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astrophelstella · 1 year

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Genshin Characters as Omegas

Your the traveler who's not from this world and hasn't experienced what alphas, betas and omegas are. But your still an incredibly powerful Alpha with the strongest of scents. The rest of the omega characters are scrambling in their attraction to you. Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Zhongli

Diluc

Everyone was surprised when he presented as an omega. Outsiders probably assumed her was an Alpha with how he acts but every Mondstadt citizen knows his real secondary gender.

Untraditional omega. At least for other nations. Mondstadt was pretty progressive as the city of freedom but he still couldn't escape the comments. He was far from the delicate and soft image of an omega. Doesn't care anyways, he has work to do.

Never saw himself settling down or gaining a mate, despite plenty of Alphas and Betas throwing themselves at him. He even got a few Omegas vying for him. Especially Alphas, who annoyed him with their scents and posturing.

Then comes you, an outlander who saves the city and dubbed "Honorary Knight". Your scent was stronger than any Alpha he's met. Absolutely unique and enticing, it surprised him how his discipline was crumbling down and for the first time in a long while, he felt like a young omega in the presence of a potential mate.

It wasn't just your scent. You were scarily strong and powerful enough to wield multiple elements without a vision. Like a true Alpha you were reliable and unrelenting. His favorite thing about you was letting your actions speak for themselves, you barely talked but you had a comforting presence and ready hand to help.

Has a competence kink I swear. You accomplish all of your commissions in record time and still help everyone out, including him. Everyone knows once your on the job there will be no mistakes. Had to restrain himself from scenting you seeing you work at his tavern and it was the best business they had in a while.

His instincts were screaming at him that you were the ideal mate. That he had to get to you now before someone like Kaeya does. But he was still so shy when it comes to courting. He doesn't even know if you think of him as a viable omega.

Is so lost. He was taught proper omega etiquette and courting as a noble but he's never thought to use them and isn't used to acting like an omega. It leads to some fumbling with his gloves, spreading his pheromones out hoping to catch you attention.

Makes him melt when you don't care about his untraditional omega behavior. In fact, as someone not of this world you didn't even care about secondary genders. You just saw people and you saw Diluc as strong and reliable, not caring if it wasn't very omega of him to provide for you, to offer a place in his territory.

It makes him even more sure you were the right mate. Now he just has to get your attention and bat away all the other omegas who were coming out of the woodwork.

Still a beauty of an omega. Despite how much he acts and presents, his hair is soft and fluffy, face still holding omega softness, round doe-eyes, and scent like dark decadent chocolate and grapes. Gulps whenever your close and towers over him, your scent mixing with his makes his head spin.

His future heats will definitely be spent trying and failing not to think of you. He usually has more control but as always, when your involved, it doesn't last long. Its afterwards that he commits to the idea of inviting you for dinner.

Kaeya

This man uses his omega side to his advantage. Gets all the Alphas and Betas to do as he wants with a secret smile. Before they know it, they've already done his work for him.

Knew early on he could just trick people with his flowery scent and a few submissive turns of his neck. Isn't ashamed of doing so. Not his fault people hold biases and have little restraint when it comes to a pretty omega in need.

People who know him well enough know not to underestimate him. He was still Calvary Captain after all. He had their respect by being capable and wasn't afraid to order them around. Just another point for a progressive city of wind.

He was still wonderful with kids and number one grandson to all the elderly people. Not so untraditional compared to certain other omegas. But don't be fooled, he's very much guarded and averse to genuine vulnerability. While he acts like a delicate omega he's never let his guard down.

Until a new brazen alpha waltzed into the city and fought off a dragon in aeriel battle. As soon as you glided down into the plaza he was assaulted by such a strong scent it made him pause in surprise. Ignoring his inner omega purring he was even more suspicious of your arrival.

The whole time he was studying you and your intentions. To back up your dominating pheromones, you were a skilled fighter and possessed powers no one had. He didn't trust your offer to help until time had past, here you were still running around doing errands for people, errands that cocky Alphas would disdain like babysitting and cooking food. As a legendary hero this should be below you but the fame hardly registers for you.

You were a classic heroic Alpha of anyone's dreams but you never think of secondary genders or abuse your scent. He was good at reading people, so he knew you were sincere and he couldn't help but feel something as you looked him in the eye without any care about being an omega. Traditions and cultural expectations weren't a thing for you and he was a lot more appreciative for it. He liked spending time around you from then.

Your obliviousness to secondary genders just makes him act even harder as an omega, trying to get through that attitude of yours. He welcomed a challenge. But some part of him was rather sincere in his attempts, knowing you were the perfect mate. So when you compliment him back he stutters and blushes.

What's worse is that his omega side comes out more often when you do things. Your playing with Klee? Suddenly has baby fever and wants you to take responsibility. Offer him a room in your teapot mansion? If you listen close enough he's purring like an engine, pleased his not Alpha was providing for him.

His heat was tolerable at best before. Now it was a bit unbearable with knowledge of your very helpful nature. His mind goes wild with fantasies of you arriving and taking care of him. He's very touched starved, so a simple touch from you short circuits him. If you ever gift him with anything, he'll guiltily hold it close to him as he waits for his heat to pass.

Childe

Untraditional omega no.2 and no one denies it. He never conforms to his secondary gender. Fighting and getting stronger is the only thing he focuses on. Alphas are too scared to approach him much less Omegas. He doesn't care, their all weak. Why would he need to pay attention to what they think?

If anyone is surprised he was a Harbringer and an omega, they won't say anything out of fear. It didn't take long for him to strike fear in their hearts that whatever comments they make even in private, disappear. Never thinks about his omega sides or needs unless they involve his family, like Teucer.

Speaking of, his family is supportive of his ambitions but they wonder how he'll ever find a mate. Meanwhile Childe has a one hard rule, if they couldn't beat him in a fight, they weren't potential mates!

So that's when you come in. He immediately wanted to fight you once he caught whiff of your scent. He was intrigued after hearing La Signoras reports but meeting you in person made him sure you were cut above the rest. Your scent and presence dominated every Alpha in proximity. Clearly, you were powerful.

Then came your fight in the Golden Chamber. While he made his escape after you defeated his Foul Legacy, he was pleased having found a worthy mate. In his eyes there was no one else suitable. Which is why he was quick to ask for weekly spars, while he worked to beat you his long silenced omega side was purring in your presence.

The way you helped a lost Teucer back to him only made it worse. Being good with kids, especially his siblings, was an immediate green flag for him. He loved your dedication to your family and your power as a fighter. It starts with him butting in your life whenever your were nearby. You've agreed on a truce but you never let your guard down in front of him. Something he took as a challenge.

Expect lots of gifts. From thoughtfully handmade crafts to expensive jewelry. They all have his scent on them. It was an obvious intention of courting but you had no clue for courting rituals and you never imagined a person like him trying to find a mate. He'll treat you to whatever meal you want, pleased you don't care that an omega was providing for you.

Gets a lot of letters from his family about you. They were happy he found a potential mate who didn't care for his 'quirks' and heard plenty of good things from Teucer. If he sees you playing and taking care of his little brother, prepared to almost be pounced on.

His heats are always spent fighting, letting out his arousal and need to produce through violence. It tires him out by the end that he just sleeps through it. Now he dreams of you losing your cool during a sparring match with him and finally pinning him down, taking your prize.

Zhongli

Liyue was one of the nations like Mondstadt who never oppressed their omegas or expected them to be weak. Omegas in positions of power were common sight. All because their own Archon was an omega. Even with Rex Lapis gone, omegas were still considered equals.

Zhongli was another one who appeared like an Alpha, but people would be mistaken to know he was an omega. Despite being old fashioned, he was still wise and strong, ignoring every Alpha and Beta suitor that took interest in him. Either out of ignorance for modern ways of flirtation or disinterest.

His entire life had been dedicated to looking after Liyue, now in his retirement he gets to enjoy a mortal life. That includes dealing with secondary genders. It never occurred to him that he could find a potential mate. After centuries of being around, the thought never seemed possible.

Of course, a traveler comes to prove him wrong. Seeing you enter the restaurant he was hit with a scent stronger than his own. It was different to anything he'd experience, but as an outlander it made sense. He kept his eye on you the whole time. Watching how you moved, how you sat, listening to the rare times you spoke. One could understand a lot of things about a person from their scent and mannerisms.

Spending more time with you preparing for the Right of Parting, he kept finding himself pleased. You kept proving yourself a potential mate. He was very subtle in his flirtations. Adjusting his collar to show more of his neck, taking your lead, and complimenting your scent. Acting more impish the longer he was with you, he simply wanted your time and attention.

Not satisfied with anything less than full courtship, centuries made him want a committed mate. When your alone in his office, he would shed his coat and fiddle with his gloves to show more skin. He wants your attention on him and will be pleased if you stare at his retreating form.

Intercepts Childe whenever he tries to bother you. It was crude how obvious the ginger was in getting your attention. A scented scarf as a gift this early? Scandalous. God forbid Barbatos tries anything. He's not one to engage in omega hissing contests over a mate, but Venti gets on his nerves more than Hu Tao.

His heats are nothing new to him. Spending centuries just isolated and waiting for it to pass. Nowadays he has something of you that comforts him in his nest and thoughts of your making his heat stronger. He feels ashamed for acting so lustful but being part dragon has him more in tune with his instincts.

It won't take long for him to imagine having his belly swollen, little ones running around. Something he never thought he would want was suddenly at the front of his mind. He wouldn't mind you barging in on him during his heats.

He knows he's an attractive omega. You thought you were being discreet eyeing his waist and chest. An ideal body for child bearing. Even if you weren't from this world or used to omegas, some part of you definitely liked his scent and appearance. He won't hesitate to use that.

Note: We need more omega genshin characters content.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact diluc #genshin impact kaeya #genshin impact zhongli #genshin reader #omegaverse #genshin omega!character x alpha!reader #top reader

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rabbiitte · 8 months

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EP6: When Mew's manipulation becomes domination.

With how much Mew needs to be in control, it wouldn't be illogical for him to try to maintain control during the sexual act and adopt the role of dominant in the context of BDSM. This type of control translates as domination. What's the difference between control and domination?

Control involves influencing or directing other people's actions or decisions more generally or broadly. It can be exercised in a variety of contexts, not necessarily in personal or intimate relationships. Control can be exercised in authoritarian or manipulative ways, but it doesn't always involve extreme power dynamics. Meanwhile, dominance refers to a specific type of control in which a person or entity exercises significant and direct power over other people or aspects of their lives. It usually involves a more extreme power dynamic, where one party has substantial control over the other. In the context of BDSM, dominance can be consensual and part of a role play.

What's BDSM? It's an acronym that stands for Bondage (physically restraining or tying up). Discipline (imposing rules or punishments). Dominance (exercising control or authority). Submission (accepting another's authority). Sadism (enjoying inflicting pain or humiliation). Masochism (enjoying pain or humiliation).

BDSM involves a variety of erotic practices and activities. It's based on informed consent and consensual role-playing to explore and enjoy the sexual and emotional expression of dominance and submission, as well as other related activities in a safe and consensual environment.

Domination implies an imbalance in power dynamics. One type of power dynamic in sexual relationships is the dom/sub relationship.

The "dominant and submissive" dynamic is a consensual way of exploring erotic and power roles. This dynamic centers on the idea that one person assumes the role of dominant, sometimes referred to as “dom” , while the other person assumes the role of passive or submissive, also known as "sub".

“Dom”: is the one who exercises control, leadership and authority during the sexual act. This person usually sets rules, boundaries, and scenarios during sessions or scenes. The dominant also makes decisions during these activities, guiding and directing the experience.

“Sub”: On the other hand, the passive or submissive accepts the role of obeying and submitting to the dominant. Is willing to follow the commands and desires of the dominant, as well as to experience physical or emotional sensations according to the agreed indications. The submissive relies on the dominant to provide direction, pleasure, and satisfaction within previously set limits.

During their first time, we never see Top and Mew during the act but we see what happens after that: how they were both lying down and Mew was physically located higher than Top (a visual resource), how Mew was the one that provided physical containment and how Mew seemed really calm and confident. The presence of these situations could suggest (mind you, possibility not a fact) the presence of a dom/sub power dynamic.

At the end of EP6, Top didn't seem surprised with the situation (he was only surprised when Mew held his hands for too long, but remember that their first time was warm and sweet. So, domination didn't happen in the same way). Mew's action of making it impossible for Top to use his hands can be interpreted as an expression of domination and submission, which could indicate a tendency towards a dynamic of dom/sub.

It's possible that just as we didn't see the full scene of their first time, we also didn't see the moment when Mew and Top were discussing about the dom/sub dynamic.

This dynamic can be applied on the sexual plane or on the non-sexual plane . In fact, we see many tendencies to fill such roles by Mew and Top like:

Communication: The dom/sub dynamic can also involve roles in communication. The "dominant" can set the communication guidelines, while the "submissive" follows those guidelines. This could include how problems are discussed or how feelings are expressed.

For example, Mew lets Top know that they won't have sex until they start dating and then (in EP6) Mew asks Top why he didn't ask him for what he wanted (this probably happened because Top felt that asking for what he wanted, regarding sex, was outside the established "norms" in their relationship). Or, for example, when Mew sets rules to be honest with each other and tells Top that he's going to be sincere if Top is sincere too (EP4).

Emotional support: In some cases, the dominant may be the one who provides greater emotional support and security to the submissive. They can be the source of strength and guidance.

Mew is Top's biggest source of emotional support (so much so, that it borders on co-dependency). We've already seen that Top depends on Mew to sleep peacefully. Mew provides emotional support in the scene where Top tells him of his trauma and he's constantly Top's source of comfort.

Non-sexual rewards and punishments: While generally associated with sexual BDSM, dom/sub relationships in everyday life can include reward and punishment systems to shape behavior and encourage obedience.

Let's leave out the fact of whether Mew suggested the punishments or not (just to be clear, he didn't do it in any situation) and focus on the dynamics. Mew and Top use the reward and punishment system on several occasions. Mew has rewarded Top with a cookie and sex.

What has he punished Top with? Also with sex. On EP6, Mew made Top believe they were going to have sex and then he shattered that hope to tell him that he discovered his secret.

However, the dom/sub dynamic can only occur if it has been previously agreed (the role of consent is extremely important). Otherwise, this dynamic doesn't exist and Top and Mew would be just people with dom/sub tendencies.

#only friends the series #only friends series #only friends #ofts #only friends series ep 6 #book #mew #top #force #forcebook #topmew #gmmtv #thai bl #only friends analysis #only friends meta #ofts analysis #ofts meta #only friends series ep 5

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sebstan2020 · 2 months

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Repaying the Debt

Chapter 7

Violet Williams, a typical rich daddy's girl who did nothing but spend his money and hang our with her girlfriends. Her life couldn't be better. But that all changes when her father gets in trouble with New Yorks biggest and most ruthless mob boss, James Barnes and she finds herself repaying the debt of her father.

Violet stared at her ass in the mirror in the small bathroom, wincing as she lightly touched it with the tip of her nail, and an electric shock zapped through her entire back. Her pale skin was now a deep shade of red and blotchy, with small welts from the smack of his ring breaking the skin and leaving an indent. It was a painful punishment, but did she learn her lesson? Aboslulty not.

Despite James giving her a thorough reprimand for her bratty behaviour, she wasn't about to leave it on the curb and replace it with perfect submissive obedience. If anything, it only made her want to rebel more. But it didn't look like a chance for that was going to come up any time soon.

The leather collar had been locked back into her neck, this time an inch tighter, so that the leather almost choked her, restraining her to the floor once again. The very thought of her in that collar with a red and sore ass made James smile in pleasure, a tingle running down his body. Perhaps he would visit her more often now, just to see her.

Violet huffed, pacing the room once again in frustration. Her first experience of discipline and being dominated like that had her in a whimpering mess at James's feet, and she was pissed with herself. This man could so easily have her to the ground with a flick of his wrist, have complete control over her, and have her thank him for her punishment. She could tell he enjoyed it that way too, which made her even more pissed.

Violet wasn't a shy girl when it came to men. She had plenty of them in her life, normally rich playboys who had nothing better to do than fuck any blonde in heels with money. She was a consort of men, hoping that each one would wine and dine her until she got what she wanted and then drop them like trash when she got bored. She was so used to them following her at her heel, calling her baby, and tapping their black credit card without taking their eyes off her while she flashed a pretty smile and a giggle.

but James was different. He was not a man who could easily be subdued by a pretty face and a desire to do whatever she wanted. If anything, she was going to beg him. He was older than the usual men she would look out for, and his dominant tone of voice and 'doesn't give a shit' attitude were something Violet had never encountered. She was like a baby throwing her toys out the pram, not getting what she wanted, having him back down at her demands, and learning that he was in charge, that he was in control, and that he was going to win.

But she wasn't going to stop there. Of course, the knife had been taken away, and the possibility of one coming anytime soon was slim. Violet landed on the mattress in a huff but instantly regretted it as the searing pain in her backside stung like she had sat on a hot stove, wincing and gritting her teeth together to keep the scream inside. She didn't want to show mercy or submissiveness.

It wasn't long before footsteps came scuffing down the hallway, and the door was pushed open hard, with a scowling Steve entering as he kicked the door shut behind him. The collar was on her, but he wasn't in the mood for any tricks she had up her sleeve. Violet watched with wide eyes as he set down a tray of food, a bowl of steam in the middle of the tray, and a glass of water.

"Thank you," she said in a happy voice, plastering on a fake smile, and Steve glared over her, one eye narrowing and the eyebrow on the other side rising up.

"What's your name?" She asked sweetly, tucking a piece of ragged hair behind her ear. She was looking very dishevelled now, with her makeup nearly all gone and her hair now a bird's nest of blonde locks. She was dying for a shower and something to freshen up with.

"Whatever it is you're trying to pull, forget it," he warned.

"I'm not pulling anything," she let out a little giggle at the end, and Steve huffed, his lips curling up at the sides, and he crossed his arms over her chest, his muscles bulging from under the suit.

"I heard Buck gave you quite a punishment," he smirked, and Violet snorted from her nose.

"It barely even hurt," she shrugged, throwing her head up in the air and acting all cocky. Steve chuckled.

"Well, I'll be sure to tell him that, so next time he can go harder on you." that completely backfired on her. Her face dropped instantly, a glare looming over her eyes, darkening. She hoped to sound like she was going to put up a good fight with these men, but instead she only made it worse for her the next time she broke the rules. Violet let out a heavy breath, curling her arms around her legs.

"If I were you, I'd be a good girl and be careful what you do around here. He won't hesitate to do that again, or next time, do it harder." Steve warned her. Her sassy attitude would have replied, but she couldn't help but believe his words and sink further into the tight ball she was curling herself into. Something about James said he wasn't fucking around here; he wasn't going to be playing games of tag and hide and seek with her, and he would happily discipline her for it.

"Anway, you deserved it for crushing the door on my fucking arm like that; you're lucky I didn't get involved," he grinned sadistically, and Violet glared at him.

"Ear your lunch, and don't fucking try anything," he pointed a hard finger at her before slamming the door, the room slightly shaking from the force, and Violet sighed heavily. Scrambling from the floor, she padded to the desk to look down at the grim-looking soup. green with lumpy bits and a plastic spoon. Of course they would give plastic now. Her trust had been broken, and she was reduced to a child's cutlery.

She had no choice but to eat. If she was going to escape this nightmare, she needed her strength. The pea soup tasted awful, but she forced it down, coming to terms with the taste at the end, and gulped down the water, even though she wished she had saved it for her next meal. The bathroom water didn't look drinkable, and now she wondered how long it would be until the next refill.

The room of nothing was torture. With nothing to entertain herself with, all she could do was stare up at the ceiling, sit, and braid small strands of hair before unravelling them and doing it again, seeing the smallest one she could make, with no telling of the time; it was pure agony not knowing when someone was going to come or not.

Exhaustion had taken over her, and Violet had fallen asleep. She hadn't relaised; her morning of running, spanking, and sassing had taken a toll on her, and she slowly drifted off, curled in whatever warmth she could get from the blanket, and she had fallen into a deep dream.

James was there, towering above her with his height, staring down at her with dark eyes that pierced into her. His hands wrangled themselves in her hair, yanking her head back, warmth and breath tickling her neck as he ran his teeth across the sensitive skin, licking up to her ear. He whispered words into her and then came a spank, the loud smack waking her from her slumber, and she gasped. She was covered in sweat and felt sticky and hot.

She yanked the blanket off of her for some air and sat up, breathing deeply. She couldn't believe she had just dreamt that. The fiasco of this morning was forcing her to behave even while she was asleep, warning her that he'd spank her again for any insolence. Her ass was still sore, and she winced as she pushed herself onto her side to elevate the pain.

To her luck, she had managed to pass time with her mid-afternoon nap but was feeling groggy and gross. She was desperate for a shower now. Her throat was dry, and she needed a drink of water as well.

It wasn't long before she heard the scuff of shoes again, and she assumed it was Steve bringing her next meal, but as the door opened and James entered in with a presence, she sat up some more in surprise, staring up at him from the floor. He smirked instantly and kicked the door shut with ease, leaving the two of them in a room of silence. She was surprised that he was carrying the next tray of food.

"Comfortable, don't you?" He asked with a raised brow and a cockiness in his voice. She knew he was referring to her tender ass, and Violet hummed.

"Just fine," she sassed back, and he chuckled softly, setting down the tray. Of course, her brattiness hadn't been punished out of her; she still had a lot more fire inside her, but James wasn't complaining. He was going to enjoy teaching her the respect she should give others, especially him.

"Perhaps I didn't do it hard enough," he teased. Of course Steve had told him what she had said, and he had smirked when he said it. He was very happy to oblige to a harsher punishment. The thought of her between his legs, wincing with every blow to her ass, begging for him to stop, saying the sweet words he enjoyed hearing, the feel of his hand landing smack bang on her cheeks, or even with the use of a paddle or cane. Whatever would bring out the begging in her would work.

He was glad he came down here and didn't send Sam instead. The leather collar was wrapped beautifully around her neck, keeping her restrained and docile. He knew his ass was stinging right now, but she was putting on her tough girl act. He replaced the trays with the food, taking the empty one, and turned to leave. He would stay and spend more time teasing her, but at the same time, she had to earn his presence.

"I need a shower," she quickly said as she watched him about to leave, and James turned, furrowing his brows. She was looking like a mess, but after this morning, could he trust her? Was this just another effort to make an escape? To be honest, he wouldn't mind if that meant he could have another go at her.

"Do you now?" He leaned against the door frame, folding his arms across his chest.

"Yes," she snapped. She was growing inpatient as she knew he was dilbertly teasing her, like he was dangling a carrot in front of a donkey to make them walk.

"Do you think that's how you ask for something?" He raised a brow, slightly tipping his head to the side, and Violet huffed, her chest deflating.

"Please, can I have a shower?" She put on a fake baby voice, fluttering her lashes, and James pushed himself off the door, padding over to her. In a matter of seconds, she grabbed the length of chain near the collar, yanking it up so her neck was tugged, choking her, the leather digging in as she was pulled slightly off the ground but not enough for her to stand. She struggled to gain support, her hands fighting and searching for something to grab hold of, but the only thing she had access to was his leg.

"Ask me properly, or you won't get anything," he whispered as he stared down at her, his face inches from hers, and she gasped for air, her eyes turning glassy and her lips quivering. He really wasn't fucking around. His ocean eyes stared down lazily into her wide green ones. She gulped, trying to reach for air, her hands shaking for something to grip onto. She didn't want to give in or submit to him, especially not like this, but she didn't have much of a choice, and as she opened her mouth to speak, hoping a firm voice would come out, all she did was squeak.

"Please, can I have a shower?" She begged, and James raised his head just a little further up, chin pointing and brows raising.

"Are you going to behave?" She asked, nodding her head as quickly as she could, wanting nothing more than to get out of this chokehold. After a few seconds of gazing down at her, his smirk grew, and he let out a soft hum.

"Good girl." A little praise never hurt anyone, and he instantly dropped the chain to the floor, letting her hit the ground with it. She coughed and gasped for air, running a hand across her neck where the collar had dug into her flesh. Fuck! She hadn't realised how easily he overpowered her and made her submit. She would have spat in his face if she wasn't desperate for a shower and some water, but instead she accepted defeat and obeyed his command.

But the fight wasn't over yet.

Chapter 8

Hey I hope you like this chapter, let me know what you think in the comments

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suitov · 12 days

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As I caught sight of a famous figure beneath the marble ballroom arches, my foot caught on one of the Oriental carpets and I went flying with my silver tray of British canapés! The tray clattered on the ballroom tiles, drawing everybody's disgusted stares. I caught the head servant scowling deservedly at me, being far too restrained to give me the public beating I deserved! Another servant who wasn't so inept quickly whisked away the mess, leaving me to wobble to my feet and dust off my Victorian waistcoat and trousers and bow tie.

Only then did I dare an audacious second glance at the celebrity whose incredible manly beauty had distracted me, which isn't to say my worthless display of impropriety was the slightest amount his fault! He seemed to tower a head above the rest of the Victorian elite at the ball. He wore the most fabulously expensive, yet understated in a humble sense, black suit with coat tails and a Victorian top hat. As usual, he was surrounded by adoring celebrities: the world-famous soprano Madame Opera, the railroad baron Sir Steamfield Richmoney who could afford a whole country, the notable and heroic lady spy Violine Violets, Janemily Oceans the inventor of the ladies' Victorian bathing machine, and even Crystal Billiam the wildly popular medium who was the talk of English London high society!!

But even among all these elites, Lord Prince Fides Germen the most elite of them all was looking..... AT ME!!!

*Fides' POV*

I had just watched an ordinary and very pathetic servant fall and drop the expensive Victorian watermelon wedges on the floor. How disgusting, I thought, then I thought he would do for my evening's entertainment. Because even though I was surrounded by my rightful associates, the elites of society's hope, that itself was the problem when it came to my nocturnal tastes! For I was simply TOO dominant that I could never indulge my tastes with my peers. They were all almost as exalted as me! What I needed was an inferior, the scum of London's society, someone who I could punish and discipline, bending him to my indomitable will! Someone like... Lio Dippergate!!!

*Lio's POV*

I couldn't believe my eyes as Lord Prince Fides Germen strode dominantly over to me! I went into a panic and started babbling apologies. "This humble servant is very sorry, Germen-sama, for disrupting your evening with such an unsightly mishap! Please punish me however you see fit, or if you prefer, I shall remove myself from your sight at once!"

"I'll take the first option," he said decisively!! "and the second. Remove yourself up to my bedroom in the Victorian Palace Hotel and await me there where I will decide how you're to be punished."

I couldn't believe my ears! "Yes, your majesty, at once," I told Germen with a humble bow. Up close like this, his jaw was chiselled in stone, his light brown hair formed a crown of fierce spikes and his grey-brown eyes were filled with dark desire and dominance. It made my knees, already forming bruises from the marble floor, feel weak and yet eager for me to be on them. When he did me the undeserved honour of breathing near me, he smelled like English cologne and expensive English champagne. I wanted to serve him as much of it as he could drink (the champagne, not the cologne) for what was I to such a god but someone born to serve him?

Naegi gave me a final lingering look up and down before he turned and strode masculinely back to the adoring opera singer and all the other women (and..... men???) who immediately crowded around the lord prince to bask in his hope.

I stood for a disobediently long moment on my shaking legs and then, with a last shy glance at the incredibly sexy and handsome Fides Germen, I went and left the ball and ran to his hotel room as he'd commanded and let myself in with the staff key!!!

Look up what Victorian hotels were like

#Nagito the writer #komaegi #nagito komaeda #servant #makoto naegi

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writing-whump · 9 months

Text

A witch in trouble

Summary: Matthew helps Seline in trouble before getting sick from the strain. Seline comforts him. Contains emeto.

Matthew didn’t owe that damn witch anything.

He felt irritated at the mere suggestion of the idea, so he went for a walk. Isaiah said he should work on his self-control as if he didn't know that himself. When his shadow clawed at him like that, with anger, frustration, and a desire to tear something apart, he usually walked the streets, hoping for a good fight. A few young wolves from a new pack, or a big pack, a few strays, maybe a more experienced crowd, it didn't really matter to him.

But this time he was cautious. He refused to fulfill all the whims and moods of his shadow. Today, he just took a walk through the city. Luckily, the streets were empty because of the rain. The clear, fresh air did him good too, washing away all the competing smells of the densely populated city.

Just more proof that Matthew was just fine on his own. Isaiah caught him at a bad time and made the stupid decision to force him on Seline, who he hated. It was only fair. They hated each other mutually and naturally. She was stuck-up, stubborn, and for some reason, eager to argue with Shadow Wolves.

If she was a weak, ignorant human, he would understand. He would accept it, because there was nothing else to do with such people.

But Seline knew better, hell, maybe knew the best, being from a family of werewolves. Witches were only born into werewolf families, so she had to learn it firsthand. But instead of following the rules that make the interaction easier? Lowering her eyes, using a soft, gentle tone, being polite - would it kill her to pretend to be polite?

So no, he didn’t own the witch anything. Maybe a good scare, so she would know her place, not get on his bad side. But Isaiah had to hold a protective hand over her; of course, Isaiah always meddled in his plans, uninvited, as if not having a pack meant he could ignore any and all the rules that existed…

The smell of fear and anger hit him as he took the next turn. Fear always smelled sweet and strong to him, his shadow bouncing excitedly. He recognized the anger because of the familiarity. No matter how much control he had over his shadow, it was the easiest emotion for a wolf. A good dose of sulfur, ash, and a feeling of burning, and he knew there were wolves right in front of him. Two. Maybe three.

“What’s a little witch doing so far away from the coven district, hmm?” The voices echoed down the rainy cobblestone street.

He caught them downwind, so he noticed their presence before they noticed his. This gave him the advantage of surprise and choice. As excited as his shadow was,already thickening around him, this was the perfect opportunity to demonstrate his will over it.

“Would you like to join us, sweetheart? You would have such a good place in our pack, I promise.”

No pack could last without a witch, which made them a valuable commodity. Their soothing healing influence countered the wolf’s shadow. Calming. Restraining. Peaceful. And very, very desirable to all wolfs in close quarters. Civilized packs cherished them, respected and protected them. Despite their powers, witches were still human and needed safeguarding. Stray and untrained wolves were a risk, precisely for their desire. If a witch wasn’t easily convinced, the shadow in the wolf would love to see her subdued and taken by force.

Matthew had heard about it, read about it, been warned about it, but he had never actually witnessed it for himself.

He could still walk away.

This was not his fight. He had no pack, so he had no territory to guard, no younger wolves to discipline, and no strays to chase away. He had no witches to be his allies. Never managed the manners for that one. His shadow jumped in excitement; part of him wanted to join in the fun with these idiots.

Matthew was truly just about to demonstrate his new record of not giving in to his shadow and walk away from this fight, turning on his wheels before anyone noticed he was even there. But then another scent hit him.

The scent of sea salt, jasmine and blood orange.

Her scent. Matthew had become intimately acquainted with it when he spent the night at her apartment. It clung to his clothes, to his skin, not even showers helped. He could smell the witch on him for days. Witches were supposed to be soothing for shadow wolves. Light and sky witches were the opposite of shadow and burning, reason, peace and direction against desire, anger and violence.

That was not how Seline felt to him at all. And it wasn’t like she wanted to be perceived anyway. He got that loud and clear.

Another reason to walk away. Even better reason. He didn’t owe the witch anything. At most, he should respect her wishes and leave her the hell alone. She would learn her lesson just fine.

But this was her scent, too familiar and annoyingly close. Ozone and petrichor, jasmine and lavender, old books and ink. The sweetness in it was out of place, unfitting, disgusting. Fear had never smelled so appalling to Matthew at that moment.

Matthew froze in the air between one step and the next. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and clenched his hands, because there was no way he was going to leave now. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

There were two wolves. Their scents were mixed enough that Matthew guessed they were in the same pack together or at least wanted to have a pack with each other someday. They were young, which didn’t stop them from towering over Seline with their shadows raised and hungry, shaking with pleasure.

That was about what Matthew noticed, what was relevant to him. He walked in the middle of the scene, his head on autopilot, his body moving on its own.

Matthew shoved the first wolf in the chest, hard. Then he stood, right in front of Seline, the same way Isaiah had stood in front of her to protect her from Matthew before. The memory flashed in his mind involuntarily, edges of shame blurring it together.

He wanted to fight them. He wanted to tear them to pieces. The red screen in front of his eyes twisted their faces together, and he could feel his shadow, his worst parts, his darkest desires and instincts, swelling up in excitement and power. His shadow, always pressing, always fighting, often to the point of preventing any rational thought.

Seline shifted behind him and whimpered. A soft little sound.

Petrichor and ozone, the smell before a storm. They were her significant scents, the smell of a sky witch, the one connected to water and air, clouds, and the energy of the weather. His head flicked in her direction. Matthew couldn’t read her expression, his shadow was pressing him too much for that. But it was pressing enough in size that the two strays took surprised steps back and that was all the proof of dominance, all the triumph and demonstration of power he needed for his shadow. Before any other blood-thirsty instinct could call for attention, he turned away from the park scene, took Seline by the forearm and dragged her away.

A slow stroll or dignified walk would have been more suited to the situation. Send the right kind of signal. Despite this, Matthew couldn’t help but break into an awkward choked run, trying to make himself stop but not managing. He didn’t know what he was running away from more - his desire for violence or for her protection.

He knew the smell so well that he didn't even think about where they were going. They stopped right in front of Seline's apartment building. Both of them were breathing hard, Seline from the run and Matthew from the effort it was taking him not to turn around. He was still counting streets in his head. Rarely had he felt so internally torn about what he was about to do. Either his shadow was controlling him or his human pragmatism was, and those two sides were switching to ensure his survival. But a fight was good enough for both. It never happened that he stepped into one and didn’t finish it.

They stood at the entrance door to the building before the high steps. Matthew focused all his effort on not collapsing on the floor. His insides were tearing to pieces inside him. His heart was in his throat, his lungs squeezing together and he couldn’t draw a proper breath without it turning into a growl. He wanted to tear those strays to bloody scraps. He wanted to defeat them and take his anger out on Seline. He wanted to destroy something else just so he wouldn’t have to hate himself for wanting something so awful, primitive, and instinctive as his shadow wanting to parasite on her natural calming influence.

His stomach turned and he gagged into his hand. Why did this always have to happen when he was trying to be nice?

“Matthew,” Seline said, her voice small, “is there anything I can do?”

“Just-urrp-” he burped and heaved, his stomach set on bursting out of him if his shadow couldn’t. “-go already.” He turned away from her, wrapping his hands around his stomach and bending in half.

“Come inside. Please,” Seline said. She was actually pleading with him.

He shook his head, gritting his teeth. “Just go. You only make it worse.”

There were no footsteps. She didn’t move at all, although Matthew wasn’t that sure where was up and where was down anymore. He barely registered his knees hitting the ground and he pressed his forehead against the dirty wet pavement. His stomach was pulsing with pain he was sure would soon split him in two.

“-hew? Matthew? Matt? Come on, don’t pass out. You are going to be okay, psssh, it will be over soon. You are doing so well…”

The world went in and out of focus. Her voice was the only steady thing, the only anchor he had in the confusion. She kept talking, although he didn’t have the mental capacity nor the energy to react or understand what she said. Somewhere between the pulsing pain, world-swaying nausea, and his shadow screaming in his head and pulling at his skin in all directions, he heard her humming. Somewhere near. She didn’t touch him, didn’t dare to. Knew better than that, even when she played like she didn’t. But she didn’t leave him. She stayed near.

When his vision cleared, he found himself huddled in front of the grey stony steps, face pressed against the wet scratchy sidewalk, wet from the morning rain. She sat on the lowest step beside him, humming something that made the air clearer and easier to breathe. The anger, the red veil covering his vision, and the screaming noise in his ears were still there but subsided.

“Did you-” he coughed and stopped, his voice raspy.

Seline threw her hair back, loose strands of white gold falling in rings beyond her shoulders. “Not all witches use pentagrams,” she said smugly, crossing her hands on her chest.

“You are a windsinger?” he asked while he struggled to lift himself up on his arms. His muscles were twitching uncontrollably, but the sudden calmness washing over him was… deafening.

“And a seasinger. Which would be more impressive with an actual sea nearby. But any water will do.” She stood up as well, going to his side, hands hovering. That she still wanted to touch him after witnessing his anger, his body breaking down in his pathetic efforts not to tear her to pieces, didn’t make sense to him. “Can you walk?”

The gentleness in her tone was so unusual it irked him. Ironic, since he always reproached her about being nicer to wolves. For her own safety, she wouldn’t.

Did he really look so bad?

He rose from the ground, ignoring the twitching muscles. Even his face was jerking. He shook some feeling into his arms when he noticed a drying weight on his chest. Oh damn.

He threw up all down his front, his leather jacket, the shirt, everything. And he just lay there with that mess on him and shook in pain while she waited when it would be safe for her to approach.

The realization and the smell hit him all at once and he covered his mouth with both his hands in panic as he gagged emptily.

“Psssh. It’s okay, it’s okay. Come on, let’s go inside. You can have a nice long bath at my place. I’ll wash your clothes. Everything is alright.”

Why did she still bother? He was one disgusting mess and a ticking time bomb as a bonus.

There was something so earnest and concerned about her drawn pale eyebrows and the way she stood patiently for him to take her offer, hands in front of her, no sign of loathing, no typical sneering or rolling eyes.

He let his arms down slowly and then hesitantly, without looking at her, leaned closer until his arm bumped into her outstretched hands. Giving her permission to touch him.

She wrapped a hand around his elbow immediately and was steering him towards the apartment. Gently but resolutely.

During the elevator ride, he concentrated on not getting sick all over from the sensation of drying vomit on his chest. Seline kept a hand on his elbow, a feather-light touch, the whole time as if he would disappear if she didn’t.

They stood in silence. Matthew didn’t know what to say. Warn her against going alone on the streets without choosing a coven or a pack to protect her? She knew that well enough herself. She wasn’t yelling at him for intervening, so he guessed he had been helpful, even if he ended up being more work than a savior ought to. It was still weird she needed his help at all.

Seline strode out of the elevator decidedly and unlocked her apartment, gesturing at the door to the right before she even switched the light on. He felt a wave of pressure as her protective barriers passed over him. Left him a little breathless, but she was so assured he had to take it as an invitation.

“There’s the bathroom. Get in the tub, use hot water and take your time. Leave the clothes on the floor. I will get you a fresh towel,” she instructed while stepping out of her sneakers without even looking at them.

Well enough for him. He hurried to the door and swung it open, when he stopped and looked over his shoulder. The question wouldn’t leave him be, especially now that he felt how strong the guard on the place was. The floor was laced with spell and intent he almost tripped over his feet.

“What happened back there?” he asked finally, disbelief evident in his voice. She was obviously strong, strong enough for this place, hell, strong enough to prevent his shadow on the street from rampaging.

Seline blinked and looked up. Matthew knew she understood what he meant. She stared back at him in the way he would normally take as a challenge. Then she smiled, a cold lift of one corner of her mouth. “You really don’t know the first thing about witches, do you?”

He stared right back. He was either slow from the earlier attack or missing something stupidly obvious.

“Witches can’t do magic without wolves, Matthew.”

Oh crap. He completely forgot about that. Witches always seemed so impenetrable to him, so capable and nosy and smug, but whenever he saw one, she was wrapped around her wolf or two. Surrounded by the pack, holding hands with younger or older members. Witches were always touching someone. Matthew just thought they were overly affectionate and demanding and he knew well enough how possessive and prideful wolves were to enjoy it. But this reason, the practical important reason, he had forgotten.

Well. He never met a witch that lived alone and he wasn’t a witch himself to have to consider it.

Seline must have used up her magic on the protections at her place and had no regular contact with shadow wolves to recharge it. She would have to go outside, defenseless, to get the power she needed to fight back.

He flushed at that and looked away, nodding in her general direction and disappearing into the bathroom. As he waited for the hot water to fill, he realized that the slimy, sickening feeling that sank deep into the pit of his stomach was... worry.

Oh, this was very, very bad.

#whump #emeto #emeto writing #emetophilia #sickfic #hurt/comfort #werewolf wip #my writing #I like torturing Matthew it seems #also building trust yay #Matt

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starseneyes · 2 years

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Romitri - Rose / Dimitri - Vampire Academy - Season 1 - Eps 1-5

Hello fans of epic metas! Yes, I’m at it, again.

I never read the Vampire Academy books. They came out when I was thick in Musical theater and working at a humanitarian non-profit that specialized in Disaster Relief. I’ve always enjoyed a good YA read, but I missed these at the time.

I did see the movie, and found it interesting. The series has the space and breadth to try new things and flesh out the world in different ways than the constraints of a 100 minute film. That said, Sisi Stringer and Kieron Moore are crushing it as Rose and Dimitri, and I’ve been so bloody impressed, I had to write a meta.

SPOILER ALERT: I will spoil the entire season to this point (halfway through). Please do not proceed if you wish to remain un-spoiled. I go into great detail. Had I knowledge of the books, I’d do that, too. Please feel free to educate me in the comments on book nods!

Pilot

“Lissa!”

Rose approaches with her usual warmness—the warmth shared by two women who had known each other for years and feel the bonds of sisterhood so strongly they needn’t occupy the same space to know that cord is unbreakable.

But it is SO good to see her, and she doesn’t even notice Dimitri evaluating her, aware that something is off about her uniform—something is hidden.

The first strike, she looks at him, completely annoyed. But, he’s good, and he easily takes her down.

Note, though, that he doesn’t take her out. He makes sure her head doesn’t hit the ground when he gets her down. He keeps her in a neutralized position, but she’s not completely restrained. He simply showed her he wasn’t going to let her waltz up to Lissa.

Dimitri doesn’t know their history, their bond, their sisterhood. All he knows is that this Damphir Novice strolled up to his Moroi, and that is not acceptable.

“It’s a super dangerous welcome home present.“

I love how... annoyed Dimitri is. This is not a love-at-first-sight tale. Yes, they both probably noted one another’s hotness (we know Lissa did), but right now, he’s annoyed with her as much as she’s annoyed with him.

He’s an obstacle to what she wants—to be with Lissa—more than she even knows at this moment.

“Will Rose Hathaway be a problem?” “Rose is always a problem” ... “With all due respect, I’m not a nanny. My job is protection.”

It doesn’t matter that Rose is 18. From Dimitri’s perspective, she’s immature and a liability. Dmitri is all about rules, order, discipline, and duty. Anything that gets in the way of him doing his duty is an unwanted obstacle, and that includes Rose Hathaway.

“So you’re just... having a staring contest with the air?”

Ah, their first verbal sparring match. Rose comes in, ready to take this new Guardian off-guard, hoping to show him just how great she is so he feels a little uncomfortable about his place as Lissa’s guardian.

But Dimitri is a natural mentor. While throwing some obvious shade, he lets her in on his process.

“So I suppose you could say I’m having a staring contest with the streets, the gates, the rooftops, and the turrets.” “You’re kind of a Guardian nerd, aren’t you?”

Rose wants to snark at that, but doesn’t have the ammunition. She switches gears, trying to intimidate the great Dimitri Belikov.

“I’m number one. I’m always number one.” “Then perhaps you’re not as good at perimeter control as you think.”

Ohhh, the shade. He knows her ranking has fallen, and he’s not going to tell her outright. Again, he’s a natural mentor. He’s going to let her discover it for herself.

At this point, she’s just a Novice, to him. He sees her as nothing more, and he’s going to speak to her as such. Still, there’s a part of him that is curious about her. If she really is the best, so much so that Alberta asserts so no matter what Rose’s ranking, that’s something worth fostering and a person worth helping—no matter how stubborn she is.

Shirtless on a Tower

This isn’t directly Romitri, but I have to call out the makeup artists for doing a fantastic job covering up Kieron Moore’s tattoos.

If you’re new here, I’m the daughter of a makeup artist. I’m also a demisexual. So, when I see a jacked, shirtless man in a series who I know has real-life tattoos (but his character does not), my first thought isn’t, “OH, baby!” My first thought is, “Wow, great coverup!”

So, kudos to the artists. NOW, back to the Romitri.

Dimitri spots the two rising tributes, and he knows that something’s off.

“I don’t suppose there’s any way we could keep this just between us?”

Oh, Rose. You don’t know this Guardian. This is not Mikhail, who is like a big brother to you. This is not Andre, your other big brother, who was always up to some mischief and could get away with it because of his Moroi status.

This is Dimitri f*cking Belikov. Top Guardian, save for your own mother. You know what a stickler for the rules Janine Hathaway is, so don’t underestimate Dmitri.

And Dimitri is pissed.

Interesting Note: In the Strigoi attack, the Strigoi is atop Rose when Dimitri kicks it off of her. He looks down at her, disapproval dripping from his features. He hesitates on offering her a hand up. After he does, his focus is entirely on Lissa, his charge, the one person he is supposed to protect.

“What you did was reckless and impulsive, no matter how good you are. Strength doesn’t matter. Style doesn’t matter. Courage doesn’t matter. There’s good enough, and there’s gone. Tonight you almost got the person you say you care about most in the world killed. There isn’t a rank low enough on the board for you right now.”

Rightfully, Dimitri goes off on Rose. He’s infuriated that she would put something before her duty of protecting Lissa. Because, at this point Dimitri’s own definition of “protection” is keeping them out of danger. He doesn’t get the heart and soul of Rose and Lissa.

Yes, Rose majorly screwed up. But, Rose was trying to protect her friend in a different way—one that doesn’t require stakes and armor.

The other side of this is Dimitri’s own guilt that he couldn’t save Alexei, his own Moroi best friend. As viewers, we didn’t know about that, at this point. But, Dimitri knows his own regrets and pain, and he knows how it ended for the two of them, and that he’d do anything to go back in time and be there when Alexei needed him.

He looks at Rose and sees frivolity, lack of control, and immaturity. He sees the Novice.

Remember, this isn’t a love-at-first-sight story. They see each other as obstacles, issues, and problems, at this point. It’s not personal.

Dimitri wants to keep Lissa safe and thinks Rose can’t do it. Rose wants to keep Lissa safe and thinks Dimitri is in her way.

But she does feel humbled by his words at the end of the Pilot. You can see how she nods her understanding of his words. And I think that matters to him.

She doesn’t talk back. She doesn’t get sassy. She accepts his words. To Dimitri, accepting responsibility for your own failings is very important. Deflecting does nothing for growth.

SIDE NOTE: Notably, this is the one time we see her in pigtails in the series, thus far. It does a lot to add youth to Sisi Stringer’s stunning features, but is also often a characteristic of immaturity in cinema.

I’ve heard some complaint that Rose didn’t have her “reckless-to-focused” phase that was apparently a big part of the books, but I feel they had to compress it down to a single episode because we really need to root for Rose.

And by the end of the Pilot, I’m rooting for her... even if Dimitri isn’t, yet.

Earth. Air. Water. Fire.

It’s a third of the way through the episode before Dimitri and Rose have a scene together. He spots her in the training area and sits beside her. The natural mentor in him is coming out. He knows she’s good at fighting and sparring. He knows there’s a lot of fire in there. But, he genuinely feels bad for her.

“I heard about the tribunal.” “I guess you think I deserve this... that everything’s my fault.”

He stands up, frustrated. He doesn’t mind being supportive of someone going through a bad time, but not taking responsibility for your action is a classic mark of immaturity, and he can’t bother with that.

Something stops him, and he turns back.

“Not that you’re asking, but the definition of immaturity is blaming others for your own failings... Am I annoyed one of the most promising young Guardians I’ve ever come across is too stubborn to see sense? Yes. Do I want you expelled. No.”

Rose stands, not believing him. Remember, there’s not a lot of love between her and senior Guardians (save Mikhail). She thinks these are hollow words, because so much of Damphir life is fighting against one another to get to the top, then fighting to stay alive. Her own mother is her greatest example of this duty-above-all mentality, at the great expense of compassion and caring.

Rose doesn’t believe that this practical stranger could actually wish her well.

“No? The image of me out there in the Communes doesn’t give you a thrill?” “No, Rose.”

It’s the first time he’s spoken her name to her. And he’s sincere. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

“My mother and sister live in the Communes. That’s not the life I would wish on you.”

And there’s the first crack, for her. He genuinely means what he says. He’s not rooting against her (though he’s not yet rooting for her). She deflects... her favorite defense mechanism besides snark.

“Well, until the Tribunal decides to kick me out officially... I’ve got a leader board to climb.”

There’s that tenacity. There’s that drive. He knows she has that. But he thinks she needs to do some growing up. And while he doesn’t want to care about her, he is starting to care about her fate.

“You’re fighting like a Strigoi.”

Dimitri has to step in on the fight. Rose is feeling the effects of Lissa’s abilities, but she doesn’t yet understand it, and she’s not yet ready to tell Dimitri. And he sees another loss of control.

He doesn’t understand why this is happening, but he’s seen enough of her fighting to know something is off.

Maybe he thinks it’s the weight of the upcoming Tribunal, or the strain of not seeing her best friend in a time of strife... but he decides to help her in the one way he sees proper at this point—training.

“...when you’re back at number one and taking my job, I’d rather not see our future queen under the watch of someone who can’t keep a grip on it.” “How do you do that? You have this way of criticizing me and complementing me in the same breath.” “Perhaps because you have this way of being both extraordinary and infuriating all at once.”

I love this exchange. The more time Dimitri spends with Rose, the more things shift with them. You can see it here. She challenges him as much as he challenges her.

He has his arms crossed in a defensive position, but also an authoritative one. It’s easier to keep the distance that way. I don’t think that he’s necessarily tempted by her, at this point. But, he’s caring more than he’s meant to.

Something in him wants to see the best for her, even if that means simply surviving her tribunal, at this point.

“I will, Dimitri, because that’s what I do. I survive. I survive car crashes, and loss, and an absentee mother, and a best friend that I’m not allowed to see, and know-it-all Guardians who show up out of nowhere to ruin my life. I will survive whatever shit this world keeps trying to throw at me because that’s what I do. Because I’m strong. And I will survive this fucking tribunal because there is no other option.”

It’s a d*mn good speech. And it even gets through to Dimitri. Before, he was staying on the outside of this, but after that speech, he’s on her side.

“Good. Then I’m rooting for you.” “So, can we be done with wind sprints now?” “What do you think?”

She turns on the cute, but Dimitri Belikov is immune... or so she thinks. As soon as she turns around, a grin breaks out on his face. D*mn, she IS cute.

I think another key thing to remember about her speech is that Dimitri may not be aware of everything Rose has been through. He’s made it his priority to protect Lissa, and while he knows that the Dragomir family was all killed in the crash, save Lissa, he might not realize that Rose was in there. He might now have considered the loss she’s suffered.

And that sets her apart, further, from other students there. Yes, the other students there are isolated, to a point. They don’t really have families, and they’ve learned to cling to one another. But Rose did have a Found Family in the love of the Dragomirs. She lost them. They died.

This loss is another thing that separates Rose from a lot of the other Novices... this intimate understanding of loss and death. Something Dimitri shares.

Death has a way of changing a person. To understand loss and live a life with its grip still upon you takes superhuman strength, sometimes. And in that speech, Dimitri sees the serious side of her. He sees the fire. He sees the passion. He sees the survivor.

And he sees the Novice a little less.

“Lissa.” “Rose.”

Dimitri has seen Lissa’s panic. He can tell that his charge is struggling, Yes, Rose is banned from seeing Lissa. But, Dimitri had a best friend, once. He knew what it was to want to be there for him, no matter what. He can’t get Alexei back, but he can give Lissa and Rose this moment.

“What’s going on?” “It’s nothing you need to hear about right now.”

This is Rose putting Lissa first. And Dimitri can see that. He can hear it. He’s RIGHT THERE this whole time. Yes, Rose thinks she sneaked right by, but we know different.

In this conversation, Rose is hurting just as much as Lissa. They’re both facing exile. They’re both facing the worst possible things that can happen to them, save death.

But Rose doesn’t utter a word of her own strife. She prioritizes Lissa and her needs in that moment. That’s what a Damphir is supposed to do.

“I’ve missed you this week. You staying out of trouble?” “Oh, you know me. I’m always dancing alongside of it.”

And, again, Rose has the chance to tell Lissa what’s going on. But, she just got Lissa calm, and she knows that’s where Lissa needs to stay.

So, she chooses Lissa.

Lissa leaves, but Rose doesn’t. Dimitri looks in to see her standing there, crestfallen. She’s accepted her fate, and he knows it. He can see that she’s not balking it, fighting it, or trying to avoid it. In what might be her last night on campus, she has put Lissa first.

And he’s seen it all. He’s thought, before, that she was prideful and immature, that she was blasé about her fate. No. It’s hitting her so incredibly hard, but that strong woman he talked to earlier with her big epic speech is now showing him who she is... without her even being aware.

He knows, now, that a lot of Rose’s bravado isn’t lack of understanding... but protection. And he knows a bit about that. He protects himself with discipline and training. They’re very similar, though they attack the issue in different ways.

He’s seeing the Novice less and less. He’s seeing Rose. And right now, Rose is hurting.

“I’ve asked around about you. You’re one of the best Guardians around. Second only, maybe, to Rose’s mom. Yet earlier... somehow Rose slipped past you right when I needed her most.”

His definition of “protection” is shifting. I really do think he sees a lot of himself and Alexei in these two... Moroi and Damphir best friends. But, also, he sees Rose for the fighter that she is—full of fire and passion, but also dedicated entirely to Lissa when it matters most.

“Lissa. Has anyone told you what’s happening with Rose?”

You can see the internal struggle. He almost says nothing. He blinks several times, as though fighting internal programming to even get out Lissa’s name. Not Princess... Lissa. This is a personal request.

He could have let it be and done nothing, but when it comes to Rose Hathaway, that instinct to follow duty and the chain of command will be challenged. Essentially, he’s going to the top with this. He’s going over everyone’s heads for the sake of Rose. Now, Lissa’s relationship with Rose makes it possible, but this is still a struggle for our stoic, dedicated Guardian.

“I’m fucked.”

Rose accepts her fate, much as she hates it. As she sits at the bar with her friends, hair flowing beautifully, she looks behind her to catch the eyes of Dimitri Belikov—watching her. He’s concerned. He’s worried. She doesn’t know that, of course, and proceeds to drink with her friends and dance on the bar like it’s the last night of her life.

Dimitri can’t help bopping along the beat as he watches her dance. He can’t join in the chant—that’d be too obvious—but he is finding himself enjoying the show.

Dimitri walks up to pay, sliding a coin across the counter, when Lissa’ snog-fest causes Rose to pass out. He catches her as she practically slides into his arms. And as he looks down, the protective mode kicks in. He sees her, in need, in his arms. He looks back to Mason, who can say nothing.

Of course, Dimitri could have put Rose on a chair somewhere and walked out. He could have asked Mason to come down there to help her. He could have done so many things. Instead, he takes responsibility for what has fallen into his lap... for who has fallen into his lap. He carries Rose all the way home.

He looks to her as he walks, checking on her, worried about her. He doesn’t have to say a word. We can see it in his features—he’s caring for her.

Rose... less and less a Novice in his eyes... more and more his Rose... Roza...

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

“Fucking Dimitri.” ... “You can thank Dimitri for telling me. He carried you here, you know. In those big, manly arms of his.” “What kind of macho shit is that?”

I really feel like Rose isn’t used to love for the sake of love... even kindness. Lissa is the best thing in her life. Everyone else—even Mason—is her competition. Alberta is the resident stick in the mud. Mikhail and she have a great bond, but he’ll still try to help her stay in her place. And Dimitri is a Guardian nerd who’s a stickler for following the rules—her least favorite thing.

It doesn’t occur to her that he carried her there out of compassion. And I think that says a lot about just how much Rose Hathaway has closed herself off from the world, from feeling and caring, too much. Lissa is her exception.

And Lissa is noticing that Dimitri has a soft-spot for Rose. Even allowing that meeting in Rose’s dorm is a breach. That’s three times, now, in one episode he broke protocol for Rose—letting her see a nervous Lissa, telling Lissa about Rose’s tribunal, and letting Lissa visit Rose to tell her the good news.

“I passed out from kissing.” “Mason?”

This is such an intriguing exchange to me. Now, you’re probably wondering, “What is this doing in a Romitri meta?” Welp, I think it sets a huge precedent for how much Rose shares with Lissa.

Rose hasn’t told Lissa about Mason and their hookups. To Rose, it’s nothing worthy of note because it’s just two people who understand one another releasing steam and pent-up whatnot. It’s not a functioning relationship.

At this point, of course, she’s oblivious to Mason’s attachment to her. But, she still could have told Lissa... but she didn’t.

Death Watch

This is one of my favorite episodes for Romitri. Let’s have fun, shall we?

“Eloise. Hi!”

Dimitri runs into an old friend, but it’s not a good chat. The poor dear has been called up to Breed. Even as she has a sweet baby born out of love to raise, now she’s been selected to bear a new Damphir baby.

The wife of his best friend. Forced to sleep with a man. Dimitri’s heart breaks. His own mother and sisters are trapped in the same situation, but he can’t hug them right now. He can hug Eloise, and so he does.

Little does he know that Rose is watching from afar.

And this is the moment something in her shifts.

She doesn’t realize it, yet, but she’s caring more than she should about someone else’s life. She’s bothered, watching him embracing this woman and then joyfully greeting the baby.

Rose barely listens to Mason, who’s talking about her thanking him with sexual favors. And he doesn’t notice her attention on Dimitri. But in the whole conversation with Mason, she’s facing away... facing Dimitri.

It’s a foreshadowing of what is to come.

“Why do you do that to yourself?”

The moment Janine Hathaway struck her daughter in the face, everyone winced, Dimitri included. Now, as she sits with her broken blood vessels on her face, Rose barely acknowledges him. He holds out the ice pack to her as he settles down, sitting next to her for the first time since they spoke of the Tribunal.

That time, they sat next to each other only a few seconds. This time, they’re settled in. He’s here to stay.

When she doesn’t take the ice pack, he runs the back of his hand along the hair hanging from her ponytail so he can gently grasp her neck in the same space where someday she’ll bear Mjolnir marks. He lifts the ice pack with his right hand, touching it gently to her face.

Her eyes trail to him, taking it in. It’s another act of compassion.

Nobody else brought her an ice pack. Nobody else came to check on her. That’s just not the way things work. That’s not how Rose has learned to live. But here’s this man checking on her and bringing her help without her having to ask.

Her lips part as she looks at him, this time without a snarky comeback. It’s not until he asks the question that she shifts, uncomfortable. She takes the ice pack from him, still accepting the help, but putting a little distance between them.

“If you want to be number one, when someone of her caliber gives you advice, take it.”

Rose drops the ice pack at this... it’s a rejection. She’s rejecting him, rejecting this advice, and rejecting his lack of understanding about her complicated relationship with her mother.

Dimitri notes the shift as she moves to stand and he grabs ahold of her thigh—not restrictive, but to gain her attention. It works. She looks to him, surprised, and he leaves his hand there, almost unthinkingly.

“I know how much you want this.”

And there’s her lips parting, again. He’s not telling her advice to needle at her, to try to break her, to try to get in her head, to tell her that she’s got it all wrong where her mother is concerned. He’s telling her this because he genuinely wants her to get everything she wants.

And that’s different. That’s new.

Most people are rooting against her, even in her friend group. But here’s this man who has entered her life and he wants nothing more than for her to get what she wants.

They freeze in the moment, broken only by Janine Hathaway calling for her daughter. Dimitri’s hand slides off of Rose’s thigh and he places his hands together, reminiscent of how he stands on duty with hands clasped before him. It’s regaining control.

Rose stands to go to her mother, but she keeps the ice pack with her, and she looks behind her at Dimitri as she goes. He watches back.

Something has shifted.

“Hi.” “Hi. I hope you dance half as well as you fight.”

In the moment before, Rose was carefree with Mason. He’s her buddy (and f*ck buddy) and they love having fun together. But Dimitri? This is something else entirely.

They both smile in the second before they pair up, but as soon as her hands touch his shoulders, they both freeze up, taking one another in. It’s the first time they’ve ever touched, like this. He’s battled her, sure. And earlier he offered her the ice pack. He carried her home, once.

But, this is different.

This is the first time they’re in a circumstance where they’re allowed to laugh with one another, touch one another, dance with one another. It’s not awkward. It’s charged.

He lifts her up, and instead of throwing her hands in the air, she keeps her hands on his shoulders. No doubt she never pictured a dancing Dimitri, especially considering how much brooding he did the last time they were both in this pub.

As she comes down, Rose connects eyes with Dimitri, and they both beam. Dimitri takes off for the front of the line, and she goes with him. A baffled Mason spies it, and Meredith pulls him back into the dance, eager to keep the fun time from being ruined by jealous brooding.

Rose and Dimitri dance. They twirl. They laugh. He picks her up in his arms, holding her in the same way he did when he carried her home. But this time, when he looks down at her, she’s looking back up at him.

And she’s beaming.

“Have you seen my mother?”

Dimitri is standing outside, drinking alone, one hand in his pocket. It’s possible he knows what Alberta and the others now know—St Jude’s was an inside job.

It’s a lot harder to have fun and engage in revelry when something that dark and insidious makes itself known.

He drinks thoughtfully, but releases his glass when Rose reaches for it.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t drink after just anyone. Rose has no qualms stealing his drink, and it implies a level of trust has been built.

His drink relinquished from his hand, he shoves that hand in his pocket. It’s all about control. He has to keep his hands under control. Rose is here, and this time there’s no valid excuse to touch her.

Rose’s mother’s words echo in her mind. “Maybe you should ask your friend Dimitri if I’m right.” First off, wow, Mom. Calling out your daughter and her man after 2.5 seconds of seeing them together? There’s a reason you’re the best. Second, it plants a seed for poor Rose.

And Dimitri, the poor bloke, has to open up about his best friend, a Moroi, who he was in charge of Guarding.

But my favorite part... is when she asks Dimitri how he lost Alexei.

First off, the language is spoken by someone who has experienced loss. “How did he die?” can be a bit insensitive when you’re talking about the most important person in another’s life. Second, Rose knows what it is to experience great loss.

“How did you lose him?”

Watch Dimitri’s face (and this is ALL Kieron Moore) and how he responds.

Before he speaks, he soaks in the words, likely tossed back to the memories of his friend and the great loss. But, also, I think the irony is not lost on him. He’s aware that he feels something for Rose, at this point. But he thinks he’s keeping it under wraps. He thinks he’s still got control.

But, a small chuckle escapes him. Because his best friend wanted nothing more than for Dimitri to have a life of his own... to have something more than duty to drive him.

And she’s standing right here... right here in front of him.

“He was always on at me to take care of myself in the small ways a Guardian can... Draw clear lines between myself and the job... Take the time off in the rare moments it was offered.”

Rose listens. She cares about Dimitri. She cares about his loss.

It’s a far cry from poor Mason, who will get on her next episode about her lack of interest. But, it’s a poignant juxtaposition of who Rose is with Dimitri versus who she is with Mason.

Dimitri draws something out in her that nobody else can, just as she does the same for him. They’re meeting each other in the middle a little more every day from the far-off points where they first began.

Dimitri is no longer in Rose’s way... not when he’s actively cheering her on. And he seems genuine. He’s real. He’s authentic. And he truly wants good things for her.

And now she can see why.

He has experienced great loss. He has gone through the very heartache he’s tried to spare her from—serving as Guardian to one’s best friend and losing them.

Rose trusts him, now. That’s huge for Rose. But he understands her plight in a way no one else in her life can. He’s been through it. He’s struggled with it. And just as he saw her bravado stripped before Lissa’ Specialization Ceremony, now Rose sees Dimitri stripped of the discipline and duty.

She sees the man, not the Mentor.

“I want everything he wanted for you. I want to do my sworn duty. I want honor. I want to protect my best friend from danger. And I want a life to call my own.”

Dimitri smiles a little at that. Yup. That’s everything Alexei wanted for him... everything he has convinced himself he can never have.

“My mother thinks Guardians can’t have that. And I’m starting to wonder if that’s true.” “I think Janine is one of the smartest women I know.”

Another thing Rose does not want to hear. She turns away... but this time he doesn’t have to reach over to keep her from leaving. His voice does it.

“But. I would never bet against you, Rose Hathaway.”

Rose smiles up at him, and he offers a small smile back. She knows he means it, and he’s finding himself more fond of her smile.

Something’s shifting.

“For it to work, I need to be as good as you. Will you teach me?”

During this exchange, Mason wanders out. He sees the two talking, but neither acknowledge him. Rose can’t see him, and Dimitri’s full attention is on her. I feel for poor Mason, I really do. But coming between these two is harder than breaking super charged magnets with your bare hands.

Ignoring Mason (because I firmly believe Dimitri is too disciplined not to notice him at all), Dimitri drinks in her words. Wow, this is a long way from where they began. Now she actively wants his help. She trusts him enough to ask, which is huge for Rose Hathaway, who is very accustomed to doing things on her own.

He smiles at her, a chuckle escaping. And our favorite rule-following Guardian nerd can’t help laying down a few rules.

“If I were to teach you, you’d have to take it as seriously as every other official class.” “I would.” “And you’d work on my schedule.” “I would.” “And no talking back.” “Mmmm, that last one.”

Folks, he is smitten. I don’t think we’ve ever seen Dimitri smile and laugh as much as this episode, and it’s all been because of Rose Hathaway. He’s completely smitten.

But he still thinks he has it all under control.

Benchmark

Rose Hathaway Tries Not to Tackle her Mentor

Like, seriously, that’s half the point of the training montage. Yes, we see it come back in this episode and in the next, but it’s mostly Rose Hathaway being majorly turned on by Dimitri Belikov.

Her little gasps for air? Oh, girl is in trouble!

Even Mason passing by, on his way to class, can see from a distance that these two are spending a lot of free time together.

“You’ve been paying attention.” “I have a fairly decent teacher.” “Fairly decent?”

Woah. You two just turned it up to 11 and I was not prepared for that. They’re openly flirting while sparring. And they’re both having a blast with this.

It feels like the first time Rose has had a real opponent to spar with who also happens to be on her side. And it doesn’t matter that they’re both slowly going mad for one another.

There’s this rhythm between them that grows more natural the closer they grow. In sparring and loving, they are well-matched and growing more in-sync, while still attacking each situation from different viewpoints.

“So the rules work?”

Ah, there’s our little Guardian nerd out in all his glory. Book lovers have mentioned that Dimitri has a lot of rules, so this feels like a nod to them.

Rose gets the upper hand and slams him down on the pew, and that boy breaks out into a mad grin. Oh, yeah, he likes that!

“Still room for improvement.”

Dimitri breaks away and the pair spar, ending on the floor with Rose’s stake in Dimitri’s heart and her legs spread across his body, prone on the floor. His right hand holds her arm on his chest.

Any other situation, this position would be entirely off-limits for them. But, in the spirit of sparring, it’s completely accepted. However, how long they stay in that position after she staked him might seem a little suspect.

They breathe hard together, eyes locked on one another. Rose is savoring this victory over him, and he’s enjoying every moment of it.

And poor Mason has a perfect view of the two. He know Rose prefers it on top. And he knows a look of desire when he sees one. He’s crestfallen.

When Alberta calls time, they stand up, and Rose and Dimitri can’t help but sneak a glimpse of one another.

Control is slipping.

“First rule of being a Guardian. They come first.” “More rules. Goody.” “Rose.”

I don’t know why, but this always sounds like the warning voice of a boyfriend, not of a Mentor. There’s something in his voice that is so familiar saying her name, now, so intimate that it can break through even her most stubborn moment.

Mikhail stands behind Rose (He’s always got her back). Alberta stands before her (the authority figure). But Dimitri stands to her left, facing her. He’s on her same level in this moment, despite being an authority figure. And his focus is on her.

“You aided Eddie in protecting his charge, took on the great Dimitri Belikov and lived to tell the tale.”

Dimitri nods to her in reverence, and she shoots him a small smile.

“Look. You’ve moved up two positions.”

Rose’s attention on the Leader Board, Alberta motions for Mikhail to join her. Dimitri, free from any orders, walks alongside Rose, noting her distress.

“You could complain more, or you could get some sleep.”

I love how Kieron Moore plays that line. The first half is their combative banter they’ve perfected. The second half, his voice drops near a whisper... intimate.

He even offers her a knowing look, quirking the edges of his mouth up as he turns to face her, giving her a little more incentive to go get some sleep because he already knows her well enough to know she’d gladly choose to complain more.

“I plan on coming for you even harder next time.” “Can’t wait. Comrade.”

Alberta looks up just in time to see Dimitri in profile, looking at this Novice in a way he never should—with desire, adoration, and admiration.

As Rose walks away, he turns to follow her, his eyes trailing over her body, and anyone watching would know—Dimitri’s got it baaaad.

“You might not get so lucky next time when it comes to who you’re fighting.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Nothing.”

Mason is jealous. He can see the spark between Dimitri and Rose, but it sounds like he thinks it’s much more one-sided than it is. Also, this is super horrible and sad statement in retrospect considering the next person who Rose will fight will be... Strigoi’d Mikhail... But that’s a story for another Meta.

“We have to tell someone.”

Here it is. That growth that Dimitri was looking for Rose in the first episode. Something horrible and irresponsible has happened. And instead of trying to hide it, Rose realizes there’s a reason for the chain of command. There’s a reason there are rules, even if she loves breaking them so much.

“Rose? You alright?”

The moment he sees her storming across the square, he abandons his post. He can tell that something’s wrong. He’s learning to read her, to understand her, to pick up on those little things that make Rose who she is.

“I hate staying here and following your fucking rules, but he needs more than me right now.”

Rose tries to storm past him, but Dimitri puts out a staying arm. He wants her to confide in him. He wants to be there for her. And as soon as she tells him it’s Mason, the pair of them take off to find Alberta and Mikhail.

“I hate that I wasn’t there to help.”

This vulnerability while they train... it’s so intimate.

It’s strange, because they’re in a wide-open space where anyone could see and hear them, and yet this exchange is somehow entirely theirs. Rose doesn’t talk about emotions and needs, about her fears and wants. But she does with Dimitri.

In Dimitri, she’s found someone she can trust, even with her vulnerabilities. And she doesn’t even realize, yet, that he’s the one she can confide in.

“You don’t think you helped. Because of you, Christian and Mason survived the night.”

They stand back-to-back, so he can’t see her expression. But the grim one on his as she pulls away shows he doesn’t need to. He already knows he didn’t get through.

“All I did was tell you that my friends were in trouble. I didn’t fight! I just sat here while you and the other Guardians saved them. Mason said that I didn’t come after him to protect my ranking.” “He’s wrong.”

Dimitri locks eyes with her. She’d forced them apart in one push, but he takes a step toward her, now seeing the root of her anxiety and frustration.

He takes another step. And another. Closing the physical distance between them with his feet while closing the emotional distance with his words.

“What you did was far harder than fighting tonight... at least for you! You’re number one because you obeyed the chain of command. You did your duty.”

He finally settles an arm’s length away from her. He can see he’s getting through. She has no quips in response.

“Well, it sucked.” “Maybe. But tonight, Roza, you were brave.”

Control. Is. Slipping.

Yes, we can debate the accent all day. But an English actor doing Russian is never going to sound as pure as a Russian doing Russian. Or someone from Spain speaking Spanish (and there are even different accents throughout Hispanic cultures).

I did voice work for years, and I was known for my accents. But I had to have my voice taken out of my headphones to do it. Accent work is tough and I’m not here to judge. Instead, I’m here to enjoy Dimitri Belikov, King of the Nerd Guardians, Enthusiastic Rule-Follower... totally slip up.

He called her Roza.

I understand from book lovers that this is a big deal. Trust me, television-only watchers can feel this moment, too! It’s the first time his affection for her really spills out in a way that he can’t take back... in a way that she can obviously see and he can’t refute.

Well, he could try to refute it. But, he can’t.

“Roza?”

Watch. His. Face.

His face loses so much of the stoicism that carries Dimitri much of the time. He’s taken back to his childhood while also propelled forward to his future. He’s suddenly a shy boy talking to a girl instead of a steadfast Guardian, slayer of Strigoi.

“Sorry. Every now and then my Russian childhood comes out.”

Look. At. His. Face. He is looking for her to believe that... that it’s a slip of Russian childhood and not a slip of, “You are the most important person in my life, please don’t reject me now”.

Roza takes it in, breathes it in, asserting that she likes it. Watch how Sisi Stringer swallows after she says it, too. She’s as nervous as he is, right now. But she’s not going to show it.

And he drinks in her words. It emboldens him. Though, I suspect he also sees the person coming up to “kidnap” Rose for the rest of the benchmarks.

“You also live to fight another day. Which brings us to another important rule: always be ready, ‘cause today is a new day, and the Benchmarks continue.”

He’s closed more of the distance between them, so close he could kiss her. Instead, he leans down, whispering in her ear.

“Good luck, Roza.”

It takes her off-guard. It surprises her. Sisi Stringer does this thing with Rose where her lips part around Dimitri, especially when Rose is turned on by him. Her mouth drops so bloody fast in this moment, his breath whispering against her ear.

She likes his breath on her skin.

And, distraction or not, our boy meant it. He’s settling into his feelings for her more and more. But having a few days away from her is good for him. He needs the distance. He needs to regain his control. And staying here while she’s out there for the Benchmarks is a good way to cool down.

At least, that was the plan...

Near Guard, Far Guard

“Stand down, Dimitri. That is an order, Guardian.”

He was already upset. Now he’s enraged. For the Council to be so thoughtless and cruel is no surprise. But he had hoped for more from Alberta. And his worry for Rose is rising.

“Dimitri will do as he is told.”

Look. At. His. Face. That’s never been an issue for him before. He’s a champion at following the chain of command and doing what the rules demand.

But that was before he met Rose Hathaway.

“How could you?” “Don’t fucking lecture me. I have no choice. I do what I’m told. You should really have more faith in Rose’s abilities, especially considering all the extra training you’ve been providing her.”

Dimitri nods curtly, but he knows he’s caught. He knows his caring for Rose is showing, and he knows that anything he says can be used against them both. He bottles it up.

Alberta takes note of it, and she softens... a little.

I try to think of the motivation behind that shift in her, and I can only think that she knows they are all human, and she can see that despite whatever Dimitri might be feeling, he’s still trying to follow the chain of command and do his duty. That matters bigly in the Guardian world.

“They can handle it. She can handle it. If she can’t, Bravo Team will.”

She stalks off, the decision made. Dimitri can’t keep it together. He heads to church to pray for Rose.

“Prayers won’t help Rose, but you can.”

It’s the permission he needs. He might not have Alberta’s, but he has his charge’s, a Moroi’s, and he’s off to save Rose.

Rose Battles Strigoi Mikhail

In one of the most heart-breaking moves of the series thus far, Rose has to battle one of her best friends who has been turned. As she lays on her back, prone, with the Strigoi on top of her, my mind trails back to the Pilot.

True to form, Dimitri shows up to yeet the Strigoi off of Rose. But this time, he doesn’t glare down at her before offering her a hand up. He reaches down, pulls her up, and the two of them exchange a knowing glance.

We know what to do.

Rose and Dimitri don’t need words. They know the flow of one another’s styles. They know the movements, but more than that they know the feel. That’s what gets them through this fight. It’s not just the training, but the trust.

They move easily together, using the rhythms they’ve established in training to come up on the Strigoi together. When Dimitri realizes he’s getting thrown to the side, he connects eyes with Rose and releases his stake into the space between them. She reaches for it, connecting.

But it’s not enough. The Strigoi knocks her back and she finds herself on her back, once more. But this time when the Strigoi strikes, her stake is true. It finds its mark, and she sees the life drain away.

As she lays there, trapped beneath him partially because of the weight and position, and partly because of her paralyzing heartbreak, she weeps silently.

Dimitri rouses from his spot and rushes to her, wrenching the dead body off of her. You can see the streaked tears on Sisi Stringer’s face, and it breaks my heart every time. We know she’s already been crying.

But, the stake free of her friend’s heart, she now sees him, again. Mikhail. The one who knocked boots with her. The one who constantly reminded her of her worth. Her big brother in the Damphir ranks.

“Mikhail.” “He’s gone.” “Mikhail.” “He’s gone.” “No!”

Rose shoves Dimitri off, and he can feel her heartbreak radiating off of her. He tries to get her attention, fumbling over his words, fumbling for her face.

“Rose. Roza.”

He grabs hold of her chin, stroking it. She meets his eyes. But her pain doesn’t abate. It merely shifts from denying her loss to being forced to accept it. Dimitri’s hand falls away as his face contorts, struggling to find a way to take away her pain and finding none.

She weeps over her friend, and Sisi Stringer crushes the agony here. You can feel every ounce of loss Rose feels in the moment.

Dimitri tries to comfort her, staying close, keeping an arm on her. They don’t note when the other Guardians approach, don’t even hear their voices. The two of them are trapped in a moment. This is a horrible, terrible moment.

But Rose isn’t controlling herself anymore than Dimitri is.

This is their first shared moment of lost control. She isn’t putting on a front and pretending that everything is okay. He isn’t keeping his distance and pretending that he doesn’t care.

To me, this is the moment of no return.

Rose has abandoned protocol to mourn. Dimitri has abandoned protocol to comfort her. In this moment, there’s nobody else there, to them. It’s them, and the fallen body of their one-friend... her big brother.

It isn’t until Alberta’s voice breaks through calling for “Status” that they both freeze, caught in an unsanctioned moment.

They straighten, and both fix their hair as they turn to face Alberta. It’s all about Control... about how they’re supposed to act in this moment as Guardians.

Rose gives the report through her tears, the voice only failing as she speaks the name of her fallen friend.

Dimitri stands to Rose’s left, as he once did... Alberta in front of them. Mikhail behind... But, oh, this situation is so different from that one only a night earlier.

Dimitri turns to face Rose as Alberta gets a good look at Mikhail. She says nothing of him breaking protocol. She says nothing of him allowing Lissa to show up there, unattended. Instead, she looks at her dead friend and tries to keep together while telling Dimitri to take Rose home.

And, yes, I know I’m not the only one who’s curious how that motorcycle ride went.

“How are you feeling?” “Like I’ve just had a thousand people trample over my corpse. I’m fine. Promise.”

She lies. And Lissa doesn’t even notice the lie. She breezes on by. And this isn’t a criticism of Lissa. She’s excited about something amazing she did, and she wants to heal her friend, and she is used to Rose being fine. Rose is always fine. Lissa misses the details.

“Rose. How do you feel?” “Like I killed a piece of myself. Like suddenly I’m beginning to wonder if I even want to do this anymore.”

Let’s start out by saying—Dimitri is in the Novice dorms. That’s insane. He’s stepped out of his world, out of their neutral world, and completely into hers. Yes, he’s still got his hands in his pockets to keep himself in control, but he’s here.

Control is slipping.

And the words falling from Rose’s lips are laced in agony. Her heart has broken, the the faceless Strigoi baddies of her past experience are replaced with the very familiar face of one of her dearest friends... who she killed.

“I wish I could say it gets easier, but” “But it fucking sucks?” “But it fucking sucks.”

I love this moment. They get one another in a way that nobody else really does.

Rose is the only one of her friends to experience such grief upon grief, losing the Dragomirs and then Mikhail. She is the one who had to put a stake in the heart of her friend and big brother figure. Dimitri understands this horror and heartache. He knows what it is to kill people once called friend.

And she’s completely open with him in a way that she can’t be with anyone else. She allows herself to be vulnerable with him, to talk to him about how she’s feeling and what she’s experiencing, instead of only surface-level chit chat. There’s something deeper between her and Dimitri, and she’s beginning to understand that.

So is he.

Watch his face before he starts his approach. He hesitates. Second guesses. But, no, he’s going to do this. He’s already come so far.

He crosses to her, removing his hands from his pockets, and he squats down to face her, putting them on a more equal footing, but not being so presumptuous as to sit on her bed.

“I’m sorry that Lissa got involved.”

This is huge. He’s always said that people need to accept responsibility for their mistakes and actions. That’s what he’s doing, here. He knows how much Lissa means to Rose, and this time it was his actions (if indirectly) that lead to Lissa being in danger.

“I’m supposed to prevent her from getting into danger, on shift or not. My mind should have been on her instead of...” “Instead of what?”

Rose is so tired. Her eyes trail to his mouth, as though reading his lips will make it easier to focus on this conversation.

“You. And whether or not you were safe.”

I love this line reading. His voice starts to break at the end of the sentence. His emphasis on “you” and “safe” tell you everything you need to know about his convictions and his priorities. They’re horribly out of order now.

Control is slipping.

He meets her eyes, looking for something, and she can only stare back in surprise. Of course, she’s felt something between them, but she knows what a stickler for the rules he is. She knows how impossible it would be for them to ever be together. She knows that it’s not going to happen.

Or maybe it is.

She barely moves when she hears Mason’s voice. And when Mason rounds the corner, she’s alone and standing, as though she can no longer occupy the space she shared before without Dimitri... not when she’s facing Mason.

Mason asks how she is, and she deflects. She can’t tell him. And then he confesses to her that she’s the one good thing in this place for him. He places all his happiness squarely on her shoulders. Honestly, it’s the last thing she needs, at this moment.

Rose ends the episode in absolute agony, high on the dark side of Spirit, and shattering the Leader Board in a way she never intended.

COMING SOON: Episodes 6-10, and hopefully a S2 renewal!

Thank you all for reading. I’ll do the second batch at the end of the season. But thanks for sticking around for the first batch! See you around.

#Vampire Academy #VampireAcademy #Vampire Academy Peacock #Sisi Stringer #Kieron Moore #Damphir #VAseries #Romitri #Dimitri Belikov #rose hathaway #dimitri x rose #Rose x Dimitri

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feith-rikya · 5 months

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All these characters are from an RPG campaign called; Gehenna's Gates, set in the world of Vampire The Masquerade. Feel free to ask any questions!

Danya Vetranov & Jonah:

Danya met Jonah as the owner of Elysium, thinking of him as just an eccentric person, with his head in the clouds and a fixation on whales. So, in her innocence, she had befriended him, treating him a bit like the child he seemed to be, and on the other side the ancient vampire didn't seem to mind. After many gifts of whales of all kinds and sizes, they became like siblings, but neither was truly aware of the other's abilities.

Danya had a rude awakening when she discovered that behind the figure of the Mother, the True Black Hand, the death of hundreds of Malkavians was actually Jonah's doing. Jonah, who was nothing more than the projection of the desire of an old madman to exterminate every single vampire on the face of the earth. Born with hatred for his own kind and himself, restrained only by the love of the people around him.

When the altars were discovered, Jonah's behavior became more erratic and unsettling, leading Danya to accidentally summon Lucifer, unleashing a fight that nearly killed Jonah. After this betrayal, the Malkavian took away from the entire coterie the “Gifts” he had granted. It meant he had implemented a discipline on them and their loved ones that nullified the curses of their clans, bringing everyone a bit closer to the beast.

Jonah retreated into the labyrinth after the injury and was declared an enemy of the coterie. But Danya couldn't let it end like that; she wanted to find that good part of him and bring her brother back home. And so, she wrote him a letter:

“Dear Jonah,

I hope this letter finds you somehow, even though I still don't know how to deliver it to you.

Well, if you are reading it somehow, I managed.

I'm not sure what I'm trying to accomplish, I know I don't want to blame you or justify my behavior; I don't think it would do much good. Perhaps I just want to offer you some of my truth in exchange for what you've given us. It's possible that you don't care and will tear up this letter as soon as you read my words, but if you decide to continue, I hope you can find something in it. Anything. Forgive me; I am far from being a writer, so be lenient with my grammatical errors and my inelegant style.

You know many things about me — when I was born, where, who my father was, and even the name of a mother who is totally unknown to me.

I wonder if you know other things.

Like the winter in Kiev, the snow knee-deep, having to make our way through the cold with old and worn-out clothes that no longer kept the chill at bay. Staying inside a worn-out tent, trying to get warm with a semi-functional stove and hoping the warmth allows you to open your eyes the next day. On those winter nights, with the punishing snow falling on the city, it was impossible to wander around begging or robbing passersby.

So, we were forced to stay in the tent, close together, trying to warm ourselves as much as possible, with the little food we managed to get from the soup kitchen.

It was during those winter nights that my father taught me to read. Sipping his usual whiskey and holding me on his lap while flipping through the children's book he had stolen for me from a flea market. He pointed out the words and made me read them over and over, then moved on to whole sentences, then the small paragraphs of the illustrated book, until I could read it aloud on my own. He even had me mark the letters and words in the blank parts of the book, so I also learned to write.

In the package accompanying this letter, you will find a copy of that same book. I only found out recently that it was a rather renowned children's book. "The Giving Tree."

When he finally managed to reveal the meaning of the graphic signs accompanied by simple drawings, I was quite disturbed.

It was a rather tragic story to learn to read, and I found myself practically reciting it by heart.

I'm sorry it's not an important, ancient, unique book, written in a nonexistent language and containing the secrets of the world. It's just a simple children's book with a sad ending that taught me to read.

For you, perhaps, it won't mean anything. You have read so much, studied so long, and know much more than can be known in ten lifetimes.

But for me, it was the only source of culture in my life for a long time, and one of the few ways to reflect on the world. Even if I might not even be able to tell you what this book is trying to teach, maybe nothing, maybe just that not all stories need to have a happy ending.

Sometimes I think that maybe we won't have one either, no matter how hard we try or how good our intentions may be...

But in the end, what will remain, and what no apocalypse can take away, not even the apocalypse itself, are the bonds we have created and the people we have touched with our being.

When that day you spoke about how you felt, that anguishing sensation of sinking into the cold abyss of the ocean, I felt closer to you than ever.

You touched me deeply.

It might seem strange to you that someone like me, who doesn't share a fraction of the burden you carry, can even understand what you feel...

But at that moment, I knew exactly what you were talking about.

That feeling of helplessness, the constant and futile effort to stay afloat, only to see the surface getting farther away, and the light becoming dimmer and more scattered.

The darkness of the sea claiming you, and immense beasts ready to devour you, oblivious to your dreams and hopes.

I feel that way almost every day, sometimes more, sometimes less, even in times when we've been at peace. I was aware that a small wave could destroy my sandcastle.

Or a big whale could devour me and take me into eternal darkness.

You will find a second book in the box, "The Adventures of Pinocchio"; surely, you know it.

It's a book I read when I was still in the circus.

My sire had the habit of picking up everything the audience forgot inside the fair, keeping the valuable things for himself and sharing the rest.

But I must say that for me, he always kept the most useful or cute objects, "fit for a young lady," as he jokingly said.

I read it slowly but with great attention; at the time, I found it hilarious and grew fond of it. Unfortunately, my copy burned away with my circus, and like it, all I have left is the memory and nothing more.

I will candidly admit that this book makes me think of you in a much more polymorphic way than you might imagine.

Sometimes, I have felt like the puppet of the story, naive, careless, teased, and manipulated by creatures much bigger than him. In those moments, I thought of you as a strange but wise-talking Jiminy Cricket wanting to show me the right way.

At times, I thought of you as Pinocchio, so eager to become something different from yourself. Perhaps a bit arrogantly, I hoped to be the Blue Fairy helping you reach your dream.

But recently, I must admit I have felt more like the puppet who never learns from his mistakes, and you as the whale about to devour me.

But despite the fear, frustration, my inability to understand the reasons behind all this, and at the risk of being entirely devoured, I don't like the idea of you being alone in that dark maze.

I don't like leaving you to sink without even trying to throw you a lifeline.

In the box, you will find an MP3 in which I had Mr. Frost record a melody for you. Please listen to it when you feel particularly bad; it should help, or at least I hope so.

I don't want to ask you for anything or beg you to put things back the way they were; I don't think it would lead to anything. I'm not even sure others would agree.

The only thing I hope is that you can see some goodness in my actions, as I see in yours.

It wasn't our intention, but we hurt you, and for that, I am sorry, for whatever my shaky words are worth on this paper.

I close this letter, hoping it keeps you company along with the things I've given you.

I will always be your sister, Jonah. Remember that.

With love,

Danya”

That letter convinced Jonah to return to Danya, at least to see what she wanted to accomplish. Despite his initial reluctance, tension, and the fear she felt, he eventually gave in. No vampire so young had ever shown him so much courage, after all he could have obliterated her mind with just a thought. Embracing her, he apologized for his behavior, and between them, there was nothing left to hide. If he wanted to destroy vampires, she would do everything to stop him, and they both accepted it. Since then, the peculiar Malkavian has settled in Danya's home, seeking in her the serenity and carefreeness he had never had. Meanwhile the Ravnos, besides keeping an eye on him, desired to recreate that extended family she missed so much from the circus.

#vtm #vampire the masquerade #vampire #camarilla #ravnos #vtm oc #vtm npc #vtm art #malkavian

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wrestlingarsenal · 7 months

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The black pleather costumes and S&M vibe continue as the thrilling feud between Dijak and Eddy Thorpe heats up. They took their relationship to a new level of brutality during a Strap Match on the September 26th episode of NXT. You can catch some of the whipping scenes in an edited video posted to WWE's YouTube channel. You can also find the full 9-minute match if you look.

There was nothing gay whatsoever about the scenario: two buff dudes bound together by a leather strap, which they used to tie the other man's limbs, whip his naked back, and strangle and choke him. So it's your basic man-on-man flogging, bondage, discipline, corporal punishment -- nothing homo-erotic to see here.

One of the highlights occurred when Dijak pulled the strap into Eddy's mouth, forcing him to open wide:

In both sadomasochism and pro wrestling, a fantasy role-play is performed to set up an imbalanced power relationship. One participant is restrained by the other, for example with ropes, handcuffs, with the Dom's own arms and legs as in typical wrestling matches, or with a leather strap as in this case.

Some level of pain is inflicted to send a clear message that the Dom/Heel can do whatever he wants to his helpless Sub/Jobber. In practice, the pain can be mild, but the victim will react dramatically with much squirming and moaning to increase the apparent realism of the situation, to make it feel like true torture to the participants themselves and any viewers. Inducing pain also releases endorphins that many describe as being more intense and pleasurable than any narcotic -- thus causing them to crave the whip.

And note that it was Eddy who proposed this brutal Strap Match -- indeed, pulled the leather strap out of his own bag in this erotic slow-motion pre-match tease. In my experience, it's usually the Sub/Jobber who asks to be dominated -- indeed, actually craves it more than food or money.

But the essential ingredient to make it sexually arousing is not the experience of pain, but rather the comprehension that one person has established complete control over the other. That the Dom/Heel controls his Sub/Jobber's safety, comfort, fate, sexual consent, and very existence. For the Sub/Jobber to 100% trust the Dom/Heel with his body, well that's true love.

Dijak's flogging of the heroic Eddy Thorpe is a public humiliation because Eddy's family members were in the audience, right in the front row. To be sure we clocked Eddy's shame and humiliation, the commentators make much ado about his relatives looking on as he is bound and whipped. This was a kinky twist on your typical Babyface Beat-Down for sure!

To Be Continued...

#dijak #eddie thorpe #strap match #sadistic pro wrestling #homoerotic kink in wrestling #nxt #humiliating beating in the ring

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yanderes-galore · 2 months

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Master Cheif yandere alphabet please!?

Yes you can have that :) Please do enjoy! This is GAME/BOOK CANON Master Chief, not the Paramount show (I don't like it-)

Yandere Alphabet - Master Chief

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Violence, Death, Blood mention, Possible OOC behavior, John doesn't understand complex feelings, Dubious relationship/companionship.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Master Chief, or John as I'll refer to him, is an interesting yandere. Most Spartans like him don't experience obsession like normal humans. They haven't felt such strong emotions and their enhancements usually dampen any sort of romantic desire.

So John ends up coming off as an overprotective guardian. He can't quite figure out how to process how he feels for you. So he does it in the best way he can, fighting for you.

He struggles with affection, an example is when Fernando Esparza hugs him in Halo Infinite. John just... stands there awkwardly. He feels he can show affection towards you by fighting for you, but isn't sure how to reciprocate physical affection.

John can come off as intense as he doesn't entirely... feel human?

He just feels like a force of nature who can't figure out how to show he cares. As a result he can be intimidating.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

John is used to the sight of blood and violence. He doesn't mind getting his armor messy, especially if it is for the greater good. He is primarily violent towards Covenant, Flood, Prometheans, and Banished... but not really humans.

Even if John saw you close with another human and it sparks something in him... he restrains himself. He understands he can't be like you, you're both so different.

Yet part of him yearns to keep you beside himself... for protection.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

John would not kidnap, the closest he gets to it is "relocating" you around UNSC bases. Even then he doesn't mock you, he just explains that it's to protect you.

John is used to caring for others. After all, Blue Team is like family to him. You're no different according to him.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

He tries not to, he understands you're happiest with your freedoms. He wants to preserve that.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

John is not vulnerable, even as a child he never let weakness show. He doesn't show much of anything about his true feelings. He just lurks beside you... always attentive to your needs and vulnerabilities.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Due to the strength difference it's more like disciplining a child to him. He just advises you against it and drags you back where he wants you. It's a one-sided conflict.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

No and he doesn't (he also doesn't understand why you're trying to leave?).

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

John would never hurt you and he tries not to hurt other humans. However, he'd be ruthless if anything tried to hurt you. So, while this is OOC, maybe when he snaps and attacks a human who pushed you too far.

John realizes he's hit them too hard when blood splatters his armor. He pauses for a moment before ordering medical attention. He doesn't really apologize though.

If he's smart... he waited until others saw the person provoke him.

He doesn't think of a future all too much. He just focuses on now... all he wants to do now is not let you out of his sight.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

If he does he hides it well. He isn't sure how to cope with or understand such an emotion if he even has it. So if he does feel that emotion he just... approaches you and stands there.

It gets the hint across.

Overprotective, Suffocating, Slightly Manipulative, Ruthless towards others. He feels like a guardian more then anything. Even when you show him affection he takes some time in order to mimic it.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

He probably either works alongside you or saved you. Ever since then the Spartan has stuck beside you. You have a strange grasp on him... so he stays beside you.

Aren't you lucky?

Occasionally, but not often.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

He wouldn't. He could easily hurt you so he chooses to redirect you instead. That's all I've got.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Tries not to take many.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Very patient.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

It's hard to tell... but maybe he would struggle with it. But he has to move on for the sake of humanity eventually....

He wouldn't forget you though. Never would.

Wouldn't abduct, so this does not apply.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Curiosity and maybe a sense of purpose.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

He tries to provide some comfort, but he comes off really cold. Even when he holds you against him... it doesn't feel right.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

SKIPPED.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Nothing I can think of. He means well, so why bother, right?

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Not intentionally/Never.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Would do anything to protect you, but not a worship yandere.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Doesn't really snap so he can "pine" for a long time.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Not intentionally.

#yandere halo #yandere master chief #yandere john-117

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meowzfordayz · 2 years

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Hi, uhmm, could I maybe request either a fic or HC about Kyojuro being protective over a fem reader? Like maybe she's in the corps but her trainer is being too harsh on her or he protects her from a demon? I'm feeling pretty vunerable right now emotionally, your writing is amazing and the thought of Kyojuro being protective just makes me feel a lot better.

Heyo lovely. 🥺 Tyvm for trusting me and my writing to fulfill your request — I hope this provides at least a sliver of comfort. 💗 Sending you quiet sunsets and blooming tulips vibes. 🌅🌷

Author’s Note: if this doesn’t show up in tags, then- 😡😭🤞🏽

pinky promise

Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader

Word Count: ~1,400

CW: canonical violence

~faqs~

Pinky

Kyojuro is a relatively private man. Not, necessarily, of conscious design: he simply, naturally, operates on a need-to-know basis. He doesn’t pry, badger, or impulsively butt in on the affairs of others. Doesn’t usually question, let alone doubt, the logic or motive behind that which he isn’t explicitly involved in. Whether due to his upbringing or his rank as a Hashira—which, if he’s being honest with himself, then it’s certainly due to both—he dutifully follows the command and will of his superiors. Namely, of course, Oyakata-sama, and his father to an extent when he so chooses to visit home — to visit Senjuro. Admittedly, he doesn’t have many superiors: an almost amusing thought to ponder when he can’t fall asleep at night—Rengoku Kyojuro, Flame Hashira, at the top of the Demon Slayer Corps—because Kyojuro is humble at best, and, at worst, surprisingly unaware of his capability and charisma. While slaying demons requires a high degree of adaptability, he is, at his core, a man of routine and direction. An amalgam of discipline, ambition, and integrity.

Honor.

Deference.

Responsibility.

“[y/n]!” he exclaims, startling your hurriedly moving figure.

“Rengoku-sama! I didn’t- My apologies- Uh- I’m in a rush!”

“Of course,” he waves sheepishly, “Do not let me interrupt! I am glad you are well.”

You nod, stalling for a moment, “What brings you to the Butterfly Mansion? You seem physically sound.”

He smiles unabashed, pleased by your observation, “I am alright! I am merely passing through.”

“Oh,” you swallow a disappointed noise Duh.

Oh? newfound curiosity flits across his expression, “Were you hoping to enjoy my company for longer?”

“That’s very forward of you,” you retort briskly, eyes narrowing in a poor attempt to hide your fluster.

Kyojuro’s confident chuckle warms your ears as his smile widens, “You aspire to become a Hashira, correct? I am always eager to familiarize myself with potential colleagues!”

Just in case he encounters a situation where he has to fight demons with you: the better he knows you, the easier—the more effective—collaboration during battle will be. Not because he’s already memorized the color of your eyes despite only meeting you twice. His intuition rarely leads him astray, is all, and when it comes to you — his intuition wants to burrow cozily and securely into your radiating sincerity.

“I’m pretty sure everyone aspires to become a Hashira,” you mutter.

“You are mistaken. Many slayers do not have the desire or courage to achieve such a rank! You are special.”

“Who’s special?” a third voice sneers.

Kyojuro wishes he’d imagined your slight wince, but the abrupt, involuntary fog glazing over your eyes tells him otherwise.

“Rengoku-sama,” a shrewd man bows stiffly before him, “I pray you were not inappropriately entertaining the dreams of my apprentice?”

And why would doing so be inappropriate? is what Kyojuro intends to remark — a swift and stern utterance to rebuke this strange, belittling man. But years of habit and instinct restrain his seething judgment. Instead, he firmly reminds himself that You do not know or understand their relationship, sparing you a faintly apologetic glance.

“I was sharing a casual greeting, sir. I would not dare interfere between a sensei’s teaching and their apprentice’s learning.”

If he’d turned a shade slower, then he would’ve seen the sharpness in your stare. The disappointment curling your fingers; the loss of respect tightening your throat. But he turns quickly, uneasily, oblivious to your plight. At least — that’s how his reaction feels to you. You have no way of knowing that, even though he doesn’t see it, he absolutely senses it: senses the edge of your frustration, the cruelty of your so called sensei. You have no way of knowing that, as Kyojuro stalks away, shame settles heavy and foreboding in his gut.

Promise

“... did what?”

“Rengoku-san, please … wait …”

“Don’t … where … Kocho-san”

“It’s none … you can’t …”

And then you hear him enter the ward.

“[y/n]?”

You’re too battered and weary to flinch, but your heart twinges nonetheless.

“[y/n]. I-”

He’s standing at the end of your cot—that much you can discern—as you refuse to open your eyes. Let him assume I’m asleep you scoff inwardly.

“I had no idea,” the remorse in his tone catches you off guard, “I should have said something.”

That holds your attention—in an anger inducing manner—your eyes flashing open.

“You should-”

As determined as you are to insult Kyojuro’s behavior, you find yourself choking at the sight of him frazzled. Fatigue tempers his typically bright gaze, eyebrows pinched worriedly; nose flared, chin scrunched; fiery hair messily tied back, stray tendrils framing his taut cheekbones in concerning disarray.

“I should have defended you,” he murmurs, uncharacteristically quiet, “That man—your sensei—felt… vile, yet I ran from his challenge.”

Kyojuro hardly ever despises himself. He’s resilient. Independent. Mature. And I failed to protect you. Who else can he blame for your puffy eyes — swollen from exhaustion? Who else can he blame for your bruised and bedridden body? Pushed beyond its limit. Forced on a perilous mission—far above your current ability—without any chance to recover from that man’s brutal, sadistic training. Preparing inexperienced, lower rank slayers for the relentless onslaught of pain, violence, and injury is an important and inevitable aspect of, well, being a slayer. But not like this Kyojuro’s jaw clenches You should not be here.

“I am responsible for you, and I-” he exhales raggedly, gripping unforgivingly at his haori, “I failed to protect you.”

Of course, he feels responsible for anyone below the Hashira rank. Slayers and civilians alike. Not, out of arrogance, but of duty and morality. And you? Well. He doesn’t detour to check on just anybody at the Butterfly Mansion. You watch him carefully, silently, stiffening as someone appears in the doorway.

Kyojuro notices the shift in your demeanor — especially as that presences seeps into the surrounding air. Harsh goosebumps raise along his flexed arms, albeit invisible under his unmistakable Flame Hashira haori, a cacophony of righteous rage bubbling in his chest.

“Rengoku-sama,” slurs that cold, slimy voice, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I, Rengoku Kyojuro, Flame Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps, strip you of your position and affiliation. You will never deserve the title of sensei. You are the utter disdain and opposite of sensei.”

Can he actually do that? is your immediate thought. He really does regret his previous inaction is your second. How will Sensei that man react? is your third thought, How will I progress without guidance? soon following.

“You do not have that authority.”

But he has intimidation. And connections. And uncanny finality that, with or without authority, his word is enough to ensure the reality of his declaration.

“And you do not have an apprentice. Not now. Not ever. Understood?”

Comprehension dawns, smirk morphing to an indignant, blustering facade of innocence and protest.

“You can’t do that?”

Kyojuro smiles coolly, “I can. I promise you. I can.”

The tension snaps. With a warning hand resting on his hilt, he strides toward the shriveling man. Unhinged. Gleaming. Dangerous. He won’t unsheath his katana—he isn’t that rash—but the pathetic man doesn’t know this.

“You should go,” he practically hisses.

The humiliated man swivels extravagantly, exiting the ward with a feeble flourish of his kimono, hardly disturbing the dominant, blazing aura rapidly devouring the lingering remnants of his presence.

You’re stunned by Kyojuro’s blatant exercise of power, frankly shocked by how smoothly he slipped into the roles of judge, jury, and executioner. But his next role unravels you. Unravels you as his fury dissipates, soft anxiety taking its place. As he gauges your emotional and mental state, removing his haori in a single motion, draping it across your lap. Is he blushing? Blinking unsteadily, nervously—repetitively—interlocking, separating, and interlocking his fingers.

“I apologize for depriving you of a sensei,” Kyojuro hesitates, heart in his throat, “I would be honored to fill the void I so untimely created.”

“But I don’t use Flame Breathing?” you squeak, fixated on the comforting, unexpectedly gentle scent emanating from his haori.

“I am optimistic that we can overcome that logistic!”

“You pity me,” you whisper, mindlessly tracing the flame pattern covering your legs.

“I admire you!” he’s resolute, “And I am responsible for my missteps. You would be doing me a favor, allowing me to amend my prior neglect.”

The tiniest of smiles tugs at your mouth.

“Okay,” you shrug, teasing mirth crinkling the corners of your eyes, “I suppose I’ll allow it.”

#kyojuro rengoku #rengoku kyojuro #kyojuro x reader #rengoku x reader #flame hashira #one shot #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #emergency request

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cilil · 1 year

Text

Author's Note: Another lovely request by @edensrose, and one our darling bird boy enjoyed just as much as I did~

Sorry again that the remaining prompts are taking a while; for those who don't know, I'm very sick at the moment. Thank you for your patience.♡

ೃ♡⁀➷ Spicy Bingo: BDSM + Eönwë x reader ৎ୭

You love this hidden side of him, this secret that he only shares with those he trusts; his desire to conquer, to possess, to dominate.

ৎ୭ Synopsis: Eönwë decides you need a bit of discipline before you get your reward

ৎ୭ Featuring: femaleMaia!reader, top/dom Eönwë, roleplay, the very innocent use of titles such as general and sir, consensual corporeal punishment (spanking), riding, BDSM

ৎ୭ Oneshot (~1.4k)

He is gorgeous like this, beautiful and intimidating.

You look up at Eönwë, kneeling in front of him like he ordered you to, and admire how the evening sun bathes his form in a warm golden glow. He appears to enjoy what he sees as well–you, on your knees, submitting to him so willingly–and strokes your hair, a gesture meant to display affection and dominance at the same time.

Your eyes flutter, and you let out a content sigh. You love this hidden side of him, this secret that he only shares with those he trusts; his desire to conquer, to possess, to dominate. Despite his calm demeanour, you can sense his excitement and lean forward to press your lips to the inside of his thigh, intending to tease him with open-mouthed kisses, but Eönwë gently pulls on your hair to stop you.

"Not so fast, little bird," he admonishes. "You know it is my duty to discipline you before I reward you."

"Please, general..." you beg, batting your eyelashes. You already know what he has planned for you and that your little plea won't change his mind, but it's not your intention anyway. No, you know how much he loves hearing this title and want to entice him to start having fun with you, like a bird of prey toying with its food. The begging, the feigned innocence, the punishment, it's all part of the game you two like to play.

There's a devious glint in Eönwë's blue eyes and you know he won't be able to resist any longer.

"Rise," he commands.

His hand cups your cheek as soon as you get to your feet. You see his eyelids flutter and lips part, tempted to kiss you right then and there, but he restrains himself; for now, while he's still assuming the role of a strict figure of authority.

"Bend over my desk."

"Yes, general."

You obey without hesitation, yielding to the firmness of his tone. Eönwë has gotten used to giving orders over the past ages, as you have noticed before, and it suits him well, being the greatest warrior among the Maiar–

Your thoughts are interrupted when he seizes your wrists and ties them together with a strip of cloth. A small smile appears on your lips; even when he wants to discipline you, he still finds subtle ways to keep you comfortable. Unless the harsher sensation of ropes or chains on your skin is part of your punishment, that is.

Eönwë places one hand between your shoulder blades to adjust your position, forcing your head down and hips up for better access before pulling your skirt up and your panties down with swift, precise movements. You tremble slightly upon being exposed to his gaze, yet excitement and anticipation outweigh any nervousness you may have felt. Truth to be told, you can't wait to have his hands all over you, caressing you, claiming you, marking you.

Your wish is granted when you feel his palms making contact with your skin, merely exploring your fána at first. Aeons of swordsmanship have enhanced the strength of his grip, and his touch is firm and demanding, not as gentle and tender as usual.

"Ready?" Eönwë asks, though you can hear his voice vibrating with delight. He's barely able to hold back while he waits for your response.

"I am all yours, general."

The first slaps you receive barely hurt, more playful than actual punishment, and you manage to stay quiet, only letting out tiny moans whenever his palm makes contact with your exposed backside. Eönwë proceeds to spank you harder then, and you can feel his eyes on you, greedily taking in every small twitch of your muscles, the soft pink blush of your skin left by his hand, the way you press your legs together in a feeble attempt to hide your arousal from him.

You love being treated like this, being helpless as he makes you submit to him and deals with you as he sees fit. Pain and pleasure blend together while you endure your punishment, though you soon find yourself wiggling around on his desk despite your best efforts.

"Oh no, little bird, I'm not done with you," Eönwë says and seizes the back of your neck with his free hand, keeping you pinned down while he continues to spank you.

You moan and whine and beg for mercy, yet your fána betrays you; you're dripping with excitement at this point and you know he can feel it too. Your general is strict, and you know you will only be granted any sort of relief after he deems your punishment to be sufficient and your behaviour to be acceptable.

Eönwë lets go of your neck and finishes with a particularly hard slap to leave a burning red handprint on your ass, admiring it while he gently rubs your skin to soothe it.

"You did so well for me," he purrs and leans over you to kiss your cheek. "I am proud of you."

His words send a shiver of pure euphoria down your spine, and you press your fána against his to feel his hardness. Eönwë tenses up when you shamelessly grind on him, though a treacherous little moan escapes him before he can stop himself.

"Take me, general, please," you beg. The burning need to be filled is becoming unbearable.

To your surprise, you feel yourself being picked up by a pair of strong arms instead, your head resting against his shoulder as he carries you over to the bed instead.

"As lovely as you look on my desk, you will have to work for your release," Eönwë says.

He sits down with you on his lap and guides you to straddle his thighs before swiftly undoing his pants to free his cock.

"Ride me."

"Y-yes sir."

You bite your bottom lip as soon as the tip breaches you; Eönwë is big, even for a Maia, and it takes a few seconds for your fána to adjust, slowly welcoming him inside until you are seated on his lap, completely filled. A commanding slap on your thigh prompts you to move and you comply, whimpering softly while you start fucking yourself on your superior's cock.

Eönwë keeps his hands on your hips at first, letting you set the pace, but eventually his patience runs out. His hand finds your throat and squeezes lightly, causing you to gasp for breath, and he slams into you from below.

"So wet for me, so needy," he purrs as he bounces you on his lap. "And making a mess all over my cock. Perhaps I should punish you for that as well, hm?"

"Please, general–ah–I can't-"

"You are lucky that you are pretty like this, little bird."

His arms wrap around you in a tight, possessive embrace, and he continues to fuck you hard and fast while listening to your desperate cries and moans with visible delight. Eönwë is merciless in the pursuit of his release, not granting you a second of respite until he finally cums inside you and fills you with his seed.

You are barely coherent and breathing heavily at this point, exhausted in spite of your own divine strength, and feel him carefully lifting you off his lap and placing you on his bed. Eönwë seems pleased as he beholds your form, watching his release leaking out of you and covering your still-flushed thighs; he has marked and punished you thoroughly and he knows his scent will be on you for a while, letting everyone know who you belong to.

Your eyes close when you feel his hand dip between your thighs, and your legs reflexively fall open to grant better access as Eönwë starts gently massaging your swollen, sensitive clit with his thumb.

"Good girl," he praises, "my beautiful little bird, taking me so well..."

A tiny smile is all you can manage in response, then you give in and enjoy his gentle, loving touch. It doesn't take long for you to climax as well, spilling his seed and your own juices alike all over his hand. You briefly wonder if Eönwë will ask you to clean him, but find yourself wrapped in a warm blanket instead.

"Rest now. You may stay here as long as you like."

"Thank you, Eönwë."

He doesn't protest against the use of his name, knowing as well as you do that your little game is over–for now at least.

If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡

This fic can be read as a sequel/companion piece to "secret training session", another Eönwë x reader fic I posted a while back, but they aren't necessarily connected, so it can also be read as a standalone.

taglist: @a-contemplation-upon-flowers @asianbutnotjapanese @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @singleteapot

spicy bingo master post | my masterlist | tag list form

#eonwe #eönwë #eonwe x reader #eönwë x reader #x reader #reader insert #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion fanfiction #silmarillion #silm smut #ainur #maiar #cílil's spicy bingo #cílil writes #my writing

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esperanza-rising · 1 year

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Listen, I'm just a longtime lurker here, enjoying content on various topics and fandoms. My latest obsession is Black Panther Wakanda Forever, especially Namor and Namor/Shuri. I love the content and ideas I'm seeing already, so I'm just putting these thoughts/prompts out there to get them out of my head, hear others' thoughts if they stir discussion, and, maybe a little selfishly, hoping folks who are way more creative and disciplined than I am run with them to flesh them out in fanfiction, art, etc. (If you do get any inspiration from these ramblings, please credit/tag so I can see the amazing stuff y'all create!) 🤗👉👈🥹🙏🏼

Do any of these ideas resonate with you? What in-universe scenarios with Namor, Shuri, and/or their dynamic do you imagine or would like to see explored or visualized in film, writing, or art? Let me know your thoughts!

(1) Whether in a solo Namor follow-up, or even in the Black Panther or Avengers franchises, I imagine a scenario where:

Namor is his usual cunning and strategic self, understandably putting Talokan above all else but to the point where he makes certain decisions/actions that strain the already fragile alliance with Wakanda, or at least threaten the trust of other team members. Does Shuri defend him, despair, or something else?

Although Wakanda or others doubt him, Namor and Talokan definitely come through to save/assist Wakanda from attack by other world powers. I'd love a moment where Namor saves Shuri specifically. Does Namor go too far, though? How can Shuri and Wakanda restrain them once Talokan switches from defense to attack? Is there a situation where Shuri and Wakanda come a little closer to his viewpoint or actually join Talokan in a proactive attack that can be revolutionary or liberatory?

Alternatively, maybe Shuri and Wakanda/the team sees that there was indeed an immediate threat to Talokan they missed that helps them understand Namor's actions.

In either case, I like the idea of further exploring Shuri's trust or distrust of him, Namor's sense of honor, and grappling with the fundamental difference of having experienced colonization vs. not.

In the process of saving Wakanda, Talokan, or another group of innocents, Namor is wounded and/or captured. In the climax, it seems like Talokan might lose their god-king and Wakanda their ally, and the threat is on the verge of victory. But at that moment, whether by sheer luck or because Namor is blessed by Chaac, the sky breaks open with rain, healing Namor to be able to turn the tide of the final battle.

(2) I think this is more of a fanfic route, but could potentially still work in the MCU: In order to strengthen the alliance with Wakanda and his relationship with Shuri in particular, Namor decides to try to bring Queen Ramonda back to life. Since she drowned, he seeks an audience with Chaac, who sets him on a mission/requires a sacrifice.

So many questions! It doesn't seem that Namor is actually a god, but does being chosen by Chaac to lead his people grant Namor any spiritual authority or powers beyond his mutant and vibranium-related abilities? If he has none directly, is Chaac still connected to him? What is Namor's relationship to faith given his role? Would his mission be a spiritual test taking place in his mind or the Talokan equivalent of the ancestral plane-- or even Tlalocan itself? Would he have to do his mission in the "real" world? If such a thing could happen, how would Shuri or Ramonda react?

(3) Similarly, I'd love to see Shuri meditate on faith a bit more deeply. Besides seeing Killmonger and then her mother in the ancestral plane, which she may still explain away with her mind, she can't deny the small miracle of seeing Namor restored by the water after their battle, without the technology she has in her suit which kept her alive. Is it all down to genes and vibranium infused plants? Or is there something divine at work?

#namor #namor x shuri #namuri #nashuri #black panther wakanda forever #just throwing it out there #imagine #any takers?#headcanon #fanfic #fanart #ship prompts

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sjsmith56 · 9 months

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The Dark - Part 12, From There to Here - Bucky Barnes One Shots

Summary: After Alexander Pierce takes control of the Asset more resources are used to keep him fit and ready for assignments. Sent to train Black Widows in Russia the Asset begins to regain more memories but keeps it to himself, knowing what HYDRA will do to him if they find out. An incident where he refuses an order from his handler results in a new disciplinary process that has almost disastrous results, bringing even more change into the Asset’s life.

Length: 3.9K

Characters: The Asset, Alexander Pierce, Natalia, Dreykov, handlers Prospero and Higgins.

Warnings: mentions of breeding, physical violence resulting in death, blood, strangulation, abuse causing injury, swearing.

Author’s notes: This is probably the darkest one shot in this collection. I wrote it to show how Bucky’s brain would repair itself constantly, allowing for his core personality to always be there, even when suppressed. When he was in this state there were lines he wouldn’t cross and he would die, even welcome death, to defend those lines.

<<Part 11

🔹〰️🔹〰️🔹

In some ways the influence of the man called Pierce changed how the Soldier was treated by HYDRA. He was still disciplined physically by his handler, sometimes brutally if he didn't do something quick enough or well enough but the treatment from the support staff, those who washed him, dressed him, and prepared his weapons, was better. They feared him and he sometimes heard them whisper about the day he killed four men with his bare hands. Not that he remembered it as the memory suppression treatment was a regular occurrence now. But if the others said he did it he had no reason not to believe them. That was also part of his training, to believe everything his handler and his superiors told him. Questioning was not tolerated, doubts were dealt with summarily, and disobedience was punished to the point of injury. Yet questions and doubts still arose in his mind, especially when he was alone in his quarters trying to sleep and remembering the things he had done for HYDRA. He never voiced them, knowing it would lead to extra treatment in the room with the black machine.

The Soldier ate what he was given, drank what was raised to his lips, and spoke only when spoken to, mostly during mission reports. He was aware of being sent to many different places, usually by aircraft, sometimes by truck, given his mission and weapons, then sent out to track his target, eliminate them, dispose of witnesses and return to a rendezvous point where his weapons would be taken from him, he would report the results of the mission then be taken back to a facility, usually one close to where he had eliminated his target, and be subject to the memory suppression treatment, and sometimes placed into the cryostasis cylinder.

Time had no meaning to the Soldier. When he wasn't frozen, he was aware of the passage of the days, but he didn't know what year it was or what month, unless it was necessary to know for his mission. There was an extended run of days where he was in Russia, moved from site to site as he worked for a place called the Red Room, a training program for female assassins.

The women, many of them still teenage girls, were required to fight against him almost to the point of him killing them but he was ordered not to deliver the killing stroke. Like him, time and money had been invested in them, and their master, a brutish man called Dreykov, would allow them so many attempts at withstanding the "training" with the Asset before removing the failed assassin from the program. He never knew what happened to those who were removed. Several of the women fared well against him in their training sessions, learning enough from each encounter to hold their own against him in his restrained efforts. Apparently, they were to graduate from the Red Room, which should have been an accomplishment, at least by his understanding of the term graduation.

It wasn't until he was escorted to his quarters on one occasion and told to undress in preparation for sleep that he learned one of the reasons he was there. During the time he had been at the Red Room he was freed of his usual schedule in the memory suppression machine. Knowing that displaying any of his returning memories would result in punishment he kept his thoughts private, while still performing his training requirements with the Red Room recruits in the same manner. When one of the recruits appeared at his door and entered his room, wearing only night clothes, he looked at her suspiciously. Nervously, she looked back at him.

"I was told to report here," she said, in English with a perfect midwestern American accent.

Her face was pale as she said it, her green eyes darting towards the camera in the corner of his quarters. His eyes narrowed as she waited for him to speak.

"Why?"

She swallowed. "To offer myself to you." At least she was honest.

"How old are you?"

"Fourteen," she said, undoing the tie on the braid that her red hair was enclosed in and shaking her hair loose. "My name is Natalia."

"No," he replied, turning away. "You're a child."

"Please, you must ...," she began, then her voice trailed off. "They'll punish me."

"No," he repeated, then he looked up at the camera. "They can punish me. If they punish you I will not obey my handler. I will inflict much damage before they can stop me. But I will not do this. иди младшая сестра.” (Little sister)

She turned her face away from the camera and he heard a little intake of breath. Then the door opened and closed. When he looked back to where she had been standing, she was gone. He continued undressing but could hear multiple conversations out in the hallway and knew they were coming for him. Picking up the chair he crushed it into pieces and picked up two long lengths to use as bludgeons. It was their fault for not suppressing his memory for so long, long enough for him to understand what they were really asking of him. He would not cooperate.

When they came in with stun devices that took him down to his knees he stayed upright for as long as he could, not allowing them to come near. It wasn't until he took one too many jolts and blacked out, then saw himself on the floor of the room, his eyes blank and his mouth open, that he realized they had killed him, and for the first time in a long time he hoped that it was all over, and he was free.

The bright lights of an operating room hurt his eyes when he opened them again. Once more he failed to escape and began to writhe under the restraints. His voice didn't work otherwise he would have thrown curse upon curse on them for bringing him back against his will. A sharp slap against his face then the dark eyes of Prospero greeted him.

"You don't get to leave without my permission, Asset," sneered his handler in English. "You don't get to disobey, either. You will mate with the graduates of the Red Room."

"No."

Even though his mouth was gagged the Soldier spat out the word in a fury then broke the head restraint to head butt Prospero. Just as he pulled his metal arm free his handler said the failsafe word and the Soldier fell back senseless. The handler ordered him to be taken to the memory suppression room.

"His system is still weak from restarting his heart," said the doctor. "Putting him in the machine could kill him."

Prospero grabbed the doctor by his white jacket. "Put him in the machine," he said succinctly.

Attendants came, removing the gag, and transferring the unconscious man onto a gurney then running him to the machine that had been set up for their use while he was in the Red Room. As they strapped him in he began to awaken and resisted their efforts. Grasping a stun baton the handler cleared everyone away and put it into the Soldier's side, leaving it there for several seconds. With a glare in his eyes the Soldier sneered at Prospero.

"I will not comply," he said through gritted teeth. "You will have to kill me before I will stoop to that level. They are children."

Breathing heavily Prospero stood back, then struck the Soldier across the face several times. Each time he did so more blood would appear on the man's face, from his nose, his mouth, and cuts that opened on his cheek and face. Throughout the abuse the Soldier kept his eyes on the angry eyes of his handler. After delivering many such blows Prospero stopped to determine if the Soldier would comply. Instead the dark haired man sneered at him again.

"Fuck off," he said, through bloody teeth. "I will not comply."

The handler lost control and began beating the Soldier about the head and chest until Dreykov himself came in and ordered him to be pulled away from the Soldier. Barking at one of his underlings to bring him the Soldier's file Dreykov opened it then sneered at Prospero.

"You fool," swore the Russian, in English. "He had a sister, almost the same age as these girls when he was turned. You think you can overwrite that type of loyalty? It is in his DNA. He will never comply, not willingly. Take him back. We're done with him."

Dreykov tossed the file to Prospero who caught it in the air, then looked at the section outlining the family relations of the Soldier.

Relatives: Sister, Rebecca. Born 1930.

Swearing out loud, he stood over the Soldier, glaring at him. "Prepare him for cold storage," he said to the doctor.

Storming out of the room he went to place a phone call to Alexander Pierce. As he waited to be connected, he wondered how the hell he was going to explain this to the man. When he got through, he was put on hold and waited for some time before finally being connected.

"He won't comply with the Widows," he stated. "Refused to mate."

"I know, Dreykov just called me," replied Pierce. "I didn't realize the Widows were so young. The Asset sees them as children and that's something we can never change, not with the strong base personality at his core. Freeze him, return him to the Austrian lab."

"Well, can't we wait until one of them is older?" asked Prospero. "Surely, he won't have a problem if she's eighteen."

"He probably wouldn't but that's not how the Widows do things," said his boss. "Their graduation ceremony? It takes place before they're sixteen. If they survive the winnowing out process, they seal their accomplishment by being sterilized, full hysterectomy. Never let biology interfere with a mission. There's a lesson there, Prospero. The Asset's core personality won't allow him to be with what he perceives as a child."

"All this time here, wasted," fumed Prospero. "We could have been on a mission."

There was silence at the other end. "You second guessing my decisions?" asked Pierce, eventually.

"No, sir," replied the handler. "Just frustrated."

"We'll talk later, once you've calmed down," said Pierce. "I expect you both in Austria tomorrow."

By the time he finished the phone call the Soldier was in his cryostasis cylinder, hooked up to the portable power source and ready to be loaded on a transport for the airport. Prospero ordered the Soldier's clothing to be packed as he packed his things. Just before he left his room there was a knock on his door. Surprisingly, it was one of the Widows, the red haired one who had been sent to the Soldier first.

"Dreykov said I was to take care of you before you left," she said, playing with one of the braids in her hair.

A smirk crossed Prospero's face as he looked the girl up and down. Unlike the Soldier he had no problem taking pleasure from such a sweet thing. Stepping back towards his bed he sat on the edge and beckoned to her.

"So, what has Dreykov taught you, sweetheart?" he asked, pulling her closer to him.

"Many things," she smiled, then she leaned towards his ear. "Many, many ways to enjoy me."

Before he could react, the girl had a garrotte around his throat and cartwheeled over him, landing on the bed behind him, pressing her knees tight into his back as she pulled even tighter on the wire cutting off his airway. Every attempt he made to get his fingers under the deadly wire only served to make the girl pull harder with a strength that shocked him. As he began to struggle in earnest for his life she spoke.

"I was ordered to kill you as you no longer have control over the Asset," she said, with venom. "Even brainwashed he is a much better man you ever were. Go to hell, handler."

With one last tug the wire cut into Prospero's throat, and blood began pouring from the severed artery in his neck. In a matter of seconds, it was over, and the girl unwrapped her garrotte, wiping it clean on the pillowcase. The door opened and Dreykov looked inside, satisfied at her efforts.

"Good," he said, in Russian. "Your first official kill, your first entry in your ledger, before graduation. Your ceremony is tomorrow, and you will join your sisters in the field."

As the team came in to clean up the mess the red-haired girl went to the room where the cryo storage cylinder was waiting to be trucked to the airport. Looking around to see if she was alone, she pulled a box up so she could look at the Soldier inside. His eyelids were closed, and he looked like he was asleep.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I'll never forget you. Good luck, старший брат.” (Older brother)

Austria, some months later

The sound of his cylinder door lifting made the Soldier open his eyes and he saw he was back home. Home, that word to describe someplace familiar, but it wasn't home, it was his prison. Roughly he was disconnected from the leads and tubing that kept him alive in his frozen coffin, then two large men dragged him out of the space, and down a hallway to the machine room. His skin and hair were wet from the melted layer of frost that had covered him. Dully, he looked up as a technician inserted a mouth guard in between his teeth and his chair reclined as the head piece came down over his face. Just before the pain exploded in his skull a word came to him. Misery, his life was misery.

As the Soldier's screams echoed down the hallway its new handler was looking over its file. Higgins, a former mercenary, had been read into his successor's failure to understand the limitations of the Asset. Knowing the previous handler, he knew it wasn't that simple. Prospero followed instructions to the letter, and he suspected the failure rested with a lack of understanding about the Asset by both his predecessor and Pierce. As a family man himself he knew his own limitations. Raping a woman or a girl was off limits to him personally but when it was called for, he had no qualms about delegating the responsibility to someone else. Knowing a little about the Black Widows he suspected the Asset refused to breed with the young girls before their graduation ceremony. Prospero's mistake was thinking he could beat the Asset into submission. Higgins wouldn't have even asked it of the weapon, just as he wouldn't use it to babysit a bunch of kids. No, a weapon was meant to kill, and he would make sure the Asset did its job quickly, cleanly and with no witnesses. Between missions it would train, be frozen when necessary, and be available for transport anywhere in the world.

A technician at the door advised him that the memory suppression treatment was complete. "Take it to its quarters, clean and dress it," he ordered. "I will be there shortly."

When he arrived at the room the Asset was standing, dressed in black; its titanium arm shining in contrast to the black cloth and leather of its clothing. It's eyes stared at a spot on the wall across from it, not blinking or moving from its gaze. Walking around it he took stock of its body. Six foot two inches tall, 220 pounds of muscle, not including the forty pounds of weight behind the arm. Its shoulders were broad, indicating massive upper body development, its waist narrow, and its thighs strained at the seams of its combat pants.

"I am Higgins," Pierce's man announced, as he stood in front of the specimen. "I am your handler. You will only speak when spoken to, and you will follow my directions to the letter. Do you understand?"

"I understand," it replied.

"What do you remember?" asked Higgins. There was confusion on the Asset's face. "Do you know your name?"

"Soldier," it responded.

"Soldier, do you remember Russia?" he asked.

"No, I have no memories before this moment," it replied.

"You don't remember why you failed in Russia?"

"No, I have no memories of Russia."

"You failed because you did not obey your orders," said Higgins. "Failure to obey orders will result in punishment. Failure to obey orders is unacceptable. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

Together they went to the dining hall and Higgins directed the Asset to sit. He filled up a tray with food then placed some of it before the Asset. When it began to eat Higgins beat it about the head.

"Did I order the Asset to eat?" he demanded.

"No," it answered.

"Don't eat until I tell you," stated Higgins.

As Higgins resumed eating his meal the Asset sat and waited for permission. When Higgins gave his consent, the Asset began eating, getting halfway through before the handler gave the order to stop. Standing up the handler put all the remaining food on his tray and slid the remains into the garbage can. For the next few weeks Higgins conditioned the Asset to only eat when given permission. It resulted in the specimen shovelling food into its mouth in a rush to feel full before permission was withdrawn. In Higgin's mind it was necessary to reinforce that orders had to be followed but it was noticed by medical staff that it also causing digestive issues resulting in the Asset vomiting from binge eating, receiving more punishment in the process. It was a never-ending cycle of abuse that only ended sometime later when a mission almost failed because the Asset had vomited so much it began throwing up blood and ended up receiving treatment for bleeding ulcers.

When Pierce removed Higgins from being handler, he came to Austria to see the Asset in his hospital bed. He looked at the pale man wondering what his physical limits were. The HYDRA doctors said his recuperative abilities were astounding but were better when his feeding was regular, and the injuries were not inflicted upon him as punishment but as part of training.

"What do you mean?" asked Pierce. "Punishment is punishment."

Pierce's gaze on the man was severe, as it seemed the man was criticizing Pierce's methods. "Punishment during training as a learning tool is useful," clarified the man. "Using punishment to control things which have nothing to do with the mission is counterproductive. Your handler had the Asset so worried about his next meal that he became fixated on food, instead of putting his energies into the mission. He accomplished the mission but almost ruined his body in the process. Give him support to do the mission to the best of his abilities and he will. Throwing roadblocks in his way to prove that you control him will only slow him down and take his focus away from the mission." Pierce did not look happy at the criticism. "Your handler referred to the Asset as "it" constantly. His memories were stripped away from him as was much of his personality, but he is still a biological organism. He is not a machine or an inanimate object. You want him to perform at a high level? Feed him, treat his injuries, fix his teeth."

Pierce breathed heavily then turned to leave the room. "Fix him," he said to the doctor, "and if you ever talk to me like that again, I'll make sure you become training material for the Asset."

The order was given to transport the Asset to the United States, to be based there. Pierce decided it was time he was more involved in the Asset's conditioning and treatment. There were a few trusted men that he assembled to form a team to handle the Winter Soldier. They would support him in the field, make sure he was fed, clothed, stored and resuscitated when needed. Upon reflection he had seen the wisdom of some of what that Austrian doctor told him, mostly realizing that entrusting the Asset's wellbeing to just one person wasn't wise as their treatment of him would be coloured by their own personal biases. He felt certain that the team approach would make better use of the killing abilities of their weapon.

Over the next few years that approach proved to be the right one as the Asset made more kills in the new millennium that in the previous 50 years combined. His observation and stalking abilities were better than any other operative out there. He became a legend in the ways he would disappear after taking his target down, then would go into cryosleep storage until the next mission. Pierce was confident that how they used the Asset from now on would serve to install HYDRA as the dominant force in the world.

On one mission the Asset was sent to intercept and eliminate an Iranian nuclear scientist. Already being protected by a SHIELD operative the two escaped Iran and were spotted by the Asset outside Odessa, Ukraine. With deadly accuracy he shot out the tires of the vehicle they were in, sending it over a cliff. As it came to rest on the ground below, he realized the occupants were both still alive and repositioned himself, watching as the operative pulled the scientist out of the car. Blocking his view to the scientist he knew the only way to finish the mission was to shoot through the woman protecting him. As he lined up the shot in his scope, he was distracted by the colour of the operative's hair. It was familiar to him, but he wasn't sure how or why. Taking the shot, he understood by the look on the woman's face that her mission had failed as the scientist was dead. Then, as he lined up to remove her as a witness, she looked in his direction, as if she could see where he was in his hidden position. Her green eyes seemed to be fixed on him, and a flicker of those eyes flashed before him, attached to the face of a fourteen-year-old girl.

"She got away," he thought suddenly, then he lowered his rifle and pressed his comms. "Target eliminated; witness eliminated."

"Return to rendezvous point," said the order from one of his handlers, in his earpiece and he backed out, then began his run back to where the covered van opened for him. The handlers took his rifle and other weapons from him. They returned to the airfield where he sat with his back against the fuselage of the aircraft as they flew on to the next mission or perhaps back to a safe house where he would be wiped and frozen. Staring ahead he barely listened to the handlers celebrating the mission, as if it was their success.

Keeping his face blank, he considered what he saw. The SHIELD operative was definitely the same girl who was a Black Widow in the Red Room. Perhaps she was a plant, but he discounted that as she was in a protective mode with the target. That meant she was able to escape the Red Room, able to escape from that life. If she could do it ... then maybe, he could also. For a brief moment he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time, hope.

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>>Part 13

Series Masterlist

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #winter soldier #hydra #asset #black widow #red room

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