#did he free her but not clothed her better? left her in poverty?

[child-of-hurin]

@nexxx_00 on twitter

#artist went private on twitter :// #vinland saga #lydia #askeladd #i think it meant zero things when the author drew it but i'm kinda fascinated that by the time this happens #olaf has been dead for 1 year and askeladd has inherited some of his money #arrives in wales with two ships i think? seems to be somewhat wealthy? #but his mom is wearing the same rags as ever #did he not free her? #(did he not own her? did he steal her?) #did he free her but not clothed her better? left her in poverty? #is she the one who chose to dress like this? Does he put her in good clothes and she changes into rags? #idk it's a thing that always picks my eye

[saturnville]

congratulations, mr. president

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x linnea lowtower. content: coriolanus is announced as president of Panem with his wife by his side. warning: none. an: idk this is short and simple. just randomly thought of it. I was gonna add smut but decided against it. tags: @fastlikealambo

Coriolanus knew that the stars were aligned for his future. And, he knew that they one day, would align as a stepping stone to the seat of the presidency. The odds were ever in his favor. Though, life threw him arils of sour pomegranate and his support system was minuscule once his father passed, life had proven that good things come to those who wait. He had waited long enough. It was finally his time.

Election season was brutal, but unlike his peers, Coriolanus could easily admit that he enjoyed it. He was full of charm, class, and intelligence that made everyone fall for him. He became the President of Panem at the tender age of 24. The world was in the palm of his hand.

It was the day of his swearing in. The sun rose early and the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled his hotel suite. He spent the evening alone, per his request, to collect himself before his swearing in. His blue eyes darted to the clock on the wall. He had an hour to prepare himself before he’d be whisked away to the center of the Capitol. He stepped to the bathroom to begin getting ready.

Hot showers were something he still was not used to. For thirteen years, he lived just above the poverty line, and cold showers became a norm. It was better than no water at all, he reasoned. Coriolanus ran his fingers through his short, damp hair as he fumbled around for his toothbrush and toothpaste.

Through the foggy mirror, he caught his reflection. He looked much different than he did during his time at the Academy and at University. He no longer had shaggy, blond curls, but rather a platinum blond and a haircut with short sides and considerable length at the top, that was always strategically brushed back. It made him look older, more mature. More powerful. His shoulders were stronger and more broad, and he oozed confidence with every step he took. A complete 180 change.

Coriolanus flicked off the bathroom light and whistled his way to the main room. Near the window was a rack of clothes. The option he’d chosen hung pressed and wrinkle free against an iron hanger. His fingers danced along the thick fabric. The circular buttons, his fingertips touched. Tigris’ design.

He dropped his towel and proceeded to get dressed. He eyed himself in the mirror as he buttoned his shirt. A small smile graced his lips. Patience was a virtue and it proved to leave him victorious.

A soft knock came from the door. Coriolanus dropped his coat on the bed and went to open it. “Who is—hi.”

“Good morning, Coriolanus.” Right past him walked his wife. His eyes followed her with every step she took. He let go of the door slowly and let it close behind them. “How are you feeling?” She sat elegantly at the foot of the bed. She crossed her leg at the knee, her brown skin a stark contrast against her white dress. Coriolanus released a shaky breath.

To say his wife was stunning was far from an understatement. Their marital union began once they graduated from the Academy. Coriolanus proposed to her the day of graduation with a unique ring—a two diamond band, one silver, and one ruby red. Six years with her by his side through the ups, downs, and in-betweens.

She was a sensual being. Even in her most classy and elegant attire. She picked out her dress for the occasion and she picked it well. She wore a figure-hugging white dress with a slit going up the left thigh. Her dress was sleeveless with feathers along the chest. On her feet were a heel a shade of the deepest crimson. Her makeup was bold, eyes and lips bleeding with crimson. Her locs were curled and curtained her back. His beautiful wife. His First Lady. His Queen of Panem.

“Fine,” he said shortly. He extended his hand and took hers into his. She was careful not to rest her head on his white shirt; she’d hate for his outfit to be tainted with makeup. “Even better now. I’m almost ready. Just need my jacket.” He nodded at his crimson trench coat that rested on the edge of the bed. She broke from his embrace and swiped the coat from his hands.

“Go.” She pointed to the full length mirror on the back of the hotel door. He followed her command with ease. Though shorter than him, the crown of her head could be seen behind his stature as she stood behind him. She took the coat in her hands and gestured for him to slide his arms in the sleeves. One by one.

Her hands smoothed the non-existent wrinkles on the shoulders of the coat. Coriolanus lifted his chin, an unfamiliar sense of power coursing through his veins. On Linnea’s lips played a smile of approval. “Well, Mr. Snow, it’s about that time, yeah?” Right on cue, a knock on the door. It was time.

Coriolanus met her eyes through the mirror and nodded. “It’s that time.”

“It is with great pride that we welcome your new president of Panem,” Lucretius Lucky Flickerman said lowly. His dark eyes scanned over the crowd who itched with anticipation for their new leader to enter. “Coriolanus Snow!”

A pair of titanium doors opened. The logo of the Capitol split in two and slowly, Coriolanus and Linnea came into view. Capitol citizens roared with excitement. Coriolanus glanced at Linnea, who was already looking at him with a smile on her lips.

They were guided toward two chairs in the center of the suite. It was an overwhelming sight to see. Tens of hundreds of thousands people, proud and ecstatic for the arrival of the man who was determined to make Panem the greatest it could ever be. They were here for him, for Coriolanus Snow. The man who fought and clawed his way to the top. The man who went from something, to nothing, to everything in a short amount of time. Who could stop him? Coriolanus squeezed her hand tightly.

“Please, everyone, give it up for President Coriolanus Snow, and his First Lady, Linnea Snow!” A roar of cheers erupted. Dreams had become a reality.

Linnea leaned up and brought her lips to his ear, “Congratulations, Mr. President.” The words rolled off her tongue smoother than molasses. And the look in her eye was killer. Was she trying to make him weak in the knees in front of everyone? Putty in her hands, he was. Desire glazed over her brown eyes. She would pay for it later.

Coriolanus’ arm draped around her waist and his hand ghosted over the swell of her bottom. He brought his lips to her ear. “Save the congratulations for later, sweetheart. We’ll celebrate the right way, my beautiful First Lady…”

She smiled softly. “I love you.”

Not caring about the crowd ahead of them, his lips ghosted over hers. “Mhm, I love you, too.”

#saturnville #written by saturnville #original content #original writing #black!reader #black reader #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x you #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x black reader #coriolanus snow x black!reader #young!coriolanus #young!coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x lucy gray #coriolanus x sejanus #tbosbas #president snow

[sclarflared]

hello ! the name is jae ( she/they ) and i was super excited to stumble upon this rp because of my love of cyberpunk and scifi. i present to you all today, yoon jaehyun, local ansan who has lived here pretty much all his life and honestly hasn't known any other place but the city itself. a dj at orbital and one of the better known ones within the last few years, known for sometimes producing his own tracks and intermingling them with well-known songs in popular culture. more about him under the read more. also i ask that you please bear with me, last weekend i broke my humerus bone in my right arm, had surgery, and am recovering. my arm is splinted and i sometimes wear a sling, but my right hand is free so i'm able to type and stuff. i'm excited to plot with you all and if you have discord, i'd especially love to chat with you there ! edit : he now has a pinterest board ! and a stats page !

born and raised in ansan, he grew up with a single mother and a father that was never in the picture. when he was old enough to understand, his mother eventually told him that right after he was born his father earned a one way ticket to astra and didn't think twice and left them behind.

though he's never left ansan, this has largely colored his idea of the colony and he wouldn't give two shits if someone said he could leave tomorrow to the colony above. if he won a ticket in the lottery, he'd give that ticket to someone else in a heartbeat.

currently 24 years old, has a birthday in january, so he'll be 25 early next year. accepts he/they pronouns and is asked for a label would describe himself as a demi-male. often experiments with his clothes when it comes to usual gender norms and rarely has a normal hair color. currently rocking blue hair ( because i'm still over here crying and missing hongjoong's blue hair ).

lived just barely above the poverty line growing up as his mother didn't have a lot of skills or any kind of degree to help with that. she ended up working on average two to three jobs as he was growing up just so they could pay rent, pay for food, and try to give him fun things growing up when possible. grew up really close with his mom and as an adult he tries to help her in anyway that he can since he makes more money than she ever could.

developed anxiety and depressive issues in his middle years around eight or nine years old. was pulled out of school for years because he couldn't handle it and it would be years before his mother could afford something to help him, had some mood regulators that allowed him to enroll back and finish high school, but hasn't used any such since he was about eighteen years old.

always had a love for music and did odd jobs in his teenage years to afford meager producing equipment and a barely passable computer where he could create his own music. if you asked his opinion on his early stuff, it was mediocre at best but as the years have passed and he's gotten better equipment and learned new techniques.

posted some of his tracks on whatever the soundcloud equivalent would be and that gets him noticed slowly but surely. goes by the alias shadowstorm when he first posts his music and it sticks. finds the opportunity to to do some amateur dj gigs, before he finds out that orbital as looking to hire some new djs and were offering opportunities to those generally unknown in the nightclub scene.

surprises everyone when his one night audition is sort of a hit and is asked to become one of the alternate djs at the club. a few years pass and he becomes one of the regular djs headlining several nights during the week and weekend.

still goes by his alias for his stage name and is always seen with a mask that obscures the lower half of his face and large headphones that further obscure things when the dark lights of club strobe around him. he prefers that bit of anonymity that it gives him that not everyone would recognize who he is if he were passing them down the street during the day.

deals with his anxiety and depression issues through recreational drug use. it's not hard for him to acquire considering life revolves around nightlife and orbital most days. usually keeps it under wraps that it's more than just something fun to do and that he uses it as a coping mechanism. still refuses to use mood regulators again because he never liked how it made him feel.

lives in one of the lower floors of la mariposa in a studio apartment. being a dj and royalties from some songs that he had produced haven't made him super rich or anything, but much better off than he used to be. considering he uses some of his money to help his mother out, you won't find him in a bigger apartment or one of of the penthouses that the absurdly rich could afford.

personality wise ; headstrong to boot once he gets his mind on something it's hard to get him to stop. stubborn as hell, doesn't often like to be told what to do. sarcastic and isn't above a bit of dark humor when it suits him. unless you're close with him or known him for years, he's not the type to easily open up to others readily. seeks thrill from time to time and can be a bit reckless at times. if defined, is an introvert who pretends and thinks he's an extrovert but actually isn't and doesn't realize why he just crashes after a long night at orbital.

plots

if they live in la mariposa, someone he's seen in passing ? maybe they've run into each other at the gym, or simply in walking in and out of the building and on that hello i've seen you a few times basis.

fellow bad influence that he regularly does drugs with ? maybe they help supply each other with certain substances that the other isn't able to get easily and often have nights where they party and get wasted together and end up waking up half clothed on the floor of one of their apartments.

some flings and exes ? definitely see him as pansexual but has leanings toward masc presenting/nonbinary folks. give him an ex that really broke his heart and it's been hard on him to let anyone in like that since then ?

close friends he's known all his life, works for those who have lived in ansan for a long time or all their life as well.

anything really ? we can plot it out.

#rmnt:intro #. *. ⋆ — ꜱʜᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴜᴘ / intro . #surgery mention tw #because me #drugs tw #depression tw #anxiety tw #this is very rambly and such but is still a work in progress so love him and me please

[camilaramos]

— BASICS

Name: Camila Ramos Age / D.O.B.: 26, November 6th, 1996 Gender, Pronouns & Sexuality: Cis female, she/her, bisexual Hometown: São Paulo, Brazil Affiliation: The Brotherhood Job position: Escort and Informant Education: High school GED Relationship status: Single Children: None Positive traits: Vivacious, charming, adaptable, shrewd, persuasive Negative traits: Selfish, apathetic, manipulative, cynical, greedy

— BIOGRAPHY

Trigger warnings in bio: drugs, foster system, injury, stripping, death

Camila Ramos was taught to never trust anyone else to be there for you from the day she was born. Her mother taught her the lesson young when she made the little girl understand that her father did not care for either one of them. When he had found out her mother was pregnant, he left both without a word. Growing up in São Paulo, both lived in poverty. Her mother was uneducated and raising a little girl by herself. Camila started young, joining her mother in doing anything to survive and to keep them both safe. She learned how to pickpocket at a young age, how to join her mother in schemes she hatched up to con others out of money. Anything to keep their lights on for another week. When she was ten her mother earned enough money to get them both a ticket to America in search of a better life.

The second time she learned to never trust another came soon after arriving in America. Her mother caught the eye of a rich banker in New York City. At first it had been charmed, the man bought them clothes and she was well fed for the first time in her life. But when the man informed her mother that he was looking for a wife and not a daughter, her mother chose to put herself above her daughter. When she found herself in the foster system of her new country, still learning the language, Camila learned that both her parents did not want her. She could only rely on herself.

She soon found herself with a family who took in kids in the foster system. They all hoped for adoption at first, but came to realize that simply staying in the house was better than bouncing around from place to place. Camila took it in stride, hiding her tears on nights she went to bed hungry, on days she was sent to the corner for mouthing back, on nights she felt lonely and unloved. Her life had never been easy and growing up in the loud and cramped apartment taught her that life never would. However, she caught the eye of an older boy. Malik was four years older, and easily the biggest boy in the house. He saw Camila, he saw her loneliness and saw in her his little sister who he had lost years earlier. So, the older boy took her under his wing, protected her, looked out for her and became a true big brother. When Malik got out of the foster system, he soon started to try to get her out as well, to become a foster to her and even tried to adopt her. He never was able to get approval for adoption, but he did get her out of the house when she was sixteen. For the next two years she lived with him, while he took care of her. When she was 18 she was phased out and could finally start life with Malik, both of them free and now truly together.

Malik was the only family Camila ever had, the only who had proved he truly wanted her in his life. He was her brother, and despite the fact that they did not share a single drop of blood, he was her real brother. Unknown to her, Malik got involved with a group called The Brotherhood. They offered him promises of a better life, of connections and a network of those who cared for their own, who took back what should have been theirs. Who gave him power. He started drug dealing for them, all while keeping it a secret from his little sister. With only a high school education under her belt, Camila knew that school was not for her. Her only skills turned out to be her looks. With looks that caused anyone to drool with just one look at her fueled by thoughts of naughty sins, she soon found herself dancing on a strippers stage. The flashing lights, the attention and the lust actually suited Camila. Abandoned and unwanted most of her life, she greedily ate up every moment of others wanting her. Though she knew it was only for her body, Camila couldn't bring herself to care. She was wanted.

One night, when she came home late after work she could tell something was very wrong. The deal from earlier was starting to become tense. The man Malik had sold too was becoming agitated, unhappy with the product and the price. Unhappy with it all. Malik tried to satisfy him, but when Camila walked through the door the mood shifted. The man had become handsy, now wanting Camila in addition to more product. He wanted a party, and when Malik tried to get him to stop and to leave, all hell broke loose. She hadn't known her brother had been dealing drugs, but when the man pulled out a gun Camila knew he had gotten into something dangerous. The bullets started flying and the last thing she saw was Malik diving for her to try and protect her. Even in the end, he was still trying to protect her.

When Camila woke up, she was in the hospital. They had told her it was a drug deal gone wrong. They had told her that Malik had died at the scene. The only person to ever care for her was gone. Now, she was truly by herself. The next day she got a visitor. A man she had never met before introduced himself, told her that her brother had been involved with their group. That he was one of their own and that they looked out for their own. He told her that they would pay for her medical bills, pay for her rehab and full recovery. Camila was floored, but she knew better than to think this generous offer would come without any strings. Once she recovered, the rest of the promise came to light. The man came back again after Camila was fully recovered. He told her about his group's connections. How they knew the rich and famous, how they controlled power. He told her about an escort agency in the city. One that gave the most beautiful people to the rich and powerful. He got her an interview and her beauty once again proved to be the best asset she had.

Camila soon got a job as an escort, becoming anything the rich and powerful needed her to be. An accessory on their arm, a girlfriend, a mistress, a warm and willing body in their bed. Once again she thrived on being wanted and desired by others. Camila would play any part, be anyone they wanted her to be while she made off with the most money she had ever seen in her life. But the job was not without any strings. The man who had gotten her the job wanted her to inform for the Brotherhood. To learn the secrets of the rich and powerful she slept with and kept company. To report all that she knew and all that she saw. Camila agreed because she knew nothing in life was free. It may have been for a transaction, but at least the Brotherhood had given enough of a shit about her to save her. She was in their debt.

— WANTED CONNECTIONS / PLOTS

Clients

Exes

Other escorts

Brotherhood members

Those who knew her before she became an escort

Someone to make her give a shit about others

#> biography

[general-du-vallon]

Well. Musketeers for sure gets my odder fics. Someone aaaaaaages ago suggested Porthos adopts a kid, and I did a half arsed job of it, and now I have done a second bad job at it hahaha. I love Simone though and Porthos. Here you go, it's great!

WARNING: cold, hunger

It got pretty cold in winter time, that’s true of most places and like most places the cold was fine as long as you had money. Fur-lined clothing, extra layers, boots! Boots were great for cold. Fuel, endless fuel for hot fires, heating the houses top to bottom (bottom to top really, seeing as heat rises). Food, too; being well-fed was important in cold weather, good food, hot food. Cold was free, heat was expensive (until summer rolled around when somehow, that cold which cost nothing was suddenly a commodity). Winter in Paris was a mixed bag, you didn’t have to be horrendously rich to be warm, but you fell somehow easily into poverty if you weren’t careful, and there the cold waited, crouched, cracking frosty fingers against the glass, ready for you. Cold hid in corners with beggars and chased anyone marked ‘criminal’, snapping at their heels for the moment they stopped running and their sweat turned to cold damp, wet creeping into clothing, freezing through to bone. Cold dragged at the heels of children walking to their jobs, if not carefully shrugged off they might be sluggish, lose their work.

Some had no work. The poorest slunk down into the cold, the familiar embrace almost a comfort, inching into the lee of buildings, walls, under houses, through any unlatched door that might go unchecked for an hour or two. Simone had passed even this stage, sitting out on a step looking up at the frozen stars stretched achingly across the crackling sky. Paris was inhospitable, dirty, and smelt worse than the thickest stenching manure. The cold wasn’t the only thing at large in the city, either. Paris didn’t rest its head and take to its dreaming, when night fell, not in these parts. Men and women, clawing their way out of varying degrees of frozen cold, drank and sang and reeled past, blurring and sliding. Soldiers, guards, Queen’s Musketeers, policed the streets in their warm cloaks and boots, according to their whim, depending on their mood, how cold their shift had been. Violence stirred.

Paris lay around her like a great carcass, sprawled, feast and famine, decay and new life, and bones.

“You hungry?”

Simone didn’t know much anymore, numb with cold and half dead, but she knew this much; yes, yes she was hungry, as ravenous as Paris. She took what she was given, and took more from his pockets and bag, and took the cloak he offered and the gloves he didn’t, scarf tucked under the cloak, hidden. As he left her, he whistled a jaunty song, turning at the end of her ally.

“Paris is beautiful at night, but just you wait until I show you what them stars look like out there were there’s no lights.”

Simone followed him, unnoticed, a mere shadow among shadows, and found his back door. It was always good to know where the kinder lords lived, to know where you wouldn’t be beaten for taking scraps. He had stables, horses, hands who lived above in the hayloft and boys who slept with the animals but no one sleeping behind, out in the cold but warmth just the other side, close enough to touch, seeping through the woods.

“Morning’s here, little bundle of bones. If you give me back me gloves, you can have breakfast. And better gloves.”

Simone ran, before his hands could close around her arm and his big voice could call her thief she ran. His voice chased her, calling her to come back any time, and a polite request, again, for his gloves returned next time she was passing.

They had come to Paris for hope and life but Paris had eaten them, swallowed them up.

She went back. Found him, after midnight, sitting out there singing. He gave her food again, swapped her gloves for a pair that fitted, tossed her a pair of stockings and boots. She wanted to ask why, but he wasn’t watching her, he was writing. She gathered up her bounty and left. Paris wasn’t so cold with boots.

Next time, he wasn’t there. He was gone.

The men were rough. Men who barely contained their violence, wouldn’t have felt the cold even if they weren’t swaddled in layer upon layer of red, their bright hard steel chilling but not to them, just to those they dragged off the cold streets and threw into the colder cells, and left there. You couldn’t see the stars from inside a cell, couldn’t run, couldn’t piss except on the floor, couldn’t eat except the rat-bitten bread they threw at you when they remembered, fruit they’d let go rotten, couldn’t sleep unless you were ready to die. The cells were stone, stone held cold like it coveted ice, held you in that same embrace and tried to burn your bones frozen.

“You could, I s’pose. I’ve only got a knife on me. C’mon, test your hypothesis boy. You a coward, boy? Not gonna fight afterall? Hahaha! Pig fucker!”

The guard of the cells that night sometimes mildewed the carrots especially before tossing them down, whether or not they reached the cells he didn’t care. He was tossed down like his carrots, a great giant coming after laughing, plucking him up like he was nothing and slinging him over a shoulder. He opened the cell by jamming a knife into the locks and kicking it, the line of bars and locks shuddering under the heel he drove against the handle with such force the lock shattered.

“Bring that,” he said, looking down at Simone.

She brought the knife and followed him home, whistling between her missing teeth to keep tune with his whistling, his knife tucked into the rope she wore as a belt. They walked through the city like they owned it, Simone thought maybe he did. He stopped to throw the guard under an arch, leaving him on the frozen cobbles like garbage he no longer wanted. It was a long walk, she followed him right up the steps and into the hall before realising it.

“Kitchen’s through here. Water over there.”

He sat and cleaned the knife, he didn’t watch her at all. Her hands got in everywhere, bread and fruit and good vegetables, uncooked pastry ready for tomorrow, burning-hot chestnuts in the banked fire.

“Don’t burn your fingers,” was all he said, pointing her again to the cool water when she burnt her fingers on the chestnuts anyway.

She lay that night under the stars behind his stables, stomach hurting from eating so much, cold soaking from the ground into her thin dress, her skin, her blood, her bones. She wondered who he might be.

“Porthos,” he told her, from the back step, the next morning.

“Did I ask?” she rasped.

“No, which is rude. I want my knife back,” he said.

Simone did not return his knife.

It wasn’t Simone’s fingers in the pocket of the lady but it was Simone the lady saw, because it was Simone who was too frost-bitten and too hungry to duck into the shadows. The fingers of the rich were bony, for all the good food they ate, pinching and sharp and unrelenting. Tossed after the guard from the other week, brittle from cold, rolling unceremoniously into boots. Queen’s Musketeers policed as well as Red Guard. Their sympathetic warm eyes hid behind orders and duty. Simone kicked and bit and ran.

“She’s not here, captain. I’m due back on the front in three days and you want to make our goodbye acrimonious, over some scrap of a thief you thought you’d arrest?”

“Madame is mistress to our cardinal, Porthos. Mazarin demands, and we follow orders.”

“Since when? Go jam a long-sword up your arse, d’Artagnan, it’ll give you a better backbone.”

Kitchens were warm, in winter. Monsieur Porthos mostly lived in his kitchen, so Simone found a corner in there for herself. She learnt, from him, how to tend to the fires, and how to roast chestnuts. She made them for him, and ate most of them herself. He brought her clothes again, and cleaned his knife (his fingers lighter than hers, retrieved when she was looking right at him without her knowing).

“You’ll need to stay here, while I’m gone. Eat, rest, stay clean and tidy, no one’ll look twice. Wouldn’t recognise the difference even between you an’ me, Simone. I haven’t got time to teach you much, but I’ll show you your name, and my name.”

He showed her a few more words, too.

Porthos was gone for a long time. The kitchen was warm, and then they started propping the back door open to keep it temperate, and then it was sweltering. As long as she lived in the kitchen she was expected to keep the fire and help out; the servants taught her how to cook. Now and then a letter would come with her name carefully, clearly written, and inside was the short note, the only thing she could read. She wrote back; his name on the front, hers inside, and the only sentence she could write.

Cities don’t out run the cold. It came around, as it always did, creeping under doors and through cracks, driving Simone behind the stove to sleep and read the growing pile of notes. She wondered who they were cooking for, if Porthos was not here. This was his house, they were his servants, and he was gone. Simone traced the words of his most recent letter. It was longer, and she didn’t know the words. She wondered what it said.

“Can you show me?” she asked the cook.

The cook, Simone didn’t know his name, looked flabbergasted, and did not teach her to read. Instead he talked and talked about her scaring the living daylights out of him, as he’d thought her mute or stupid. She was neither, but she decided to be both in the face of his bad manners. When the cold started retreating, though, and another letter came, even longer, even smaller words, she asked again and this time he agreed. All through the stifling heat of summer they worked, in any moments that were his own, which were few and far between.

He taught her how to use a knife one way to cut meat, another to cut vegetables, and yet another way that would go right through a man. He showed her on his own stomach the place to find the guts, and how to tug up to guarantee death. He taught her how to read and write ‘eviscerate’.

Autumn came with rain and mud and a thin chill, cold air setting everyone coughing, and Simone could read the first longer letter. Porthos wrote to her about stars, horses, longing for good food, and ended by saying he missed her company. Simone kept the letter in her pocket for a week, while she learnt how to bleed, kill, dismember, and cure a pig. They packed the meat in salt and built an ice-house in the yard. One night Simone crawled in, trying to remember being as cold as the preserved meat. The cook’s boy dragged her out by her ankle and told her if she wanted to die she would not do it on Baron du Vallon’s property.

That explained why they were still working when Porthos wasn’t here; it wasn’t his house, it was this du Vallon’s. She heard more stories of him, and he sounded terrible, larger than life, richer than a god, remorseless. She crept behind the chimney to her bed and took out the longest letter yet, working on reading Porthos’s words to banish this terrifying baron.

That year, the winter lasted too long. Porthos’s letters came with small parcels, sometimes, and sometimes in bundles, and got shorter and shorter, until they were back to variations on words she knew so well. Still the winter came on, storms came up the Sein, ice coated the Parisian streets, rain came down day after day, washing away snow until another freeze came.

Spring didn’t arrive, but Porthos did.

Simone heard him and ran through the house, forgetting the baron who lived somewhere in its depths eating enough for several families, never seen. She ran down the front step and Porthos was waiting there for her, broad and beaming, soaking wet, his armour when he lifted her freezing against her skin.

Porthos took her out of the kitchen and upstairs, into rich, opulent rooms. They were brought hot water and she watched him wash, cleaning away dust and mud and, underneath, blood. She could smell it, like when the pig sat woozy and dying, bleeding for their black puddings. He wasn’t woozy, nor was he dying. He sang as he washed, songs about her, about the stars, about Paris. Once he was clean and dressed, he sent for more water, and dunked her head gently in, washing her hair with firm fingers, warm oils. He dried it and combed it with a wide toothed comb, her curls kinking more tight than his.

“This is my daughter, Simone du Vallon,” he introduced, as they walked about Paris, she holding onto his arms. “Found her in the vegetable patch under the stars, monsieur, like a discarded pumpkin.”

He bought her roast chestnuts on a corner, the seller staying as late as the winter this year, and shelled them for her.

“You can pay the cold to stay away,” she said, hands warm around the hot bag.

“Yeah,” he said.

He, too, knew that cold bit, she could tell. He, too, knew the bitterness of buying their heat, leaving everyone else behind.

“My sister died,” she told him, pointing out the last house they hid under.

The spring came. Simone showed him how well she could shoot, and told him that they showed her how to kill a pig.

“I thought you came here from a farm,” Porthos said, correcting her grip on the small pistol.

“This is bad form.”

“Yes, but you have small hands. Form was written for people with bigger hands.”

“I have forgotten everything before I came here to this house.”

“Remember it whenever you like, even if it’s as bloody as slaughtering pigs.”

Simone showed him the ice house, the last of the meat, and he lay down on his back, she snuck against his side, and they wondered what it used to be like, to be this cold.

#my fic #bbc musketeers #porthos #bbc porthos #general du vallon

[crackspinewornpages]

Les Misérables 210/365 -Victor Hugo

BOOK EIGHT THE WICKED POOR MAN

201

It was winter and the old man and his daughter didn’t show up in Luxemburg gardens (well it is winter) and Marius only wanted to see her face again but couldn’t find her and was now a lost dog. (that in my opinion should be neutered) He was melancholy, why did he follow her, Courfeyrac guessed what his problem was and in September took Marius to a ball to see if he could find his love, but Marius just left the party alone and went home. On one occasion he thought he saw the old man on the street but why is he in working clothes, so Marius tried to follow but lost him.

202

Marius was at the Gorbeau house, he didn’t pay attention to the Jondrettes. In February to took to dining again and Bougon complained of the prices these days. (I hear ya) In Rue Saint-Jacques someone bumped into him, two young girls running past, they had escaped the police. Marius picked up a package they dropped, on the way he saw a child’s coffin thinking one thing more terrible than a dead child is one turned to crime, then back to thoughts of how gloomy his life became. (you chose to live like this)

203

When going to bed he remembered the package he had, he looked for an address on it and read the letters under different names but the same hand begging for money with different sob stories. (if you don’t get it it’s a nineteenth century Nigerian Prince scam) The next morning a young girl knocked on his room door.

204

She looked wretched, dressed in poor clothes, thin and missing teeth, poverty was hard on her, she had a letter for him. It’s from his neighbor, since he paid for their rent, he asks for more money for food. (such a demanding beggar) With the letters he found and now this one he knew his neighbors were in dire straits that he risked his daughters. His daughter is a creature of neither good nor evil, that once out of childhood already had nothing, he let her look around his meager room in amazement. She knows how to read and write, and her father was at Waterloo and they weren't always this destitute, she’s seen him before on the stairs and with Father Mabeuf. Marius gives her her lost letters and she keeps talking about how poor their lives are, once they had to live under a bridge in winter. He gives her five francs and she’s happy they’ll have food and took an old loaf of moldering bread as she left.

205

Marius lived five years in poverty but now knew he didn’t know real misery like just now. All youth, honor, modesty, are sinisterly manipulated in seeking resources in a hut of fate that young girl Marius encountered was from those shadows. He almost reproached himself for not noticing them earlier and just automatically paying their rent, he should have done better. (exactly how at one point you only had the clothes on your back and turned down a job with better pay because you wanted more free time) He was so close and didn’t pay attention to those right beside him. Marius scolded himself more than he deserved, (well more like not for the right reasons) He found a hole in the plaster wall and used it as a peep hole to now see what they are like. (do you have any redeeming qualities first you make stupid decisions that lead to poverty then you stalk a girl and now you spy because you want information on this family)

206

Cities like forests have caverns for the most wicked creatures to hide, what Marius saw was a hovel worse than his own poverty. There was a framed Napoleon and at the table with a pen and papers sat the scoundrel, he had tobacco to smoke but no bread. (so he’s a selfish bastard that spends what little money they have not on food for his children but indulgencies for himself) The woman was by the fire and the younger sister on a pallet, she was smaller from malnutrition. They drew together in the cold, but their hearts drew apart.

207

The eldest daughter ran in to say the gentleman from Saint-Jacques is coming behind her. She doesn’t want to wear her tattered shoes anymore and would rather be barefoot, but she can't go into churches without shoes. He has his wife put out the fire and make their hovel look worse to get more sympathy such as have his daughter hurt herself by breaking a window and his wife pretend to be sick.  

208

Jondrette worried he did this all for nothing, these charitable men who think they are above them and humiliate them by bringing clothes when he wants money. (we already see you waste it on tobacco) In his rant there was a knock on the door, it was the old man and the girl, the eldest Jondrette daughter stared at her nice clothes. (ok so once again the Thenardiers meet Valjean and Cosette but neither recognize the other because of how time greatly changed their circumstances)

209

The old man brought them some clothes, blankets and stockings, Jondrette praised his charity but in a low voice complained there is no money. When asked his gives a fake name of Fabantou, a starving artist. He plays up his youngest daughter’s cut wrist, they may have to amputate and watches the old man's reactions. Their friends won't help, they have no coats, his wife is sick, daughter injured and not one sou. He raised his daughters religiously, won't, have the hussies fall into theatre, (at the time being an actress was a skeevy job) they are virtuous and now they’ll be evicted tomorrow. The old man gave him five francs and Jondrette complained it wasn’t enough as the old man gave him his outer coat and say he’ll come later with sixty francs.

210

Marius wasn’t paying attention to anything but the young girl and watched as she left and wanted to follow her but thought for a moment that this sudden move would alarm them. (you think) He waited then descended in haste and chased after the carriage that was a long way off. He called a cab and had it follow, (really a follow that car trope) but with no money to pay it left without him (pff the car leaving without them is the subverted trope) and he returned to his room in despair. He noticed Jondrette in the philanthropist’s coat talking to men of disquieting aspects, one looked like a roamer Courfeyrac warned him about. (these are the four ruffians that were brought up a ten chapters ago)

NEXT

#les miserables #victor hugo #books #book summaries #epic #historical fiction #tragedy

[senseless-writing]

Something New (1/3??)

Paring: Geralt of Rivia x child!reader

Summary: Geralt happens upon a little girl who has been abandoned in the woods on his journey up to Kaer Morhen. With a storm just days away, and the nearest town nowhere in sight, what is he meant to do with her?

Warnings: Talk of abandonment...otherwise, just fluff and my complete lack of knowledge about horses

A/N: I’ve spent so long working on a short origin series for my bucky!daugther oc, but I seem to have hit a wall. So I figured, why not write for a character I’ve already flushed out? Anyways, hope you enjoy! Feel free to leave comments, asks, or any suggestions :)

Next >> 

Masterlist

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It wasn’t uncommon for children to be abandoned in the woods. 

In a world stricken by monsters, war, and poverty, the time of children being considered “God’s gifts” had long since vanished. Instead of being treasures to raise and nurture, they were now burdens to the family. More mouths to feed, bodies to clothe, lives to plead for when the soldiers come looking for blood and glory. 

As if there was any glory in slaughtering families for sport. 

But that was the way of things. Life on the Continent wasn’t built for children, and they suffered every day because of it. 

Geralt had run into children in the woods more times than he’d like to admit. Little, terrified things who were left by parents who no longer had the means to care for them. It’d shocked him, at first, to find children in the very place he’d been searching for monsters. How could any parent have been so cruel? 

But that was back when he was young and blind to the world. Blind to the fact that some parents never deserved the gifts they were given, and blind to the fact that others believed being eaten by monsters was a merciful way for their children to die. 

In any case, he’s since learned better than to be surprised. In fact, he now had a sort of system in place for dealing with these kinds of situations. If he at any point encountered a child lost in the woods with nowhere to go, he was always sure to offer them safe passage to the nearest village. They’re free to decline if they wish to do so (though really, most young children rarely decline help in such a situation), but he felt he should offer it all the same. 

For his own peace of mind. 

It does become a little bothersome at times, even he’ll admit. Going out of his way to do the job parents couldn’t be bothered to do. That is, finding a safe, caring, and stable home for their child. But most days, he was heading towards the nearest town in search of coin anyways, so it was never really out of his way. 

At least, that’s how it was before he met Orion. 

It was nearing winter, and Geralt had decided, for the first time in years, that he wished to spend it at Kaer Morhen. He missed home and his somewhat dysfunctional family, and wondered vaguely who would appear this year. But most importantly, he really, really missed a bed that was free and didn’t stink of ale. This year, he’d enjoy the winter with a roof over his head, even if it did have a few holes in it. 

The trip to Hertch was a long one, but not one that Geralt didn’t know well. He didn’t bother traveling at any pace faster than a trot, for he was truly in no great rush. He knew the old castle wasn’t going anywhere, and was almost eager to take in whatever beautiful weather was left before the frost set in, so he took his time. Because of this, it was several weeks before he came upon the entrance to the Witcher’s Trail. 

Or “The Killer”, as most witchers knew it. 

Geralt urged his mare forward, searching for what he knew would guide him in the right direction. The Trail itself was not easy to find, and even less so to walk through. So only someone with true witcher skills, or someone who already knew the path, could make the journey. 

After only a couple of seconds, Geralt found what he was looking for. Over the gully, supported horizontally by enormous boulders, lay a mighty tree trunk, dark, bare, and turning green with moss. A narrow, indistinct pathway disappeared into the woods just beyond it, and the witcher recognized the path the moment he saw it. 

Bending himself to his horse's neck, he urged Roach forward slowly under the tree trunk. She snorted and stamped her hooves, but overall followed his instructions. Geralt was pleased. He’d never taken this Roach to Kaer Morhen before, and he feared how she would fare on the journey. But, so far so good, he supposed. 

Once completely past the tree trunk, Geralt sat up straight in his saddle and jabbed his heels into his mare’s sides, coaxing her into an easy trot. With the promise of home being just nearby, he was suddenly filled with a giddiness he couldn’t quite describe. But Roach, suddenly defiant, threw her head back with a snort and planted her hooves firmly to the ground. 

Perhaps Geralt had celebrated her obedience a tad too quickly. 

The witcher tugged on her reins, digging his heels harder to her side in hopes of squandering whatever mood she’d found herself in. But the horse simply snorted again, ignoring every pull of the reins as she spun around to face the direction they’d just come from. With the tree trunk in their way, she was unable to charge at whatever was agitating her, but her ears shot forward to inspect whatever it was to the best of her abilities. 

“What the hell is your problem, Roach?” Geralt hissed angrily, pinning himself to her neck as she suddenly reared. The moment her feet were back on the ground, he was pulling her reins sharply to the right in hopes of preventing any more disobedience. She allowed her head to be pulled, but refused to move her body in the direction he wanted, and Geralt finally cast his head in the direction she was making all this commotion at. 

He wasn’t at all prepared for what he saw. Just beyond the tree trunk he’d crossed, curled in on herself and ducked slightly behind one of the forest's many bushes, stood a little girl. 

She seemed to be somewhere around five years of age. With stubby legs and a round face, she might as well have been the most innocent-looking thing Geralt had ever seen. Her dark hair was cut short and at awkward angles, as if whoever cut it had never cut a girl's hair before. Her clothes, a simple boy’s tunic and trousers, were old but clean, so Geralt knew she hadn’t been there long. Her charcoal eyes were terribly afraid, and Geralt noticed the tear tracks that made their way down her pale cheeks. 

She wasn’t lost, that much was clear. Nobody who wasn’t a witcher had made their way towards this trail in decades. There was no reasonable explanation for why a parent would come up here with their little girl. 

Unless their intention was to leave them here. 

Geralt dismounted from Roach, who was no longer causing a commotion, and made his way towards the girl. He moved slowly, careful not to frighten her, but she gasped at his appearance all the same. 

The witcher knew he wasn’t necessarily easy on the eyes. He tried to make himself more approachable, but didn’t know how. He couldn’t hide his cat-like eyes or hideous smile, nor his scars or intimidating stature. Most adults grimaced and flinched as he walked by, unable to hide their horror. He couldn’t imagine what that felt like for a child. 

“Hello, little one,” he called out quietly, trying his best to even out the sharpness of his voice. 

He failed. He could tell by the way she flinched, stepping back a bit as her fingers dug sharply into her quivering lips. 

Fuck. 

Ducking under the tree to meet her on the other side, he remained low in the hopes that he appeared less frightening on her level. He held his arms out open wide as a sign of no harm, and he moved slowly, with an agility that only a witcher could manage. 

Despite all of this, the child still took fright. She made a small, pathetic noise of surprise in the back of her throat, and her little legs scrambled back with such ferocity that instead of running away, she tripped and fell flat on her bum. With nowhere else to go, and desperate to run away from the scary-looking cat-man, the little one drug herself fully behind the nearby bush and curled herself into the tightest ball she could manage. 

Double fuck. 

The witcher stopped where he stood crouching, unsure of what to do next. He didn’t want to take her against her will, but surely he couldn’t just leave her here. Usually, he could convince a child to come with him if he explained where he’d be taking them. “A place with food,” he’d say. “Some water and a warm bed.” 

But truly, where could he take this girl? He’d wasted most of his time with his slow journey to Kaer Morhen. The Continent's first snow, heavy and deadly, was surely not too far away. Possibly within a day or two, if Vesemir had taught him anything about predicting the weather. And the nearest populated town was days away. They’d most likely be caught in a storm, even if Geralt pushed Roach to her fullest potential. 

And frankly, Geralt hadn’t ridden all this way back home just to turn around before he made it, as selfish as that might sound. The Path was rough, and he’d been on it for far too long. He yearned for rest. 

So where could he even take this girl? What could he promise her that would make her less afraid? 

He supposed the only option was to take her with him to Kaer Morhen...the action felt vile in its own right. The last time children had been within those walls, more than half of them died violent and gruesome deaths. It was crucial that the castle be separated from the rest of the Continent to ensure that no one could hear the screams of those fallen boys who suffered. 

Geralt’s screams. His brothers’ screams. 

Either way, little boys haven’t been turned to witchers in decades. Nobody has. Therefore, the action of leaving unwanted children at the footsteps of Kaer Morhen had long since died out. So why here? How did someone even find the Trail? And why leave a girl there? 

So no, Geralt wasn’t all that keen on bringing her to Kaer Morhen. He was useless when it came to dealing with children, especially little girls. The only one out of the witchers at the Keep who knew anything about such a subject was Vesemir, and even he only really dealt with boys. A little girl being cared for by five deadly witchers in an abandoned castle?

Oh, what a sight it would be. 

But what other choice did he have? His options were to leave her there to die, take her on a journey to the closest village on which they would both surely die, or take her up to the fortress. At the end of the day, he knew which option he preferred. 

So he called out to the child yet again. “Little one? Come out of there, girl. I promise I’m not going to hurt you.” 

He saw the bush move a bit, but there was otherwise no response to his words. He sighed, searching for the right thing to say. 

“My name is Geralt, and I want to help you. There’s somewhere nearby I can take you, somewhere where you’ll be safe. There’ll be food, water, and someplace warm to sleep. How does that sound, hmm?” 

He remembered, suddenly, the clothes she was wearing. How cold she must be in only a tunic with winter just on the horizon. The thought gave him an idea, and he quickly stood, jogging back towards Roach and digging in the saddlebag on her side. 

He mentally cheered once he found what he was searching for. Returning to where he’d been crouching, a blanket and overly large cloak now in hand, he wadded them up into one big ball and tossed it within a couple inches of the bush the girl was hiding in. The overgrown weeds shuddered with surprise. 

“It’s for you,” he answered her question before she could ask it. “You must be cold. Put it on.” 

There was no movement for a moment, and Geralt wondered if she even spoke the same language as him. But then out of nowhere, he noticed a little arm pop out. She moved slowly and hesitantly, as if at any moment he would pounce on her and cut it off. Finally, she snatched up the bundle of blankets and quickly pulled them behind the bush where she was sitting. 

Geralt smirked slightly at that. Even children knew that cold outweighed fear. 

It was minutes before either of them moved again. Geralt had nothing left to say, nothing that wouldn’t be a repeat of what he’d already said. So he simply sat himself down a few feet away from the bush, waiting for the girl to make the first move. It was true that he was anxious to get back home, but there certainly wasn’t anything overly important to get back to. So for now, he had the luxury of patience. At least, he did until dark. 

But finally, he heard movement. He looked up to see the little girl, still with teary eyes but now wrapped in a cloak and blanket that swallowed her whole, stepping out from behind the bush and eyeing him cautiously. He didn’t move to get up, just simply watched her as she inched her way closer to him. Her face was less a picture of fear and more a picture of curiosity, and Geralt figured that was progress. 

“Hello,” she said quietly, the noise muffled by her fingers, which were still pressed tightly to her quivering lips. 

“Hello,” he answered softly, folding his hands in his lap. He wondered if he should smile or not, wondered if that would ease her nerves, but ultimately decided against it. 

It would probably only scare her more. 

“What’s your name?” he asked instead. 

She shifted her weight from one stubby leg to another before answering. “Orion. And it’s not a boy's name, it's a girls! Because it’s my name, and I’m a girl.” 

Geralt couldn’t help but smile. She seemed to have that particular speech memorized. The witcher wondered how many times she’d recited it before. 

“That’s a very pretty girl's name,” he played along. Her face morphed into a shy smile, and Geralt noticed the way her posture began to relax a bit. “Orion, do you want to come with me? To that place I told you about?” 

Orion pulled the blanket tighter around herself, nodding slowly as if she were ashamed for wanting this stranger to take her away. Geralt knew what that felt like, but didn’t comment on it. Instead, he shifted himself to a standing position, watching her carefully to ensure she wouldn’t run off again. 

She looked a little more apprehensive as she tilted her head to look up at his full height, but otherwise remained where she was. Geralt held his hand out for her, nodding back towards Roach. 

“Come on,” he said. “Roach will take us. She knows the way.” 

Of course, that was a lie. Roach had never been to Kaer Morhen before. But the thought of a horse being wise and all-knowing made Orion smile, and Geralt figured he’d lie as much as he needed to calm her nerves. 

The little girl walked towards him and took his hand without any hesitation, a brave act that Geralt almost wasn’t expecting. Still, he responded quickly, leading her to where Roach was waiting. He grabbed the sides of her arms, which were still wrapped tightly within the blanket he’d given her, and lifted her onto his mare’s back. 

Immediately, Orion was sticking her hand out to pet the horse’s neck. Her eyes twinkled with excitement, but Geralt was just relieved that they no longer held any fear, at least for the time being. 

“Hi, Roach,” she whispered. The horse in question blew air out of her nose in reply, and a low rumble made its way through her body as she shook some flies from her eyes. Orion looked to Geralt in a panic, who had since settled into his position behind her. 

“Don’t worry,” he reassured her, adjusting the hood on her head before grabbing the reins and urging Roach forwards. “That means she likes you.” 

Orion smiled again, the whole thing taking over her flushed-red face. She turned back to face the front again, settling against the witcher chest with a sigh. 

“Good,” she said, her voice still small and light. “I think I like her too.” 

“I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear that,” Geralt replied, partially because he enjoyed playing along with the girl, and partially because he had nothing left to say. 

His mind was already spinning. What would the others say when he strolled up to the door with a child in tow? What would their next moves be? How would they care for her? And for how long? Surely until the snow cleared enough for one of them, presumably him, to make the journey to some town or another in Kaedwen. But when would that be? 

So many questions, and not nearly enough answers for Geralt’s liking. 

But he was sure Orion had at least a million more. He remembered what it was like, even if it’d been ages ago, to be abandoned on the steps of Kaer Morhen. Remembered the fear and pain, and the salvation that Vesemir had given him. 

Remembered the new kind of fear and pain that had followed. 

He supposed everyone who was waiting for him at Kaer Morhen now, whoever it may be, should also remember those feelings. They should all know, one way or another, what it felt like to search for a place to belong. Or what it felt like to be taken in by someone like Vesemir. 

Looking down at the girl who’d found a comfortable place in his arms, he can’t help but see full clarity in his decisions. Under an extremely weird set of circumstances, he was suddenly overcome with the sense that for once, he’d done exactly the right thing. Orion would stay for as long as she needed to, and they would look after her to the best of their abilities. 

He’d make sure of it. 

And when the time was right, when things cleared and the weather willed it so, he’d find a family who’d care for her ten times better than some witchers ever could. But until then…

He guessed they’d just have to figure something out.

#geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt x oc #geralt of rivia x oc #the witcher #the witcher x reader #the witcher x daughter!reader #geralt x daughter!reader #geralt of rivia x daughter!reader #geralt x reader #something new #the witcher x child!reader #Geralt of rivia x child!reader

[blzzrdstryr]

Like a fairy tale

Yandere!Diluc x maid!fem!reader

Wordcount: 1921

CW: Yandere and slightly suggestive themes.

You loved reading fairy tales as a child - they were magical and hopeful, a needed retreat for a child of destitute parents. They were a promise that if you were good and kind and beautiful enough, eventually some faraway prince would come by and save you from poverty. And you tried to be good - you were obedient and hardworking and you pushed your hardest in the local school, yet hardship and scarcity still trailed your every step - the meager earnings your parents made weren't enough to buy you nice clothes or let you eat until you were sated, which in turn made social interactions harder: some kids sneered and humiliated you, some tried to help you out of pity. You disliked both groups: whether they were friendly or aggressive towards you, they still looked down on you.

Thus you decided to distance yourself from your peers - there was no knight in shining armour galloping towards you on a snow white steed, yet a good education could be your golden ticket to a better rich life. It was hard at first - to work and to study and to help your parents all while ignoring the demeaning and insulting comments the bullies made, but you gritted your teeth and pushed forward, imagining how wealthy you’ll become in the future and in the end our efforts were rewarded - you graduated as the best student, that led you to receiving a scholarship from Sumeru academy. Sparks and shine appeared in your eyes as you read the letter, barely stopping yourself from outright squealing and jumping from joy.

The moment of happiness didn’t last long though, as a reality again reminded you that there’s no place for fairy tales in the real world - scholarship covered the full cost of apprenticeship, but only it - you still had to spend money on the journey from Mondstadt to Sumeru, a place to rent and food, and if you still could find a job after your arrival in the foreign country and pay off the later two, trip required mora that you never had. At first you had a mad idea to traverse Teyvat on your own two feet - it would be a slow and arduous process, but cheap nonetheless. You later gave up on this plan - archons didn’t give you any vision, nor did you have fighting and travelling experience to aid you on the trail that no doubt would be full of slimes, hilichurls and other dangerous monsters.

And that’s how you started job hunting - you took on any work that promised you a hefty pay, be it some boring reports for guild of adventurers or an exciting yet risky endeavor of getting information for an extravagant cavalry captain, which then led you to Dawn Winery. Head housemaid, Adelinde, posted a job opening for a maid, and the prospect of a stable salary, free food and comfortable bed was enough to lure you in there - two or three years ago the previous owner of the winery died in the accident and his successor left Mond for some reason, leaving the maintenance and management of the winery on the shoulders of the said housemaid.

After a quick interview, the head maid demanded you to show her your cleaning skills, which you effortlessly did, having to look after the house by yourself all your childhood. It seems she was satisfied, as she nodded to you and asked to follow her as she led you to your room. Compared to the other two maids here, Hillie and Moco, who preferred to spend their work time in idle chat, you came off as highly professional and diligent worker. This contrast raised both your position and salary in the winery, as Adelinde started to entrust you with tasks more interesting than simple sweeping and cleaning.

You were outside the winery the day you met Diluc - returning from the city and carrying several stacks of milk and wheat you got chased by the hilichurls. Monsters didn’t leave you, no matter how long and how far you ran. You were ready to drop all the goods and have Adelinde to scold you for wastefulness and dereliction when Ragnvindr appeared and stole a breath from you. He looked just like the prince from your childhood tales, impossibly pretty and strong, arriving just when the creatures caught up with you and then defeating all of them with a single slash of great claymore. And just like a fairytale prince he helped you to get up and collect the scattered baggage and asked if you were okay. Then you two headed for the winery, you didn't know that he was it's owner at the time, chatting and thanking him, as he carried purchases. Adelinde almost fainted when she saw the return of the prodigal master in your company. After hastily taking goods from his hands, she made you apologize for rudeness and insubordination, but Diluc interrupted you saying it was fine.

Ragnvindr heir returned back to the winery and life went on its own, except the unreadable glares Diluc started to send you when you both were in the same room. It started off small: the quick glances that soon grew into intense staring. With his impassive stone face it was impossible to tell why he was glaring at you so much, so you acted as polite and professional as you could in his vicinity - after all you didn’t want to get fired and look for a new job. The key to this riddle presented itself during one day.

It was a bleak windy morning when Adelinde sent you to the city again, and as you walked the sky darkened and rain started. You returned absolutely soaked and shivering, teeth chattering and limbs slightly numb from cold and when Diluc saw you he ordered you to change in a low commanding voice. Frightened by the possible dismissal, you hurried putting on the uniform. Because of the haste you pulled it too tightly, hiking up a maid dress a little. It wasn’t up enough to reveal your hips or thighs, showing just a portion of knees that was usually hidden by the wide skirt.

Diluc’s eyes were glued on the uncovered joints, a subtle blush appearing on his pale cheeks. You continued to work, feeling how he consumed your legs with his eyes alone. He is lusting after me. You didn't know what to do with that revelation back then, embarrassed and slightly scared of attracting master Diluc's attention.

Nonetheless, an answer quickly came on the next day as you found a bonus to your salary, so big that it could be considered a payment for the next month. Diluc, despite his usually impassive face, seemed to be ashamed of the thoughts he had yesterday, with the body language telling you of his true feelings.

A plan came to mind. You hated yourself for it at first - it was low and disgraceful, you felt like a stereotypical manipulative gold digger, yet still decided to realize it in life - you needed mora, as fast and as much as possible. Over the time you spent working at the Dawn winery you noticed that Diluc, despite his obviously high intelligence, wasn't really good at judging one’s character, so he fell for your scheme pretty easily. Design you had in mind was pretty simple - to stir him up with small, innocuous gestures and changes that would slip past the outsider’s eyes.

Sometimes you applied a thin layer of healing lip balm on your lips, that so conveniently happened shine and glitter under the light, sometimes you donned your dress a little bit higher, opening the view of two delicate knees and sometimes after cleaning and working all day you felt so hot that you had to unfasten one or two buttons to cool off. Diluc, despite not showing it on his face, was obviously distracted and aroused, hands clenched into fists and a shaky, barely controlled exhale escaping his nose.

He started to pile you with bonuses and prizes; “for a well done job”, he said one time, averting his gaze and masking the shame in his voice under a huff. He also started to request you to specifically clean the rooms he occupied, his eyes sizing up almost every inch of your body. You felt how the lust and desire radiated off him, how his hands itched to trace your skin and have you at his mercy, yet he stopped every time with his steel strong control and self-discipline. You sensed how it dwindled little by little.

Diluc, in some perverted sense, was that fair prince of your childhood daydreams that would save you from poverty.

You almost had saved up the needed amount of money when you noticed the loss of your most cherished possession - an invitation to the Sumeru academy and scholarship certificate. With heart booming in your chest you started to look for it in the whole winery, without giving out that you were searching for something. It seems that you were unsuccessful in your attempts, as master of the winery soon called you into the office.

Here, he was sitting behind the desk with a familiar paper in his hand - your eyes widened as you saw it and you had an urge to run up to him and snatch the invitation from him. You performed a curtsy instead, closing the door behind you and waiting for him to speak, eyes still on the sheet in Diluc’s hold.

“[First], you are a diligent and skillful employee, Adelinde has a very high opinion of you” he started from afar, a slight rosy blush dusting his cheeks at "skillful employee".

"So as your employer I wouldn't want any harm to befall on your person, and" he shaked the invitation a couple of times, "it came to my attention that you were planning on travelling to Sumeru. I advise you against this nonsensical idea".

You gritted teeth, careful not to insult him with the couple of barbed words at the tip of your tongue. Nonsensical idea? This was your goal, a main reason why you worked so much and allowed yourself so little.

“I am sorry, master Diluc, I am afraid I can’t abandon this idea”, you say, response flat and controlled, a thunderstorm of emotions hidden beneath the faux calm, “It is my goal, and the main reason why I work here”. So I can have a bright and secure future, in which I won’t have to worry about the tomorrow ever again.

“I also learned that you were born into a low income family and you had to struggle in your life because of that ” a sudden mention of your less than glorious origin makes your face burn from the shame you thought you buried a long time ago. You are stunned, so he continues: “I believe this little endeavor of yours is also motivated by your desire for a stable future. Drop it, I travelled all across the Teyvat and there are horrors that can easily destroy you both in body and spirit”.

He stands up from the desk, and gets closer to you: “I can look after and provide for you, just stay there and you won’t have to worry about the future again ”. His hold on the paper gets tighter, pyro vision shining with a dangerous glint. A faint smell of smoke spreads through the room - a warning if you remain stubborn and unyielding.

Who could have known that the fair prince was a greedy dragon all along?

#yandere genshin impact #Yandere genshin #yandere diluc x reader #Yandere diluc #Yandere genshin impact x reader #Yandere genshin x reader #Yandere #Diluc #Yandere x reader #my writing

[starshipsofstarlord]

The Sheriff and the Murderer

Part Four

Previous Parts | Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Series Masterlist

Summary | car rides come to a gruelling end, leaving you and Sandy with the dirty business of burying Simon’s limbs. Though, when Lee enters the station, he hears the news of a weeping widow, that has been touched unfairly by your husband. He has to find Simon.

Warnings | mentions of death, mentions of rape, mentions of pregnancy, angst, mentions of sex, includes smut, swearing, fingering, blowjob, titty fucking, dirty talk, anal sex, squirting

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Dirt moulded upon the seams of your knees as you knelt, placing Simon’s hand upon the pile of his scattered body parts. There had been many holes dug in the woods, and it was beginning to get dark, as you and Sandy finally finished hiding the evidence of your crime.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you had finally finished stowing away the parts of your life that haunted you, and with much pleasure, buried it deep within the ground. “Surely now you’ll be looking for a new husband...” Sandy snickered, grabbing a rag to wipe the grime from her well adversed hands off on.

“That would not at all be suspicious.” You rolled your eyes at your friend, grabbing the shovels and moving towards her trunk. “But I’m going to need a story for his disappearance, Lee among others will certainly find it strange to never see me worrying of his return.”

A light scoff emitted from the blonde, as she shook her unruly curled head. She placed a hand upon your shoulder, giving you a tender smile to soothe your thoughtful nerves. “Ain’t nobody gonna wanna find that poor excuse of a man. And if they do, you’re gonna be the last person that they suspect.”

She had a point, the people in town that knew of you, were aware that you were nothing more than a simple housewife. You were forced to depend on Simon and his income, and without either, you would fall into squalor. But a life of difficulty, fighting against sexist poverty would be better than living with that monster.

Because that is what Simon was, a monster. He had no recollection nor care for the value of you being a woman, like many men in the day and age. And now, with his bones hidden in the middle of nowhere, far form citizen eyes, you were free, though you were unsure of what to do with your newfound freedom, and how you would manage it.

“What about that wife of his?” Lee snapped his head around, as he looked between the door that held the victim, and Deputy Reeves, who had decided to bring the woman that owned his heart, and another man’s ring upon her finger, into this case. But it was inevitable, you were to be dragged into it, Simon had a hell of a nerve for putting you into the corner.

“And what may your point be to bring y/n into this inconvenience?” The sheriff snapped at his co worker, containing his anger concerning the situation. Reever reeled his head back at the sound of Bodecker’s tone, frowning at his commander’s voice.

“I meant, she may know where Simon Priot is! I’m not assuming that she is the reason that he has gone off the grid, hell knows he wallows in the dark corners of this town. You need to make your likening towards that lady less obvious, I remember back during our training days, you’d carry around a picture of her, and now look at her... she’s bound to have be with a child in a year or so, she moved on Lee, and you’re still stuck on her like gum on the bottom of her shoe.”

Lee bit his lip, restraining the need to explode on this man that was below him, yet was still talking down to him. It was true, it was a fear of his that he’d watch you balloon with an heir, that Simon would raise under his manipulative thumb. And the chances would be, that the baby was genetically identical to his genes, having been made from the pair of you sexually intermingling.

“So your concern is that y/n may know his whereabouts, and not what he may do to her behind closed doors? This woman that we are interviewing may be from a wealthy family, mourning her own well established partner, but because y/n and Simon are married, it surpasses over your thick skull!”

He steadied his breath, holding his hands upon his hips as he tried to control his authority, though, Reeves did not entirely seem impressed with Lee’s words. Instead, he simply bellowed a laugh, finding his sheriff’s prejudice to be amusing. “That is one way to act jealous. Guess I’ll just go over to her home, and see if Simon is present.”

“I’ll go.” Lee grabbed his mug, glaring at his coworker as he walked profusely away, sending a point of his finger towards the door that the widow was concealed behind, prompting that Reever best continue his work, whilst he perceived to do the same.

A series of knocks had you bustling out towards the door, clothed in nothing more than a towel, as you had just left the premises of the bath, finding it to be only Lee on the other side. “Hiya sheriff, is there anything that I can help you with? Maybe you’d like to come inside for a cup of something smooth and sweet.” You bit your lip, giggling as he pushed you through the door.

He shut it behind himself, pinning you against the wall, as his face tucked into your neck, planting ravishingly kisses against the column of your neck, making you revel your head back. “You do feel smooth.” His hands ran up the length of your leg, worming it’s way beneath the rough fabric, sliding his fingers up and into your entrance, causing you to moan up and toward his chin. “I’m finding this suspicious...”

At his words you froze, becoming paranoid that he had found something out. You stared up at him as he thumbed at your clit, as you rutted your hips down and upon his fingers. “Lee, you have to listen to me, there is nothing to be - fuck!” He shoved another two fingers into you, stretching you open, as your hands stroked against his sleeved biceps.

“Every time you answer that damned door, you’re dressed in practically nothing. It’s like you’re trying to seduce all the men around here.” He smirked, using his free hand to tug off the towel, leaving you in nothing more than your own nude skin.

“Just one.” You played with his tie, wincing as the sheriff removed his fingers from inside of you, raising them to your lips as you tasted your own juices from his flesh. “He’s quite the charmer, that smile of his, well that’s contagious. And don’t get me started on that plump belly of his, I love to feel it pressing against me as he fucks me into the mattress. He’s so handsome, and has such a big, pulsing cock.”

With that said, you dropped nakedly to your knees, tugging at his belt, looping the leather out from its holsters, and dragging the layers of material down, so that you could expose his erecting cock. You grasped his base, instantly moving your mouth down to his balls, sucking his left one into your mouth, causing the man above you to grit his teeth.

You stroked his length, moving back up towards his tip, tapping it against your tongue, moaning against him as he began to comb his fingers through your hair, before sinking his fat cock down your throat, feeling his taste upon your buds, as you stared up at him with your innocent eyes.

“Such a talented mouth.” He moved his hips, sinking further into you, as you muffled your noises of gagging on him. “Simon really is a lucky man.” He muttered to yourself, the words being inaudible to where you were below him. But where was Simon?

“Love sucking your cock.” You popped him out of your mouth, swiping your tongue up his shaft, as you continued to pump him. “So big Lee Lee.” His eyes rolled to the back of his head, as he handled himself, moving himself of out your grasp, as he watched you press closer to him, a breast on either side, as he rested on your chest.

You grasped your breasts, a hand upon each, as you suffocated his length with your tits, bouncing on your thighs, as you fucked him with your assets. “Y/n.” He breathed, humming at the sight of you, licking his lips, as he felt swarmed with pleasure.

He remembered back in the day, when he would come over to your house and help you study for mid terms. Those sessions ended rather similarly, with one of you performing some kind of pleasure on the other, keeping as quite as you could so that your father would not hear.

But of course he knew what was going on, which was why he had decided to introduce you to Simon, so that his blessing would sway you into choosing him rather than Lee. “I’m going to cum, baby girl. Gonna soak your lovely tits with my spunk.” He groaned, watching behind heavy lidded eyes as he spilled over your chest, painting it white, as he stepped slightly back, and turned soft.

“Oh my - Christ!” You squealed as you were held chest first against the dining table, remnants of Lee’s cum sliding upon the surface as you were pounded back and forth, Lee behind you as he took you from that angle. “Harder baby, har - ah!”

A light scream reckoned from your throat, your fingers grasping the corners of the surface, as he slipped his cock out from inside of your pussy, pressing his tip against your tighter hole, using no lubrication except your own natural essence that cloaked his skin, as he began to press into your ass.

“Honey, you’re so tight.” He squinted, as he began to slow down, allowing you to adjust to his girth within your asshole before moving slightly faster. “You’re ass feels so good. Never let your horrible husband in your back door, have you?”

The thoughts of ways that Simon had never brought you pleasure, times that you consented to it, made him pulse harder within you. Lee had been permitted to do more socially unacceptable things with you, in your home, and it completely turned him on. If anyone knew that adultery, and all these other things that Lee did to you, they would even look down on him, the sheriff.

“No. Only you Lee Lee.” You threw your head back, moulding with the pressure of his hand upon your back, forcing you to be flat against the table. “I want more baby, give me something more sweetie.” Giving you a light spank upon your ass, making your tighter walls clench around him, he trailed his hand to your front, pinching your clit, before delving his fingers within your contracting walls.

“Holy heaven.” Lee groaned, feeling at how your wetness seeped down his hand, as he hammered into you. This session had been going on for so long, and if he weren’t mistaken, he’d think it to be one of the best. “Cum baby, cum all over me. And I’ll feel this ass up, yeah?”

Feverishly nodding, you continuously clenched around his thick fingers, until a flow of clear liquid squirted out from your pussy, creating a puddle upon the kitchen floor as he removed his hand from inside you, shoving it in your mouth to mute your screams. His balls slapped against the middle of your ass cheeks, as he thrusted, falling back against you as he filled you up.

Grasping your hips lightly, he pulled back, watching as his cum dripped out from you, cascading down the back of your thighs, as your pussy withered from emptiness. He bit his lip at the sight, and for a moment, he forgot why he had visited you this early on the day for an exchange, and then he remembered, it all flashing back to him.

Perhaps another round was in order, to numb the reminder of your marriage, and the case that he was on duty for. As you returned to your senses, he helped your get up, carrying you towards the bathroom to partake in more fulfilment and cleanse the both of you.

Tags;

@charmed-asylum @tcc-gizmachine @stucky-my-ship @brynthebulldozer @acciosiriusblack @lady-loki-ren

#lee bodecker smut #lee bodecker fic #lee bodecker fanfiction #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker x y/n #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x female reader #lee bodecker x oc #lee imagines #lee x reader #lee bodecker fluff #lee bodecker oneshot #lee bodecker #tdatt x reader #tdatt fanfiction #tdatt smut #tdatt fic #tdatt imagine #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan oneshot #imagines #imagine #xreader #the devil all the time smut #the devil all the time fanfiction #the devil all the time x reader #devil all the time #sheriff Bodecker smut

[to-star-lake]

Mars [ II ]

pairing | kth x reader genre | ahistorical au, military au, yandere!taehyung word count | 5.2k rating/warnings | M, 18+

In the coming days, he had a room made up for you, the one beside his. He had a bed with a wooden frame brought in, and had a lace canopy hung up around it for you. He instructed his servants to bring the best linens to make up the bed, and insisted that it be cleaned and changed regularly to keep you comfortable.

You came to find that the Lady Inah had previously been the head maid of the governor’s estate. Now she runs the servants in this compound, along with a brothel of girls that had been servants of the house before, or were girls from other war-wracked regions, brought here by the men, skin calloused and abused by war. 

You learned more about your captor - that he grew up in poverty, an orphan, scraping by a living through stealing on the streets of a desert nation to the east. You learned that of all the captains in the General’s army, he was his favorite, for he was able to lead only a small battalion of men across the plains of the west, conquering entire nations through sheer guerilla force. You learned credit could be given the Captain for the siege of the north and the west, helping the General more than triple the size of his empire.

From the other servant girls you learned he had never taken any of them for himself, but that they’d heard rumors that he took occasional visits to brothels. Amongst the girls of the house, the Captain was to be respected - he was good to everyone in his charge, he never used corporal punishment on any of the servants, and made sure everyone in the compound was properly clothed, fed, and given a place to sleep. A few of the girls had, over the years, even wanted to serve him, offered themselves to him, in fact, with hopes of receiving more privileges due to his status. The most extreme of these girls were so bold as to openly proclaim how handsome they thought the Captain was. They were immediately silenced by the Lady Inah, and were banished to a week of work outside in the stables.

But despite all of this, the girls feared him. One of the servant girls was a water maid, responsible for cleaning and pressing the captains uniform. Her hands were calloused, cracked and dry from scrubbing the blood from his clothes. Another girl once was instructed to tend to the wounds of a spy the Captain held captive. Each day she was instructed to go into the room where the Captain kept him, where she would find the captive beaten, bruised, and cut, puddles of his blood coagulating by a drain on the floor. The Captain instructed her to keep him alive, so he could prolong the torture as long as it took for him to get the information he needed. And she was able to keep him alive, for an entire week, she managed. Through the screams she heard even through holding both hands tightly around her ears and squeezing her eyes shut, until the last morning on the day she found the captive had died, she no longer recognized his face or body.

These stories were validated by the other soldiers in the compound. You’d helped Lady Inah in the mess hall, where if the Captain happened to pass, a hush fell over the men as they watched him walk past, eyes wide as though they’d seen a prophet. They admired and revered him, he was the best soldier among them - the bravest, and cruelest of them. Honorable, but his heart filled with malice.

You didn’t think too much of any of these stories. In the first couple of weeks since you were brought here, your only concern was finding a way to escape.

Every day he made sure there was a vase of fresh flowers in your room. Each day it was a new bouquet, he wanted to know what flowers you liked best. But it seemed to him that you never took notice of them. 

The servants were also instructed to purchase fresh clothing for you - everything from plain linen gowns, to dresses made of fine silk. 

And last, but not at all least, he had an iron cuff made for your ankle. Attached to a heavy wrought-iron chain locked into a bolt in the middle of the floor of your room. The length of the chain restricted your movement to your room, the Captain’s room and office beside,  the bathroom, and just far enough that you could open the door to the balcony. 

Twice you had tried to escape. The second time you were caught in the bushes under the balcony of the Captain’s room, the skin of your legs bruised and scraped from falling. The cuff and chain ended these attempts. 

He had a daily routine. The early mornings were for meetings, the servants of the house brought him breakfast to his room around 6am. He did not eat much in the morning, opting for just a glass of juice most days. 

Around 11am, he would head out with a battalion of his men. He would be in uniform, and so would they. They were always armed with heavy artillery. They returned late in the evening, sometimes late into the night, their uniforms dirty, splattered with blood, covered in dust and ash. He always found you huddled in the corner beside the large credenza in your room when he returned. He’d go into the bathroom, remove his clothes, which the servants would take to clean and press, a fresh shirt and trousers, and a clean coat always awaited him before he woke in the morning, and shower. 

He bathed daily, kept his quarters tidy, and would sit down for supper shortly after. He always insisted you join him for his meals. You hardly ate. He noticed. 

He watched you in the weeks that passed, concerned, it was as though you were shrinking before his eyes. He never touched you; he did not want to hurt you. But on that day during fourth week of living at the compound, after a long period of good behavior, he became angry with you.

The avoiding eye contact, the refusal to speak to him, and when you did it was to shoot insults at him; all of this he did not pay mind to. But you refusing to eat. This he didn’t stand for.

He’d taken you by the arm, dragged you against your protests into your room and threw you onto the bed. He sat you up and tied your arms to the bedpost. He left the room and returned with a bowl of soup in one hand, and a loaf of bread in the other. He sat down on the mattress beside you, dipping a spoon into the hot liquid. He blew onto the spoon to cool the soup, and held it out to your mouth. You opened up, sipping it, but not soon before you spat it back out into his face. 

He blinked, looking down and sighing. He set the bowl of soup down onto the table beside your bed, and cleaned his face with a napkin, saying nothing. He took the bowl back in his hands, and offered you one more spoonful. 

You pulled your knee up to your torso, and swung it toward him, knocking his hand back. He almost dropped the bowl, a splash of soup spilled onto his lap, dripping and staining the freshly cleaned sheets. 

He’d never been angry with you before this moment. He stood, huffing exasperated breaths. He slammed the bowl onto the table and climbed onto the bed over you, his legs straddling your waist. He sat onto your legs, the oppressive weight of his body kept you from continuing to thrash your legs about. He reached a hand out to grab your face, his fingers closed tightly around your jaw, forcing your mouth open. He reached and picked up the loaf of bread from the table and brought it to his lips, ripping off pieces of it which he proceeded to shove into your mouth. 

You tried to spit them back out, but he pushed more into your mouth and you were forced to swallow. The dry, crusted edges cut the inside of your mouth and throat. He did this until the entire loaf of bread was gone, and the inside of your mouth was scratched raw and dry. He then proceeded to pour the bowl of soup into your mouth, streams of it dribbling from the edges of your lips. You choked at the liquid streaming into your throat, coughing, and he finally tilted the empty bowl back and let go of your jaw and stood up off of your body to the side of the bed. 

You were gasping, hunched over, huddling your legs to your chest, your arms still tied against the bedposts. He fell back against the wall, his chest heaving. 

The early days were like this. 

You fought him often. Fought him when he’d force-feed you after days of refusing to eat. Fought him when he made you share a meal with him. Fought him when he wanted you to sit beside the fire with him and read. Fought him when he locked you in your room for a week after you attempted to free your ankle from its iron cuff, only to fail and he found your skin bloody and bruised from the attempt.

But as time went on this spirit dwindled. And even if your mind hadn’t grown tired of fighting him, your exhausted body wouldn’t have allowed you to continue. So you sat down with him for meals like he asked. You ate the food that was given to you on your plate. You brought books to him by the fire, and watched as he opened a particular volume and would notice you watching, and would hand you a book to read. You wandered the confines of his room quietly. But still, you would not acknowledge him.

Some days he observed may have been better for you than others. As the last of the winter months passed, the buds of spring began to appear on the trees outside the balcony. The smoky, frigid winter air gave way to a warm Earthy scent. The silver clouds that hid the sun began to lift, revealing a bright cerulean sky.

On such days, he’d watch you from behind his desk. He’d study your fragile body, hidden and lost under the excess material of the shapeless linen gowns you wore. He watched as you would walk slowly, dragging the heavy iron chain behind you with effort, your bare feet padding softly against the cold marble floors to the doors of the balcony, where you’d open the door slightly, and sit before it, pulling your knees into your chest, and took deep breaths of the air that blew in. He’d walk over and drape a blanket over your shoulders, though most times you didn’t even notice he’d done this. Your mind was too occupied and lost in gazing into the sky.

On those days he recognized that there was something different in your eyes. He would dare say he may have even seen a light in them. 

He began letting you out of his room when he went out with the scouts during the day. He’d leave you under Lady Inah’s supervision, and she had you working downstairs in the kitchen with the other girls. You cleaned tabletops and floors and dishes. You peeled potatoes and stirred soups and kneaded dough for bread. And in the evening when the Captain returned, Lady Inah would send you back up to his quarters with his supper. 

He learned your name from Lady Inah, but found that he couldn’t use it to call you. Somehow he was afraid. Knowing your name, he would repeat it quietly to himself in his head as he watched you move about your room - sitting quietly by the fire or by the open window, sitting on your bed with a book you’d taken from his desk. He knew you were hiding it. He didn’t mind. But he found himself unable to vocalize your name, as though it were a fragile veil of glass, and his voice, should he call your name, would shatter it. 

--

The sun rose on the horizon on a warm morning in May, and he woke to the sound of birds singing in the courtyard below the balcony of his room. He sat up in his bed, scooting to the edge, swinging his legs over. He stood, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and tossed his hair back. He slowly made his way to the doorway to your room. He did this every morning. 

Peering through the open doorway, he saw you, still asleep in your bed and turned to the bathroom to shower and get dressed. He knew you would be awake once he was out of the shower; it always woke you, it was like this every day. He knew you would wait until he came out and began dressing, and then you’d go into the bathroom to brush your teeth, and wash your face. As he dressed, Lady Inah would knock on the door to his quarters, and she would undo the cuff around your ankle and you would follow her downstairs into the kitchen, where the Captain’s breakfast was being prepared. You would carry the tray of dishes back up to his room, you would set it down on the round table in front of the window, and you would stand by the table and wait until he was seated to instruct you to sit too. 

On this morning, as he watched you follow Lady Inah out into the hallway, a frantic Soobin rushed in through the open doors, almost running into you. 

“Sir, the General has arrived, and he wishes to see you immediately,” Soobin panted, winded from running up to the Captain’s quarters, saluting quickly. 

Taehyung stood, a surge of worry rising in his chest that you might pass the General in the halls. No sooner had Soobin finished his sentence did the General’s booming footsteps arrive. And he was not alone.

Taehyung greeted the General, and the General pulled him into a tight hug, attempting to be fatherly, as he’d always attempted to do with the Captain. 

“The years have not been kind to you, my friend. Perhaps the weather here in the north has put you in a perpetual foul mood?” 

Taehyung turned to see the face that belonged to the sarcastic voice that  spoke. It was Captain Park Jimin, who commanded the forces on the southern front. 

“Yes, I’m certain it’s not as enjoyable as the beaches in the south,” he replied wearily. He watched as the corner of Jimin’s mouth lifted in a smirk at his remark. 

He’d known Jimin for a few years now, and despised him - the way he indulged in drink and women, his addiction to gambling, the way he held no regard for his fellow men, sending his battalions into battle while he lounged in his fortress with his women and his wine. But he was a brilliant strategist, and the General regarded him highly for this, and turned a blind eye on his other, less commendable habits. 

“Well surely with the coming of spring, there will be better weather and prettier sights to ease a wary mind,” Jimin continued to chide. “Speaking of prettier sights, General, you’ve been holding out on me! You said all the girls here were too worn, and none would suit me. But in the hall just now, we passed the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen here in the west, is she one of the lieutenants-”

Taehyung’s jaw tightened and he closed both hands into fists, and the General took notice. 

“Oh her? Oh well, she was actually brought here by our Taehyung,” the General took a conscious step into the tense space between his two captains. 

“Oh?” Jimin smirked, looking up at Taehyung who stared at the ground, his fists tightening. “My friend, I thought you were above all that,” his grin grew as Taehyung’s anger boiled in his chest. “Well then don’t be shy, tell me...how is she?” 

Taehyung made a move to lunge forward, but the General quickly stepped beside Jimin, placing both hands around his shoulders, laughing nervously. “Oh come now, Jimin, must you provoke him? Come, come, let us stop this rabble and go downstairs for some breakfast. You have not lived until you’ve had Lady Inah’s lavender scones, they are simply scrumptious. Oh and with a bit of tea, yes,” he quickly ushered Jimin out into the hall, but looked over his shoulder and shot Taehyung a warning glance. 

---

“The house is bustling, what is going on?” Lira, one of the other servant girls who worked with you inquired as she entered the kitchen, sliding an apron on over her frock. 

“The General has returned from the southern front,” Lady Inah replied, her hands in a bowl of flour and butter, making dough for scones. “Lira, please, fetch me the lavender water.” 

Lira approached the table and handed a pitcher to Lady Inah, who poured concentrated water with careful precision into the dough mix. You stood across the table from her, quietly cutting circular domes out of an already made batch of scone mix and placing them on a baking sheet. 

“So the General has returned already,” Lira said, taking a seat on the wooden bench across from you. 

“Yes, and he’s not alone,” Lady Inah’s hands stopped moving and she straightened herself up. She sighed, wiping both hands on her apron and looked down at Lira. “He’s brought Captain Park Jimin back from the front with him.” 

You watched as Lira’s whole body tensed at those words, a shadow falling over her eyes. Her face became unspeakably pale, like all blood suddenly drained from the vessels in her cheeks. 

Lady Inah gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder. 

“Surely, he’s brought a girl here with him? Yes, he wouldn’t travel without at least one girl in tow to..” Lira swallowed dryly, stumbling over her words. 

“That I do not know,” Lady Inah leaned back over the mixing bowl. 

“Is that the man we passed in the hall upstairs? The one with the General?” you asked quietly. 

Lady Inah nodded. Lira seemed to shrink further into herself by the second. 

“Lira-” you began, but Lira stood swiftly and took up the tray of scones you’d assembled, and walked them over to the oven, her head down. 

Lady Inah took a deep breath in. “You must steer clear of Captain Park Jimin if you can,” she whispered, returning both hands to kneading the dough. You looked up at her, studying her expression. “He’s visited here twice before, and both times he chose Lira for himself. He’s always insisted on having the most beautiful girl serve him wherever he goes. And the General has always indulged him. The first time he was here, I sent Lira to him. That is a choice I live to regret every single day. When she returned to her chambers beside mine the next day, her eyes were red and swollen with tears, she had bruises everywhere... She refused to tell me what happened, but I can guess,” she said quietly, turning to look at Lira who stood bracing herself against the edge of the counter beside the oven. 

“Tell me, is our Captain pleased with you? You have not caused him any more strife lately, have you? You have not disobeyed him as you did when you first arrived?” 

You shook your head. “I haven’t angered him recently,” you replied quietly, thinking. “At least I don’t think I have..”

Lady Inah sighed, gazing over at the calloused and rough skin of Lira’s hands and face due to years of work as a servant. Then she turned to you, and looked at you - your long hair, gleaming in the sunlight, at your eyes, wide and attentive, at your posture, tall and poised, not hunched over after years of bowing. “These days, it’s possible the General holds Captain Park Jimin in higher regard than our Captain..” she began slowly. “He’s a brilliant military strategist that’s helped the General win the three nations in the south. The General was so pleased with him, perhaps more pleased than he’d ever been with our Captain, even though he’s won more battles and more land. But those nations to the south are jewel-mining and merchant territory. It brought countless riches to the General.” 

You listened quietly. 

“I know he’s seen you…” she stopped, taking a hushed breath in. “If he wishes for you to serve him...I know the General would not refuse him. And I cannot guarantee that even our Captain could save you..”

You couldn’t move. You stood frozen, her words echoing through your mind. You felt something heavy in your chest, and it kept you from moving, from saying anything. Your mind raced, and you felt your breathing fall uneven. You’d made eye contact with the other Captain just upstairs as you passed him and the General in the hall. He looked at you with an inquisitive eye. You could not shake the image of Lira from your head - you pictured her bruised neck, the skin of her face dry and cracked from the salt of her tears. You imagined what other wounds she would’ve had that she was too afraid to even speak of. You swallowed dryly. You recognized this feeling. It was something you’d come to forget in the presence of the Captain of this compound because he never gave you reason to feel this. It was fear. 

“Lady Inah..” you began, your voice hushed, cracking at the end. 

She glanced up at you. 

“May I be excused, I think I should bring breakfast up to the Captain...”

Lady Inah let out a breath of what seemed to be relief. “I think that would be wise.”

You stood quietly outside the Captain’s door, the large serving tray in your hands holding the breakfast you always made for and ate with him. 

Think. What could you do? What should you do? You knew that the other Captain saw you. Lady Inah did all but tell you directly that without intervention, he would choose you to serve him tonight. It would be alright if he hit you, you thought. It would be alright if he used you for target practice, or if he slapped you, if he cut you. This wasn’t what you feared. 

If he asked for you, would Taehyung really let you go? Think. You knew he cared for you, everyone in the compound knows, though no one spoke of it. You could see the look on his face every time your eyes happened to meet, he always seemed to catch his breath whenever your gaze met his. You could tell him that you did not wish to serve the other Captain. But would that matter to him? Would it not anger him that you would even verbalize this possibility? 

Think. 

 “There are many invirtuous ways you could serve the Captain,” you heard Lady Inah’s voice in your head. This was something she said to you late one evening as she was preparing the Captain’s supper, and you sat stiffly on a wooden chair beside her, not wanting to go back to his room. That afternoon he had returned from scouting a village west of the compound, and you saw as he burst through the doors of his room he was holding onto his shoulder, and there was blood streaming from between his fingers. 

He’d been grazed by a bullet. You’d heard the clanging and rustling of the metal first aid kit from inside the bathroom. Slowly and silently, you walked over, peering through the open doorway and you saw him standing in front of the sink, running a needle and thread through an open gash on his arm. He’d cut his shirt from his body, it lay in a bloodied heap on the floor beside him. You saw the scars on his back. There were so many - blotched, circular ones like a flesh-toned plaque from old bullet wounds, long slender ones you could tell were lashes from a whip, small, precise cuts from a knife. 

When he tied off and cut the thread, he had looked up and saw you in the reflection in the mirror. And before you could back away, he turned, advancing towards you with long strides. He closed a hand around your throat and pushed you against the door frame. You felt one of the straps of your gown fall off your shoulders. You watched with shuddered breaths his eyes as they gazed back into yours, as they fell to your collarbones and to the curve of your neck where it met your bare shoulder. You felt his hand close tighter around your neck, moving closer and you audibly whimpered. 

He seemed to find himself then, quickly releasing you from his grasp and you slithered back into your room. “I’m sorry..” you heard him say softly from the bathroom. 

“If you cease to please the Captain, there are worse fates than death that will befall you. I would recommend you do everything in your power to not lose his favor, he has been good to you,” Lady Inah’s voice played in your mind again. “There are many invirtuous ways you could serve the Captain. But some are less so than others.” 

You entered his chamber and found him seated beside the small dining table by the window. You knew he would be. His elbow rested on the tabletop, his hand held to his lips, lost in thought as he often was of late. 

He glanced up when he heard you enter. You set the tray of food down onto the table and stood in front of him. 

“How many times must I tell you, you do not need to wait for me to give permission,” he sighed, impatient, leaning back in his chair and looking up at you. “Sit, eat.” 

“Captain..” you said quietly. 

“And how many times must I tell you, you do not need to address me as Captain, use my name.”

He had. He had told you many times to call him by his name. 

You nodded quietly. 

His brows furrowled in a concerned frown. “Is something wrong?” 

You took a slow, deep breath in. 

“Captain..I- I wanted to apologize for the trouble and worry I must’ve caused you when you first brought me here..” you swallowed, reaching a shaking hand up to the strap of your gown and brushed it from your shoulder. You looked directly into his eyes, and watched as they grew in shock, his lips pressed together tightly. You brushed the other strap from your shoulder and felt goosebumps grow on your skin as the starched linen material of the gown slipped with ease from your body. 

You stood, naked, and attempting to hide your shivers in the cold room before the Captain, who stared back at you, incredulous, unmoving and addled from his seat. 

You moved closer to him, standing in between his legs. “You’ve been kind to me. You didn’t hurt me to punish me when I tried to escape. You’ve taken care of me.” You reached a hand out carefully, and brushed a strand of his hair back from his forehead. His eyes seemed to soften as he looked up at you. 

“I’ve been wanting to thank you..” your voice shook, and you hoped he did not notice. But you knew he did. He never missed a thing. 

“Y/N..” 

Hearing him call your name for the first time caused you to freeze for the briefest moment. You dropped down to your knees before him, gliding the palms of your hands along his shoulders, down his chest and stomach. Your fingertips grazed the leather of his belt and he reached out to take your hands in his. 

“You don’t have to do this..” he leaned forward in his seat, moving to pull you up, but you felt his thigh twitch at the contact of your arm against him. 

“I want to,” you whispered, gazing up at him with sleepy eyes, your lashes fluttering with a purposeful effort. You pulled your hands from his grasp and ran your palms along his thighs. 

You heard a moan escape from deep in his throat, and saw his hand moving to grasp the edge of the chair. You slid your hands up to the silver buckle of his belt, undoing it. Slowly, you unfastened the button of his trousers, sliding the zipper down and you could tell for a while now even beneath the thick cotton material, how he stiffened. How he grew. 

Carefully, you slipped your fingertips under the opening in his briefs, and brought his full length from under the dampened cotton material. 

“Y/N-”

You scooted closer to him, up on both knees as you leaned your head over him. 

“Y/N..”

You felt his whole body shudder around you as you leaned your head down and licked the drops of precum from him, the salty, bitter taste lingered on your tongue as you sucked in your cheeks, collecting the saliva in your mouth and pushed it out between your lips. It dripped slowly onto him and you slid your mouth down around him. You closed your eyes and could hear his breathing become more shallow and ragged as you clamped your lips around him and worked him slowly in and out of your mouth, pulling in your cheeks to maintain as much suction as you can. You did the best you could to maintain steady breaths, but the air around you grew thick and sticky, and began to cloud your mind, and the sensation of all the ridges of his cock on your tongue made you hazy.

He slid in his seat, quickly reaching a hand out to grasp the edge of the table to stabilize himself. “Fuck..Y/N..” a deep moan emanated from his throat, breathy and heavy, the sound seemed to travel like a wave of electricity through the air, sending a rush of heat through your body. You squeezed your thighs together in protest of this sensation, but you were helpless to stop it. The combination of the taste of him in your mouth, and the sweet, musky smell of his skin made your mind feel foggy, and made you salivate over him, and you tilted your head, your jaw aching from his girth, you could feel your own wetness slipping between your legs. 

“Y/N...ah...mm..I-”

You quickened your pace, holding your tongue firmly against him as more drool dripped down around him, pooling around your hands held firmly at the base of his cock. You felt a vein quiver against your tongue, and you moved your hand, taking more of him than you had been, and you whimpered, feeling the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, the air around you filled with the sounds of his gravelly moans and the wet, slurping sounds of you deepthroating him. 

“Y/N...fuck, I’m gonna cum..”

Your muffled whines sent vibrations through his body and with a shuddering breath, you felt the hot stream hit your throat, and you felt your own body shake, moaning as you tasted him, feeling the compulsive ache in your core grow even more. You moved him in and out of your mouth a couple more times, swallowing all that he had pumped into your mouth before releasing him with an audible pop from between your lips. 

You sat back on your heels, and looked up to see his gaze meet yours. His eyes were soft, sleepy, under heavy lids, his lips parted as he huffed rasped breaths in. After a few quiet moments, the rise and fall of his chest slowed and his breathing began to even out. 

A cool breeze came in from the open window behind him and he sat up and leaned down, reaching a hand out to tuck away a strand of hair that fell over your eyes, caressing your cheek as he did so but-

You flinch. You didn’t mean to. But it was all too lucid now, the fog had lifted. 

You stand, taking a few steps back and turning from him. You reached down to the floor and pulled up the gown you had dropped before, pulling the straps over your shoulders hurriedly. 

“Y/N-” he called out, his voice barely a whisper. 

“I apologize for interrupting your meal, Captain,” you sped through those words. “Please excuse me, Lady Inah still needs me downstairs.” You bowed quickly, and turned hastily out the doors of his room, speeding down the hallway and stairwell to the servants’ chambers. 

After you left, Taehyung sat, frozen to his chair for a few moments. Partly because he was still affected by the euphoric haze you left him in. Partly because he did not know what to do next. Why did you rush off so hastily? He wondered if he’d done something wrong. Or if he should have said something. Perhaps he should’ve done more to stop you from doing this. Perhaps he should’ve kept you from doing this. He regretted now that he did not have the strength to stop you. Perhaps he should’ve kept you from leaving him. He wanted you to stay. 

After a few moments he stood, zipping himself up and sliding his belt back through its buckle. He ran a hand through his hair and gazed around the empty space where you had just been with him. 

He took quick strides from his room, out into the hallway and down to the kitchen. 

“Captain,” Lady Inah greeted him, a flash of concern flew across her mind as she caught sight of the anxious expression on his face. 

“Y/N. Where is she?” 

“She..she’d just gone upstairs to bring you your breakfast as usual, sir..” Lady Inah exchanged a nervous glance with Lira. “Perhaps she’s gone to the servants’ quarters? I send her there sometimes to fetch fresh towels for the kitche-”

He was gone before she could finish, picking his stride up in a small run as he leapt up the winding stairwell, flying to the door at the end of the hall and as he burst through it, was met with the startled and petrified faces of the servant girls that were cleaning the room. 

“Y/N. Is she here?” he huffed. 

“....Yes, sir, she just came in not a few moments ago...” a girl’s voice squeaked quietly from the far corner of the room. 

“Where?” he charged toward her, and she was so startled the broom she held fell from her hands, clattering against the floor. She held up a shaking hand, and pointed to the adjacent room. 

He swung through the open door, and was met with a dense cloud of condensation and heat in the air. It was the servants’ bath. 

At the end of a line of stalls he could make out a silhouette of your body from behind the steam of the shower. He could see your head dropped, hunched over against the wall, your hands across your chest, clasping both of your shoulders. 

He let out a slow exhale, falling back against the dampened marble wall beside him, leaning his head back against the warm stone. Seeing you like this seemed to confirm for him what he already knew to be true, only he didn’t want to believe it - that you did not actually want him.  

Of course you didn’t, he thought to himself. Why would you? Of course you’d be disgusted by him. Of course you’d want to wash the smell of him, this memory, from your body as quickly as you could. 

He stole one more glance at you and turned from the bath, walking back through the servants’ quarters, not seeing the distressed looks on the girls’ faces. 

#bts x reader #bts series #bts scenario #bts imagine #bts military au #taehyung au #bts authors #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #taehyung series #taehyung fanfiction #taehyung scenario #yandere #bts yandere #taehyung yandere #taehyung military au #taehyung x reader #mars the god of war

[cafeinthemoon]

Tobirama with a trophy wife 😳🤣

When I saw this request I didn’t know what to feel or think at first, but the idea turned out to be so funny to me that I had to give it a try lmao

Anon I hope you don’t mind if it doesn’t come out exactly the way you imagined bc this is my first time writing this sort of thing and I really don’t know what I’m doing but anyways, here we have Tobi with a 🏆 wife

Fandom: Naruto | Tobirama Senju

Symbols: 💗 | 💜 | 💚

Things were never that easy for you and your family: war, poverty and other unpleasing circumstances molded your ways in life

You were never given the chance to be romantic. For a poor girl who wasn’t a ninja, the safest way to achieve something in life was through marriage. And a man from an important clan was your goal

There were a good amount of single guys who fit these requirements around

It didn’t make your work easy, though: ninjas don’t have much time to think of building a family if they’re not the head of their clan, and if they are they would only choose someone on their level

Besides, there were those clans whose members were not allowed to marry outsiders like the Uchiha and the Hyugga

But, well, the Senju were around and were more “progressive” than their allies towards these matters

You didn’t even take a look at their head, Hashirama: man was clearly reserved to some princess from a good family

And tbh you wouldn’t spend an entire day by his side without being annoyed by his dramatic manners

However, he had a younger brother who seemed to have all the intelligence and seriousness that lacked in him and looked like a prince just like him

Tobirama was his name, and unlike the other Senju he was a real challenge

He was clever enough to see through people's intentions, focused enough on his work to ignore you as if you were part of the furniture and too grumpy to let himself being led by a girl as a simple minded man would do

All of this just made things more interesting for you

By that time, the clans’ compounds were always in need of people to work on them, performing tasks that were impossible (or unworthy) to be performed by shinobi

This meant endless space for female workers

You took your chance and applied to work on the head’s house

Unfortunately for you, there were other girls with the same mindset as you working there

The environment was always tense with silent competition: they came first and wouldn’t give up their place for nothing

You knew that the solution was to find a way to surpass them without using the same tactics as them, since they clearly didn’t work: the Senjus were still single and those girls were still servants

Observing them, you noticed they all acted the same way: they would fight for attention, but once they got it, they didn’t know what to do, an the men’s interest quickly disappeared

You would have to do the opposite

You were always gentle, showed good manners and kept your mouth shut for most of the time, just like expected from a servant

You were dedicated to your job as if you were there just for it

But during your free times you took some minutes to educate yourself sneaking through the library and reading the scrolls, most of them filled with poetry or historical content

However, you were careful not to keep yourself apart from the other girls, otherwise they would find out what you were doing. You made one or two friends just to keep up with everything

This plan of yours worked right at the first month… But with Hashirama

He somehow started to talk to you, pointing out how silent and “different” you were

You just smiled and pretended you knew nothing about being different

As the days passed, however, some sort of friendship grew between you two, and you were now assigned to work closer to him, who were always with his brother

Hashirama often talked to you as a good friend, even in Tobirama’s presence

You soon saw your chance there and watched your steps when Tobirama was around

Because of Hashirama’s influence, he started to talk directly to you as well. Most of the times he just asked you favors or gave you orders, but every interaction counted

One day, you thought the Senjus were not at home and went to the library to finish a reading you’ve started the past week

You were there for some minutes when the doors were suddenly opened and Tobirama came in

“What are you doing here?” was his natural first question

Well, Tobirama was not like his brother, so an excuse weren’t going to work on him. You told him the truth: you’ve been visiting the library to read during your free time, but you didn’t want anyone to know because you were afraid of being scolded

Tobirama said he was not going to scold you for wanting to read some scrolls and even gave you permission to keep visiting the library after work

Then you started to talk about the scroll’s content. It was your first informal conversation

You were not blind to his qualities: he was smart, observant, articulated... You were more and more convinced that having a man like that as your husband was an achievement like no other

Hashirama was the first to notice the change in your interactions and started talking in your favor to his brother

You were more than happy with this

One day, you were talking to Hashirama and managed to discreetly compliment his brother

Tobirama came at that right time and overheard the conversation

You quickly excused yourself and ran out from the place

From that moment, Hashirama gave you the support you didn’t request but welcomed anyway

One day, your hard work finally seemed to pay off: Tobirama came to you during your free time claiming that he wanted to discuss something important with you

You went to a private place that reminded you of a garden. Was that a good sign?

You were nervous but managed to discreetly ask him why you were there

The way he looked at you before answering sent chills down your spine

But then came his words

“You do not need to keep pretending, y/n. I know everything”

Oh. God. What were going to happen to you now? Were you going to be fired? Exposed? Killed?

Tobirama never seemed so scary to you before. But he must have noticed the fear in your face, because his next words were sort of assuring

“Do not be afraid. I did not bring you here to scold you. I brought you here to say that I admire your cleverness and courage to try such thing with one of us. Let me say that your plan would work with a man like my brother. But unfortunately for you, I am from a different kind”

Despite your goals and methods, you still saw yourself as an honest girl, so you just told him your whole story and the things that led you to such ways

You also confessed that as time passed and you observed him and his brother working together as a team and a family, some changes occurred in your vision of them

You were impressed with something you’ve never dreamed of experiencing yourself

Your heart was divided: you had to assure your own comfort in life, but at the same time you no longer wanted to act that way towards him and Hashirama

He didn’t make it clear if he believed you or not, but it didn’t matter, for his next measure was even more shocking

“Y/n, I will be honest with you. In a strange way, I like you. And I sense that this feeling can grow into attachment if I give room to it”

“What do you mean with give room to it, Tobirama-sama?”

“I want to say that this is exactly my intention. I brought you here to inform you that I am going to talk to my brother about our marriage”

You had to do your best to not pass out after hearing that

Despite knowing you didn’t love him and hearing your true intentions from your mouth, he was willing to make you his wife. Why?!

“But, Tobirama-sama… why? Why would you marry someone after all you just heard? Besides, you don’t even love me. I don’t understand… Nothing justifies such decision!”

His response was to approach you and whisper in your ear

“Consider this as part of your punishment”

The other day, you were sent to Hashirama’s presence (Tobirama was not there)

He congratulated you for your engagement and explained that from now on you will have to call him your brother, for you no longer were a servant, but his brother’s future wife

He then came to hug you with all his strength, leaving all his composure aside

Everything happened so fast that day that you felt like you were inside a dream: you were sent to a new room, with new clothes and everything you needed

One of your old colleagues were sent to take care of you, and the surprise (and envy) on her face was impossible to disguise

However, you couldn’t say that it was a perfect dream: you finally got what you wanted, yes, but this didn’t bring you the satisfaction it was supposed to bring

The next days, you felt strange in Tobirama’s presence, and you sensed that the more you felt like that, longer was the time he spent with you, acting as if everything was okay

You can say that after your marriage, your life in fact changed, but not exactly for the better

Unlike the period you worked as a servant, you had some comfort and a good amount of free time now, but you soon found out that it didn’t mean true happiness

At first, you thought Tobirama would be a terrible husband in each way possible, but to your surprise, this was not what happened

He was always polite with you whether in front of others or in particular, but you would never call that gentleness

When you were alone, he was almost always busy with his own stuff and you were left to do the same with yours, which was never enough to fill your free time, so you weren’t spared from moments of boredom and loneliness

(Besides, his working process while creating his jutsu was kinda scary to you, so you never got close to his office during these occasions)

In the occasional times he took you, he never hurt nor humiliated you, but neither he was as warm and passionate as you’d like him to be

Apart from that, there was no regular physical affection between you two: a kiss on your temple or a brief touch on your hand was everything you would gain

You finally understood that this is what he meant when he said he was going to “punish” you: you would reach your goal, but you’d never get rid of the sensation that something was missing in your life

As time passed, however, some genuine feeling seemed to grow between you. It was nothing like love, but some sort of partnership

When Tobirama went to the battlefield, you found yourself worried about the possibility of seeing him alive for the last time, and when he came back with serious injuries you never abandoned the room where he was treated

When you got pregnant and was going to give birth to your first child, you were scared, but he was there to assure you and to help with anything necessary

Yes, after a long time you learned your lesson and grew as a person

And he learned to see in you more than he first expected to see

Despite everything, you could say you built a good life as a family

And yes, it was true that you still couldn’t give yourself the luxury of being romantic

But maybe the love you managed to get for you was actually the kind of love that works for you

#naruto requests #naruto headcanons #tobirama #tobirama headcanons #tobirama x reader

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Mate in Three

Pairing: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts Rating: M Word Count: 2653

Summary:

It's not a matter of if Beth can seduce Benny, it's a matter of when.

The first thing Beth decides is that it doesn’t matter whether Benny knows she’s doing it on purpose. Not for a moment does she believe herself to be wilier than him, therefore her attempts to seduce him cannot go unnoticed. She’s already revealed her intentions—at the bar in Ohio—and he’s made his own position clear. Both halves of it. He wouldn’t have needed to put an unambiguous ban on sex if it weren’t at least partly for his own benefit, as a reminder to keep their relationship professional, trainer and trainee. She still smiles to herself over how he reacted when she swept the hair from his eyes. All he’s done is silently place a handicap on her play: she’ll have to accomplish it all without touching him.

The drive to New York is for revision, repetition, exercises, and, amusingly, bonding. Benny’s still Benny behind the wheel, but this is something more straightforward than playing Benny Watts for fans and the press. He’s at ease. He even unstraps the knife from his belt ahead of them setting off.

“For comfort,” he claims, explaining that he doesn’t want the sheath digging into his leg the entire trip.

“Does this mean you don’t believe you need to protect yourself from me?” Beth jokingly inquires.

He holds her teasing stare a second too long and clears his throat as he redirects his attention to the road ahead of them.

It takes her a couple of days to find her feet after arriving at Benny’s apartment. She’s never been to New York and the noises outside are as jarring as the grim interior. Her host trailing the end of that open robe around feels like the equivalent of the smug smirks some of Beth’s earliest opponents wore when they mistakenly supposed they’d made a brilliant move against her. She wiped those smiles off easily enough; proving that Benny’s no match for her shouldn’t be any tougher.

Once she adapts to the lack of natural light inside the space and having to blow up her bed every evening, Beth is ready to commence. Benny’s already training her, started the first morning, but now she shifts to playing a simultaneous. This is the game beneath the game. Sure that she can win, what she’s most curious to discover is how many moves it’ll take. Though the apartment is unelaborate and their lives within the unadorned rooms routine, she finds opportunities. Poverty, followed by the monk-like existence at Methuen—every space communal, precious few meaningful possessions scattered between nearly two dozen girls—has made her wickedly resourceful.

Taking responsibility for feeding them is straightforward. It makes sense for her to buy the groceries as a way of repaying him for letting her stay, plus her numerous pointed looks upon opening a cupboard or the refrigerator to expose the slim pickings have Benny half-convinced before Beth even asks to take over food shopping duties. The only things he’s really attached to (besides coffee) are his morning eggs. She notices. She plots before falling asleep, unfurling scenarios in her mind as she stares at the ceiling and folds her hands over the placket of her satiny pink pajamas. Then, she starts eating his eggs.

“Why do you buy all this other stuff if that’s what you want to eat?” Benny questions, standing next to her at the stove, using a greasy fork to gesture towards the egg she’s frying.

Beth shrugs, surveying as he goes back to scraping at the bacon where it’s sticking to his pan. Even now, his upper body is bare under the robe and she’s suppressing the urge to warn him about the pain of hot splatter. She transfers her weight onto the foot farthest from him and watches the bacon sizzle.

“Maybe I just like eggs,” she says.

And, truly, she doesn’t mind them. However, Beth, who has preferred her eggs scrambled since childhood (a common breakfast at the orphanage and the most tolerable meal they offered), unfailingly prepares every egg at Benny’s over easy.

They take their positions across the table and the board from each other, plates on their laps, coffee always just shy of being knocked to the ground by their propped elbows. She lets him ramble. He seems to enjoy beginning every session with a little chess history—and, of course, the Benny Watts perspective on it. Finally, he moves his first piece with a decisive tap, but Beth concentrates on her egg. She splits it with the side of her fork and quickly moves the bite to her mouth.

Confused by her failure to respond to his opening move, Benny looks up. Beth feels immense satisfaction in witnessing the impatient gaze he shoots at her eyes melt as it drops to the yellow yolk dribbling from the corner of her lips. She wipes at it with feigned embarrassment, as though she hadn’t been pressing the egg against the roof of her mouth with her tongue until she felt the gush.

He blinks and shifts in his seat.

“You going to play or what?”

“Yes.”

Benny wins the first match by too much because she was distracted, but Beth’s loss is bearable to her. She gained ground in the other game. Although he recovered promptly, what she now thinks of as the Egg Variation did get his attention.

When devising the second move of her endgame, she thinks of Harry. His love for her was as plain as the nose on his face, but she suspects that this next tactic will work just as well on someone far less blatant about their feelings. Watching a woman dance must be where concealed lust and transparent devotion meet. Just as she stripped Benny of his queen at the Ohio tournament, she aims to strip him of the persistent disinterest in her that hangs from him like one of his necklaces.

He has a small radio. She’s only ever seen him listen to it in the morning, either sitting on the steps across the room from where she sleeps (presumably trying not to wake her with the noise) or at the table while she’s frying up her provocative prop/breakfast. One night, Beth waits for Benny to turn in, then grabs the radio. She has it on low at first, swaying her head side to side. But when she starts inflating her mattress, the thump of the pump depressing drowns out the music. Well, there’s only one thing for her to do about that.

Eyes on the closed bedroom door, Beth twists the dial to increase the volume. She swiftly sets the radio on the floor and places her foot on the pump, heart fleetly beating. Benny doesn’t come out, so she finishes her task, anticipation mounting. She adjusts the volume again.

Because they left right from Ohio, she traveled with a limited wardrobe. Taking pleasure in both strategizing and dressing herself well, Beth made sure to have the correct clothes clean on the correct day—including today. Especially today. That’s why, when the music sufficiently interferes with his attempt to get to sleep, Benny storms out only to halt in his tracks at the sight of Beth dancing, the navy skirt she wore the day before she trounced him twirling around her thighs.

“Sorry,” she says when she catches him staring. She’s grinning. “We sit all day and I… needed to move.”

“Right now?” he asks, crossing his arms over his bare chest. He taps a finger against his arm and she notices he’s removed his bracelet and ring. It’s oddly intimate to view him without jewellery.

“Well, you don’t give me any other time.”

“That’s because I’m training you to be a chess champion, not a ballerina.”

Benny tilts to rest his shoulder against the wall. He’s still watching her and she’s still dancing, wiggling her shoulders and hips in place, though no longer hopping around. Just meeting his gaze has her out of breath. Do something, she dares him with her eyes.

“Relax, Benny,” she impishly commands. “I promise this won’t make me worse at chess.”

“Will it make you better?”

Beth shuns his challenging tone, swinging around to put her back to him and dancing more vigorously. She almost thinks she hears the smack of his bare feet crossing the floor to join her, but when she turns, Benny’s about to step back into his bedroom. He stops himself though, hand braced flat on the wall. She quits dancing as, slowly, he looks sideways at her. His eyes race over her faster than she can be sure of what he’s taking in. Her skirt and her plan, or just her noisy presence, keeping him awake? As he turns his head and disappears for the night, she spots the way he smiles to himself. She wants to drag him back out here. Instead, with a sigh, she shuts off the radio.

She can feel it—she can always feel a victory. Her self-assurance in this talent has never been rattled. When Benny beat her in Vegas, it didn’t surprise her. No, she watched it coming from half a dozen moves off, which was enough to lend his win the same terrifying inevitability as the oncoming truck that met Beth’s mother’s car on a bridge and killed her on impact. Beth was as incapable of escaping defeat at the US Open as she was of grabbing the wheel from the backseat and steering her mother to safety. The sense of an approaching victory is free of what-ifs and regrets. It simply is.

Following the employment of the Egg Variation and the midnight dance, she’s certain the seduction requires a single move more. And she’s US Champion Beth Harmon. She has just the thing.

The abominable dearth of privacy where the shower is concerned makes it an obvious choice. Too obvious? In her mind, no more obvious than engaging Benny in a trading of queens in Ohio after being defeated by him in that same manner in Las Vegas. His ego made him believe he was invincible, blind to the fact that Beth would never make the same mistake twice. Equally keen to avoid a blunder here, she gives the backdrop of the strike that will be her last a good test run. And tries not to enjoy it too much. (Outwardly.)

Usually, she collects her clothes for the day—or pajamas, when she showers at night—and places them next to the shower. Close enough to reach, far enough to avoid the rogue spray that makes it past the curtain. Hidden by that same curtain, Beth towels off, then sticks an arm out to snatch up her clothing and dress in everything but shoes before stepping out. During her test run, Beth forgets to bring her clothes. She dries herself like normal, then, when she hears the door to Benny’s bedroom snap open, presents herself with his threadbare towel twisted around her, the end tucked in beneath her arm. She blinks at him as though startled and laughs with modest embarrassment.

“Forgot my—”

“Oh,” he says and steps back, practically trips back, slamming the door.

Beth waltzes across the room, head held high to breathe the air of imminent conquest. She almost begins to hum. What must he be thinking as he keeps himself caged in his room? Is he frozen or pacing? Running his fingers through his hair or his palm over his mouth? Has he flung himself to the far back of his bedroom, as far from her as he can get, or does he wait just inside the door, battling every second against the compulsion to wrench it wide?

“Just you wait,” she singsongs under her breath, smiling as she wrings water from her hair and pops on a headband.

After the trial comes the play for all the marbles (as her mother would’ve said). Beth doesn’t wait, doesn’t grace Benny with any time to cool down and get a handle on his refusal to acknowledge her as a potential sexual partner. The very next time she showers, she forgets the towel.

“Benny?” she shouts.

She’s knows he’s preoccupied; he was reading a book—on chess, what else—when he retreated to his bedroom for her privacy. His belated answering shout confirms that she’s only won a piece of his attention. Beth bites her lips together to discourage herself from smiling.

“…Yeah?”

“Could you come out here? I need your help.”

Controlling her expression, Beth pokes her head around the edge of the shower curtain.

“Well,” she hears him say loudly as his door opens, “that’s the first time you’ve said—”

His eyes scan the room for her and, locating her, he sighs. She gives him a delicate wave, just a fluttering of her fingers.

“Hi, Benny.”

“Yeah,” he responds heavily. “Hi.”

“I forgot my towel.”

“I bet you did.”

“And? Are you going to get it for me? I’m getting cold.”

She sees him slide his lower jaw to the side in frustration and contemplation, but, raising his eyebrows in a quick flick, he nods. The towel isn’t hard to find; she left it perfectly visible on purpose so he wouldn’t have to waste time searching. He walks towards her, shifting his gaze from her face to the floor and back. She understands the look—it’s that of a person trying to find a way out. They’ve alternated wearing it when sitting across from each other at a chessboard. He stops in front of the shower and extends the towel towards her, wearing a different expression: a man accepting that he’s been outmaneuvered.

“Thanks.”

Her arm shoots out as she takes it from him and snaps the curtain shut again. The reaction is clearly not what he was expecting because she hears him chuckle to himself.

“You’re cruel, Beth.”

She frowns, drying herself with unprecedented speed. She can see his silhouette through the curtain.

“How so?”

“You finally get me right where you want me and then you decide to toy with me.”

The sound of his feet scuffing across the floor reaches her as he walks away. Draped in the towel, she jerks the curtain open and chases him in stuttering steps. He turns and she freezes. Instinct makes her cross her arms behind her back, a habit from childhood that Mrs. Deardorff once told her to break as it made her appear secretive. Which she was.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I had to stretch it a moment longer. I don’t know what made me do it.”

“I do,” Benny tells her, squaring himself to face her fully. He grins. “Revenge.”

“Revenge? But I already—”

“Sure, you took the title from me, but you never got me back for discovering the flaw in your game against Beltik.”

Beth opens her mouth to argue only to close it again in a smile.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I am, you know. Some of the time.”

He doesn’t disguise how his gaze rides a water droplet running down the side of her neck, over her collarbone, and into the towel after following the swell of her breast. She lets him look, then extends her hand, businesslike.

“Do you resign?”

Benny smiles and grips her hand.

“You play ruthlessly.”

“I play to win,” she corrects.

His fingers tighten around her hand and he tugs her in. Their first kiss has the force of a merciless endgame assault—true to form for them both. The noise that escapes her as the pressure of his mouth on hers tips her head back farther calls out to him. He clutches her against him and she feels the imprint of his hand distinctly through the towel. Unable to push him, she pulls instead, guiding him around until she advances on his bedroom backwards, fingers hooked in the neck of his black t-shirt.

In lieu of a king, Beth topples Benny—straight into his bed.

#my writing #The Queen's Gambit #Beth Harmon #Benny Watts #beth x benny

[silmarinen]

Arell legacy gameplay/story continues

Faelyn's life went by without any changes. She and Geoff were still seeing each other, sometimes just to hang out and sometimes to do other things as well. Neither of them was in love with each other, but neither of them really cared. Faelyn wasn't even sure she wanted love in her life, after it had ruined the lives of both her parents. And she definitely had no desire to exchange her, admittedly risky and turbulent, current life for a marriage and a family. When she missed her monthly blood and later started feeling sick in the morning, she at first tried to ignore it. She wanted a child even less than she did a husband and a part of her hoped if she ignored it long enough, it would somehow go away.

She clung to her criminal life as if it was a lifeline keeping her from mundane domesticity she scorned. If anything, being (possibly) with a child and afraid for her future just made her more reckless in her activities. It wasn't just that she needed money to ease her poverty. She felt she was owed it by the society, everyone living by their self-imposed rules and punishments only made this feeling stronger. As much as she hated the whip, the humiliation and pain, she loved the adrenaline even more.

When she was caught stealing in church, she reacted with her usual defiance when she was once again dragged before lady Nadine to be judged. The guard and the village priest both called her incorrigible and called for the harshest punishment while the lady just looked bored with the whole thing, as if she didn't still bear a grudge against her whole family. Faelyn imagined being whipped again, probably harder than before, she she just refused to take it. "This is a farce!" She exploded. "I'm not even your subject, so why are we bothering with this? And it's not like you can have a mother-to-be whipped, anyway!" What she had dreaded and rejected was now her trump card that would set her free. If her life had to change, at the very least it should be for the better. For a short moment it looked like it would work, but then the lady's expression hardened again. "We will see."

And then any control Faelyn might have still had was gone. She was examined for pregnancy, a procedure that was clearly meant to be as painful and humiliating as possible. She was declared not pregnant, a liar on top of being a thief, and brought back before lady Nadine for final judgement. Faelyn would swear the lady smirked when she sentenced her to the prison mines. She could just hold tight to her pride, as the only thing she had left. From little rebellions to plotting an escape, she was determined not to be broken, no matter how hard they tried. When the priest came to berate her, or demand penance, or whatever a priest might want, she refused to even speak with him.

But, just like her father before her, she was to find out there were worse things at the prison mines than just hard work and humiliation. The apparition came out of nowhere, just clear enough to see the dead man's gaunt face and dark circles under his eyes. His clothes were ragged, more dirt than cloth, and his chains looked heavy but made no sound. When he opened his mouth to scream, no sound came out, but Faelyn suddenly felt weak, too exhausted to stand up, and hungry as if she had not eaten for years. The hunger was unbearable, gnawing at her insides, way past the point of starvation.

She wanted to run, but her legs felt heavier than the rocks surrounding her. In a daze she at least made a few weak steps towards the crude tent she used for sleeping, but collapsed before she could get to its imagined safety. She never gained consciousness again.

(continuing story from my blog)

#arell legacy #the sims 2 medieval #ts2 medieval

[ragingbookdragon]

You Can Take Off All My Clothes And Never See Me Naked PT. 8

A Haytham Kenway x Reader Story

Word Count: 2,000 Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Past Assault/Abuse

Author’s Note: This chapter is probably the heaviest of them all. It mentions extreme past abuse, so please be advised and please be responsible. (Also Criminal Minds was a factor in how this piece was written) -Thorne

Her mind raced. Thoughts bounced off every surface as she shoved people from her way, not caring that they cursed her. Things she’d not thought about since her childhood came back, rearing their ugly heads so that she could see. Of all the things she’d expected, this wasn’t one. Not now. Not when she was almost free. Her boots slapped the pavement, but the sound was barely an echo in her ears, the sound of her pounding heart bursting over it. Air felt like it was trapped, like she hadn’t breathed in years, and her entire body was screaming at her to stop, at the very least slow down. But she didn’t. She had to get there. Had to warn Haytham what he was walking into. She had to stop someone else from suffering her fate.

***

           The man two seats down smiled as the Templars around him laughed at the story, and Haytham himself couldn’t help but chuckle as well. “And I told him that along with the supplies, the silk would come too! Just for insurance!” Another roar of laughter sounded around the man and he looked at Haytham. “Mister Kenway, you have a fantastic group of men here.”

           Haytham regarded the others around the table and took a sip of his wine. “They are a rather wonderful group, Ausilio. Good company as well.”

           Ausilio tipped his head. “I had a group once that I companied with.” He looked almost wistful at the thought. “Good men. Even better times.” They raised their glasses in a toast and the Italian asked, “So this group that you’ve sent for, tell me about them.”

           A smile crossed Haytham’s lips. “Not so much a group as a pair that are practically armies all on their own. A sailor named Shay Cormac, and a lady named (Y/N) (L/N).”

           Ausilio’s eyes went wide. “(Y/N) (L/N)?”

           The Grandmaster’s steely gaze found the man’s. “Do you know her?”

           “The name sounds familiar.” He shook his head. “I don’t remember from where I heard—”

           The doors to the backroom slammed into the walls and Haytham was surprised to see the woman they’d been speaking of running inside. He rose to his feet, making his way over. “(Y/N)?” she shoved him away, her eyes on Ausilio, they held an unbridled rage.

           “I knew,” she seethed. “I knew I would meet you again.” She shook with anger. “I knew that unless you were dead that I would never be free of you.”

           Ausilio’s eyes narrowed and he laid his palms on the table. “Hello again, Evelina.”

           (Y/N) audibly growled. “Don’t call me that! That is not my name!” She pointed to herself. “My name is (Y/N)! It is the name my mother gave me!”

           “Evelina, please. You’re being—”

           She pulled the flintlock from her side and pointed it at him. The entire room went still, the other templars leaning out of the way. (Y/N) cocked the hammer.

           “My name, is (Y/N).” Ausilio stared at her and she whispered, “I will not let you coerce these people like you did me.” Tears filled her eyes and she spat, “I will not let you lie to them.”

           “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

           Her eyes darted to Haytham who’d stepped into her peripheral. “Do you know what he does, Haytham?” She looked back at him with a disgusted expression. “He finds girls who are orphans. Who don’t have anyone to look after them.” (Y/N) breathed heavily. “He takes them in and feeds them, clothes them, educates them, pretends to care about them. And when one year has passed,” tears slid down her cheeks and she whispered hoarsely, “He gives you a contract that demands you pay back the millions of pounds he spent on you.” A humorless laugh left her. “Taking back interest, he called it.”

           Ausilio began to shift in his seat as the eyes of the men came upon him.

           “None of us could pay back that much money. We didn’t work when we lived with him.” Her hand shook. “We trusted you to take care of us and you lied! You used us! You enslaved us! You enslaved me!”

           “You are insane.” He countered and her eyes went wide.

           “Insane?!” Her free hand undid the leather armor at her chest, and she pulled the tunic up just below her breasts. “You stood above me and laughed as they branded me with your symbol!”

           He smiled and nodded at her. “All I see is a tattoo of a sun and moon. There is no evidence of branding.” His eyes darted to Haytham. “Mister Kenway, I think your lady here is losing—”

           “No!” she cried, stepping in front of Haytham, trying to shield him. “You don’t get to undermine his faith in me.” (Y/N) stared him down. “You don’t get to take what I have gained.”

“You sound like you have cracked under some strain. What are you talking about?” Ausilio said, his eyes narrowed in sadness; it enraged her.

She let out a sob. “All these years, I’ve been so afraid of you. So terrified that you would find me again.” Anger mixed with pain. “But that’s how you’ve always operated, isn’t it? You’ve built a life on sadistic pleasure and fear and making sure the girls and women never fought back. Because there was too much to lose if they did.”

           “I don’t know what you remember, Eve—” her pointed gun made him clear his throat and correct himself. “(Y/N). But I never did anything to you.”

           She shook her head. “It’s not what my memories are that are going to ruin you, Ausilio. You and I were finished the moment I left eleven years ago.”

           He gazed at her and huffed a laugh. “Then what are you doing discussing this?”

           (Y/N) pointed the gun at Haytham then back to him. “I’m making sure Haytham knows the kind of man you are.”

           Ausilio’s eyes narrowed. “And you think he’ll believe a hysteric woman like yourself?”

           She took a step forward. “I know that he trusts me with his life.”

           “Does he?” he challenged.

           “He does.” (Y/N) declared, then took another step towards him until the table brushed her thighs. “Do you know what happens to people like you? Once it all comes crashing down?” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Once the dam loses its supports and breaks, the flood comes.”

           She let go of her tunic and raised a hand, a single pointer finger in the air. “One woman steps up. Just one.” Another finger rose. “And then another one, and so on.” Her jaw clenched. “Because they are no longer afraid of you anymore. They know they’re not alone.” She pointed to herself. “I am your dam, Ausilio.”

           He no longer paid attention to her, turning to Haytham. “Whatever lies she has spoken of—”

           “They are not lies!” (Y/N) screamed. “You enslaved me for fifteen years! You raped me! You beat me until I was unconscious! Over and over and over!” By now, people had gathered at the doors of the back room, Shay and Gist just behind her and Haytham. “One by one, every girl and woman will stand up until you can no longer deny that their claims are just lies!”

           He stood in a violent rage and she couldn’t help but step backwards. “Do you have any idea how many girls I helped? How many women I helped get out of poverty?” Ausilio gestured to her. “Look at yourself, (Y/N). You would be dead if I hadn’t helped you that day.”

           Tears fell down her cheeks and she challenged, “Nothing I received from you was for free though, was it?”

           “I saved your life,” he defended.

           (Y/N) felt fury course through her and she snarled, “Na’ilah saved my life! I saved my own life! All the way to the top of the Templars!” Her voice rose. “I did that!” she declared.

           Ausilio walked around the table, but she kept the flintlock trained on him. “Are you saying that I had no part in your life? That I had nothing to do with making you into what you are?”

           In an instance, the anger seemed to cool, and (Y/N) gazed at him. “No, Ausilio.” Her eyes met his and she agreed, “Actually everything you ever did to me has made me who I am. You have everything to gain from that.” A relieved smile crossed his lips, but it was short lived as she explained, “Because of what you did to me, I am someone who will spend the rest of her life making sure men like you don’t live to see tomorrow.”

           He let out a breath. “Evelina, please.” His hands held out to her in a plea. “I never hurt you. I loved you.”

           (Y/N) shook her head and motioned downwards with the gun. “Get on your knees.” He didn’t move and she fumed, “Do it now!”

           Slowly he rose until he was on his knees in front of her. She walked up and pressed the muzzle of the flintlock to his forehead. “Evelina.”

           “You will never harm another innocent girl again. They will be free of your taint.” Her jaw tightened. “I almost don’t want to because death would be a kindness to you. You deserve every level of hell it has. And then again for a thousand years.”

           Before she could pull the trigger, a hand rested on hers and she looked up, wide eyed to see Haytham standing beside her, a frown on his face. “(Y/N), don’t.”

           She stared incredulously at him. “Is this some type of joke?! This man is a monster! He deserves to die!” she cried, and he nodded.

           “I know.”

           (Y/N) shook her head in disbelief. “Then…why?”

           Haytham’s hand squeezed hers and he pointed out calmly, “If you kill him now, you won’t help to free the others he’s still imprisoning.” Her jaw went slack. “We need him alive to free them.”

           Her eyes drifted to Ausilio and she gaped at him. Haytham’s hand squeezed again. “(Y/N), trust me.”

           “But he…he could get away. He could buy his way out!”

           Haytham shook his head. “He can’t escape justice now.” Her mouth opened but he insisted, “He will rot in a cell until every girl is freed, and when they are, then you can deliver his punishment.” She stared into his eyes and he nodded. “I would never lie to you, (Y/N). But I need you to trust me.”

           (Y/N) let him take the gun from her hand and her arm fell limply by her side. Haytham nodded to Shay and Gist. “Take him.”

           They yanked Ausilio off the floor and he screamed for her while he was dragged off, begging her, pleading her, but she didn’t listen, eyes stuck on the spot where he’d been. She felt numb all over, and tired, like she’d not slept in decades.

           Haytham set the flintlock on the table and came to her, gently placing his hands on her arms. “(Y/N).”

           She didn’t look at him. “I thought I’d feel relieved that he was finally caught but…I don’t know what I feel right now.”

           He softly urged her to walk, directing her to the doors. “It’s okay, you have nothing to explain.”

           (Y/N) vaguely remembered climbing into the carriage, stuck in a daze. “Where are we going?” she questioned lowly.

           “I’m taking you home.” He said, his thumb drawing soothing circles in the back of hers.

           “But the tavern—”

           “I’m taking you to my home, (Y/N). You will be safe there.” She felt tears gather in her eyes and she leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder. “And I will protect you.” Haytham bent down and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “No matter what, darling.”

           The last thing she remembered was the smell of his cologne before falling asleep. And finally, she felt the weight of worlds come off her shoulders. There was hope for tomorrow—whatever it may bring.

#haytham kenway x reader #haytham kenway x reader imagine #haytham kenway x reader imagines #haytham kenway imagine #haytham kenway imagines #haytham kenway #ac rogue #ac rogue imagine #ac rogue imagines #assassins creed rogue #assassins creed rogue imagine #assassins creed rogue imagines #ac imagines #ac imagine #assassins creed imagine #assassins creed imagines #shay cormac #christopher gist

[darkpoisonouslove]

Diamond in the Cold

Summary: While on the run, Marion is ready to abandon every last piece of the world she knows just to survive. After all, she hasn’t been herself in years. Then a stranger saves her life and she learns there is much more of her to rediscover than she’d ever suspected. Aladdin AU.

If I ever manage to get to it, there will be more chapters to this. For now, though, it exists as a one-shot indefinitely.

CW for discussions of murder, death and poverty.

"Let go of me!" Marion twisted her wrist viciously to no avail. Her strength was nothing compared to the man's grip on her. "I command you." The gleam of the golden domes of the palace flashed in her eyes from the distance to cut off her voice, her oxygen, her logic.

"You command me?" The man laughed amidst the anger still steaming from him, the sound piercing through her like a lightning bolt. He shoved his face into hers, the stench of his cologne exploding in her mind to make the world spin. The musky notes were like little daggers digging in her brain to spill blood as red as the apple she'd taken. "Perhaps you'd like to command the guard patrols?" the merchant growled like she'd only heard dogs do. "I'm sure they take orders from a common thief."

She had no power left. Not to her voice and not to her name. All of her authority had evaporated overnight as if she wasn't getting colder by the second despite the sweat beads rolling down her temple. Instinct burned through her, her muscles tensing before she pounced.

The unloaded fruits from the crates she hopped on rolled out from under her feet to nearly trip her on her second jump. Her soles connected with the man's chest and she kicked him in the ribs, using all her might to thrust herself away. The harsh tug on her arm blocked her vision with stars.

The limb was still attached and aching as her body thumped against the dirty street, her head ringing from the impact forcing all her air out. Pain pulsed through her but she pulled herself up to the sight of a bunch of guards surrounding her. The hurt buzzing in her bones had muffled the merchant's voice calling for them but she was cornered all the same, the sharp tips of their spears stalking closer inch by inch to poke her eyes out with the dead end she was facing.

A warm hand gripped her forearm as a blur of purple conquered her vision. "Come on!" A woman's voice sliced her loose from her stupor to allow her to be swept away.

Her arm protested against the rough motions and her feet scrambled to keep up despite eagerly following the path of escape. Her lungs burned fiercely, quite like the sight of the guards in her mind's eye. As tempting as it was, throwing a look over her shoulder would leave her plopping down and being dragged the rest of the way to wherever they were going or until they were caught. The guards could have fallen behind long ago thanks to the stranger's excellent navigation and maneuvering skills or they could be a breath away. She couldn't tell with the heart in her throat pounding louder than their feet hitting the ground as they rushed through an impossible to remember series of narrow streets and passageways. Her head was spinning again from all the turns they took to erase the directions of the world.

The woman ducked in a claustrophobic, shadowy alley that was more of a niche under the eaves of two houses and pulled her to the wall with their backs pressed against it.

The stranger's hand clamped over her mouth in the midst of her sucking in a breath. "Quiet!" the same urgent tone hissed in her ear to freeze everything around them. All that was left was the noise in her own system and the heat radiating from her savior and/or potential kidnapper next to her as the seconds trickled to an agonizingly slow rhythm.

The proximity of danger unfurled in a vicious burn as her lungs struggled to catch up with the distance she'd left between her and her past life. The darkness of the alley crawled over her body to swallow her but she had nothing to grasp at without exposing herself. She had to choke down the shivers from the black wrapping her on the inside the same way emptiness spread in her chest.

A galloping pack of guards passed the narrow slip between the houses without a glance spared in their direction to set her free of the tension of the chase in her muscles. Now for the next hurdle.

Marion's teeth sank into thin air as the woman released her. Despite the footing she'd lost, she had her eyes on the purple-haired mystery in one quick spin. She couldn't afford more surprises.

"You have to be the worst thief I've ever seen," the woman chided, her gaze skirting Marion's mouth. She'd caught her red-handed sending the heat spreading over her neck and cheeks. "What were you thinking?" Two golden eyes bore into her with the might of all the sunlight they caught out of the cover of the niche.

"I am not a thief!" Marion's pride reared its ugly head over the screaming wariness in her head. She had to find a way out of the city, not get deeper into trouble. "Why did you save me?" And how much would it cost her?

"Of course not! A thief wouldn't just grab an apple in plain sight. What did you expect? That he would give it to you with his regards?" Each word was another hard slap in the face but the woman's anger hit differently. Trusting a perfect stranger would be her biggest mistake yet. Regardless of how deep the lines carved into the face in front of her with each fiery breath to spell out the woman's concern. Why was she so involved with Marion's case if it weren't for personal gain?

"Answer my question!" Marion lifted her chin to stare any malicious intent down but her intimidating glare wasn't coming through.

The golden eyes narrowed at her–in contemplation or suspicion–and the woman stepped closer, invading her personal space. She studied her intently with Marion's stubbornness anchoring her in place where their faces were almost touching.

She could see every pore on the woman's face. The wrinkles were etched painfully into her ashen complexion. It was all an aggressive reminder of an old book with pages ready to crumble into dust despite the powerful knowledge they held. It drew Marion's fingers to run them over the coarse surface in hopes of soaking up the wisdom before it perished.

The down-turned corners of the woman's mouth tugging on her pale lips caught Marion short. They'd drain her blood to feed their own redness if she dared reach for them. The ginger of her curls wasn't nearly intense enough next to the woman's deep purple strands framing her face like a painting capturing the beauty and grace of a long lost time. Marion could swear the stranger was decades older than her–not to mention towering over her average height–if not for the wells of her eyes.

Light was pouring from them reined in by the lines of tiredness carved all around. The gold was still lively and stroking over the forest green of Marion's irises like the sun, with the warmth she'd known before adulthood had kicked her in the gut like an out of control horse.

The heavy fabric she'd draped herself in didn't have the thickness to cover her from the woman's gaze.

"That's the finest silk I've seen despite the fatigue."

It had torn off sending Marion falling in the tree under her chamber's window when she'd used old bed covers to climb out.

"And the supple leather..." The improvised cloak wasn't long enough to wrap her from head to toe leaving her trousers sticking out and drawing attention. "You're the princess," the golden stare burned through her pupils.

The world slipped from her sweaty palms. "I am not."

"What's your name then?"

"What's yours?" Marion challenged, eyes locked with the stranger. There was still time for the woman to bury her despite her help.

"Griffin... Your Highness." A sly glint set the golden on fire.

"Don't call me that!" Marion marched forward, forcing the other woman to crouch away. It was the first pulse of power she'd felt all day. She couldn't let go despite drawing her own blood where her nails dug in her palms. "I'm on the run from an arranged marriage. That's all." How she wished that could be the problem of her life. She'd stopped looking for love long ago. But she couldn't have given up on the very breath in her lungs.

"Doesn't mean you can't be the princess. And you are." Griffin had found her ground again and didn't give her a chance to protest. "You don't know enough about the life outside the palace, hence the expensive clothes and the near-death experience over an apple. Not to mention your attitude of spoiled royalty and your resemblance to the princess."

"How could you know what I look like?" Her eyes screwed shut but not nearly soon enough to protect her from the sight of her failure. She'd given herself away. "No one outside the palace has seen me before," she looked at Griffin for a sign of how deep she'd sunk. Maybe she could still escape. Griffin was faster than her and had better knowledge of the area but she was running for her life. All Griffin would get for her was money. Not enough to rival her motivation.

"I knew it." The smugness rolled off of Griffin in waves without suffocating Marion. There was too much softness to the genuine content for it to be malicious. But it could always be an illusion meant to trick her. She couldn't even trust her instincts. "There are rumors about you. You can't keep anything hidden forever, least of all the princess."

Marion wasn't so sure. In the palace the truth rarely survived and never long enough to see the sun.

"As you're proving here, running away from your responsibilities," Griffin's words cut to the bone with her sharp tongue stuck right in Marion's bleeding wounds.

"I am not running away. Just getting to know my city... my people." She had no people, no guards, no family. She was alone... She was a prey. She would die if she said the wrong thing to the wrong person. How to tell if Griffin was the right person?

"I thought you were on the run from an arranged marriage." Griffin raised a brow at her to punch her with her own weakness thrown in her face so casually. She was running out of options.

"No, I... lied about that. I would never abandon my responsibilities just to run away from a man." There were monsters after her.

"You're about as good a liar as you are a thief," Griffin spun around, her braid swinging after her like a whip the crack of which deafened Marion.

Would she turn her back on her and dissolve into the nothing she'd come from to save her life? No explanation, no price... Just the crippling loneliness that Marion had carried strapped to her back her whole life. It would crush her as if all of the capitol had been pushed on her head to balance like a book.

"If you really want to see the city, follow me," Griffin's voice drew tears from her and her retreating form as she walked further into the dark alley clawed at Marion's voice that refused to come out again.

She bolted after Griffin struggling to keep up with her and falling behind. Griffin maneuvered with ease through the crowded passageways, narrow even without the obstacles in the way, and climbed the rooftops like a monkey.

Marion had seen a monkey once when they'd been visited by the Linphean royals at the palace. It had been offered as a gift to them but her mother had rejected it. It hadn't been comely and refined enough to fit in. It had been for the best. The poor animal would have died in the palace. Everything did. Including her own mother who had been cut from diamonds and fire.

Marion shook her head to drop the images out of it. It was hard following Griffin anyway, no matter how intensely she focused on her frame. Her gaze never lingered long there, chased away by the pointy bones poking the skin from underneath. The air of light and friendliness to her was lost without the brightness of her eyes to mask away the sharp edges Griffin was made of. Her body looked worn away but she used the thinness to her advantage to make her way through places Marion had to hold her breath to pass through. Resilience cloaked her like an aura to transform her frailness into a testament of her will and determination to live.

Marion collided with the hard wall that Griffin was as she stumbled over the debris-covered staircase of a crumbling library. The floor creaked under every one of their steps and the wind howled menacingly through the holes in the walls with the possibility of knocking the ceiling on their heads.

Griffin's hands on her shoulders steadied her and guided her to an opening of missing bricks with a view of the city. "This is my favorite place... at night. You can see the stars sprinkled on the night sky."

Marion followed Griffin's gaze to the holes in the roof mercilessly letting through the scorching rays of the sun currently. At night it would be a beautiful sight, though. Patches of sky shining with starlight just for those that were awake as the world kept spinning towards morning. She'd spent full nights gazing at the infinite open space of the sky. No walls to keep you locked in, no people to stab you in the back for the crown breaking your neck. Just freedom.

The rumbling of her stomach was like a thunder sending her heart shooting up into her throat again where she couldn't swallow it instead of the food she didn't have. She folded her arms over her belly in hopes of muffling its desperation. Her chest was empty too but that Griffin couldn't hear so Marion hadn't had to train her gaze on the floor in an attempt to make it collapse and swallow her.

"Wait here."

Griffin was gone before Marion's eyes had touched her again. Now was her chance to run. She could make the trek down the stairs and disappear without sparing a glance at what she was leaving behind like Griffin had done. She had to. She had no idea what Griffin would bring back... or who, now that she knew her identity. But where would she go? She couldn't even fend for herself. She had no food, let alone a means of transportation outside the city. She couldn't have left behind a trail of gold or jewels from the palace.

She stepped closer to the hole framing the landscape like a painting. The floorboards wailed under her feet to twist her arm into backing away but her mind was captured by the view. She'd seen a lot following Griffin. She'd had her eyes locked on the unreachable shadow of a woman in front of her but she'd still caught glimpses of more than she'd wanted to.

The houses had been small and huddled together with cracks and holes in their facades and roof tiles scattered across the damaged roofs that surely leaked when it rained. The streets had been dirty and cramped in an impossible tangle, the ground unevenly covered with pavement that had dug into Marion's soles even through the hard leather of her shoes although Griffin had walked barefoot. The laundry they'd seen draped on clotheslines above the streets had been ragged and dusty, patching all over the fatigued fabric. She'd kept her eyes down and her step snappy when passing by people but she'd noticed a couple children playing with pebbles and sticks in the dirt.

The large-scale view from the library was gut-wrenching – ruins and poverty everywhere. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but little houses barely waiting for the next snow to cave in and bury their occupants. How could a glorious kingdom like Domino fall from grace so fast? Her mother's illness had lasted just a couple years before she'd been disposed of. What had the three old witches done to destroy Marion's land so promptly?

A howl startled her with its tangibility before she figured it was the building's announcement of Griffin's return and not her own heart. Her muscles tensed, ready to pounce as she turned around to find Griffin with a satchel thrown over her shoulder. There was a weight straining it from inside but it definitely wasn't a battalion of guards coming to drag her back to her death in the palace.

"Here," Griffin reached in the satchel and pulled out a loaf of bread. It was fresh, the warm scent wafting off of it making Marion salivate. She'd been out on the streets for half a day and she'd already regressed into an animal. "Careful not to burn your fingers, princess." Griffin grinned at her and handed her a third of the hot bread. The rest she put away in the satchel instead of biting into it.

"So you're a competent thief?" Marion chomped down on the bread in her hands. She had to strangle the moan coming out at the divine taste. She had more questions but her stomach was only concerned with its own emptiness. How Griffin could resist the call of the hot bread in her satchel was beyond her.

"Someone has to be," Griffin smirked at her again but her eyes remained unmoved. At least until she focused on Marion and her pitiful attempts not to drop the loaf as it scorched her fingers. "Warned you," Griffin chimed at her but the playful sound died at the look of the city below them. "I hate this place in the daytime." She picked up the edge of a brick that had broken off and threw it at the wall opposite of her, making more of the red chip away.

Marion swallowed with a degree of difficulty but didn't comment on the potential danger of bringing down an already collapsing building. "Why does the city look like that?" Budgeting for public‐facility and infrastructure maintenance and repair was a main concern of the ruler and the royal advisors. It should have made life easier and safer for people. The failure was unbearable to look at.

"It's always been like that." Griffin could have pushed her off the building and it would have been less painful. She stopped breathing for the second time that day. "It's getting worse, of course, and fast at that but it's been a couple decades since all of this started."

What? Impossible.

"What about the maintenance?" The bread was burning her fingers but she was so cold on the inside she could barely feel it.

"Maintenance?" Griffin's voice was cracking ice and Marion would drown in the water below. "Only certain esteemed areas get maintenance. The inner city around the palace and the main streets officials take in and out of the city. The estates of influential merchants here and there. And that's about it. Even schools and museums are falling apart along with other cultural centers. Look around if you find it unbelievable," Griffin gestured to the disemboweled library around them.

Marion approached her hesitantly with slow and light steps she hoped wouldn't disturb the place or Griffin. "Do you... read?" It was an insensitive question, or at least way of asking, especially when the answer was obvious. But the rawness Griffin was bleeding filled the silence in her chest, the stillness of her lungs.

"My parents taught me when I was little. They hoped I'd go to school but we couldn't afford the textbooks. I wasn't good at breaking and entering back then. I have a small collection of books at home that I've stolen and read over and over again until I memorized them because I was scared one day they would fall apart in my hands from all the reading and terrible storage conditions." Griffin's eyes were on fire and melting like lava Marion has never seen in person before. Only through pictures. It would leak out of her eyes. "I had to get my smarts and skills on the street while my parents worked their lives away for scraps. Looking at the city reminds me that I am not alone in that suffering. So many other people know it as well. Every day many of them don't make it." Griffin stepped towards her as if to run her down and Marion had to retreat.

"No," Marion shook her head, the loaf crushed in her fist for the crumbs to rain through the holes in the floor.

"This is your kingdom, princess," she poked her in the chest with a finger. "Seen enough of it yet?" Griffin grabbed her hand and dragged her between the rubble covering the floor. "Time to go back to the palace."

"I can't," Marion pulled back only to find herself in an iron grip again.

"I'm sure you'll find your way. You can ask someone." Griffin was cold like the crown she'd worn on her head, like the corpse of her mother as she'd imagined it. She'd never seen it, concerned with not becoming one as well.

"I can't!" Marion dug her heels in the fragile remains of the library. It would either save her or bury them both. Better than being thrown to the wolves. "They'll kill me," she cried at the unmoved mask that Griffin's face had become. "My mother's advisors got rid of her and they are lying to the whole kingdom about it. They wanted me to marry their son," Griffin didn't question the logistics of that – whether because she was familiar with Valtor's family situation and his three mother figures or because she didn't care. "I refused because they'd use him to steal my throne so they've been trying to kill me ever since. My sister has agreed to marry in my stead and I had to leave her behind and run." It all spilled from her against her better judgment if she'd ever had it.

There were no tears to accompany her story. She hadn't cried for her mother and she couldn't cry for herself now. She wasn't done for yet. Maybe Griffin could help.

"So you are running away like a coward?" Griffin let go of her hand so that she wouldn't go down with Marion as well when she shattered.

"Weren't you listening to me?" How could she say that? She knew what it was to struggle for survival. They were just young girls forced to fight for their lives. They shouldn't be attacking each other.

"I heard, yes. You're going to leave a kingdom that's already falling apart in the hands of three monsters that took down the royal family – supposedly the most powerful family in the world." Griffin approached her again to loom over her. "You're dooming your people by abandoning them."

Marion gritted her teeth. "My death won't help anyone." She looked at the shapeless bread in her fist. "Thanks for the lunch," she shoved past Griffin. Any second in those ruins could cost her the freedom she'd always wanted, the freedom she was reaching for now.

"Go ahead!" Griffin goaded her. She would not turn. She would not fall for it. "Run. You'll be dead by the end of the day."

Marion whipped around, her balance not sufficient for the terrain. She had to put her arms out to steady herself on her feet – like a helpless baby chick. Not the threat she'd been trying to pose even though Griffin already knew she was out of options.

"I'm not going to sell you out. I'm not stupid enough to put myself in the line of sight of those monsters," Griffin saw right through her. Wouldn't she stop doing that? It left her skin crawling with all the things she couldn't bury deep inside herself now that Griffin had pulled them out to unravel them. "You will be your own death. You have no plan, no idea where you're going, no resources or skills to fend for yourself, let alone reclaim the throne. You'll kill not just yourself but the whole kingdom."

Marion's last warmth flickered out inside her. "I should just lay down and die then? Decay like this place?" She'd been promised the world on the very day of her birth. How had she come to having no prospects at all? How had she lost a whole palace, a whole kingdom?

"You should fight. You can't abandon the people that depend on you, and yourself."

She'd never been herself. It hadn't been becoming of a princess. And now she was a nobody. "How am I supposed to fight if I can't even save myself?" It was easy for Griffin to drop the paradox on her head for her to solve because of her blood. She hadn't asked for a crown or a throne. Just the opportunity to make her own choices.

"That's it. You've already given up on fighting for yourself, for who you are. You're insulted I suggested that you're betraying your people but you're passing the crown like it's not your birthright and responsibility."

"I am not the crown." All her life the crown on her head had been the only thing fitting. Every other part of her had been imperfect, unworthy, insufficient for the queen her mother had been... for the queen she was supposed to be. Without the crown on her head she didn't even have a home. Maybe she could have a life.

"No, but it's the people that wear the crown that make all the difference. Look at this!" Griffin gestured around them. "This is what they did without the crown, without a throne. Are you really going to give it to them?"

"It's very easy for you to say that when you haven't felt its weight."

"You think it's easy? You think this," Griffin pointed to the ruins of the city, "is easy? We live and die by their rules just like you. Your problems are our problems and vice versa. This is your kingdom, your people, and you know nothing about it!"

"Stop saying that!" Marion's shout startled her as well. Too loud. Just like they always said. The people needed a queen, not her. She'd fit the mold no matter how much of herself she'd had to shed away.

"It's the truth." Griffin didn't rise to her level but didn't quit either. She probably didn't know what the word meant. "You know nothing about your own city. You're a foreigner in your land. If you go out there, you won't make it out alive. You'll get lost in the maze of streets or get captured by the guards or get yourself killed for a bite of food. You can't survive a city you don't belong in and that doesn't belong to you."

"You don't know me!"

"You don't know me either. You know nothing about none of your subjects. I have a mother and a sister, too, that will starve to death without me." She'd been saving the bread for them. "I risked my life to save you. Not because you're the princess, but because if we don't take care of each other, we all die. You can't survive by running from your roots. I didn't want to be a thief, I hate this view in the daylight, I only eat after my mother and sister have. This is my life. I don't like it but I live it because if I throw that one away, I don't get to pick another one. I die. And there are people who depend on me, including you, today in particular, and I can't abandon you. I can't abandon myself because one day I might look at the city and see it rise from the ashes but that will never happen if I join them."

She was right. If Griffin had given up in the past, Marion would be dead right now. And if she gave up, more people would suffer and die. She would suffer and die. "Help me."

"What?" First time she'd taken Griffin by surprise.

"Help me. You know the city so you can guide me. You can be my voice of the people. And your breaking and entering skills might be useful. You said it yourself – my problems are yours. Help me solve them so you can look out to the city without dying every time you do." She'd offer her hand if she was sure Griffin would take it. It was an overwhelming proposal.

"I work alone."

"And where has that gotten you?"

Griffin considered her for a moment before looking her over from head to toe. "We have to get you some clothes. You look like a walking pot of gold."

"How did you manage to make that offensive?" Marion shook her head but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. The first one since her mother had died.

"I have many talents, princess," Griffin curtsied theatrically. The first clumsy action Marion had seen from her. They had a lot to learn about each other.

"My name is Marion." For the first time it didn't sound like a death sentence.

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#winx club #winx marion #winx griffin #griffin x marion #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #aladdin au #200fc

[poppy-battenberg]

one for the rebel

This war was never about just you. 

You traversed the nation, you met the people, you fought for the people.

You hear the explosion as you kiss your sister’s forehead. And you pause, then you tell her to go back to sleep.

You tell you brother to block the doors behind you. You grab the backpack you left by the door. Your father hands you a knife.

You once thought this war was not about you. But it is.

You are the people. 

When the Games ended, the Battenbergs left. This time it was not just Poppy heading out on a train across the country, it was all that was left of them. Each had a duffel bag. Hers had several knives tucked away, her brother’s was weighed down with books, her sister had family photos slipped out of their frames, and her father’s was filled to the brim with the clothes his children were too foolish to think to remember. In a separate car, tucked away from the District Twelve team, Tarta Battenberg brought his children home. 

There was an empty apartment above a now defunct butcher shop. It was covered in dust, but that gave the family something to do when they arrived. Ian dusted, Sara unpacked, and Tarta and Poppy met with her father’s old friend that secured them the place to stay. It was not a safe house, but it was far from the Capitol. Poppy didn’t yet know what was to come, but she knew nothing good would come staying near her aunt’s mansion now. And she hoped it might be nice for her father to see his home again.

It did not take long for the rebels to find her. A note was slipped under the door while the whole family was asleep. Tarta slept in an armchair, Poppy slept on a couch, and Ian and Sara each got one of the two bedrooms. Tarta woke first, and left the note on Poppy’s pillow. 

The first meeting was in the Seam. Never before had Poppy witnessed such a state of poverty. The smells were worse than any back alley she’d ever stumbled through. Even the stables and barns of Nine were better. At least there was something fresh, even about the manure. She gasped when she saw a makeshift gurney carried out of one shack, with a girl no older than her sister lying dead on it. Her face was pale and her stomach knotted when she arrived to the meeting. No one asked her what ghost she saw. She was a Capitol-raised woman in the Seam. She was prepared for blood and gore; she was not prepared for the much crueler death of starvation.

Once a week, for three weeks, she walked through the Seam. The stench always hit her hard, and she was convinced it grew more rotten by the day. Her sister and brother begged her for details when their father was not around, but she told them nothing. She did not like to think of it when she was not there. 

On September 12th, Poppy woke up before dawn. She’d only gotten a couple hours of sleep. Her father, blissfully unaware and ruining his back, was sound asleep in the armchair. She dressed, and washed her face in the cold water that never got warm. Her brother kept complaining about it. She packed another set of clothes, a toothbrush and toothpaste and towel, and a full bottle of water. There was a small first aid kit tucked in the front pocket of the bag, and four knives were carefully strapped to her thighs. 

When she opened the window to see a line of miners in the distance walking away from the mines, she heard her father stir. He moved slowly, but she stayed standing with the blinds open for him to see. Soon, a group of Peacekeepers were heading for the mines. Her father asked her what was happening. If he didn’t know, he couldn’t tell. Poppy told him to get the window boarding out of the closet. They would need it.

Poppy sat with her father as they ate a meal of toasted stale bread and jelly. She didn’t want to be hungry when she left. She did not know what lied on the other side of the door. 

Ian awoke before Sara. Poppy hugged him and told him to start reading slower or he’d run out of books by the end of the week. She went into Sara’s room and gently pushed some of the hair off her warm forehead. She leaned down to whisper good-bye and kiss her sister’s head, but a loud bang and a shake of the house woke the younger girl. 

“Go back to sleep,” Poppy said quietly, placing a hand on her sister’s cheek. “It was thunder.”

Sara’s head slowly fell back to the pillow, and Poppy closed the door softly behind her. Every movement that came next was quick, deliberate, sharp. She barely looked at her brother or her father as she retrieved her backpack. She did not want to see them watch another member of their family walk out the door and possibly never come back. 

There was a tap on her arm, and her father was carefully holding out a knife toward her. He did not look as if he actually knew how to use it, and she didn’t know who gave it to him, but she took it. She took it, and shut the door behind her. The staircase leading down to the first floor was dark, damp, and quiet. She had to slow her pace only so she wouldn’t tumble down. 

When she opened the door, the first thing she smelled was burning. She didn’t know what was burning, but it stung her nostrils and her eyes. She did not look back up at the apartment behind her, running out quickly instead across the merchants’ quarters to join familiar faces as they overtook a Peacekeeper vehicle. There was no room inside, and she instead clung to the grates on the roof with another rebel holding tight to her waist out an open door. Peacekeepers began to march across the square, raising their guns. She vividly remembered when she was tased. Titaniara left her there, to nearly choke on her own vomit, without a second thought. 

The Peacekeepers split up to make way for one of their vehicles. Through the windshield, she did not see the sharp, harsh helmets of the robots. They were human faces, with guns trained out the window. 

“OUT!” Poppy screamed, using the bottom of her knife handle to bang on the top of the truck. “OUT! OUT! OUT!”

She leapt off the truck and tucked up as tight as she could. She dropped the knife to avoid cutting herself as she rolled, and she was followed by two others from the truck. One strap on her backpack completely tore, and pulled off enough fabric to send her things spilling on the ground. She left the bag, grabbed the knife from the hard-packed dirt, and ran. She went for the Seam, sucking in the ash and stench and trying her best not to hack up a lung as she sought refuge. 

Another rebel grabbed her arm and pulled her down a path that led to the Hob. She’d only ever been told this was the way to the Hob, never actually been this way. There was no time to see what was around her. The ash was filling the sky, blocking the sun and leaving a shadow over everything. A long table was quickly moved, a shovel was used to scrape away some dirt, and a wooden door was revealed. Poppy didn’t question, just followed the rebel she now trusted with her life down into the hidden cellar. 

The door slammed shut, and a candle lit up. There were four of them there, and Poppy was the only one who didn’t have to crouch down to fit. The one who led her down, a woman she now recognized as Linta from the meetings, placed a finger to her lips. Poppy nodded, and had to clasp a hand over her mouth as she tried to stifle her coughs. When there was noise above, they all sat down. They stayed quiet amid banging, and shooting, and screaming above. It lasted for a long time. So long the tickle completely diminished from Poppy’s throat, and she was hungry again. Not a single one of them spoke, instead all looked up repeatedly at the door. One loud bang was too close for comfort, and made the wooden door shake and dirt slipped through the cracks. But it stayed closed.

Things went quiet. And still, they stayed. It was not until Linta finally cleared her throat that Poppy felt like she could breathe with her mouth open again. When they tried to open the door, it was weighed down. It took all four of them to push against it and get it open under the weight of a table that had fallen on it. Everything was dark around them. When Poppy tried to take a step, she felt her feet land in something soft. She didn’t know what it was. Linta reached out in the dark to take her hand and guide her. She knew Twelve like the back of her hand, and wordlessly guided the rebel group through the overturned tables and chairs until they were on a narrow path. When Poppy looked up, she could still see a dark haze covering the sky, blocking out the moon almost entirely. She wondered if her father had dared to venture outside.

Poppy was expecting to be hit with the smell of the Seam, but instead the air seemed to clear. Tall, dark masses were stretching up around them. The trees weren’t thick, but they were densely packed. She tripped over some of the thin roots a few times. They’d probably been planted after the bombing, to try to replenish the air and vegetation. Linta came to a stop, and lit another match. A camouflage tent was set up, covered almost entirely by leaves and branches. She let the rebels inside, blew out the candle, and offered them each a can of cold soup in the dark.

For two days, they stayed there. Two at a time would leave the tent if necessary. Linta had a walkie-talkie that was turned on only at certain times to receive news. The mine bomb was successful, but the smoke and ash was worse than expected. Several rebels had been captured. It wasn’t part of the original plan, but the district leaders wanted to free them. Poppy volunteered to help Linta with the task. 

When it was dark, they moved out. No candle, no light, only Linta’s knowledge to guide them back to the square. Poppy did not question, only followed the older woman with a knife at the ready. It would be useless against a Peacekeeper’s gun, but it was all she had. Linta only had a knife and a hammer, but the latter would probably be useful that night. 

The closer they got, the more careful they had to be. Human soldiers and robotic Peacekeepers alike were patrolling everywhere. A carpenter near the jail left his window open on purpose, and one by one rebels slipped in for a safe space to reconnect before their attack. Poppy was to wait until the rebels were free, then help get them back to the Hob. Another group was waiting there to bring them all to a hidden safe house. A contingent armed with explosives left first, taking aim at the Peacekeepers as bullets began to fly. From the second floor, the carpenter had a rifle that he used to try to target the soldiers defending the jail. Two rebels slipped through the entrance, and that was all that was needed.

When the prisoners began to spill out, Poppy did not hesitate. She was the first one out the door, with Linta right behind her. They caught the attention of the group and started to run. Linta led them, and Poppy followed the group. 

A bullet tore through her skin. It was a graze, nothing punctured, but she began to bleed profusely immediately. And it hurt. She let out a yelp, and turned with her knife raised, forgetting guns were not close-range weapons. Whoever shot her was not there, but there was a soldier in an unusual uniform. She ducked and lunged, tackling him with a pained grunt. She dropped her knife to grab a hold of his gun and try to twist it out of his hands. He pointed the barrel at her forehead, and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Empty.

She wished she had time to laugh. She grabbed the barrel with both hands and shoved down, slamming the soldier in the middle of the forehead with the end of his own gun. She did it again, and again, and again, until she could tear the gun away from his limp hands. More shots were firing off, and she could hear people screaming all around her. There was a loud bang as the windows were suddenly blown out of the carpentry building. She quickly patted down the man’s vest pockets, found the magazine, and started to reload as she stood. She felt significantly more comfortable with a knife than this weapon, but she would take what she could get. Point and shoot. It couldn’t be that hard. She would need to brace for the recoil more than usual with her right arm weakened and still badly bleeding. 

Her ears rang with the first shot she fired. The group of rebels was long gone now, having followed Linta to what she hoped was safety. All that mattered now was for Poppy to get to safety, too. There was more concentration on the larger groups of rebels gathering in the square, but another one of those soldiers had spotted her. She fired, missed. Fired, missed. A Peacekeeper joined the soldier, and both took aim. She fired, hit the soldier, and didn’t waste time watching him drop. She ducked behind a sign for the train station and felt the entire thing shake as the Peacekeeper’s bullets tore through the posts. She stayed crouched down low and moved quickly, rounding the building as the Peacekeeper unleashed another round of bullets.

The chaos in the square was suddenly cut through with the blaring sound of the train horn. She watched the lights on the side go bright. It was a cargo train. Almost every car was filled with coal. The Capitol couldn’t waste that resource. She knew some rebels were targeting trains. With fighting so close, and with explosives so close, it had to leave before something else went up in flames. 

And she had to leave, too. She didn’t know a place where she could safely hide, not in this district that was so unfamiliar to her. She would be caught, and she would be executed. It didn’t scare her, not now as she crawled on belly and forearms along the shadow of the train tracks, leaving a trail of blood behind her. But her father did not deserve to see that. 

There was a rumble, and the squeak of wheels that were getting ready to start rolling fast. She let go of the gun and stood up just enough to hoist herself up into the last car. It was empty, aside from a few bins of coal secured to the wall. Her right arm gave way, and she collapsed halfway up. With a loud groan that echoed through the almost empty train car, she dug her left elbow into the floor and dragged herself in farther. She came to rest against the carts of coal. She managed to take her shoes off and tear up one sock into a makeshift bandage for her arm. She told herself to stay awake, at least until she saw sunlight. But once the fighting was out of earshot, the border between darkness and consciousness slipped away.

When she awoke, she was hungry, stiff, and in pain. At first she didn’t know where the pain was coming from. The world was blurry and golden and moving fast. She blinked several times, and finally started to push herself up. Her arm. Her arm was what hurt the most, and the golden blur soon had a red splotch in it. Her head hurt from the hunger and more. Probably the blood loss, too. She hadn’t thought, when it happened, that the wound was that bad. But her sock bandage was soaked through, and sticking to her skin. She didn’t dare try to peel it away. With only one sock on, she tied her sneakers back on.

A loud horn sounded through the air. Her attention quickly snapped to the scenery whipping by, rattling the open door of the car. She was on a train. She was on a train with goods heading to the Capitol. She was a rebel on a train with no way to get off until she was stationary. There would be Peacekeepers at the train station. She’d heard rumors from the other rebels in Twelve of the plans for the Capitol, for the Tower. There was no way they did not have Peacekeepers everywhere. 

And it was daylight now, with only one way out.

Her stomach rumbled loudly as she crawled to sit with her back against the wall right near the open doorway. Looking out at the scenery racing by, she started to get dizzy and feel nauseous. She lied down, back pressed against the wall as the air cooled and covered her skin in goosebumps. Then it was dark, and the air grew thinner. Poppy slowly sat upright, trying to focus. The train would be in the Capitol soon. She had to think fast. Looking down, she found she only had two knives remaining on her holsters. Her right hand was unsteady from the pain still resonating from the graze, but she hoped she could still keep a good grip. 

Poppy pressed her palms into the wall of the car as she stood up, and kept them there to steady herself. The train slowed, and she nearly toppled over with the sudden jolt of it braking. Through the wide opening, she could see her city sprawling out before her. She could see it ruined, with shattered glass and broken doors and toppled streetlamps and broken LED displays. 

The day was dawning on her city, and every reflection looked like it was on fire.

this was her city, was it not? battenberg city, they should’ve renamed it. renamed it for the blood spilled to get it.

Clever thoughts of a stealthy departure slipped her mind. She was in the last car, several yards away from where the last Peacekeeper was standing on the platform. She saw it before it sensed her body heat in the distance. She jumped from the train and raced down the concrete steps at the end of the platform. She used her left arm to balance herself as she climbed over the locked gate that said “employees only” in big, yellow letters. There was the now familiar sound of a gunshots, and she could heard them whizzing by and hitting other trains, hitting the tracks, hitting anything but her. She didn’t stay in a straight line, shifting quickly and randomly to avoid being locked in as a target. All those obstacle courses her coach made her do for agility in high school were paying off.

The gravel of the train tracks gave way to pavement, with garages spanning the length. Ahead of her was another “employees only” sign plastered on a large gate that separated the garages from a parking lot. She kept running. Even as she heard ambulance and Peacekeeper sirens begin to sound, she kept going. Even as she heard the echo of a crash. She did not stop until she was through the parking lot, beyond another gate, and finally back. She was really there. Really back in her city. 

She was tired and hurt and hungry, and she had nowhere to go. The only place she could run to now was the fight.

The once buzzing city was comparatively quiet, but her heart was beating fast enough to match the excitement of her nights out. 

bottle in hand, she was solo ahead of her group as she stumbled headfirst through the streets of the capitol.

Knives in hand, she walked solo over the debris now covering the streets of the Capitol. She followed the traveling sounds of sirens, screams, and shots.

she paused to stare up at a brilliant image of the young, new victor.

Hanging in the display window of a cybercafe was a picture of Nvidia Anderson. It was untouched, despite the window being entirely broken out. She hoped this war left that poor girl untouched.

the lights flashed across her skin like that was all they were meant to do. there was neon glowing where her blood should be flowing.

The siren lights flashed across her as she turned onto a main street. 

Rebels were ducking behind several overturned cars, using them as barriers as they occasionally shot bullets and projectiles at a group of soldiers and Peacekeepers. The officials had actual concrete barriers to protect themselves, and bulletproof vests and another hoard of weapons in their trunk. She could see it, because she came up behind them. One of the soldiers was starting to reload his gun when he saw her.

She grabbed at his throat and dug in her nails. She drew blood as he fought back, hitting her hard in the face with the side of the gun. She stumbled around the back of the car, hearing the distinctive clicking sounds as he went back to work. Her vision was blurry and the world was off-balance, but she still found her knives at her side. It took all her focus to maintain a grip and bring them down, hard and fast, into the backs of two soldiers taking aim at the rebels. She never saw if they fell or not.

There was a sudden searing pain through her skull.

the city was dark.

#th:self #self-para #one for the rebel #126 #126 at home #tw:death #tw:starvation #tw:blood #tw:violence #unintentionally found a way to weave in her very first para look at that