize for disturbing you.”

“Thank you, Mister Hugh.” You bent your head and watched him turn slowly down the hall. He walked stiffly as if fighting himself.

You closed the door and leaned against the inside. Joan was awestruck and the other two ladies shook their heads, astonished. You kept your head up and went to the chest at the end of your bed.

“You just...refused the king?” Joan said at last. “You...no one says no to King Steven.”

“It was...just an invitation,” You said as you opened the chest and took out a sleeping gown. “It wouldn’t be proper to accept.”

“Proper? It is a slight to deny the king.” Joan cried.

“My father would not approve. And as custom would have it--”

“Are you daft?” Sybil spoke up.

“Not at all,” You dropped your nightgown on your bed. “In fact, were I to have accepted, where do you think that would get me? Even if it was not for illicit means, it would be interpreted as such. I will not marry a second son, not if I can help it.”

“You’re mad,” Marion hissed. “Absolutely mad.”

“Perhaps, but with my honour in tact.”

👑

The night was sleepless. Even after the other ladies settled down and finally blew out the candle, you couldn’t sleep. The more you thought about it, the worse you felt about your refusal. Not because you wanted to meet with the king, but because you only then considered the consequence of it. Or that you didn’t know exactly what that would be.

It was an hour, maybe two, after the ladies started to snore. What if the king was angered by your response and exiled you from court for not playing along? What if he waited until your father returned and punished him? But what if you had said yes?

A knock came at the door. Soft. You weren’t sure at first if it was truly a knock or your imagination. Then it came again and you slowly pushed yourself up. You listened, a third rap, and urged yourself to rise. You took the dressing robe from over your chest and pulled it around yourself.

Could you refuse the king’s footman a second time or would your anxiety eat away your resolve?

You went to the door and unhooked the latch. You eased it open, just an inch to look through into the corridor. You kept your body hidden behind the door as you peered out at your visitor. You gasped as the king’s hand grabbed the door and kept it from closing. The lantern he held shone down on you through the crack of the door.

“Your highness,” You whispered sharply.

“My lady,” He greeted coolly but something about his demeanour seemed riled. “Did I wake you?”

“Yes,” You lied. “But I would not begrudge you for it.”

He nodded as his eyes searched yours. As he tried to see through the wood that separated you.

“Why did you refuse my invitation?” He asked suddenly. “Did I offend you?”

“No, you’ve not offended me, your highness,” You said. “Did your footman not convey my reasons? It wouldn’t be proper for me to--”

“Propriety?” He grumbled and rolled his eyes. He wasn’t the cheerful king who stomped the boards at feasts or harried his steed at the hunt. He was upset and it was your fault. “I requested an audience, my lady, not your virtue.”

You gulped at his insinuation. You pushed on the door but he held it in place. “Your highness, you must understand my need to protect my reputation.”

His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head. His middle finger tapped on the wood of the door as he frowned. “Will you not come out to speak with me? I would hate to disturb the other ladies.”

“I am not in a state to come out, your highness.” You protested. “If you would wait for me to dress--”

He sighed. “You distrust me. You treat me as a lecher.”

“It is not distrust, your highness. Merely caution.” You returned. “If any, I distrust the court and the rumours they would dispel at anything so innocent as a conversation.”

His blue eyes flicked up and he thought. His jaw squared and he hesitantly removed his hand from the door. He looked at you again and the tension left his face. The sparkle returned to his eyes and he bowed his head.

“You are wise, my lady, to keep yourself above disrepute. It is admirable.” He stood straight and his broad figure cast a shadow over you. “I apologize for my impropriety. Forgive me.”

“Your highness, I hold no displeasure towards you.” You assured him.

“I am thankful for your benevolence,” He backed away. “Perhaps we shall meet in more tolerable circumstances...Good night, my lady.”

“Good night, your highness.” You mimicked him softly.

He turned away and you closed the door. The click was terribly loud as the dark embraced you. You leaned against the door and listened for his departure. His footsteps tarried, just a moment, before he carried on. You let out your breath and felt your way back to your bed. The ladies snored still but their soft snorts offered little comfort to your racing heart.

#Steve Rogers #king!steve #steve rogers x reader #medieval au #dark!steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #mcu #marvel #fic #series #tapestry #captain america #dark!fic #dark fic #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes

1K notes · View notes

daebakinc · 3 years

Text

A Rearrangement (Preview)

Pairing: Jae x Female Reader, ft. DAY6, Kard, and Mina Genre: Arranged Marriage AU, Angst, Romance Summary: Blackmailed by your parents, you’re forced to alter your life plan and enter an arranged marriage with the male heir of the Park family. The even bigger surprise comes when you find out that heir is your friend Jae. Thrust together, as the two of you become closer than before, will it strengthen your friendship or be the unexpected start of something else?

You always imagined the path to doom would be violent, dark, and storm-filled. Who knew it would actually be paved in gold-veined marble and lined in bouquets of hydrangeas and lily of the valley bound in silk ribbons in slender silver vases. But then, only the finest auction block would do.

The temptation to fidget grows as you wait with your parents in the quietly decadent lobby. Your feet beg to be free of the pointed heels, too accustomed to sensible flats. The chiffon dress is light and beautiful, you won’t deny that, but it feels like a lie. Dresses like this are for special occasions, not a dinner. Even getting dinner during a normal hour seems odd given you’re usually too busy dealing with a revolving door of patients. Patients who you could be helping with now but—

It is only years of training keeps you from crying out when your mother delivers a sharp pinch to your underarm.

“Smile. You look like you’re attending a funeral,” she hisses beneath her breath, a gracious curve pasted on her own mouth.

“Aren’t I?” you whisper back. Your impudence is rewarded with another pinch, but every bit of defiance is worth it. If nothing else comes of this, you remind yourself, soon she won’t be able to touch you or anyone and anything you hold dear.

“It appears the other party is already here,” the tuxedo-clad concierge tells your father. “Shall I lead you to the room?”

With all the dignity befitting an assemblyman, your father nods and lifts his arm, looking back at the two of you. Another part of your heart breaks away at that look. The warmth that lay in your father’s eyes when you were a child is no more than a memory. Cool calculations necessary of a career politician extinguished it long ago. Instead of his only child, all he sees is another bargaining chip. Until yesterday, you were able to lie to yourself that an ember of affection still survived. But no more. That delusion is dead, forever buried alongside the many other dreams slaughtered by your parents.

“Remember what is at stake for your father,” your mother whispers as she releases your arm to reach for your father’s. “Remember what is at stake for you.”

As if you could forget. Otherwise, you would be hundreds of thousands of miles away. You would be penniless but for the paltry savings you squirreled away, friendless but for the few who didn’t know your family, homeless but for your own skin. And it would be worth it to be completely out of reach of their conniving hands. Free, totally and completely, for the first time in your life. But she was right. What was at risk was far greater than you.

You fall in behind your parents, precisely three steps as you’d been drilled since your father first ran for public office. Shoulders back and spine straight, chin up and eyes forward. None of the growing trepidation or swirling sick feeling in your stomach betrayed in your countenance. A true lady just as they wanted. If they could have, they would have broken and reconstructed your soul in their image as well. But you had at least held out on that.

The concierge reaches a plain, eggshell-colored door flanked by two more bouquets. He knocks, then opens the door for your parents. You stick out your fingers to subtly touch the flowers as you pass through the door. The fragile silk softer than the real fabric proves they’re real. As real as the people within are fake, your parents included.

An older couple are the only obvious occupants, rising from their seats at a rectangular table set with exquisite crystal and silver that twinkles in the light streaming from the bay windows. Distinguished gray touches the man’s hair while the woman’s is jet black, doubtlessly dyed to hide the age that lies in the makeup-covered wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Both are simply but finely dressed. Yet together, you know their wardrobe costs enough to send a student to a decent university for a year. At least.

The stink of old wealth, enhanced by the surroundings, is as heavy on them as your mother’s perfume. You hate it.

The man rises, smile broad and hand outstretched. “Assemblyman! Welcome!”

“Good to see you again, Mr. Park,” your father replies, shaking his hand and flashing that million-watt smile he practices in the mirror for the press and donors. “Especially on such a joyous occasion.”

“Yes, indeed. So this is your daughter.” Mr. Park’s gaze falls to you.

You steel your back against the shiver of disgust you feel as his eyes openly sweep you up and down. His wife follows suite from behind him. You can’t help the feeling that they would have pried your mouth open like a prize horse if you weren’t in a more civilized age. The irony of that thought amid your situation almost distracts you enough to give a real smile.

“Not as beautiful as her picture, but her career and your prestige will make up for that. She will be a welcome addition to our family,” Mr. Park says approvingly.

Bile rises unbidden from the bottom of your stomach with revulsion. Who the hell is he to judge you, let alone speak such an opinion out loud. You inwardly scoff. Just proof money cannot buy manners or decency.

“Where is your son?” your mother asks, looking around.

Mr. Park’s smile tightens a fraction. “He was temporarily detained at an appointment, but he’ll be here shortly. No need to worry. He’ll be here to sign the marriage contract.”

Marriage contract. Those words are enough to make the embarrassment at Mr. Park’s callous comments evaporate, replaced by the unforgiving chill of reality.

Today, you’re getting engaged to a stranger. To say the idea doesn’t terrify you would be the most vile lie. The idea of being “tied forever” to someone you’ve never met, never even seen, makes you sick. It makes you want to shrink, crawl away, and mourn. It makes you want to roar, storm, and seize your autonomy back. But all you can do is stand and wait, your face the vaguely interested mask you have perfected to a fault.

Mr. Park steps back and gestures to the table. “Shall we?”

Men in trim tuxedos silently appear to pull out your chairs. Mr. Park and your father take seats opposite each other, then Mrs. Park and your mother. You sit across from the empty chair. The chair where your soon-to-be fiance will soon sit.

Beside you, the older adults talk among themselves. Whether they speak of social niceties, specifics of the pre-nuptial contract, or plans for the wedding, you don’t know. Their words are noise in your ears and they make no effort to include you in the conversation. It doesn’t surprise you. You’re accustomed to it and you’re glad of it. They don’t deserve the civility you would be expected to produce. Not to mention your temper is shortened by the lack of sleep caused by an anxious patient’s hours-long call last night.

There’s a knock at the door and your heart stops. It’s him.

Demon or angel. Brat or saint. Executioner or savior. Bane or mate.

There’s no way to know and no way out. If someone in this day and age would agree to such a bond, he’s either an idiot, a pushover, or a victim like you.

You steel yourself for disappointment or pity, determined to keep any emotion to yourself. These parasites won’t get anything else from you.

The door opens and a slightly rumpled, lanky man ambles in. His long black overcoat covers a slate-gray suit jacket with matching pants and dark burgundy turtleneck. His blond hair is ruffled, streaked with bold swathes of highlights, and longer than you would expect of a wealthy scion. His messy bangs brushing the lenses of his round, gold-rimmed glasses.

Your mouth drops open. How…

“Sorry I’m late,” he says without a smile or sincerity. “I was—”

When his eyes fall to you, his mouth mirrors yours. You quickly snap your jaw back together and give the smallest shake of your head.

Don’t let them know.

His mother gives a polite cough to try to call him back. When he continues staring, his father speaks for him. “This is our son, Jaehyung.”

So that’s Jae’s real name.

Your father immediately gets up and holds out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, son.”

“I remember your hair being black this morning,” Mr. Park says, addressing his son as he greets your father. “Was there a mistake at the salon?”

Recovering from his surprise, Jae’s mouth twitches like it wants to smirk at the clear disapproval in his father’s voice. He smooths his hair, takes his seat and answers simply. “No.”

His parents’ mouths thin, but the first course being served saves Jae from further reprimand. The conversation picks up where it left off, articulated by the clink of silverware.

Again, you’re not invited to participate, but neither is Jae. You push the salad around with your fork, flipping the leaves as your mind attempts comprehension. Admiration for Jae’s blatant rebellion only briefly interrupts the bewilderment swirling around your head.

Jae, your friend since he almost killed you with his skateboarding antics in university and who constantly crashes on your couch to whine about being broke. This same man who usually dresses in some version of a T-shirt, jeans, and or plaid shirt combo and seems to have a guitar permanently attached to his hands. Reconciling him with the put-together heir in front of you, your almost fiance, is proving difficult.

Though now, certain gaps in your knowledge of Jae make a bit more sense. Despite claiming to be perpetually broke, he never fails to pick up the latest shoes he’s been drooling over or new production equipment when his band, Day6, needs it. He never mentions his family. During university, he always found a friend to go home with on breaks.

Just like you.

Maybe that’s why you felt drawn to him, became and stayed friends. A silent and unconscious recognition of similar ghosts haunting your shadows.

Your phone quietly vibrates against your thigh. You ignore it.

Something nudges your foot. Lifting your eyes from your plate, you find Jae staring at you. He glances down towards your lap, frowning and jerking his chin when you don’t move.

With a peek at your mother to ensure she’s not paying attention, you slip your phone from the pocket hidden in your dress.

Meet me by the bathrooms.- Jae

You immediately stand, smiling as the Parks and your parents finally turn their attention to you. Lifting your phone, you say, “Please excuse me. The doctor on-call has a question about one of my patients. I have to call him back.” Disregarding your mother’s annoyed expression, you turn on your heel and walk out of the room.

After asking for directions, you find the bathrooms and wait in the alcove beside them. You don’t have long to wait before you hear Jae calling your name.

He jumps when you poke your head around the corner, but rushes over, grabbing your elbow to bring you back out of sight. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, his voice a hoarse whisper and his eyebrows nearly forced together with a frown.

“You asked me to meet you here.”

“Not here, smartass,” Jae says, rolling his eyes. “I mean here here.”

“I could be asking you the same question, Jaehyung.” You pointedly look down at where he’s still holding you.

“Sorry.” Jae releases you, his hand immediately going to run through his hair. His mussing leaves it standing at odd angles so he looks more like the Jae you’re familiar with. You recognize the same struggle to reconcile your newly discovered realities on his face as well. “It's just... you’re the assemblyman’s daughter? You?”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you reply, not sparing the sarcasm. You sit on the bench and fold your arms, scrutinizing the friend you thought you knew. “But I guess we’re even.”

“What do you mean? You never your said your dad was an assemblyman.”

“And not once in all the years we’ve known each other, not once in all the times we fell asleep talking did you mention you were a friggin' heir, Jae. Never mind an heir of the Park family. You were probably born with twenty silver spoons in your mouth.”

Jae sighs and joins you, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall. “I didn’t say anything because I never wanted it. Who wants to own up to a family that only wants you to become their version of you, you know?”

“Preaching to the choir here.”

He opens his eyes with a frown and turns his head to you. “I never pegged you as a “yes, daddy” kind of girl. A goody-two-shoes with an overdeveloped savior complex, yeah. Definitely. But this? You really going along with this?”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” you retort with a roll of your eyes. “I thought we were friends.”

“We are, which is why I’m really freaking confused right now. You’re a doctor, dude. A modern woman. You’re always going on about women’s rights. Totally support by the way, but—”

“You really think I agreed to this for shits and giggles?” you cry, anger bubbling over. Everything you’ve held back since this morning boils out. “You think I like your father making me feel like a piece of meat and telling me to my face I’m ‘not as beautiful’ as my picture? Oh, wait, that would require him to address me directly like I had my own mind. Yeah, Jae, I just woke up yesterday and said to myself ‘Hey, let’s toss my entire personality, morals, and career aside and agree to get married to some rich guy so my dad can profit from the family-man image and new connections boost this election!’ That’s exactly what happened. No reason other than that.”

Jae is uncharacteristically silent after your outburst, studying you. You can’t really blame him. In the entire length of your friendship, you’ve only seriously raised your voice at him maybe once. He’s mentioned more than once that that fact is one your more attractive attributes.

Letting out a sigh of your own, you lean against the wall as well. You shouldn’t have yelled at him. He doesn’t deserve to be the recipient of your pent up frustrations. Picking at the skirt of your dress, you say, “You know my friend, Mina?”

“Yeah,” Jae replies with a shrug. “The dancer who’s at that super fancy dance school for ballet or something, right?”

“She’s there on a scholarship. A scholarship my mother is on the board for. My parents didn’t even bother being subtle about it. As soon as I told them they were crazy for suggesting this, they threatened to take the scholarship from Mina or even get her kicked out of the school. She can’t afford the tuition on their own. Jae, she loves that place and dancing so much and with that kind of training, she has a shot at so many opportunities. I couldn’t let them do that to her. It would kill her.”

His face becomes somber. “Ow…”

You give a half smile and a shrug. “Figured I could suffer through a few years of this marriage ‘til she finished, then find a way to get divorced.”

Jae reaches over and squeezes your hand. “You’re a really good friend.”

“Thanks.” You return the pressure and keep your hand in his. The reminder of humanity soothes some of the anger and hurt that sits like a boulder in your chest.

“Though I guess I am too,” he says. When you just look at him, waiting for an explanation, he lets out a bark of laughter. “And you yelled at me for being a bad friend, ya hypocrite. You think that I, Jae, the Jae, would say yes to this kind of backwards shit?”

“No.” Adopting an awful Manhattan accent, you ask, “So what’re you in here for?”

Your attempt gets a small laugh out of Jae, just as you’d hoped. The smile that accompanied it disappears as he says, “My parents found out about Day6… Before, as long as I kept my head down and didn’t do anything ‘embarrassing,’ they didn’t care what I was doing since my sister is going to take over the business. But now, if I don’t do this marriage thing, they were going to cut me off. I’d miss my Jordans, but I could deal if it was just me. But you know I’m the one who books our studio sessions, pays for the travel and new equipment when we need it. The guys chip in when they can, but they don’t make that much at their day jobs. I don’t make enough for it all either.”

You put your other hand over Jae’s. His band is his life. You’ve seen the shelves at his apartment filled with notebooks of music and lyrics instead of books. Some he’s actually played for you or let you read. He has his guitars named and arranged in order of favoritism for crying out loud. Making him abandon his music would be less painful than cutting out his heart while it still beat.

“We’re this close to a break, Doc. I can feel it.” Jae meets your eyes, none of the normal charm or ease there. Instead, they beg for reassurance, belief in him and his dream.

“I know you are. I come to every show I can, don’t I?” You smile, feeling the callouses from his constant playing rubbing against your own skin. “You're going to make it big. You have more talent than half the people on the radio. We just have to get the right people to listen.”

“Then I could support myself and I wouldn’t be in this mess.” He suddenly chuckles.

“What?”

“You could be too. You could be like our bus driver or roadie or something.”

“I have a job, you know. I just don’t work at the right place to make the big bucks. The clinic can barely afford our necessities, let alone big staff salaries. Besides, I don’t think it would matter.” You sigh again, unable to stop yourself from leaning against Jae. Everything feels too heavy and there’s a headache brewing in your temples. “I wouldn’t be surprised if my parents just found someone else to foist on me if this didn’t work out.”

“Damn. Seriously? We really won the lottery on the crappy parents, didn’t we?”

“That’s an understatement.” Looking down at your joined hands, you try to imagine matching weddings bands on your fingers. The idea is laughable. But nothing comes out of your mouth except the words, “We’re really going to do this, aren’t we? Get married.”

Jae’s shoulders lift beneath your cheek in a hopeless shrug. “For now, I guess so. Unless one of us wins the actual lottery. Or Day6 gets signed with a big bonus.”

You start nodding, then stop as an idea hits you, and groan. “Dammit… Jae, what’re we going to tell our friends?”

“What’d you mean? I doubt our parents are going to invite them to the wedding. Mine are too snobby and yours seem just as bad. Not like our friends read the newspaper either if our parents do one of those corny engagement ads.”

“I know my mother. She’s going to insist on an engagement ring and not a subtle one. Our friends know us. They’re not going to believe we went from friends to engaged. And what about what’s-her-name? The girl you’re talking to?”

“Oh,… yeah, that didn’t work out,” Jae says with a chuckle. “She didn’t like how much time I spent practicing. She told me it was either her or the band.”

Lifting your head, you stare at him. “What the hell were you doing dating someone like that?”

“She was hot?”

And he’s back. You drop his hand to smack his shoulder. “Gross!”

Jae raises his hands in defense, but a smile is back on his face, at least temporarily. “I’m kidding, jeez. Well, not really. She was hot, but I thought she really liked music slash the band too.”

“Sure.” Restless, you get off the bench and begin pacing. You think better on your feet. “But seriously, what’re we going to tell our friends? Us dating wouldn’t be too big a stretch, but no one would believe we’d do something crazy like get married out of nowhere. You’re impulsive enough for that, but not me. They’re going to know something’s up.”

“Firstly, I resent that impulsive comment. I'm just absurdly curious is all. And why not just tell them we’re dating?” Jae pulls in his legs when you almost trip over them. “But only if our parents make us move in together or something. Otherwise, we don’t need to. You don’t have to wear the ring unless our parents check in or whatever. Plus, like I said, crappy as it is, our parents wouldn’t think to invite them to the wedding. The only people there will be people we don’t care about. Then after we’re married, we just wait it out, not telling anyone, and then, like you planned, get a quick, quiet divorce when everyone’s safe. No one knows, we live our lives as normally as we can, and then we’re home free.”

Pausing in your marching, you look at Jae again. He looks far calmer than he has any right to be. Seems like he’s already accepted your predicament. But maybe he is right. Maybe this abrupt drop in the road of your life can be smoothed into a less dramatic sharp turn, or even a slight detour. Maybe you can do it. Together. The demons of uncertainty’s voices quiet for now.

Out loud, you say, “Alright.”

“Cool. Now that that’s settled,” slapping the edge of the bench, Jae pushes himself up, “we should probably get back. By the way, why’d you not want them to know we know each other?”

Raising your eyebrows incredulously, you ask, “You really want to give them one more thing to use against us?”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Straightening his clothes, he says, “Let’s go back to the lions’ den.”

Seeing his smile, that smile you know so well and love, relief hits you so hard, it makes your knees almost buckle.

You rush to him, burying your face in his shirt and curling your fingers around his jacket lapels. Your eyes burn, but your tears are thankfully exhausted. “Jae, I’m so glad it’s you. I really am.”

Fate and your parents’ scheming could have put anyone opposite you. Yet somehow, it’s Jae. A solid ally and friend instead of a dreadful unknown. With Jae, you have a fellow victim, a fellow survivor. A partner. One with no expectations except a continued friendship and reliance.

Although Jae had been stiff from surprise, his arms close around you and his body sags. Despite his boniness, the warmth of his embrace more than makes up for it. “Yeah, me too, Doc. Me too.”

“Were you scared too?”

“Fucking terrified. I thought I was going to be stuck with some prude princess. You know I can’t handle high maintenance. Ain’t nobody got time for that.”

Laughing, you step back. As usual, Jae’s humor helps break through your cloud of ill mood. Beckoning, you say, “Come here. We have to fix your hair or they might think something happened.”

“Yeah, because they’re such examples of people who believe in love at first sight and get swept up in mind-blowing passion,” he retorts, but he leans down anyway so you can smooth his hair. “Thanks. You ready?”

“Yeah.” You nod. This time, you believe it.

#jae fic #day6 fic #kpopwritingnet #kwriterskollection #kwritersworldnet #kpop fics

10 notes · View notes