#countries don't mind being invaded by other countries?

[potatoes83]

...and that really is the difference. The left is losing their minds right now because immigrants are terrified that ICE is going to show up and deport them. There was a story this morning on Fox 2 about a local food pantry that's shutting its doors because the farm in Texas that they partner with closed down because none of their workers came to work.

Let's unpack that for a second.

First, the obvious one, if you're here properly, that is, with the proper paperwork for whatever it is that you are doing, school, seasonal work, whatever, AND you are abiding by the laws of this country... ICE is not out to get you. The executive order from Trump does not say "find anyone darker than me and deport them". Now if you're here illegally, if you invaded our borders and flouted our laws, then yes, you should be worried, and rightly so. ICE is not deporting immigrants. They are deporting illegal aliens. And starting with the most violent ones first.

Second, there shouldn't even need to be an executive order in the first place. We have laws in place already, and agencies in place to enforce them. But the previous administration kept them from doing their jobs. And the problem is, for better or for worse, this creates a false sense of security. When you don't enforce the rules that are on the books, and this is top down from the federal government to a middle manager in a shop somewhere, there's an expectation that those rules no longer matter. So when you do suddenly start enforcing them, oh no, you're cracking down. If you are here illegally, and or breaking other laws of this country, it was always ICE's job to find and deport you. This is not a new initiative.

Finally, there's this repeated trope from the left that without all of these "immigrants", and note that they use the term interchangeably with illegal aliens, who will clean our houses and wash our dishes and pick our green beans and so on? And speaking from an economic standpoint, I can actually see this being a concern, and I'm curious how we're going to overcome that. I certainly have a few ideas. It is a reality that a significant amount of seasonal migrant workers do indeed fill these jobs, and I can guarantee that not every one of them is properly documented. But it's interesting how the left is all about equality, equity, everyone's the same, and yet they acknowledge and desperately wish to maintain this permanent underclass to do their bidding. I can all but guarantee that some Hollywood 'star' in their Brentwood mansion is not paying Lupe 25 bucks an hour to scrub those toilets. 🥔

[intelligentchristianlady]

So--an excuse to invade a neighboring country. Just the way Putin is doing in Ukraine.

[kyouka-supremacy]

/

[severinageto]

Eternals (Or one year since the airport)

Can the body feel without the soul?

Suguru trusted that something awaited him beyond. Some days he believed it more than others, but few can boast of having unshakable faith. So, when he felt his left arm, observed his youthful body, and examined the place awaiting him, he knew his belief hadn't been in vain. There he was, in the waiting area. For what? What else could happen when the finality of life had already taken place? A vast ocean on an empty beach would have made more sense. Even the darkness of Hades' hell. But no. Something had brought him to a plane that he sensed would not be just his own.

It didn't take long for him to realize what that ethereal place meant. He would need more than a pair of hands to count the times they'd been there, watching the screens, counting landings, and checking departures. "I hate flying, Suguru." "Why?" "Because it's so common." A playful shove, the luggage on the floor, the Ray-Ban store. Dozens of countries, hundreds of flights, and thousands of caresses. So, there he'd be, just like in his youth, sitting, reading, reflecting, until his eyes deigned to appear. He'd probably arrive late, just like always; late to their first date, late when he needed him, late to snatch away his life.

He wasn't wrong. A year, exactly. However, when he felt his presence, he couldn't help but ask himself: *Why did I keep waiting for him?*

"For the same reason he chose this day," he answered, looking sadly to the north.

“Sleep a little longer, Satoru”, he whispered to the soul starting to take form.

Gojo had thought about the possibility of dying before facing the cruel king of curses. He entertained the idea behind all the others but never materialized it into wills or declarations. Arrogant as always, he concluded it was no more than a slight probability, existing only because he had the misfortune of being mortal. "Nah, I'll win," he said, sure that the day would pass like any other.

Those who loved him had the bad luck of believing him.

Satoru, upon falling, felt nothing. There was no requiem, no eulogies. His heart simply stopped beating, and his soul crossed the plane dividing them. As he looked one last time at the vastness of the sky, a cold air, unlike any he had felt before, invaded his body. Yet he welcomed it gladly. He narrowed his eyes and breathed in the scent.

“Finally”, he murmured as the pressure in his veins disappeared.

Neither of them imagined that beyond life, the senses would be as sharp as when their lungs could still draw breath. Yet that first embrace, strong, intimate, almost suffocating, convinced them it was true. It wasn't until they inhaled each other's scent that they internalized the importance of something so basic, so corporeal, so earthly to both of them.

Satoru, in life, had never really thought about what the owner of his soul smelled like; "People don't smell like anything specific," he thought. However, when he rested his nose on that manly chest, the images that flooded his mind took him back to that lush, unique forest, to the clearing where he had often laid on his legs. "Move a little, Satoru." "Which way?" "Toward me." The spring flowers, the summer grass, the damp autumn soil, and the smoke from winter stoves—all had their own essence, one intertwined with that hint of incense that accompanied his caresses. It was the scent of camaraderie, of security, of intimacy.

"Sleep a little longer, Satoru," he'd say while combing his hair with his delicate fingers.

Over time, that same scent became painful for Satoru. Whenever he caught it, in some place or in something left behind, he felt a knot in his stomach—a mixture of nostalgia, sadness, and perhaps, just perhaps, a twinge of betrayal. His scent was something that lingered with him even after he was gone, something that still made Satoru feel that, in some way, his beloved curse manipulator remained the same person with whom he had shared so many moments. That he was still, after all, his partner, his lover, and his best friend.

"Sleep a little longer, Satoru," his deep voice from the window, the bare shoulder, the moonlight, and the glow of his cigarette outlining his delicate profile. A pitying look and a slammed door. His last earthly memory.

Suguru, on the other hand, was always sure of the notes generated by the strongest man's hormones. No wonder he watched him intently, as if there were nothing else to do on earth. The countless verses he dedicated to those sharp citruses in the intimacy of his notebooks. Satoru's scent reminded him of the mandarins they shared. Gojo would throw them at him, and he would peel them, while they talked, while they laughed, or while they were silent, always looking at each other as if they could see through each other's pupils. After all, it was a scent very fitting for the bearer of the Six Eyes. It evoked his electrifying personality, always standing out, for better or worse, from the rest of mere mortals.

From time to time, especially in the heat of summer, the albino's movements brought with them the freshness of his wild ocean. Free, expansive, as if he were one with the sky. For Suguru, that scent was the ultimate manifestation of his limitless technique; the ability to encompass everything belonged only to him and the untamable ocean.

"Can I sleep a little longer, Suguru?" he would ask between sighs when the first rays of sunlight illuminated his pale complexion. His fingers searching for his, an alarm clock against the wall, a warm embrace.

Once time did its work, Satoru's fragrance began to confuse him. The love he felt for those long hands, for the warmth of his breath, and the softness of his hair mingled with the painful reminder of what he left behind, with the resentment for what was broken, and the deep sadness for all that could have been but never was. The possibility of waking up to his snores, of caring for him during his colds, of scolding him for his careless attitude. Ultimately, the possibility of navigating youth while holding those long hands.

"Can I sleep a little longer, Suguru?" closed eyes, a raspy voice, bandages on the nightstand. The feeling that everything that had happened between them was the embodiment of the worst sin. A blink, a grunt, covering up again.

They would start again.

By the time death came for him, the scent of his beloved Six Eyes was a chemical manifestation of everything he had chosen to reject: the system, the structure he couldn't change, and, ultimately, him; with his magnificent strength, his figure, and the central axis of the world that, when he needed him most, gave him so much indifference. His scent, the embodiment of his greatest weakness. The slightest hint of his scent, of his purple scent, was a door to the past, to the memories he preferred to forget. To the moments when the love for his manic laughter, his strange occurrences, and his incredible intelligence knew no bounds. That fragrance was the last thing his body processed.

"Can I sleep a little longer, Suguru?" a flash of purple light, his world fading to black. The question that no longer had an answer.

If the soul is incapable of feeling without the body, then why, when they crossed paths again, did the power of chemistry act as if they had never separated? Why did hunger, burning passion, and desperate longing for the other's body take over them as if it were the first day? Why was something as simple and earthly as a scent able to anchor one person to another?

Because perhaps it was more than that. Perhaps the presence of a curse manipulator was bound to the birth of the Six Eyes heir. Perhaps where the existence of one began, the other's ended. Perhaps something as profane as this world would never be enough to contain a love as eternally sacred as the one they intoxicated themselves with.

Or maybe they were always two bodies and one soul.

Their soul.

Gojo's nose sank into Suguru's neck. The curse manipulator's left hand slid over the albino's waist. Satoru's right knee touched Suguru's left. Their fingers intertwined, their lips met, their scents mixed, and they became one entity again.

Perhaps the earth stopped for a moment, surprised; the love that moved it had finally resumed.

“Can I sleep a little longer, Suguru?”, he asked, resting on his legs, smiling flirtatiously.

“Sleep a little longer, Satoru”, he replied, as his delicate and soft hands welcomed him, eyes brimming with emotion.

Who would have thought an airport could feel like home?

The eternal home.

———————————✈️

©️ by https://x.com/yu7272s

[thedelusionreaderbitch]

Nikolai Lantsov x gn! Reader - Kings and fools

A/n: whoops, cannon? she died yesterday. also translations at the end

Summary: Being trapped in a Fjerdan lab isn't much fun, but things do start to get interesting when someone you recognize shows up.

Warnings: Swearing, implied death, implied torture, beating people up, prolly ptsd, just all around fun times.

[Pronouns used: You/your] [Pov: 2nd person] [Pairings: (romantic!) nikolai x reader]

You were going to laugh because of the sheer hilariousness of this situation. Never-mind, you were currently laughing your head off.

One of the guard's turned around to look at you with fierce eyes and smacked your face thrice just for little a giggle slipping past your lips.

"Tig!" He shouts at you in Fjerdan after hitting your face repeatedly. "Tig!"

But you could care less, because they obviously didn't realize who they had just captured, because if they had, they would be carrying a body bag instead. War would start between Ravka and Fjerda, or perhaps they would keep it a secret and invade Ravka knowing they had a dead king.

The King of fucking Ravka was shoved into your cell.

The Fjerdan guard scampered off probably because he had spent too much time on such a lowly prisoner not knowing if he used his fucking eyes he would see that he would be getting a raise within the hour.

Alas, he didn't and now you were stuck with an unwanted roommate.

"Are you okay?" He whispered to you, and your breath stopped.

You had not expected that, you had expected some arrogant fool, as kings usually were. Kings and fools were one in the same after all.

"What?"

"He hit you."

Blinking a couple of times, you just shook your head. "He was being kind."

The King narrowed his eyes. "Unless I'm mistaken, kind people do not hurt someone."

You wanted to say that it didn't hurt, but you were weak. The bruises forming would say otherwise, and lying wouldn't get you anywhere. Even so, the only way to survive this place was to be strong, someone slapping you three times because you laughed wasn't the worst you've experienced or seen. A slap was child's play.

"You'll soon find out kindness comes in more forms then one."

___________

It was Nikolai Lantsov's first true day in this hellish Fjerdan laboratory.

Now he would find out what you were used for.

"Get up." You kick his side as he groans on the dirt floor. "Get up, you babink!"

He throws his head up to look at you with curled lips.

"I certainly won't if you don't ask me nicely."

You have heard of his ability to charm, and you've heard of his large ego, you've found the only thing that's true is the latter. Nikolai has an incredible ego whether it be a facade or not it didn't matter. It was going to cost him his first real beating, and make all the other ones look like mercy.

"Unless you want one of the guards to kick the shit out of you, get up!"

He sighed, but quickly followed your orders and you vaguely wondered if he was used to giving orders rather then receiving them, or if he let all his generals do it for him.

You shouldn't be helping this poor fool, but some part of you still burned with the need to protect your country, and by extension of that the king. It was a part of you that dared to hope, it was weak, and the reason you were in this situation. You thought that hopeful part of you had died the first week you were here, and you knew they weren't coming for you. Despite being their best.

You should have known better then, just like you should know better know.

But you're a fool.

Somehow, for the next five months you manage to shield Nikolai away from the brunt of the nasty atrocities in this lab-rat prison. Both of you do your labor with no foul-language, or whimpers escaping. You manage to stay quiet and to get the guards off his, and your backs. It's a miracle considering he talks so much.

You just hope you can keep him out of the lab.

"So, you know how to speak Ravkan?"

Your back stiffens, and the cuts there sting a little as you do but you manage to ignore it in favor of glaring at the man who's sitting in your cell beside you. How he managed to remember you cursing at him in Ravkan that first morning is beyond you. Usually time will seep deep into bones until there's nothing but the memory of pain, and the moments of suffering. Having someone else there is dangerous, because it lessens the load and makes you a fool, for it gives you hope.

"You should stop asking questions you know the answer to." You muttered while rolling your eyes at him.

"That wasn't my question." He shoved your shoulder, if you weren't here he would have had more strength to not shove it so weakly. If you weren't here, you wouldn't wince slightly anyways, if he hadn't shown up this would have never happened.

His bright piercing gaze meet yours and you wanted to curse for your heart stuttering in your chest. At least you knew there weren't any grisha around to hear it.

Now, that very thought made you sick.

"What do you want to ask me then?" You ask him, as his eyes glint dangerously and you wonder whether kings are the fools, or if it's just the people who get caught in their snare that are.

"Three questions," He bargains. "Then I'll let you sleep."

Pursing your lips, you think about what could go wrong, but you find you don't care. You've been fearing for your life, and pain for over three years, if your name was still uttered around Ravka then Alina Starkov was going to come running for your rescue. It didn't matter if he found out who you were through some silly questions, it was just leveling the playing field. It wasn't fair, you mused, that you knew his identity, but he didn't know yours.

"Fine." You snap.

Plus, you were feeling slightly more sappy tonight, if he wanted to hear your sob story that he's already been told but has forgotten then he could be your guest.

"Where did you live?"

"Fjerda, then Ravka."

"What did you used to, do before all of this." He gestured towards the cell.

"I hunted down the people I used to work for." You speak rather curtly before facing away from him, unwanted memories flickering behind your irises. "I think that's enough questions for tonight."

But he grabs your chin and turns your head to face him as he shifts his body closer to yours so you were only a breath apart.

"I have one more question left."

"I hate you."

He smiled, "No you don't, drüskelle maleni."

You slapped his hand away from your face, and moved away from him with a furious expression written with the frown on your lips.

You thought if anything, he would know you as the spy, not as the drüskelle maleni - the drüskelle ghost.

That's what you were before, someone who had been raised to kill without thought, to someone who found humanity again. Then lost it as they had to repent for their sins.

"I'm sorry lapushka, I shouldn't have-" Nikolai tries to reach out for you, but even in your tiny cell do you manage to move away from him.

"Don't Moi Tsar." You hissed, quickly silencing the King. You didn't hear from him again that night

_____________

Of course the next day was shit.

Nikolai refused to follow any orders and you knew the guards were getting fed up with his behavior. Currently, so were you, did he just forget every lesson you taught him to stay quiet? Was he such a fool as to not realize that if he didn't stay hidden enough they would figure out who he was and he would be dead by morning?

Yet it was not in Nikolai Lantsov's nature to stay quiet, saints, you doubted he even knew the word.

If he was going to be this reckless than you couldn't help him, you wouldn't help him. What's the point if he was bargaining with his own life?

That's what you repeated to yourself anyways, as he was slowly getting dragged off.

"We're taking this demjin to the lab." One grumbled as they pulled Nikolai with a group of soldiers.

Your blood went cold, and your eyes started to fill with dread.

You had been in the lab, once, but they decided they didn't actually need you. Still, you got to see the people being put under terrible things, testing them to see how much the body could handle. There were crimes not even imaginable, so bad that when someone opened their mouth to speak about them, a scream got let out instead.

The unlucky ones would disappear once they crossed the border into the lab. The lucky ones would come back alive, maybe even a little maimed, but alive.

Maybe they weren't so lucky than, maybe the real curse is going through it than surviving it.

Djel, You prayed. Please let this work, for once let me save something instead of kill. Don't use me as your blade but as your shield. Just this once.

You ran up to the guards and tore them off of Nikolai, breaking their grip on him.

"Me jer jonink." You whispered to the King in your mother tongue, not quite knowing what you were asking forgiveness for. Perhaps it was for the way you snapped, or for the lives you've stolen, you don't quite know. Maybe it was for the way he laid his eyes on you, and you on him. The way you've protected him, and the way he's given you hope.

Kings and fools are one in the same.

"What do you think you're doing!" One growled, while the other two held down your arms against your thrashing.

Saving him. "Helping my country, Fjerda." You lifted your chin staring defiantly into their faces. Knowing that you were like them once, killing grisha, only to be shown mercy, and turned into a weapon against the Drüskelle. You could be that one last time, you could serve Ravka, even if it meant death.

You could serve your love.

"You should know that grisha anything but vile, they are good, they are-"

The guard not holding you down, knees you in the gut, causing your knees to tremble and your strength to waiver. Yet the men gripping your arms forced your legs to work, lest you break them.

"Grisha will run this country to the ground!" He yells at you, spit hitting your face.

You knew you had to go further if you wanted them to forget about Nikolai and his stunt of, existing.

Taking a breath you opened your eyes and hoped.

"Fel holm ve koop djet."

Immediately they start to drag you away from Nikolai who tries to shout, to get them to stop, but they ignore the King. Instead they seem to find enjoyment with bruising you up on your way to the lab.

Now you truly understood why you asked for forgiveness, because the look in his eyes as they pulled you away could only scream love.

Words 1843

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Translations:

Fjerdan:

Tig - Shut up

Drüskelle - Witchhunter

Demjin - Demon

Me jer jonink. - Forgive me

Fel holm ve koop djet. - Our home is better for it

Ravkan:

Babink - Barbarian

Maleni - ghost

Lapushka - Darling

Moi Tsar - My King

Grishaverse taglist: @kaqua @rika90 @thefandomplace @gallysonegoodlung @navs-bhat @sumsebien @dontjudgeabookbythecover @brekker-zenik @alohastitch0626 @brekkers-desigirl @emmsamultifan06

[is-today-tomorrow-in-nz]

The 'not so innocent' Grisha Soldiers

I'm still not over the fact the LB called the Grisha priviledged, not so innocent, soldiers. That 1:46 minute interview snippet has been running inside my mind all weekend. I had already made a rant about this here. but I still have some more stuff to get off of my chest and here is my follow-up rant.

In the Demon in the woods, by the author's own words, we can clearly see the difference between Grisha upbringing and Fjerdan indoctrination.

The book opens with a Fjerdan father telling stories to his kids. He talks about the Grisha like they are boogeymen and instills fear in his children from a young age. He also tells his kids about their saviours aka the good guys- the druskelle. And by the end of the storytime the boy dreamily states that he wants become a druskelle. Because in his eyes the druskelle are heros, holy warriors who fight to keep the cursed witches out of their lands. Druskelle are clearly glorified in Fjerda.

Now just look at the lessons being taught to Aleksander. He observes the otkasatzya village close by and is worried about their safety. Because the first lesson of being a Grisha is to hide from the normal folks. That does not sound very a soldier like, does it?

While the druskelle train to hunt Grisha, the Grisha are looking for ways to avoid a fight and move without detection. Another thing to note is that the druskelle are funded by their government while the Grisha are basically squatting in caves and forests. How can they both be called soldiers?

Even the peace loving Grisha are also forced to fight because if they don't they get killed.

Tell me again how are they the same?

All Aleksander did was level the playing field. Or atleast he attempted to. He unified the Grisha, gave them a place to stay, trained them and taught them how to be soldiers. Unlike the druskelle, he didn't create them to invade Fjerda or take over other countries. He was merely giving them a fighting chance. And even then, we have canonically seen, the druskelle overpower the Grisha with latest guns and weaponry.

Being forced to fight and choosing to fight are two different things. The Fjerdans have options; they could let go of their bigotry and stop enlisting in the druskelle program. What options do the Grisha have? The Fjerdans are free citizens while Grisha are basically indentured labourers. So who are in the more advantageous or should I say priviledged position?

So, how can even LB suggest that the jews's crimes were merely existing while the Grisha are soldiers and are game? How can she callously say that the Grisha are not innocent and are priviledged people? Did she even write the books? She basically erased the foundation of her own universe.

That interview was an absolute disgrace. Shame on LB.

[ancapsass]

RANT TIME!!!

The stalker community is in a war with the "chads" of gaming rn I swear.

What do you expect for a UKRAINIAN -a nationality of a country that was being invaded since 2022 (really the 90s')- to do in a time of war? You wouldn't think to still try and develop a fucking game right?

Well that's what they did, they listened to their community who was giving and is currently giving all the support to GSC game world and you think that your complaining is valid? Because it's a little "buggy"?? I think the fuck not.

GSC has never been in this situation when it comes to making a game as such, yes they had some internal issues with the companys inner workings but a fucking war? Mind you a war that made them fucking evacuate? So of fucking course a games gonna have MINOR flaws when not only are you fearing you and your teams safety but also trying to release a promised game 15 years later.

Stalker is known to be buggy, it's THE charm of the game, yes some can be annoying but you know what you can do instead of bitch? Go into their discord and mention something Abt it or or shut your fucking mouth and play the game.

This game wasn't made for the "chads" to be criticized it was made for GSCs supporters and those who have a love of the first 3 games.

They were in a war, went through loss, and still got a game out on the promised release date.

Get fucking over it, don't complain, they have other things to worry about.

If you think you wasted 60 bucks then that's on you, I'm sorry but if you willingly buy a game apart of a buggy series and complain about it being buggy then that's on you.

If you really think it's an issue, they have a help desk in their discord, report to that and go on with your day.

-rant done-

Sorry gang people can't be greatful and it's pissing me off

I heart you GSC keep doing what your doing

[gildedbirdcage-if]

Your fingers threaten to do so, even now, but you recall Orion telling you there’s certain things you can only do when you’re young. That things lose their innocence as you get older.

You hear Alek, but you are not doing a very good job at listening. His face is awfully close to yours, in a way that could mean something when you’re older. The way Orion warned you. The way your novels sometimes end.

I'm not sure if you take requests for snippets, but if so could we please get a flashback of Orion having these talks with MC/warning them? It sounds like it would be both cute and funny with how sheltered the MC is! I understand if it's not possible though, so please don't feel pressured :)

So sorry to answer this so late- holidays are always so busy! Snippet down below- may not be exactly how it will be in the story but it’ll be something like this. Set around when MC is 15 and Orion is 14 with a crushing Orion because I can’t help myself. TW for slight alluding to sexual harassment/abuse. Please read at your own discretion and health. MDNI

You wake with a start.

It was not a very good day- filled with glares, comments, and shoves disguised poorly as accidents. It appeared such things couldn’t help but bleed into the night as well- into your very dreams. With such things invading your room, you fear there may never be an escape from the torment. No haven from this hate.

As quickly as you think there is no where to go, you remind yourself that of course there is. You could go to the kitchens in your wing that houses Orion. Grumpy with you as he may oft be, he was still a much happier option than being alone. He would never lay a hand on you and it has seemed like ages since he’s uttered a truly hateful word to you- whether that be because he found you more agreeable these days or because he was sick of Alek in his ear, you may never know.

You fling blankets off of you, rush to the window, and fling the curtains in a similar fashion. Outside the window, the sky was pitch black and the only light to cover the world is a rather full and bright moon.

Well… even better, you think to yourself. Likely Orion still sleeps and it’s been an awful long time since you’ve had a sleepover with anyone. The poison of the day, try as it might to get you in the night, could not get you when such a wonderfully genius idea manifests itself.

You arrange the curtains back to sorts and spin away from the window, the skirt of your nightgown expanding momentarily around you as you do, and set your sights on the door to exit your room and begin to roam through the empty halls.

The halls are silent, save the thumping of your bare feet, and you are grateful for this. People would only ruin the beautiful mood you’ve put yourself in with your brilliant idea and you simply can not, will not, stand for it. It’s a shame Alek isn’t home for you to share your idea, you hadn’t had a sleepover with him in so long either. Alek and Orion’s lives seem too busy for such things any more while you… well, you just seemed to float from one day to the next. Unchanging.

Time has robbed you of sleepovers, days where you would play all day, and days where it seemed all you had was each other. Now Alek leaves home more than he stays, puts his life in danger, and has become quite set on becoming the commander of the army one day. When you are most lonely and sad, he assures you in letters that someday you’ll understand. That if he could do it all from home he would. That it hurts him to leave you so. You wish you could tell him how hollowing it can be to one day feel like you were the center of someone’s world and the next realize you aren’t. But you are being unreasonable, Orion has told you many a time, and a country does not simply protect itself.

Orion, while in no great danger, similarly is too busy to entertain you. He minds you less and less occupying a corner in his kitchens but he is lost in the flurry of the work and he has no time to listen to what kind of bug you saw and what patterns it held, the way you got stuck trying to find a good hiding place for a game that you, Alek, and Orion no longer play, or how the sparks from the fireplace cracked so loud and reached so far you scrambled away so quickly with a fit of giggles lest it set you ablaze. How heartbreaking it was to make sounds at people but they never truly hear. Orion has his dreams of being the best chef in the castle, no, the country, he tells you, and he must work his hardest each day to achieve that. No noble wouldn’t know his name.

But look at you, making your own eyes water when you have set yourself on no one ruining your mood or idea. It seems you cannot let your guard down even against your own thoughts.

You enter Orion’s domain, the kitchens his room is attached to, and it’s as you’ve always known it. Orion runs a tight ship and the only imperfect, messy piece is the corner dedicated just for you that he allows no one to touch. Projects you start but never finish decorate it and you have to pry yourself from the idea of just setting up camp right then and there for the day. Sleepover, you remind yourself.

Opening the door, you smile at how very Orion this room is- as it ought to be seeing it is his. The moon shines it’s light through his window giving you the ability to see how tidy and very grownup the room is, not even a spare sock to be seen. Very different from your own room that you couldn’t care less if everything looked prim and proper. Dark blue, his favorite color since before you met him, is found everywhere here and adds to his air of sophistication.

The only childish thing that spoils the room can be found on his desk, in bright colors that betray the somber room. Your heart awkwardly beats at the sight… they were pictures you’ve drawn just for him, poems you wrote and stories from when you figured yourself an accomplished author, lyrics you wrote that you thought rather charming. Something unnameable warmed in you as you stared at it- it was not lost on you that in Orion’s busy, tidy, controlled, and uniform life he somehow found a corner just for you and no one else to have in his two most lived in places.

Unsure if he would have wanted you to see that he still kept the things you’ve given him over the years, you turn to his bed where he sure enough is sleeping, unaware of your entering.

The brown hair he’s been growing out is splattered across his pillow and messy as he sleeps on his side, facing the window, and he cuddles a pillow tightly to himself. His scars from his occupation shine like silver in the moonlight on his arms around the pillow. While mostly covered in a blanket, you can see his bare back, also scarred, and wonder why he is allowed to wear less clothes as time marches on but you must wear more. Thankfully, Orion does not wear nothing and you can see the waistband of sleep pants.

You come across your first hurdle here… normally, you would not have any problems with simply waking him up but he seems so peaceful here, so deeply asleep with his small snores here and there, that you fear you would feel guilty getting in the way of that. You cannot lay yourself quietly at his back due to how he sleeps and his bed is not as large as yours to find a place for yourself. Maybe at one time you could but Orion has grown too tall, unfortunately.

Troubling, indeed.

Well… Orion, you, and the pillow obviously can’t fit so you become resolved to remove the offending pillow. Crawling onto his bed, you pull at the pillow until it is set free, launch it somewhere in the room, and wiggle yourself in it’s place and you are immediately warm and comfortable.

Orion, in his sleep, seems perfectly unaware that the pillow has vanished and his strong arms wrap around you quite tightly. There’s something about the hold that makes you feel feverish and makes it hard to breathe… but you feel safe, nonetheless. Bad dreams can’t afflict you here.

Getting a good look at his face, your eyes are drawn to the crease his eyebrows create. Even in sleep, Orion finds a way to somehow have a scowl about him. Inching your hands to it, you can’t help but press at it and attempt to massage it away. You used to be skeptical when Alek’s mother would say that if you had your face a certain way it would get stuck like that… but now you think she may have been telling the truth.

Orion grumbles at your attentions, stretches his legs, tightening his arms about you more somehow, and opens his eyes a smidge and looks at you. You have been caught, which really should not come as a shock to you. Really, you can’t just touch someone’s face as you are and think they wouldn’t feel it.

Staring at you bleary-eyed, Orion plucks your hand away from his brow and places it on his chest, near his heart you dare say, before closing his eyes and placing his arms back around you just so… rubbing soothingly at knots that are not there.

You have no opportunity to make anything of it before his eyes shoot back open, wide, and he gasps- untangling himself and falling to the floor with a thud that causes you to wince.

He takes the blankets with him, pulls them up to cover his chest, and says, “What in God’s name are you doing in my room?”

His tone makes you feel as though, perhaps, your idea was not as brilliant as you thought.

“I… I was having bad dreams from the day and I thought-“ you begin.

Orion cuts you off. “I’m quite certain you weren’t thinking anything. My God, did anyone see you enter here?”

He gets up then and fetches a shirt to put on while you feel like you should get up and flee. Lock yourself up in your room. Hide away from your friend’s ire.

“I was not seen, I was not heard… I’m sorry, Orion, I just… I had a bad day that became a bad night and wanted to be with someone. Have a sleepover like we used to. Remember?”

You want to add that you don’t understand his anger, it never mattered before. Why would something as small as a sleepover matter now?

Still facing away from you, you hear Orion take a very slow, very large intake of air and expel it equally as slow. You recognize it, it happens often enough. It’s the kind of breath Orion breathes when he is trying to find his patience with you. You place your hands in your lap, fiddling with your thumbs, and look down at them feeling quite chastised.

You hear him walk back to the bed and you glance at him through your lashes, more so peeking at him. Orion’s stare goes from your exposed shoulder where your nightgown has shifted to your exposed legs- the kerfuffle had set your nightgown out of sorts without you realizing. Carefully, avoiding touching your skin, he fixes your sleeve and then grabs the hem of your nightgown to pull it back over your legs. As an extra layer, he throws the blanket about you to cover you up. You didn’t think you were so chastised that you were shaking… you figure he must have thought if you were shivering that you were cold with how he was covering you.

Orion kneels on the ground in front of the bed and seems to have a hard time looking you in the eye. “I need you to understand we’re not little anymore.”

Well, that was silly. Obviously you knew that. He and Alek have become like trees in the last year or so.

“I know,” you respond, confused why he would say that.

He takes another calming breath. “No, you don’t. I need you to understand we’re not children anymore.”

That bothers you. “Yes we are. Alek’s mother still calls us children. She wouldn’t do that if we were grown up.”

He looks you in the eye now and you can tell you’re still not hearing him the way he wants you to.

“We are not children, MC, and we’re not grownups either. We’re awkwardly in the middle but I need you to understand that it still means something. You cannot… sneak into a man’s room, especially one seen as a servant, in the middle of the night in just a nightgown.”

“What else should I wear for a sleepover? This is what I’ve always worn.”

Orion runs his hands through his hair. He looks a mixture of embarrassed and frustrated and you’re not sure why.

“We can’t have sleepovers anymore, MC, and when I say that I mean that you and I can’t. You and Alek can’t. Those days are over and gone. It means something different now.”

You feel your lip quiver at the mention of your days of fun, of being around them whenever you so choose, being over. Gone.

You feel that wall you thought of earlier begin to add more bricks between you and Orion. Maybe even Alek too. This knowledge that they’re so privy to while you stay infantile to them. You are older than Orion and yet that can’t be. They move on, they run, while you seem to never be able to move on beyond a crawl.

“Don’t do that,” Orion says, sounding a little taken aback by your apparent heartbreak and hurt.

“You’re just being cruel, the way Alek says you like to be in some misguided way.” You say, sniffles finding their way into the sentence.

You can almost see him cursing Alek.

“Maybe I am being cruel but I’m doing what no one else will do and telling you the way of the world. I would give anything for this to be someone else’s job but I can’t let you be ignorant any longer. It’s dangerous now to let you continue on this way. Everyone can treat you like a baby who says a word wrong but never corrects them because they find it cute but I won’t do that to you.” Orion says with great feeling.

Deep down, you know he is not intentionally being cruel the way he was when you first met. It was unfair to accuse him of it. Orion is pulling weight in your life that he shouldn’t have to.

He sees you are listening now.

“People like you are sold to the highest bidder when they’re young and I don’t think you’ll be safe from it for forever. And even if you are… there’s people out there, evil people, who will take advantage of you not knowing… things. You need to know how it is. Between people.”

“Things lose their innocence as we get older,” Orion continues. “That’s why you can’t have sleepovers anymore or be seen with us in just a nightgown. I know, Alek knows, that you sneaking into our beds means nothing… but anyone else? Anyone who would catch you doing that would think you did mean something. That you did something. That you’re- that we- anyways, you just can’t do that, okay?”

No, it wasn’t okay and you didn’t understand.

“Okay,” you say quietly, sadly.

Orion sighs heavily, his frustration moving from you to himself. “I- I don’t think I can explain the ins and the outs to you of what I want you to know. I thought I could but it’s… awkward and embarrassing, all right? Just… know that you can’t go sleeping with- next- know that you can’t have sleepovers anymore with me or Alek. And you tell us if someone tries to get you to, okay? You don’t agree, you don’t say anything, you just run as fast as you can to me or Alek’s family.”

He moves to tip your chin to make sure you’re looking at him, that you’re still listening. All you can do is nod your head. You understand he needs you to know this is important, and you do, but you don’t understand at all. You still feel rather unfairly chastised when you don’t know what you’ve done wrong… just that you have done wrong.

Orion drops his hand like it burns and looks embarrassed still, a rarity that you can’t even enjoy because you feel so down and ashamed.

“I’ll see if I can get a book or something so you can learn. Or maybe writing it would be easier on me and then you can burn it. I don’t know. I’ll figure it out. For now, you need to go back to your room before everyone wakes up. Go back to sleep. No more coming here at night.”

You come out the the blanket cocoon and head to the door, wordlessly doing as he asks. Orion seems restless at your silence.

Before you can leave, Orion grabs the crook of your elbow and pulls you back to face him.

“I didn’t want to- I didn’t mean to- why don’t I make your favorite for breakfast? And- and we’ll play that game I hate. The one where we have to draw something and the other guesses. The one you’re so good at. I’ll even make your favorite dessert for when you win.”

It’s awkward, him being so kind. You appreciate him trying.

You give him your best smile but even you know it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Okay.”

But you don’t leave your room that day. Today you hide away in your room, door firmly locked, and stay with your books and drawings that you wear as armor against growing up. At things changing. At your friends going upwards and onwards. At all the unknowns and things you’re ignorant to.

You will face the world on another day.

On this day, you cry.

[salbei-141]

Late night doubts (Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Reader)

Masterlist

word count: 1.1k

warnings: 18+, violence, death, organised crime, cartel, military, guilt, shame, fluff, etc.

a/n: rare update incoming. i am alive, surprise, surprise!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Soap were led side by side on his bed - you did this every now and again, seeking comfort in each other's warmth and words; sometimes it was just silent between you both with some music lulling the both of you in the background - sometimes all you needed was the comfort of knowing someone was there.

Tonight was one of those nights where soft music was playing, echoing around you both - you didn't pay much heed to it though, it was just there to fill the void in the room. Your mind had been going haywire recently, your last mission had you questioning your position in not only Taskforce 141 but in the military in general. You were the team's lookout, consistently above them somewhere - sniper following your team's movements, and the targets. You had failed before - sometimes obstructions occurred, that was apart of the job, you weren't able to save everybody all the time - you learn to accept it.

The most recent mission involved the taskforce entering a private compound that was ran by cartel members in South America. Like usual, you were perched up in your own little manmade hideout - surrounded by whatever greenery you could cover with. The team were ordered to enter the compound, retrieve the necessary data, and exit the compound. It was specified to be a quiet in and out job with zero distractions, and zero noise. It had been going well, you had been following your team - watching as they passed by windows until they left your sights for good, and then took watch over the guards around the compound. You were gaining an idea on their patterns for where each guard patrolled - ready to assist the team from high ground when they inevitably had to exit. However, it was one of those missions...things just didn't go to plan, and you didn't know if you'd ever get over it.

"Soap?" you needed to voice your thoughts to someone before you drove yourself mad in the coming days.

"Yeah?" you felt as he moved beside you to look directly at you, but you kept your eyes trained on his ceiling.

"You ever regret this? Like the job, y'know?" You could feel the regret instantly invade every nerve in your body - you should've just stayed silent.

"Aye, sometimes. Why love?" you were surprised by his answer - you were expecting some sort of disappointment from him for ever doubting your position in serving your country.

"Just the last mission...I-" you let out a sigh, not quite knowing how to talk about this, while simultaneously not wanting to talk about this at all, "it's just that the last mission - I've never been put in that position before, never trained on how to make a call like that."

"It's the military y/n - you can only be trained for so much before you're thrown into the unknown, and we both know it happens more often than not. You made the right call though.", you fell into silence, mulling over what he had said.

Unknowingly, tears had gathered in your eyes, and you felt as it trailed down your cheeks, hot against your skin. As you made quick movements to wipe them away, Soap turned to look at you, caught off guard by your sudden movements.

"Y/N?" You didn't turn to face him.

His hand slowly came up to the side of your face and he turned your head gently to face him. His heart felt constrained within his chest at your reddened eyes that were trying so hard to hold back tears that you had been bottling up since the mission.

"I don't know how to live with myself anymore Soap," you sounded so weak - he'd never heard you sound so small and unsure about the future.

He pulled you into his chest tightly; if he was being honest with himself there wasn't much he could say to comfort you. He had been tortured and looked death itself in the eyes, but never had he had to make a call like the one you had.

You wrapped your arms around him and buried your face into his chest. You felt yourself start to crumble more within his hold until you fully let yourself sob. You couldn't remember the last time you had cried like this, and you'd hoped you wouldn't have to again.

Nothing was said in the time Soap held you close to him - he hadn't moved in 40 minutes, just held you close while he ran his hands up and down your back and occasionally brushed his fingers through your hair as you sobbed into him.

Your crying had turned into soft sniffles. Your mind still felt muddled, unsure of where to go from here.

"Love?", he sounded so soft as he spoke in your ear - he cared for you like no one else.

You lifted your head slightly to look at him and whispered - your throat feeling tender, "Johnny".

He gently smiled at you and placed a small kiss on your forehead, "What if you took leave? Take time to think about what you want".

You looked at him confused, your life revolved around the military and as much as you were questioning your position within it, the thought of taking time off was foreign to you.

"I don't think I could handle being alone Johnny", truth be told you'd rather be deployed on another mission immediately than spend time alone with yourself. You haven't been alone for years - the military was like family to you - there was always someone around, be it Gaz, Price, Ghost, or most commonly Soap.

He caressed your face softly, "I won't leave you lass, we can both take leave".

"No Johnny. They need us...they ne-"

"They don't need us y/n. Price will make sure we get it off, come on...you need it - let me look after you..." he looked at you desperately, begging with his eyes for you to agree.

You stared and slowly nodded. "You promise you won't leave me?", it was a silly question, but you couldn't bare the thought of being alone any time soon.

He smiled down at you and spoke softly, "I promise to never leave you - I don't think I could anyway", your cheeks flushed lightly - his eyes stared at you with adoration.

You tried to muster a small smile for him. Johnny placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, pulling you against him again, "I'll speak with Price in the mornin' love, go to sleep, aye?".

You nodded silently against him and allowed yourself to close your eyes, exhausted and in need of sleep. He was like your safety net - nothing could hurt you as long as Johnny was nearby.

Soap watched as your face relaxed and your eyes shut as your breathing started to even out. He pulled you impossibly closer and felt you nuzzle into him as he ran his fingers through your hair until the both of you eventually fell into a deep sleep.

[ladylaviniya]

Sir Sherlock Holmes & The Indian Princess

शर्लक बाबू और भारतीय राजकुमारी

Chapter 1 || Masterlist || Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: In England, Sherlock Holmes receives an alarm letter from his dear friend Doctor John Watson. In Delhi, You don't mind being a teacher, but with new building plans, you reflect on your circumstances and opportunities.

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x Desi!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Slow burn, generational trauma, colonisation, implied murder, death of a parent, classism & caste.

Word Count: 6k

Author Notes:

★ Everything written in bold is being said in Hindustani

★The Reader character goes by the last name Newalkar and is the daughter of Damodar Rao Newalkar → the adopted son of Rani Laxmibai. I must advise this story is pure fiction but based in the occupation of the British Raj that invaded and Colonised India.

★I am a White European/Australian woman, I apologise for any cultural or historical inaccuracies. I am receiving help from online sources and desi Tumblr mutual @livesinfantasyland and I heavily encourage other Indian/South Asian/Desi readers to share their thoughts, constructive criticism and help as I write this story.

Inspiring Song: "Paint it Black" by Ciara

11:35pm Thursday 26th June 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

This story begins and ends with the sound of rain.

Tink!

The roof had begun a leak. And when this leak came to play it had a habit of landing directly on the head of a disgruntled and lonely fellow.  The greatest detective in London who could not find a friend. Granted I must inform you, Mr Sherlock Holmes did in fact have some friends, but by misfortunes, none were presently in the country.

Tink!

He angrily sighed. Another drop of rain hit his head.

He launched from his arm chair and grumbling moved an empty teapot to sit on the cushion he previously sat. The drops thus made a small tinkling as they landed inside the empty pot.

Plonk!

He rubbed his eyes and checked the time on the mantle piece clock. He had lost weeks of his life. Hours squeezed down to into unknown days or months, he could not tell. It did not help how he consistently drew the curtains closed to design total darkness other than the fireplace and his candles to light up his home.

A light shiver ran up his spine. The weather was dangerously cold today. His fingertips upon inspection grew from pale white to a dark pink.

Plonk!

He wandered if perhaps it was time to have a holiday in sunny Spain.

A knock on his door broke his imagined vacation like a hammer to glass.

His pesky landlady Mrs Hudson intruded on his stuffy dust filled space. She grumbled nonsense about the filth of her apartment she’s rented out to the famous Detective before handing him a thick envelope.

Plonk!

And the moment he could see and recognised the handwriting he snatched the Letter from her wrinkly fingers and banished her with a bellowing shout. The woman fluttered out and muttered her further disgusts of his treatment.

Plonk!

But Sherlock did not care for her opinion or rather anyone’s for that matter, Sherlock only cares about the stamp he tore opened the parchment he eagerly unfolded.

John Watson. Doctor, soldier and dear friend. He was Sherlock’s greatest companion to note. He had never felt such brotherly love until he met the very man seeking a roommate here in baker street.

Doctor and detective used to comb London for clues to solve crimes and very noticeably took an interest at the sports of pleasure. The luxurious brothels of London welcomed him and his friend with open arms and spread legs. Doctor Watson was the easy victim of sex while Sherlock was one to enjoy his opium pipe and watch his friend succumb to the mouths of half-pound harlots.

And among these adventures of interesting women did the doctor find himself in a savage tussle with another jealous male patron...

Sherlock recalled the evening with mirth. His dear friend, brother in arms had been pummelled to a pulp and drunk as a daisy. So when Sherlock escorted him to a hospital, the imbecile had declared that he was doctor of the ward and did not need any stitches. It is a grand thing perhaps Doctor Watson could not fathom the memory of yelling too proudly that his medicine could be only found in the elixir of a woman’s warm cunny.

His nurse, a dirty bird at heart had giggled at this...that nurses name was Mary Mortenson. And she became the very enamoured Mrs Mary Watson.

Sherlock was not fond of his friend becoming so besotted with his bride. He tolerated the woman’s presences at best. Unspokenly, the detective saw competition to gain the doctors attention and it was becoming far too obvious that Mrs Watson would win. Every. Single. Time.

After a month of young love the married pair had decided their honey-moon should be experienced back in John’s birth land...Delhi, a city in India. Mary was to meet the senior Mr and Mrs Watson. Coincidently, the English rose was not averse to the foreign lands…she so happened to have been born in Agra. Happy and married, they boarded and sailed across the sea.

Sherlock had high hopes their ship would run scarce of supplies so they might return quickly. He missed his dear friend and even his annoying wife.

The letter in between if thumbs and fingers were the first words from them he had gotten in nearly three months. The letter read as followed...

“Dear Sherlock,

Mary and I have come to my home I grew up in as a boy. I was blessed with my parents merry welcome. However, unfortunate circumstances have designed two coffins. For merely a week into our visit my beloved parents have passed. I have yet to decide whether to bury them in the English tradition or burn them in the Hindi ritual. My predicted return back to Baker Street may appear futile and non-existent. Please. Come visit us as soon as it is convenient.

13, 25, 27, 16, 1, 18, 5, 14, 20, 19, 27, 8, 23, 5, 27, 2, 5, 5, 14, 27, 13, 21, 18, 4, 5, 18, 5, 4.

Your sincere faithful friend, Doctor John H. Watson.”

Plonk!

Sherlock’s eyes raced over the page, and cupped his mouth staring at the plethora of numbers. They were not any numbers. John was a simple man, he wasn’t the smartest being but Sherlock appreciated his humble attitudes, he liked the doctor admitting he wasn’t a world genius, just a man who knew his medicines.

So when an enigmatic set of numbers was written at random Sherlock thought of the most simplistic cypher.

For every number was a letter. 1 being A and 26 being Z, leaving 27 to be a space between a word.

His brows lifted. The message was clear and alarming.

Plonk!

“My Parents Have Been Murdered.”

He determined his dear doctor had written this cryptic message under the desire of secrecy. His eyes lit up. It meant John needed Sherlock’s help. A case. Something was amiss. John did not know the killers name. If he did, he would’ve written it or not bothered to write asking Sherlock to visit at all.

He couldn’t have run faster to his rooms to start backing as soon as possible.

Plonk!

Sherlock Holmes had know idea what he was going to find in a land he had only heard stories from Watson’s childhood. He was eager to see his friend, to help him and to finally have an adventure.

01:35pm Friday 11th July 1890, Anglo Arabic Secondary School, Desh Bandhu Gupta Rd, Ajmeri Gate, Delhi.

You dragged the piece of white chalk across a black board and sketched a simple phrase in the English language. You smiled to the young faces that filled the room, sitting in long benches and desks. Their eyes wide and curious, eager to learn.

You waved your hands, “Now, clean your chalk slates students, you are going to learn how to spell good afternoon in English.”

They wipe them down with their small damp clothes and tucked them away in the groove at the top of their slanted desk. You waited patiently until they all sat with their hands resting flat on the wooden desks, mouths shut, eyes seeking knowledge.

You underlined each letter of the first word, “Gee, ouw, ouw, dee, this spells ‘Good’ and now ‘Afternoon’ is Aya, eff, tee, Ee, Ara, eynnn, ouw, ouw, eynn.”

The young boys sounded it out with you. Their sweet pubescent voices unionised. You smiled. They were so advanced at such a young age, most of the boys had come from average and wealthy families that could afford them to come to such a fine school. Many were Muslim, others Hindu, it was a good sign of peace. The youth coming together despite their differences. And on odd days you would teach the white children, boys and girls of British and French families who wanted their children to learn Hindi, Arabic and Urdu.

You didn’t mind teaching white children, some of the boys could be very disrespectful but you gathered it was behaviour picked up from their arrogant fathers. It wasn’t the young boys who had pillaged these lands, it was their fathers and grandfathers.

“The gee,” you circled the G, “Remember in English is also pronounced like Guh and,” you tapped the double o’s, “Ouw ouw in english together when two is said ‘oooowa’. Followed by dee being said as Dah. So, let’s say it together?”

You dragged a white line under the word and sounded it out with your students.

“Guh-oooow-dah.”

You smiled.

You repeated, “Good.”

“Now let’s look at the word ‘afternoon’,” you announced.

You cleaned the board and looked back at your students. One of the little boys who sat in the front was rubbing his eyes. You smiled softly. He was only six years old. His older brother, a young man now would most likely be the one to collect his brother from school and carry him sleeping back home. You looked at the bell tower just outside the window. It was nearly time for your students to go home and you to return back to your lodgings.

“Aye and eff is said as AAaff, then tee is a quick Tuh! And what is Ee and Arrra sound together children?”

“Errr,” they all purred.

You sounded out half of the word with them, “Aafftuherrr.”

You rubbed your chalk dust covered fingers together and further explained as you pointed to each important letter, “eynnn makes a Na, sound. And we just practiced double ouw, so sound it out.”

Like a symphony of speech, you all said together, “Guh-oooow-dah Aafftuherrr, Na-ooow-na. Good Afternoon.”

The deep bowing clang of the bells outside rang through the yard and open window shutters. The children looked eager to leave. Their hands were readily holding their slates, ready to put them inside the empty wooden box in the corner of the classroom where they kept all their slates and dusters and the bucket for where they kept their chalk.

“Good afternoon students,” You bided.

“Good afternoon Teacher Madam,” They called back.

“You may go back home now. Practise your English alphabet song.”

The boys were fast as rabbits, leaping from their desks and fleeing the classroom out the hall and down the stairs. But some at least saluted you as they left. It was a habit they’d picked up from the white boys who saluted their male teachers. You smiled to yourself as you waved them out. Each left with beaming smiles and playful chatter among themselves.

As you went about sweeping the floor after wiping the chalk from the board, you wondered if you should go to the temple and pray for your students successful education or if you should consider washing your clothing today. It had been very dry today, any moment and you knew the wet season and humid rain would arrive to flood the streets clean of dust and fill the forests with life of green goodness.

As you put away the English education books on the small shelves by the door, a familiar face came rushing in, flushed and excited

If it wasn’t her jingling anklet and bangle that announced her To your classroom, it was her shrill cry of your name that did.  

“Y/N! Quick!” Miss Anjuli Paraiyars exclaimed, “You need to come with me.”

Her dark ink hair was peaking out from her sun patterned veil. The wispy curls stuck to her sweaty forehead and framed her dazzling walnut eyes. They were flooded with mischief that matched her biting lip. Her brows wriggled lightly.

Placing the last book onto the shelf you turned to acknowledge your dear friend.

“Anjuli,” you happily sighed, “Whatever is the matter?”

She waved her hands about, hoping to quicken you along and out the door, “It is the Watson son, Doctor Watson, he wants to speak with you with important news.”

Your eyes widened. ‘What on earth does that poor soul wish to say to me? After the death of the good Mr and Mrs Watson, I would assume he was still in mourning, why would he call upon me?’

Following your friend outside into the scorching sun, you lifted your saree over your head. She had her family Ox and cart waiting outside the school gates.

“What important news Anjuli?” You said a little standoffishly.

“He’s offering you a job,” She said giddily. She climbed up into the cart and leant down offering her hand to you.  Once in the cart side by side she sighed, “That’s all he would tell me,” She grabbed the reigns and cane and tapped the Ox to start moving out onto the dirt road, “But we all know how very generous he can be like his dear parents.”

Anjuli was right. The late Victoria and Hamish Watson’s were angelic to the local community. Victoria had been the very soul to teach your late mother English and she was the one to encourage you to attain education enough to become one of the very few first female Indian teachers. She was a well known philanthropist, often aiding the sick and homeless and funding the Indian hospitals. Hamish was a local accountant, financial advisor and lawyer. He was known to be good to the children particularly. He would often hand out sweets as he walked down the street with his briefcase bag. He often aided the locals find new homes when the British planned to evict them and replace white families in their place. The English couple had lived in the country for many decades, long before you were even born. They spoke fluently enough and mimicked the culture so well that you could’ve believed they were born here themselves.

You sat back and nodded, “May their souls attain moksha.”

02:45pm Friday 11th July 1890, Willingdon Crescent, Central Ridge Forest, Delhi, India.

The sun baked down on the streets of Dehli. The Ox cart rolled along, it’s tail flicking the flies circling it’s flank every so often.

You pinches your saree scarf and covered your face before a bug could fly into your mouth.

Anjuli had to hold the reigns and cane, she leant closer to you and giggled as she nodded to the khaki covered soldiers. Walking by in many small groups.

Anjuli had a terrible habit, she fell in love too easily. For some ungodly reason Anjuli admired the foreigners that had come so long ago and invaded your beautiful country. Maybe she liked how different they looked. The flaxen hair and ice blue gazes in the faces of pale freaks were so opposite to the raven manes and hairy russet warmth of Indian men. It was erotic for her. You just didn't understand how she could so easily find infatuation with the people you considered an enemy, and so should she.

“Oh look at them,” she giggled girlishly.

You rolled your eyes, “I’m looking.” There was a timid strain in your voice. You had no real interest to entertain Anjuli’s fascination.

When Anjuli noticed how you in fact we’re not looking but rather looking ahead on the road path she playfully smacked your arm.

“Look!” She sucked her teeth and teasingly scolded, “Do you not know delight at the sight of men?” She reached forward and abruptly touched the front of your blouse, squeezing around for the softness of your breasts, “Are you sure you’re a full grown woman?” she smiled wickedly and prodded her finger in between your legs covered by your top petticoat.

You squeaked loudly and batted her hand. She howled with laughter and kept giggling even as you scowled at her beneath your veil.

You turned your head away from her and scoffed, “I am not as easily swayed by British soldiers. They look so sickly as pale as they are,” your nose wrinkled, “How could I righteously take a husband in front of beloved Lakshmi and her Vishnu when they look like they tempt Yama too take them at any moment?”

Your friend rolled her eyes, “Oh nonsense,” she tapped your hand and waved her fingers into a crowd of soldiers, “See there that one, his hair the colour of wheat, he is a handsome man. He would make a fine husband.”

And as the cart rolled passed, you couldn’t help gag at the smell of the same man Anjuli proclaimed would make a fine husband.

‘A fine swine perhaps. Many sow in heat could come trotting to him from miles with such a putrid scent.’

Your head wobbled and your flat palm waved at her, “A husbands good qualities are not to stand on his appearance alone. One day he will grow old, fat, bald and ugly.”

A long dragging sigh came out from the woman beside you. She managed to move both reigns into one hand and playfully tugged your saree away from your face

“You’re no fun, come on,” she jerked her chin out to the same street as the ox was about to pass another group, “Tell me you don’t find any of them a little attractive?”

You stared at the oncoming group and now sucked your teeth. You crudely stated, “They’d be far more attractive if they left. Went back to their lands, leave our villages and the people of Bharat in peace.”

Anjuli stared blankly at you. Before she could pinch and prod you again you relented and noticed one of the men in the crowd so different from the others.

He was tall, his hair a dark chestnut that matched the shade of his suit. His face was bare and clean in comparison to the soldiers who all adorned moustaches and muttonchop beards on their faces. He was carrying a rather large brief case and walking stick.

“Fine...that one,” you nodded, “In the brown English clothes.”

“The one wearing a suit?” Anjuli snickered, “He’s not a soldier though?”

You giggled,“And it is for such a reason I find he is most handsome among them.”

You both gazed at him as the ox fully passed by. Anjuli smiled at you.

“He is rather tall. Strong. What do you think he does?” She asked, “Maybe he is a farmer, or a bricklayer?”

You shook your head. ‘No. He couldn’t be.’

“He dresses too finely. It is not their Christian Sunday Sabbath today. He probably is a rich businessman, with a wife and children.”

You looked back to the path as the dusty road became thicker in trees and travel further away from the street. You thought about that strangers wife, what she might look like, probably some English rose with a house full of servants at her command, surrounded by maids and wet nurses for her children. She would live in a grand house and hold soiree’s, welcoming guests from all around to celebrate life. She would have a massive library and a place of worship. It was the life you should’ve had, the life you were owed and denied merely by the changing events of history and the extinguish of your father’s birthright.

Your soft smile faded; you felt a twinge of repulsion mixed with a hint of anger. You’d think after all these years you would’ve chosen to forget this, ignore this, let go and accept your circumstances in this life.... You didn’t live with your father anymore who would remind you practically daily why not to trust the English or any white man, as if you didn’t witness their subjecting abuse and consistent disrespect.

Your eyes fluttered shut, you reached to your side and touched Anjuli’s wrist. She was your truest friend despite her differences and low status. Anjuli came from a Shudra family, and you? You were the daughter, the descendant of Brahims and Kshatriyas...now lowered to the Shudra caste class…You never knew the lavish life of the Jhansi palace, nor tasted the rich foods served on golden plates and surrounded by pretty creatures of the palace menagerie. You would never know the joys of running through the gardens with other children in the royal family.

Everyone was gone, everything was gone. All that was left was your father who scarcely remembered that life but shared all he remembered so his memories would live on through you and bring you hope that one day it would be yours. It was a cruel false hope…

Eighteen years ago, you had been born inside of a nice house in Indore to the daughter of a prestige painter Vasudeoraobhau Bhatavdekar. As far as you knew, your father loved your mother very much for the incredibly brief time that they were married. A rare jewel in beauty is how he described her often. A marriage of love and choice. Your father said she was softly spoken and obedient, but it was her unconditional love for him and his dreams that held his heart in appreciation.

It was by unfortunate command that she would fall ill to childbed fevers after you were born. After you…a girl...not a son. You were nothing in the eyes of the British raj and had no chance of being installed as an heir for any restoration…you were the last hope and failed before your first breath. And that was something you’d never forget.

For a small time, you were raised in that home and then it was decided by your father that you would learn English. His tutors were not available, so he cut your hair short and shipped you off to Delhi with your young uncle Save to the Anglo Arabic Secondary School…It did not take the teachers and headmaster long to discover you were a girl. Before you were to receive the beating of a lifetime it was Mr Hamish Watson who so happened to be accounting the school costs to save you. He took you to his wife who taught you English and then set you to live with his maid servants, Anjuli’s mother.

Your friend spoke after some time of silence, “Oh, I’m meant to tell you- My cousin Vijay sent word this morning, he’s seeking a wife. My mother wants me to ask if you’d like to meet him, a prospective match.”

Your lips curled into a sneer, “Isn’t he the one that use to tie our braids together in a knot during Diwali and chase us around the street making animal noises?”

You recalled a young teenage boy about five years your senior with a tooth gap and ruffled hair. He was so annoying, calling you names and bullying you by calling you fat and ugly. He was spoilt and rude. He mocked you when you told him you were a princess. He said you were a princess of pimple pox and nothing more. Oh how you remembered the way your blood boiled.

“We were children, he was playing, only a boy,” she smiled, “He’s a man now, studying to be a barrister in Bombay but he will be visiting in a few weeks to help us move.”

Ah yes, the dilemma you needed to find a solution too soon. It was a month ago that a letter had been nailed to the house door, it was an eviction commandment made by the British military and government. The Paraiyars family and you had to leave the home in Raisina hill, why? Because the British do what they like…building concrete monstrosities over beautiful land and demolishing the history of your people like it was worthless dust. Rumours spread about a grand governors palace was to be built there, but they couldn’t burn the village to ash with people living inside...well....at least not on their "morally good Christian conscious."

“Vijay I believe owns a cottage near the seaside. You could be his bride and live with him instead of moving back to Indore to your father.”

Moving back was not possible...not after his most recent letter.

“Father has…felt it improper for me to move back to Indore. He believes that my existence would cause me more harm than good under his jailers’ eyes…His pension he shares I give mostly to your mother for board. I have saved my wages, I am considering…moving to a boarding workhouse in Jhansi or Agra, but tell your mother I would like to greet Vijay when he arrives…”

You smirked looking down at your fingernails, “Lakshmi forbid I run out of money and need to resort to the ‘charity’ of Christians or to prostitution.”

Anjuli made a face, shaking her head and brushed her shoulder into yours, “You wrinkle your nose at every man, white, black or bronze,” she smiled cheekily, “I doubt you’d make a good prostitute.”

“Anjuli!” You shrieked.

Both you and her erupted into a large happy shrill of giggles enough to gain head turns from passing public. You and her playfully poked your elbows into each other. Anjuli was right, there was no chance that you could make a suitable prostitute…you hadn’t had sex and didn’t know how to please a man, most men you barely liked. They could be selfish. Anjuli on the other hand, she was a frisky thing. She had kissed a hundred men and given her ‘precious flower’ to a boy back when she was thirteen. She had no shame. Anjuli had shared her sordid tales of lust to you many times. You knew her boyfriends that snuck her out at night and returned her by morning. You promised never to tell her mother or father who surely would’ve disowned her if they knew how promiscuous she was. It was best if they believed she made money with her parents in the markets selling dyed clothes and wooden jewellery boxes.

03:04pm Friday 11th July 1890, 5 Bistdari Road, Central Ridge Forest, Delhi, India.

Arriving to the Watson Bungalow was simple enough, the ox cart rolled and bumped over the rock and sandy grooves of the path. Anjuli pulled the reigns of her beast and helped you both down. She tied her ox to the outside gate posts, the precious creature lowered its head and munched on dry grass that still was hinted in green. The ox would be glad as soon the wet season would hit and all the food delight lush and green would return.

You and Anjuli stepped inside and removed your sandals, Anjuli then led you through the house. It had been some time since you had been here. Anjuli’s mother was dismissed as Mrs Victoria Watson’s maid when the new Watson bride had arrived.

Doctor Watson, their son was a short ferrety man. His face was covered in a long mutton mustache like a snake of hair slithering along his face. He was a grown man from the teenager you had met many years ago. His parents had sent him to Europe to school, as far as you were aware he had join the army and fought in some notorious war battles like The of Battle of Abu Klea.

As you entered the bureau office, you found him hunched over some paperwork, his brows scrunched. His eyes lifted up and brightened his face on seeing you both.

“Oh Miss Paraiyars, Anjuli dear,” he said clapping his hands and opening a drawer in his desk, “Thank you so much dear for bringing darling Miss Newalkar here. Here,” he handed Anjuli a small bag and slipped four rupees into her hand, “and take these sweets back to your Mataji, Mrs Paraiyars.”

Anjuli put her hands together and smiled, wobbling her head before leaving you alone to return outside back to her ox cart.

You had your hands pressed together peacefully while the doctor hobbled over to you from around the desk. He was smiling brightly and nodded his head to you, offering you a chair in front of the desk.

“Y/N thankyou for coming on such short notice. I requested your presence in person to offer you a job position.”

Your smile fell, you sheepishly explained to the man, “I am currently employed at the Anglo school Doctor, Babu.”

The doctor nodded, “Yes…Anjuli tells me you are still teaching the children English and Hindi?”

“Yes Doctor Babu,” you confirmed.

“How much are you paid per month?” he asked quickly, touching his lips lightly in thought.

“Twenty five rupees,” you said softly, you didn’t dare try to sound prideful.

The doctor smiled and pulled out a piece paper contract, he then stated, “I will pay you a hundred per month.”

Your eyes widened, and then narrowed. It was too spectacular to be true, it sounded Impossible. Your fathers pension was only a hundred and fifty rupees a year, for the doctor to give you a hundred per month was unfathomable wealth. What on earth was he wanting from you!?

“What is the position,” you swallowed breathlessly, “Doctor Babu?”

“Housekeeper and…a carer,” he sighed, “I need you to live here, and watch over one of my friends. He is from England and I am afraid he might not understand the customs here.”

He leant against the desk cocking his head and looking down at his feet awkwardly. “Please,” he begged, “he is different to other men. He is particular and perhaps rather spoilt. I need you to make sure he doesn’t get lost, harmed or too upset. It is pressing that I should return to my wife in Agra. I would have hired Mrs Paraiyars, in fact I did offer this role to her, but I have been informed she will be moving and her English is not as it once was…and my English friend is rather…particular and impatient with broken speech...”

He wrote a signature across the bottom of the document and held it out for you to read. It was real…your mouth watered. You could save more than your regular wage and easily move back to Indore without burdening your father or mother’s family.  

“If you accept my offer, you may live here as a free lodging, you recall where the servant quarters are I am sure? You will also receive a handsome budget for food. And-” he paused looking up and pocketing the cheque, he gasped, “Sherlock! Dear god man! Did you walk here from the train station?!”

You turned around in the chair and took in the sight of a familiar looking soul.

He was the gentleman from the road. The supposed businessman with his briefcase. He was taller standing here with you then when you sat above in the ox cart. He was standing in the doorway to the office. He stepped inside and lowered his walking stick and briefcase.

“My friend,” the handsome stranger gleefully called, “My dear John Watson, I came the moment I read your message. One of the khaki coated lads pointed me here.”

Up close now you could observe his features on a better judgement. Sherlock Holmes was well known in the British gazette for his distinct physical appearance. With his broad angular frame, sharp hard features, and mighty frame, he exuded a striking and intimidating aura that commanded respect. He reminded you of warriors you imagined before bed in story's of battles your father described at Jhansi Fort.

His face was marked by a strong, sharp pointed nose and intense, deep-set sapphire eyes. His hair was kept combed and short below his ears short and slicked back, revealing his angular eyebrows, and his pink lips that were tightly pursed. He wore a grand brown suit coat with a crisp white shirt, and woolen sweater vest beneath it. And at the base of his throat was a dark burgundy tie. Something about the time reminded you of blood. A cut throat. You felt cold.

His eyes smoothly shifted to you and your presence, his lips parted softly, he glanced back at John, “A patient of yours Doctor?”

The moustached man bristled and shook his head, he stuttered and leant his hand out to you. you carefully chose to take it and rise from the chair as he introduced you.

“Oh- I- Sherlock…um, Sherlock Holmes, I would like you to meet Miss Y/N Newalkar.”

“Miss Newalkar,” the doctor waved his hand over the figure of the giant stock of a man, “This is the very gentleman I was informing you about. This is my friend Detective Sherlock Holmes.”

You pressed your hands together and nodded in greeting. One of Sherlock’s brows raised and his lips hardened in a straight line.

Doctor Watson explained back to the detective, “I was in the middle of discussing whether this dear lady would like to accept a role of housekeeping during your stay here.”

“Whatever for?” Sherlock snickered, “Is your lady wife not up to par with her duties?” he shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked on his leather shoes while his eyes scanned all the way down to your bare feet. It was a crude look of judgement. The westerner seemed to forget not everyone shared the same styles and habits here. You tried not to roll your eyes at him as he scanned your arms and the parts of your belly that the saree did not cover.  Those dark blue orbs crawled up and settled over your faux sweetened smiling face.

“Some…plans have come up unexpectedly. Mary is back in Agra, staying safe with her family,” John stated, his fingers rubbed together, “I need to be with her. And the hospitals are in desire of my services as a surgeon. I ask that you will look around, see if you can find anything here…” he leant in closer and whispered to the man, “I will visit every couple of days, to check up on you and see if there is truth to be founded in my suspicions.”

'Suspicions?'

“John…” the detective pat his friends shoulder, “I am happy to see you. I promise I will do my very best.”

“Thankyou,” said the doctor.

Sherlock jerked his chin to your direction, “How much does the dear girl here know?”

“Well, I…not much,” the doctor blushed and looked back to you, “Miss Newalkar, your thoughts on the job position role?”

You swallowed and nodded slowly, “I accept the conditions, thankyou for your most gracious offering, Doctor Babu.”

The doctor smiled and carefully touched your back, leading you to the exist of his office as he happily stated.

“Splendid! Please, this is the contract. Sign it and return with your belongings later on a few hours while I converse with my friend and guest.”

You looked back at the mysterious Sherlock Holmes and back to the contract. You wobbled your head in goodbye and went on your way. The way you could feel his eyes over your body walking away made you shiver. He was a intimidateding looking man. You left the home and slipped your sandals on.

You thought about how you would now be the housekeeper of a prestigious British family in the community. A wave of relief to your stability washed over you. You didn’t need to crawl to your father and your mother’s family. You started smiling ear to ear. All you needed to do was take care of a house and baby-sit an Englishman who was vulnerable to these new lands.

“Did you see him go in?” Anjuli smirked from the ox cart, waving you over, “The British man you fancied?”

You jerked your chin up proudly exclaiming, “I met him.”

Your friend gasped with a wide smile, “What is he like?”

“I don’t really know,” you shrugged before waving the contract in front of your friends face, “but I am going to be his housekeeper, I need to inform the school of my resignation.”

Anjuli looked at the contract, she couldn't read english but made a light sad sound and sucked her teeth before sighing, “Oh, those children will miss you dearly.”

And that you could both agree. You grabbed the ox reigns and tapped its flank with the cane rolling back to the school again quickly to collect your last wage.

Helplines:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

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[bloodyshadow1]

My biggest problem with the hell's being so antigods (which is weird to type out), is that they're completely missing some facts. Don't get me wrong, it's fully in character but I don't think they've had a pleasant conversation with someone who is pro or even neutral the gods.

The closest thing if I remember is either Deanna who while still a cleric, doesn't seem to like the dawnfather, and the church in the remote town in vasselheim who invaded. Neither are unbiased opinions.

There is no throne, the gods aren't monarchs or cops or other authority figures in the mortal sense that misfits Luke the bells hells would normally rebel against. They are not secret puppet masters pulling on mortal strings and controlling them, at least the primes aren't. I'm not saying it might not feel that way to mortals living on exandria, but the gods can only bless and give limited guidance.

I'm not pro the gods, but the prime deities regretted what they did to aeor, after they won the war they trapped the betrayer gods and themselves behind the divine gate so they can't hurt the mortaldom anymore. Yeah, the cynical can say to protect themselves from mortals, but they showed that once they put their minds to it, it wouldn't be hard for the gods to wipe out humanoids on exandria

Instead they chose to take responsibility for their actions, and while they might not have left exandria as a whole, they made sure that none of them, prime or betrayer can physically walk the surface anymore. For all ludinus' claims of the gods being the source of all the world's problems, they've been gone for 900 or so years.

They might be able to bless and guide certain people and im not gonna pretend that power doesn't lead to status, but a cleric and paladin are just classes at the end of the day. You can also take levels in wizard to gain power or be a fighter like orym who was a guard a few years ago and is now the top 10% of exandria because he's a pc with 14 class levels.

People can, will, and have gotten powerful with or without the gods. Every war that was started was helmed by a mortal, including ludinus himself. He was one of the most powerful figures in the dwendalian empire for almost 300 years, one of the most powerful countries on exandria yet claims the gods are the puppet masters.

Again, the gods are not perfect, but the idea that they deserved to be killed when they've already sealed themselves behind the divine gate makes no sense to me. They're flawed sure, but despite what people like ashton thinks, mortal problems are because of mortals, others and themselves.

[supercap2319]

Y/N grinded his teeth together as he watched his Pokémon, Chikorita being pushed back by the powerful attacks of Henry's Empoleon. This battle wasn't going the way Y/N expected it to go.

He was on a journey with his two boyfriends: Alex Claremont Diaz. And Henry Fox Mountchristen Windsor. The First Son and Prince of Wales had responsibilities to their respective countries, but also to themselves as well. They headed out with no particular destination in mind, braving the wonderful world of Pokémon.

The three of them would have battles almost every single day to keep their skills sharp. And today was Henry's turn with Y/N while Alex made dinner. They both chose their ace Pokémon partners and even though Y/N had the advantage, there was no denying that Henry had the high ground of a fully evolved Pokémon.

Chikorita was panting as it stared at the towering Emperor Pokémon. It barely survived a combination attack of Drill Peck and Flash Cannon. They got some good hits in with Leaf Storm and Vine Whip, but Empoleon was still standing. Its defense was unbelievable. Henry raised it well. Speaking of which;he was smiling at Y/N. “If this is all you have to offer, then it's not going to be much of a match. You should call it quits now, Luv.”

“This match is far from over, your Majesty. Never underestimate the power of my Chikorita.” Y/N said. Alex chuckled by the lunch table.

“It's your Royal Highness! And fine. Have it your way. Use Hydro Cannon!” Empoleon opened its beak and formed a ball of concentrated water before launching it at the grass starter.

“Go, Chikorita! Use Vine Whip!” the quadrupedal ran towards the incoming attack as the dark-green buds around its neck extended out in two, using the whips to jump up and sail into the air. Henry counted on Y/N doing that. “Use Drill Peck!” The Penguin-looking Pokémon started to spin like a top, beak glowing white, until it spun towards Chikorita.

Y/N anticipated that Henry would anticipate his attack. Without a verbal command and just their eyes, Chikorita dodged by twisting its small body against the invading attack until it was safety away from the bigger Pokémon. It shot its vines at Empoleon’s feet and wrapped them tight. Henry was shocked.

“Now, slam it!” Even though Chikorita was small, it was surprisingly strong for its size. It threw Empoleon onto its back hard on the ground. Empoleon let out a groan of pain. “Empoleon, no!” Henry cried.

“Let's win this. Use Leaf Storm!” Chikorita’s leaf on its head glowed a bright green before it sent a tornado of leaves at the water type.

“Get up and use Flash Cannon!” Henry said.

Empoleon rose to its feet at the last second, shot a beam of silver energy in contrast to the green leaves. Both attacks slammed into each other with no clear sign of a winner. They pushed and pulled until finally both attacks exploded into a powerful smoke. When it cleared, both Chikorita and Empoleon were both still standing and before they could attack again, Alex held up his hand.

“That's good for today. Lunch is ready.” He walked towards them, carrying Y/N's Fuecoco in his arms. “And I don't want you guys to miss out on my homemade Tamales.”

[redtsundere-writes]

Tyrant's Favorite | Sukuna Ryomen

Chapter 11 “Apprentices” is available now!

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

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A couple of weeks had passed since the day of the harvest. You watched the new servants getting used to the new life they had been forced to live. You couldn't help but feel sorry for them, as you were once one of them. You understood how they felt being in such a dark and depressing place against their will. Whenever you had the chance, you greeted them with a friendly smile in an attempt to calm their nerves. Mrs. Inoue had befriended a few ladies and taught them how to do things the way Sukuna likes. Although you cared about the old people, the only one that was in your mind the most was Yorozu. 

When you were children, she used to do the housework wrong on purpose so that your mother would get mad at her and ask you to do it for her. She would run off into the yard giggling while leaving you with all the dishes to wash. You hated it when she did that, but at the end of the day she was still your sister. Your stubborn, rebellious sister.

Being a somewhat rebellious and free-spirited girl, you worried that she would purposely make Uraume angry and freeze her to death or that the king would catch her slacking off. You tried not to think about that while writing the essay Kenjaku had asked you to do for homework. 

“As the last lesson of the day, let's start with what I think will be the most important subject of all,” Kenjaku said as he erased the notes he had made at the beginning of the class. As a title, he wrote the word “debate.” “Debate is the art of discussion. It is an excellent way to improve one's speech, as well as helping to develop the skills needed to construct convincing arguments.” The teacher explained enthusiastically. 

Since he received the letter from Sukuna where he said that you were a person who always knew what to say, Kenjaku knew that you had the makings of an excellent speaker. Maybe you didn't have cursed techniques nor were you a prodigy warrior, but you were magnificent with words. Speech was your best weapon, and he would help you to constantly sharpen it. You had a long way to go in terms of your education, so he couldn't afford for you to fall behind when you were in constant motion towards the crown. 

“When you become a queen, in addition to obeying the king and understanding what he says, you must be able to help him make informed decisions regarding the interests of the kingdom,” Kenjaku explained. 

“I don't think I can do that honestly, Sukuna and I have very different priorities,” you replied. Kenjaku came over to tap you on the head with a scroll. 

“First rule of debate. Never say ‘I believe’, ‘I think’, ‘I have an opinion’, etc. Debate is based on facts, not thoughts,” Kenjaku scolded you. 

“Anyway, I don't know anything about ruling a country, leading troops or invading villages,” you replied while rubbing your injured area. 

You had seen Sukuna a couple of times leading the curses in different formations, giving many orders and walking at the head of the troops with his head held high. He was an imposing leader like no other who knows exactly what to do under pressure. You didn't feel you had the ability to do that. You could barely control your sister, how could you control a nation? Kenjaku smacked your head again. 

“Second rule of debate. Never let your opponent know what you don't know,” Kenjaku scolded you again. 

“But what if I'm not the one to give my opinion?” You asked while rubbing your head. It was already starting to hurt. 

“You are going to become the queen of this nation. You are going to have a say over anyone else, so you must prepare yourself to have a say in these matters.” Kenjaku explained. “Stop thinking like a mere servant and start thinking like the strongest woman in this nation.” 

You knew Kenjaku was right, but it was such an abrupt change of your persona. One's personality doesn't change overnight, and you weren't even sure that would happen. Kenjaku noticed that you were worried, so he approached you to take your hand. 

“I understand that you are confused and worried that you are not capable enough, but I am sure you will be. In a year, I promise you that with my help you will be a different person,” Kenjaku smiled at you to trust him, but you weren't sure if you could really do it. 

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[peachymilkandcream]

Payment|Part 10 (Finale)|Mafia Levi x Evelyn

WARNINGS: noncon/dubcon, big age difference, kidnapping, slavery, violence, power imbalance, implied somnophilia, forced pregnancies, mind breaking, yandere behaviour, yandere themes, forced exhibitionism, sexual coercion, blackmail, sex trafficking, etc.

===============================================

It seemed that no one empathized with Evelyn's plight. Those on the ship didn't even care as she begged and pleaded. She was hauled and shipped like a crate of goods, no longer a person. Even as she was violently seasick she was forced to sit in her own vomit, told to shut up when she cried.

Evelyn knew she'd never see freedom again. Funny how compared to this a life stuck in Levi's penthouse was considered freedom, but that was the truth of the matter. To her, that was being free. At least Levi gave her a level of basic human decency, what more could a person ask for?

Who knows how much time passed between her boarding and arrival. By the time she saw the sunlight again it caused her to squint and desperately wish to shield her eyes, something that was impossible given her bound hands.

She didn't know what country she was in, all she notices was the barrel of the gun pressing into her back and demanding she move forward. Slowly trudging along until she was brought to a room equally as fine as any of Levi's if not finer. While a welcome change to the filth of her previous lodgings, it brought her no comfort. Especially when various women invaded her personal space to clean and scrub her from head to toe. Not giving her any choice in the matter but dressing her in clean and fine clothes.

By now she knew what was coming, vomit welling up in her throat.

==============================================

"You see? I deliver on my promises." Kenny was smug and smirking as Evelyn was pushed out.

She took in her surroundings, another fine room, this one heavily guarded. The only ones not on edge being Kenny and a man quite possibly two times her age. She kept her mouth shut as tightly as possible to avoid puking all over the marble flooring.

"You're right about that Kenny. And you weren't lying about looks either. You sure this is the one Levi's been obsessing over lately?"

"Just the one. He threw me out over this girl, that means she's special to him."

"I don't doubt that. Choosing a bit of flesh over blood is obsessive indeed." The man stands. "Very well Kenny, I'll give you your price. You've done well and I know this wouldn't have been an easy undertaking." He nods towards one of his men. "See to it that this man is properly paid."

He nods and leads Kenny away, leaving Evelyn and the man alone.

"So my dear, you're the one Levi's been raving about." He grabs her chin, holding it still no matter how much she struggles. "Let's see what's so special about you." A rough hand on her arm drags her with him to a lavish bedroom. Terror and panic welling in her, what would become of her now?

==============================================

Kenny counted his good fortune and money in his own private room. Large and spacious compared to the peanuts that Levi gave him. Why hadn't he done this years ago? He could be a much wealthier man by now if he had the guts to stand up to that runt before.

He was laughing and taking advantage of the free booze before shots from outside too his attention.

Instinctively he went to the gun at his side. Taking it out of it's holster and flicking off the safety. He ventured into the now dark halls, only just making out the silhouettes of bodies and blood splatter. What the fuck was going on?

Kenny crouched over one of his own men. "What happened here?" He checked for damage, seeing a mortal wound bleeding out.

"Came out of nowhere- shots- it's him-"

His eyes widened as the other man's dimmed to this world. Impossible. Levi should be on another continent by now, where exactly had his business trip brought him? His intelligence said he would be on the other side of the world at this very moment.

More shots brought him out of his thoughts. No, he wouldn't be put down like an animal. He wouldn't go out like this. Not in a million years.

"Levi!" He screamed, chasing after the sounds of shots, alarms, and footsteps.

He thought he caught a glimpse of him, he could raise his gun, fire at his head. He'd kill that bastard. He would be the one to win.

A shot followed by a spray of warmth from his abdomen made Kenny turn, looking into the smoking gun and dark expression of his nephew as he fell into a heap on the ground.

================================================

Hands grabbing, clothes shredding, a nightmare Evelyn couldn't wake up from. Was this all her life was destined to be? A sex object passed around from powerful man to powerful man? She had been fighting, and due to her youth she was holding her own, but lack of nutrition and rest was making her start to lose fast. This was it for her. Maybe it was better to give in. No one was coming for her, and with Levi she had made her life bearable by giving in.

Shots from outside caused both to freeze. The man quickly getting off of her and reaching for a gun somewhere in his dresser. Evelyn took the opportunity to back away from him as quickly as possible. He didn't seem to care, preoccupied with figuring out what the hell was going on.

"Stay here and don't you dare move."

Before he could turn to open the door a shot blasted through it, riddling her captor with bullets until he was a lifeless heap. The door burst open and several men entered the room, causing Evelyn to scream in terror.

Her screams only stopped when a familiar face stepped through the ruined wood.

"Levi-"

Relief flowed through her as Levi scooped her up into his arms, throwing his jacket over her to preserve some semblance of modesty.

"Did that bastard do anything to you?" His voice was angry and hostile.

Evelyn shook her head. "You came just in time."

Levi sighs with relief. "Thank goodness."

"How did you find me so quickly?"

"Mikasa got a tip from that trashy boyfriend of hers that there had been someone snooping around my personal schedules. Naturally I didn't believe the kid so we set a trap to see if it was true. Turns out he's not so bad after all."

"So you said you were going somewhere else but instead you came here."

"Correct. I knew Kenny wouldn't be gone forever. I had a feeling him and one of my biggest rivals in business were plotting something. Guess I was right. But I never would have imagined they would've gotten you involved."

He carries her effortlessly through the carnage as if she weighed nothing at all. The sight of the bodies and blood making Evelyn hide her vision in his chest and arms. All of this because of her. He went through all of this to get her back. She owed him her life, her debt now was larger than it had ever been. That's all this ever was, just paying back a debt. To uphold her honor she should pay it back. No matter what it took.

Evelyn made her decision what she would do next as she stared at Kenny's lifeless body.

================================================

"That bastard Levi finally took a wife did he?"

"He did, some girl got wrapped up with him, caught feelings. Guess he didn't want to dispose of her."

"I don't know if she's the luckiest or unluckiest girl in the world."

"Time will tell. Knocked up already and just as much of a asshole as he is. But any man would be lucky to have a girl that devoted to him as she is."

"Mhm. What was her name again?"

"Mrs. Evelyn Ackerman. Luckiest girl in the world."

[bluestar22x]

Finding Eden: Chapter 3

Summary: You and Zach have a confrontation with the Canadian Border Patrol

Pairing: Zach Wellison x F!Reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Fowl language, violence, mentions of blood, hurt/comfort, pov changes

Word Count: 3,250(ish)

Author's Note: A little late posting this with my major writer's block and real life kicking my ass, but it's here!

xxx

You weren't sure what you'd been expecting, but it wasn't what you'd found.

There was no river separating Washington state from Canada, no fence, no rock wall. Just a simple but obvious line of dirt and grass through the thick forest both countries shared. A line that had once been completely void of trees, but had quickly been invaded by young saplings and stubborn weeds that loved to grow just about anywhere.

You only knew it had been treeless once because Zach had told you so.

"You didn't know what the border looked like?"

"I never looked it up," you'd replied. "My family never visited Canada and my school never taught it."

He pursed his lips. "Huh, I always thought it was common knowledge."

You didn't think he'd intended to make you feel stupid, but you'd felt foolish anyway. Your eyes darted away from his, and you distracted yourself by stroking Athena's head as heat rose to the surface of your cheeks.

"Nightfall should be in a few hours," Zach pressed on, oblivious to your embarrassment. "We should catch some shut eye. It's going to be a long night."

Anxiety replaced your self-consciousness, something like dread sinking low into the pit of your stomach as you nodded at him in agreement.

Rest would make your mind sharper, and you knew you'd need all your brain power if you ran into trouble on the other side of the line.

Something in your gut told you it wouldn't be easy.

If only your gut hadn't been right.

x

Zach woke up to booming thunder and heavy rain, unpleasant sounds in any survival scenario, as far as he was concerned, but especially on that particular night.

A storm meant muffled sound. A storm meant a darker night. A storm meant boot prints that could be followed.

"Maybe we shouldn't leave tonight," you murmured as you sat up beside him, still in your sleeping bag just as he was.

"The longer we stay here, the more we risk being noticed by a border patrol officer," Zach stated with a sigh. "And I don't wanna turn back. Let's wait for the rain to slow down and head out."

"Okay," you said quietly with no hint of a protest.

It bothered him, how quickly you'd come to trust his judgement in less than a week. He didn't feel worthy of it. Not that night.

He'd never tried to cross a border illegally before, had never done anything illegal back when it mattered. Even when he'd thrown fists while he was living out on the streets, it had always been in self defense. He'd always had a temper, but he had managed to restrain himself most of the time to avoid attention from law enforcement.

Technically he had broken one rule because he had loitered many times, but fuck that law. He'd always thought it was just used as an excuse to shoo homeless away like they were unsightly vermin, even though during after hours there were no customers to scare away.

He knew how to be sneaky, it was part of his training in the marines, and he'd put it to good use on the streets so he could linger in places people didn't want him to in order to stay warm, but this was different.

He was going into hostile territory, the kind where he could end up dead, and he had no real back up. You were solely relying on him to get you both to safety and he felt the weight of that responsibility. He was the one who'd suggested you come with him, after all.

At least you knew how to handle a gun.

You dozed back off while waiting for the weather to calm, Athena's head resting on your covered ankles, also asleep, but Zach stayed wide awake, his nerves stealing away any drowiness that had been left in him.

Nearly an hour later the downpour turned into a drizzle and the thunder quieted into the background.

He shook you awake gently. "Time to go."

You nodded at him drowsily and for a brief moment he could see fear flash in your eyes before you masked it with bravery. For some reason it made him feel proud.

Neither of you talked much as you shoved your belongings back into your bags, packed up the tent, and scarfed down some cold canned veggies once again before making your short trek to the border.

Standing inches from the invisible line drawn through the stripped down patch of forest, apprehension stole Zach's breath. His eyes darted towards your form beside him, your company now a reassurance, and he found your eyes watching him, the same emotions he felt mirrored in them.

"Ready?" he questioned, not sure if he was asking you alone or also himself.

You gave him a curt nod. "Ready."

Together, shoulders almost brushing, you made the crossing.

x

You found immediate relief when you entered the thick growth of trees on Canada's side of the border, but you did not allow yourself to fully relax. At any moment you could come across a mounted officer riding along the line and you knew full well the interaction would not be pleasant if you and Zach were caught, even if your lives were spared. If.

Canada had been hit hard during the third war and the following years, but it hadn't become lawless like the United States. In fact, it had become more strict, and their government had a zero tolerance law for anarchists. Since they'd deemed most Americans anarchists after the riots, they would not let any into their country without heavy vetting that made it basically impossible for them to be permitted to do so, nevermind gain citizenship.

To the Canadian border patrol, it was much easier to shoot an American than go through the trouble of vetting them. Especially if they were crossing illegally.

The oversaturated ground squelched under your boots but the sound was thankfully muffled by the pitter patter of rain that was still coming down.

Your lungs ached from how often your breaths were catching and you had to remind yourself to breathe without gasping when you remembered how to properly do so.

You let Zach lead the way, giving him a yard's gap, but both your weapons were out, ready to be fired if need be.

He was as tense as you were, alert even more so, eyes constantly scanning your surroundings, peering into the dark forest intensely despite not being able to see much without a moon or stars to light the night.

You didn't see or hear your worst fear until it was too late.

"Hey!" A man shouted in the distance as you, Zach, and Athena were ambling over the first two lane road you'd come across since entering the country.

You snapped your head in the direction of the voice, spotting a uniformed middle aged man on a large black horse charging at you from a quarter mile down the road.

Your mouth went dry and like a deer in headlights you froze, even though your mind was screaming at you to run. Even though you could hear Athena barking in warning.

Three pairs of eyes and ears and the patrol had still managed to notice you first.

Stupid storm.

You felt Zach yank your right arm hard, dragging you into the cover of the evergreen forest, and your legs started functioning again, pumping hard to keep up with his longer strides.

The thick brush didn't stop the mounted officer from trailing you, his horse barreling through the branches in their path at an alarming speed. You didn't look back, but you could hear the horse's hoof beats getting louder and louder.

The horse and rider were closing in when you crashed into Zach, who had suddenly halted in front of you.

"Why'd you stop?" you nearly screamed, panicked.

He was starring ahead, hands raised, his gun slung over his shoulder uselessly, and your eyes tracked to where he was looking.

Another mounted officer, this one on a chestnut horse, was blocking your path from a few yards off, his shotgun aimed at Zach's chest.

"Where did you think you were going?" the second man growled furiously.

Zach's eyes darted away from him briefly, to his left, and you noticed the thick brush there, just as you assumed he had.

He tugged on your sleeve in the same direction, confirming it without words. Giving you a heads up in one quick gesture. Warning you about what he was going to ask you to do.

"RUN!" he shouted.

You both bolted for the brush, and you heard the second officer's shotgun discharge. You flinched instinctively but kept going. More shots rang out.

Everything was a blur around you as you ran for your life, breaths puffing out of you painfully, heart pounding against your rib cage.

You could hear both patrol officers shouting to each other and their horses' snorts as they struggled to maneuver their massive bodies through the dense foliage, the trees' bendy branches snapping back into their riders' faces and chests painfully as they weaved around their trunks.

You tripped over a loose rock almost as big as your foot and felt your ankle flare with pain, but you pushed yourself to keep going, knowing that if you stopped to rest it you wouldn't have time to heal before a bullet was embedded in your head or chest.

Luckily it didn't hurt for long.

Your ankle was better by the time you and Zach reached a cliff side a few minutes later. However, while you were more than ready to speed around it in an attempt to put more distance between you and the officers on horseback, he was looking up.

"If we can climb this, we'll lose them," he told you confidently.

"We don't have climbing gear."

He pointed at a dip in the rock, a path that slowly winded up the cliff. It couldn't be natural, but it must've been made a long time ago, judging by the weathered state of the gray rock.

You pursed your lips, unconvinced. "I'm never this lucky."

"Let's go."

Zach stepped ahead of you to start the climb but you halted him, arm out, mouth agape. You'd finally noticed the patch of dark crimson seeping through his shirt at his left shoulder.

"Did you get shot?" you asked in dismay. You felt a swoop in your stomach, as if it had dropped.

"It went through and through," he answered through gritted teeth. "I'll survive."

"Not if we don't get that bleeding to stop," you hissed, forcing yourself to stay quiet when you wanted to shout. "I'm watching the blood stain on your shirt grow in real time."

"Can't stop here," he insisted. "We've got to get higher up first."

You gave him a disapproving look but allowed him to continue forward, knowing that arguing with him would not accomplish anything. He had that stubborn look in his eyes many people got when they'd made their final decision.

The path was narrow, maybe six inches across, but you were able to follow Zach up slowly with Athena tailing you. Everyone, even the dog, was careful as you all made your way to higher ground. You made sure not to look down the entire time, not wanting to risk your old fear of heights suddenly springing forth.

You were about five minutes in and the rain had just ceased when you reached a flat area carved into the rock big enough for a couple small tents to fit, the perfect stopping point, and it wasn't a moment too soon.

Zach had just managed to wrestle Athena out of view of the ground below when the mounted officers found their way to the cliff.

"They must've gone up there!" the second one exclaimed.

"Fuckin' Americans," you heard the first one grumble. "Forget them. The horses can't get up there and I'm not waiting them out in this damn forest all night. We'll call it in."

The second one hummed his agreement and you breathed a sigh of relief when you heard the sound of their horses' hooves fading as they trotted off.

You were so relieved you forgot Zach was injured until he prompted himself up against the backside of the tiny safe zone and groaned loudly.

When you glanced at him his eyes were closed tight, painfully. He was holding his right hand to his wound, trying to put as much pressure on it as possible in his current state. He looked far too pale and shaky for your liking.

You knelt beside him quickly, shrugging your backpack off to search for the medical supplies you'd had on you for weeks. You scrambled to pluck out all the items you thought you could use to treat his wound. Your filled spare water bottle, a few packaged gauze pads, medical tape, medical bandages, and a tiny set of scissors.

You'd never dressed any wound before, let alone a bullet wound, but you'd watched enough reality medical shows back in the day to have picked up a few things.

"Need to take off your shirt," you informed Zach.

"Not even gonna let me take you out on a date first?" he quipped, choking on a chuckle.

"We've already had several meals together and shared a tent the past five nights," you stated, playing into his jest, knowing his type. You'd been raised by one after all. "Don't be shy now."

He gawked at you for a second, surprised by your engagement in his banter, then broke out into a weak grin. "Shy is definitely one thing I'm not."

He nodded at you to go for it and you carefully unbuttoned the olive green button down shirt he'd put on the previous morning before gently removing the damp clothing from his body and setting it down on a boulder beside you as he automatically covered his injury with his right hand again.

"Let me see," you ordered him as you peeled his hand away from it.

The blood had already slowed down quite a bit, a promising sign, but you'd still need to take care of both sides of his wound to minimize the chance of it getting infected.

You used the water on it first, not being shy about pouring the whole bottle out over Zach's damaged shoulder. He winced but took it silently, watching as you worked.

You taped a couple squares of gauze pads onto his exit wound then the front after drying the area off with a clean cotton cloth, or as clean as it could be hanging out in your pack. The final touch was the ACE bandage you wrapped around both his upper arm and across his chest a few times. A technique for bandaging shoulders that you hoped would add enough pressure to completely stop the bleeding and stabilize his arm long enough for it to begin healing.

"Not bad," Zach decided after examining your handiwork. "You ever take a First Aid class?"

"Nope, learned that from the Health channel," you declared.

He gave you a crooked smile. "Who says TV was just mindless entertainment?" He glanced down at the bandage again. "Thanks."

"No big deal," you said. "Least I could do after everything."

Your eyes fell on his bare upper body and for the first time since you'd removed his shirt you dared to let them linger, noting his shaved broad, carved chest and lean waist. Your friends in high school had once called men like him Dorito shaped, and you all had found it very appealing. You still did, finding it necessary to swallow before you could look at his face again.

Your mouth was dry when you spoke. "Do you have any shirts in your pack that might be more clean than the others?"

"The gray Henley," he replied.

You searched his pack for it, slowly helping him ease into it, then his fleece jacket, trying to ignore the jump of his biceps under your fingertips as you did so.

"I'm going to pitch the tent," you informed him after, in a tone that didn't allow room for arguing. "Stay put for now. Let the bandage do its job." You glanced over to Athena and pointed at Zach. "Make sure he doesn't get up yet."

The dog stoically ambled over to his side and laid down against his right hip, head resting on her paws, but eyes still wide and alert.

"Good dog," you murmured.

"That she is," Zach agreed proudly, curling his right arm around her, dried bloody hand and all. "You sure you don't want any help?"

"I know how to set up a tent," you told him. "I need you around for other reasons. So rest up."

"You say that like it'll be easy with a throbbing shoulder," he muttered before shutting his eyes, and you had to wait and observe his chest quietly rising and falling a few times before you were assured enough that he would be alright to turn your focus to the tent.

It took you a while to pitch it by yourself, you'd never done it alone before, but you managed with your limited limbs and knowledge.

Once it was finished and you had switched into a dry orange cotton shirt and a jean jacket you'd found before you met Zach, you strolled over to him. At some point he had actually fallen asleep, despite the pain he was in. You squatted down next to him and woke him with a small squeeze to his right arm.

"Still got an hour or so before dawn," you estimated as his eyes fluttered open. "Let's get into the tent where it's warmer and sleep a little longer."

He mumbled his agreement and you assisted him up onto his feet, letting him lean on you a bit, his legs still a little shaky from the blood loss.

He was so warm you shivered once he parted from you to crawl into his sleeping bag. Not even your own bag could keep the night's chilly damp air from seeping into you again and your teeth were chattering after a few minutes of lying there in the dark. You were tempted to go outside and start a fire, but you didn't want to attract unwanted attention with the smoke. You didn't want the officers to know exactly where you were.

Zach was sound asleep again, clearly too exhausted to be conscious for long, but Athena noticed your shaking and stood so she could snuggle up against you instead of her usual spot right in the middle of you both. You smiled as she plopped down practically on top of you before turning over and burying your nose into her neck.

You did your best to not allow your lips to quiver as her body heat warmed you back up and your mind recounted the night's events with all its horrifying highlights.

You were safe. Athena was safe. Zach was alive and already looking healthier, though he was still weak and in a lot of pain. Your trio being alive was all that mattered. That and the fact that the officers would not be there to trail you in the morning. You repeated those assurances in your head over and over like a mantra.

Eventually you repeated it so much the tears that had threatened to fall dried under your closed eyelids and you were able to slip into a dreamless sleep.

Athena didn't budge the entire time you slept.

xxx

Tagged: @morallyinept @harriedandharassed @love-affair-with-fandoms @captain-jebi

xxx

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

xxx

[carefreecoffee]

Flufftober Day 25: Love letters w/ Aoyama Yuga

Word count: 907, gender-neutral reader

It was no surprise to be sent mail from Aoyama. You two had been going strong despite your distant departure from one another. You had been in your home country for a total of 2 weeks now and it was too dreadfully long for either of you. However, the both of you had found a way that could soothe your ever growing yearning for one another; love letters. Aoyama sent you one nearly every chance he got. You had stacks upon your nightstand that would help lull you off to sleep and it seems he had sent you another as you came across the mailbox. You quickly run off to your room giddily, disregarding any other thing in your path.

The letter is in a golden envelope that shines under sunlight. The letter's paper is a glossy and smooth material, as if it was silk. The corners of the letter were sealed in a heart shape. You opened it eagerly but carefully. And there in beautiful handwriting were his words:

My Beloved

Every day I spend without you feels like an eternity. I think of you every moment of every day. When I close my eyes I see your beautiful face, and no matter the time, I find myself thinking of how much I yearn to look into those hypnotizing eyes of yours, mon amour.

Yours truly,

Yuga Aoyama

You kick your feet off  the edge of your bed happily as you read the letter, reading it over until you could feel your heart burst. You open the drawer to your nightstand, taking out the multitudes of letters gingerly, their envelopes still intact. They all seemed to have a lovely scent to them, supposedly sprayed with one of his favorite colognes. 

Yuga sent a letter about everyday to you. All of the contents of them are different, but all share one common theme- his love for you. Most of his excerpts include saying such as,

"I miss the feeling of your warm embrace."

"Sometimes when I sit alone in my dorm, I wish you were with me."

“Tu es l'amour de ma vie”

"My heart is all yours, just as your heart is mine."

"I think of you constantly. You invade my mind like a beautiful plague."

"My mind is overrun by thoughts of your radiant smile and lovely laugh. I wish nothing more than to hold you close right now, my dear."

As you scan through them one by one, a certain note catches your eye. The longest one he had sent you to date when you were first sent out and away from his embrace.

The golden envelope is slightly bigger than the rest and the letter is filled with messy and rushed scribbles, showing that Aoyama was writing this note in a hurry. 

My beloved,

First, I would like to apologize for the messiness of this letter. I couldn't seem to stop my hands from shaking! I have something of dire importance to tell you. It's nothing bad, don't worry.

My heart seems to be beating faster the more I write this, it's as if you were in front of me right now. Just the thought of your beautiful face is enough to send my heart into overdrive.

Anyways, I have been meaning to say this to you for quite a while now. I've carefully thought out this choice for a while now and I've come to the conclusion that it's the right decision. I don't know how to best phrase this, so here it comes…

Mon très cher amour, my beloved, my sunshine upon a rainy day, the light of my life, the reason my heart dances in my chest...

I love you. With all my heart and with every fiber of my being. Just saying it makes me feel like I might pass out just from the pure, overwhelming amount of love I have for you.

I have never felt this way about anyone. Never have I felt this strongly towards another person, until I met you.

You make my heart race. My entire body fills with joy and ecstasy when I think of your gorgeous eyes looking into mine. I want to hold you in my arms so much that it physically hurts at times. I spend every second of every day thinking of you. I never thought it was possible to love someone to the point that you feel as if your heart might burst from the pressure, but you have me wrapped around your finger.

I want to tell you all about how I feel, but I fear there aren't enough words on earth to properly describe my love towards you. Every moment that I'm with you is burned into my mind permanently, and every time I recall our time together, my heart skips a beat, and a smile forces its way onto my face. I don't think I'll be able to stop thinking of you even if I tried. It's as if the concept of loving you is ingrained into my very being. If this is what love is supposed to feel like, I never want this feeling to go away.

The letter ends on an extremely messy signature from Yuga. The words "Je vous aime " are sloppily written with a heart next to it.

The warm feeling in your chest grows. Just a few more days and you could finally be with your not-so-secret admirer once more…