#the perfect marriage with the perfect children in the perfect family . . . will the facade last . . . and is it really even a facade

[the-way-astray]

i must be the only (kind of) unironic aldella shipper in this entire fandom . . .

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Meet the Family 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: I'm feeling very Little Lies about this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

"So this is the reason you missed Thanksgiving," a butter knife jabs in your direction as you poke at the white turkey meat; this? You look up then at Lloyd as he nearly chokes. 

"Uh, yeah," he coughs behind his fist and swallows, "we were out of the country..." 

"Yes, why would you bother to stay. No use in seeing your mother at the holidays, or the rest of your family," she reproaches. 

"Mom," he groans. 

"For ten years," William adds from his wife's side. "Now you show your face and you look as if you're eating rotten apples." 

"No," Lloyd argues. "It's just... I'm busy and I don't get a lot of time away from work." 

"We all have obligations," Gwenyth argues. 

"Well, I took her away so I could propose," he explains as he presses his fork into the whipped potatoes. "And it worked out perfect, right? Cause now I can bring her to meet everyone." 

Gwenyth hums flatly, "I suppose." She clicks her tongue and takes a healthy gulp of wine. 

"So, Pixie," Lillian drawls from further down, "what do you do for work? Oh let me guess. A librarian?" 

You don't let the suggestion bother you. You don't see it as an insult even if she says it like one. You shake your head. 

"No, I--" you begin and Lloyd stomps your foot so you bite down on your voice.  

"She is a corporate consultant. International corporation," he explains.  

"Oh, wow, sounds busy," Gwenyth remarks. 

"Yes, how will you have time for children?" Lillian challenges. 

"I'm sure they'll find time to make them," Benson chortles over his snifter.  

"Ben, please," William rebukes. 

"We're focusing on the wedding before all that," Lloyd says. 

You peer around as you chew your cheeks in frustration. You're annoyed by how they speak of you as if you're not even there, and so intimately. Yet, you don't have much to say for yourself. This whole facade is tiresome and you really don't care what they think about a made-up job. Or marriage, for that matter. 

"That will be done with quickly," Gwenyth sniffs. "And she will need to quit that job if she wants to do her duty as your wife." 

"I can handle a job and a husband," you blurt out. 

The table quiets as if stunned that you can speak. You blink and Lloyd puts his fork down and touches your arm, "sweet pea--" 

"I highly doubt you'd be marrying him for any other reason than that nest egg promised to him," Lillian scoffs. "You don't need to play a saint with us, darling. Marriage is a transaction in more ways than one; affection, money, sex--" 

"Lilly," William warns and she laughs. 

"Well?" She shrugs. "You do know, the wedding only guarantees a twenty percent payout. He needs an heir to get all of it." She pets her stomach smugly and smiles. "I can assure you it's well worth it. Once you meet Lorelai, you'll see." 

"Oh? Maybe when you meet her, you'll consider being a mother too," Lloyd retorts. 

"Excuse me?" Lillian snarls. "I love my daughter." 

"Of course you so," he sneers. "I'm sure she feels all that love right now as she enjoys her turkey and carrots with the nanny." 

"I can't have her around adults and alcohol. You can't possibly understand," she snaps. "And maybe it's better that you never do. I could never imagine you as a father, especially when you are such a child." 

"Takes one to know one," Lloyd growls. 

"Enough," William barks. "Both of you." 

Ransom laughs loudly at the end of the table. Lloyd shifts and Lillian rolls her eyes. You sigh at your plate. You miss your family. For the first time in years, you truly miss them. 

"What the hell are you laughing at, Hugh? The only reason you're here is because your grandpappy exiled you." 

Linda gasps, "He's not exiled--" 

"Oh, right, of course not, Lin, that's why you're here breaking bread with the peasants. That's what you called us at great grandmother's wake--" 

"Lloyd, watch your mouth," William snarls. "Better yet, shut it." 

Lloyd recoils in his chair and stiffens. His features sharpen then he lowers his chin and picks up his fork. His jaw is stone as he stirs the gravy into his potatoes. You wouldn't call him humbled, more whipped like a dog. These people make you feel something for him you never thought you could; sympathy. 

"I don't care about money that much," you say. "It can't buy respect. Besides, I would never marry a man without a prenup. Whatever Lloyd has will remain his." You push your shoulders back as a yawn tickles in your throat. "At this point, he can keep you lot as well." 

You stand up and take the cloth napkin from your lap. You fold it neatly, "Gwenyth, you can tell whoever cooked dinner that it was delicious. I appreciate you all having me but I'm going to go find a hotel and some peace." You step around the chair and push it into the table, "happy holidays." 

You turn, your insides jittering. What are you doing? Where did that come from? You could say you're tired and not thinking straight, but honestly, you're just so repulsed by these people that your head could explode. They're lucky they only got a a few pieces of shrapnel. 

You march out without looking back. Your cheeks tinge hotly with self-awareness. You've messed it all up. After years of harnessing your emotions under Hansen's thumb, you finally snapped. You blew it all. 

"What she said," another chair scrapes as Lloyd speaks. "Mom, dad, good night." 

You enter the hall and head for the entry way. You hear him beside you. You're still foggy with disbelief. It isn't until you sit to put on your boots that you notice Lloyd. 

"I know, I'm done. Fired." You pull on your leather booties. "I'll take the severance and figure it out." 

"I didn't say so," he says as he grabs a coat from the closet. 

"Um..." 

"You're completely right. We can't stay here. They're all a bunch of pricks and they wonder why I didn't come home for ten years," he pulls on his coat as he speaks. He pushes back his hair then smooths his mustache. "We're better off at the hotel. We'll sleep better there--" 

"We? Lloyd, please. Stay with your family. I need space," you stand and reach past him for your jacket. "Besides, I booked a single queen and it's Christmas Eve." 

"Queen's big enough. You're tiny--" 

"Okay, no, no," you hiss. "It's not happening. Stay--" 

"But I don't want to," he whines. 

"Mr. Hansen," you say. "You're out of your mind." 

"Well, after your blow up, I don't think I'm welcome," he puts his hand on his hip. "So this is your last chance to save your job. You made the mess, you clean it up." 

"Me?" You exclaim. 

He hushes you and step closer, "Pix, you already made a scene, let's not do the encore. I'm gonna grab my bags, alright?" 

"You can't be serious." You say. 

"Hey, I gotta play the loyal husband--" 

"And why exactly is that necessary? Why couldn't you get one of those Tinder girls?" 

"Woah, woah, come on, someone will hear you," he covers your mouth with his hand and you turn your face away with a blech. "Go warm up the car. We'll talk on the ride to the hotel." 

You stare at him. He watches you, as uncertain as you've ever seen him. In the silence, you can hear the din in the other room. 

"Always was such a baby," Lillian laughs venomously. 

"He could've chosen someone without an iron spine," Gwenyth adds. 

You grimace and throw your hands up, "fine, get your things." 

"You're the best," he grabs your shoulders but before he can kiss you, you put your hand up to pinch his nose. He recoils and rubs the tip, "ow." 

"No more of that," you say as you pull your keys out of your pocket. "Thank god I only had one glass of wine." 

You stomp out the front door. The frigid winter air hits you like a bus. Once one even ground, the swirling snow flecks onto your shoulders and hair. Great, now you get to drive in the snow with an unwanted passenger. 

You get in the driver seat and push the ignition. You turn on the heater and the heated seats. At least Hansen pays enough for the add-ons. Still, you’re not sure there’s any compensation equal to what you just went through. 

You look over as the front door opens and closes. Lloyd rolls a giant suitcase with him, another smaller bag strapped on top, and a third in his other hand. You don’t move as you watch him descend the steps, easing the wheels over the edge one-by-one. 

He comes down the long walk and jerks as his loafers slip on the icy pavement. It would be funny if you weren’t so damn exhausted. You steadies himself and continues on. You should get out and help him. You don’t. 

You pop the trunk with the button. He loads in his bags as you check the rear view. He comes around the passenger side and pulls the door open. He lets out an obnoxious ‘brrrr’ as he drops into the seat next to you. You shift gears as he shuts the door. 

“Ugh, I feel so much better getting out of there,” he says as he adjusts the seat, making room for his long legs. 

“Why?” 

“Um, why not? My family is the worst--” 

“No, why did you drag me into this?” You ask as you lean into the wheel and squint over it. The dark, the snow, the unplowed roads, it’s like the universe can’t stop throwing you obstacles. 

“You want the real answer or the nice answer?” He replies. 

“Mr. Hansen,” you growl. 

“Right, I had no other choice.” 

“No other choice?” You repeat. 

“Look, those long-legged beauties back home, they’re fun, but they don’t got much else going on. I needed someone who could play along,” he explains. 

“Play along?” 

“Yeah, I mean, you’re smart so--” 

“I’m smart...” 

“I wouldn’t hire you if you weren’t--” 

“Jeez, wow, Mr. Hansen, thank you so much. You think I’m so smart, so you should know I’m smart enough to know better than to believe you. You think I’m desperate,” you turn slowly onto the next street. “You think I have nothing else going on.” 

“No, that’s not--” he shifts in his seat. 

“It’s exactly what you think,” you huff. “Well, I do. I have a flight in...” you pause and check the time on the dash, “five hours so when we get to the hotel, I’m going to sleep and you’re going to let me. Then I’m going to catch my flight and the curtain can be pulled on this whole theatre.” 

“Your words, not mine. I don’t think you’re desperate.” 

You don’t respond. You’re tired. He just can’t leave things alone. He always has to say something. You wonder if he was truly left to his own thoughts, if his head would combust. 

“I’m actually impressed,” you says, “you held your own.” 

“Sir,” you utter. 

“It was good. Entertaining. I mean, all these years, you never once talked back to me but wow, that was... majestic, really. You didn’t even wait to see my mother’s face. Or my sister’s.” 

“Your family is weird,” you blurt out. “Sorry, uh, I didn’t mean--” 

“I mean, yeah, we probably are but I don’t really have anything to compare it to,” he says. 

You nod. He has a point. Yet, while that horde of entitled brats might explain his personality, it can’t excuse it. 

The hotel’s marquee shines like a beacon as you steer into the lot. You yawn and shut off the engine. You let yourself out and drag your feet around to the trunk. You take out your carry-on as Lloyd hovers at the other side. 

“All of your stuff, out,” you say. “I’m going straight to the airport in the morning. Checkout is ten so as long your gone by then, I don’t care what you do.” 

He’s quiet but he obeys. He takes his bags out and sets them on the ground. He pulls the rolling bag and slings his smallest bag on his shoulder. You snap the trunk shut and turn, shuffling across the icy tarmac. 

You enter through the automatic doors and cross the desolate lobby. You check in with your ID but as you look for your credit card, Lloyd flicks his between his fingers and offers it up to the clerk. 

“It’s on me,” he insists. 

You won’t argue. You really don’t trust him to leave by checkout. As you head for the elevators, he takes a deep breath. He doesn’t speak until you’re behind the sliding doors of the compartment. 

“You know, I’m still your boss so you can’t just order me around,” he says. 

You glance over at him. “Right, won’t happen again, sir.” 

“It could have been worse, you know? I could’ve actually had you come all the way out here just to drop off some gifts. If you think about it, you got a free dinner and some wine--” 

“Yeah, it was a great time,” you say dryly. “Mr. Hansen, I’m too tired to lie any more. Tonight was one of the worst nights of my life so no, I don’t think it could be worse.” 

The doors open and you stride out. You swipe the card at the door corresponding to the number written in the folio and let yourself in. He follows closely, nearly running over your heels with his suitcase. 

You take your bag to the bed and take out the cotton pajamas stuffed inside just for tonight. You bring them with you into the bedroom, doing your best to ignore your guest. Lloyd wanders along the wall and finds his way to the mini fridge. 

You’re in no rush to change, only to get to bed. You trade your dress and stockings for the cotton two-piece and emerge. You shove your bag and clothes beside the night table and slide under the blankets. You pull them up to your shoulders. 

“They got wine, tequila, beer--” 

“I’m going to sleep,” you insist. 

“The alcohol will help.” 

“No, it will make waking up even harder.” 

“After tonight, I think you need a shot.” 

“Mr. Hansen,” you grumble and cover your head. 

“Fine, more for me.” He snickers. 

You’re happy he can’t see the irritation on your face. You might just be better off to let him drink whatever. Eventually, he’ll have to pass out. At least, you can only hope he does. 

[nicolemcrtin]

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒.

full name. nicole paola martin   nicknames. nic, nicky, nico (close friends/family) gender. female pronouns. she/her  age. thirty-eight  date of birth. 2nd of september 1986 zodiac sign. virgo  time in wilmington. her whole life except medical school and residency (roughly ten years) neighborhood. carriage falls occupation. plastic surgeon has stepped back from surgeries, works mainly in the e.r. and consulting pinterest & character inspo. celeste wright/madeline mackenzie (big little lies), meredith grey (greys anatomy), charlotte york (sex and the city), claire dunphy (modern family), monica gellar (friends), rachel zane (suits), bree van de kamp (desperate housewives).

tl;dr: nicole is sweet, charming, and very loyal, always there to help anyone in need. she was born and raised in wilmington, moved away during her medical degree, residency and brief marriage, but she would visit. she grew up in a family emphasizing education and perfection. her father, a respected doctor, inspired her career in medicine, while her mother's high expectations shaped her need for perfection. nicole became a plastic surgeon and married a doctor she met during her residency. it all took a devastating turn when an accident caused her life to go completely opposite of planned resulting in marital strain and a near-career-ending crisis that her dad covered up. guilt-ridden and grieving she tried therapy but ultimately filed for divorce and moved back to wilmington (has been back for 3 years). she now focuses on non-surgical roles at mercy hospital. you’ll find her always busying herself with something. more on the schedule = less time to think. 

BIOGRAPHY:

tw: car accident, infertility, miscarriage, perfectionism 

On a warm September evening in 1986, Nicole was the second of three children born to Ricardo and Marissa Martin in the coastal town of Wilmington, NC. A family known to be close knit, supportive and loving. The Martin children were raised to be well-rounded; a toolbox full of knowledge, multiple languages, the ability to adapt to any vernacular thrown at them and most importantly, a tenacious appetite for perfection in all they did.

Her father, Dr. Ricardo Martin, was Nicole's biggest inspiration—a dedicated emergency and trauma medicine specialist at Mercy Hospital, who spent years volunteering for Doctors Without Borders eventually became a clinical lecturer in the Department of Emergency Medicine at the University of NCW. From a young age, Nicole admired her father. After school afternoons were spent at his office doing homework, surrounded by the hum of medical knowledge and patient care–it was clear from an early age she was destined to follow in his footsteps.

In contrast, Nicole's relationship with her mother, a successful interior designer, was more challenging. Perfection in appearance, behavior, and achievements were what Marissa Martin aimed for–instilling in Nicole an early obsession with unrealistic standards. Though she learned to adapt to this facade early on, it became a trait that shaped her adult life. In her final few years of high school it became her own obsession that everything was to be perfect or at least appear to be. After all, mom knows best, doesn’t she?

As the middle child, Nicole’s determination to succeed instilled competitiveness in her nature from a young age, in her sports and her studies. Despite her dips into partying, she managed to consistently rank top of her class. 

Wilmington is home, but post-graduation led to earning an MD from Brown University in Providence. There, she completed her residency, ultimately specializing in plastic surgery–a field where her attention to detail and pursuit of perfection found a healthy professional outlet.

In the second last year of her residency Nicole discovered love at first sight could be real. A fellow doctor, everything she had ever wanted and he never expected more from her than what she was. Three years later, Nicole was married to the love of her life. Blissful news followed within six months of their marriage–they were expecting their first child.

Tragedy struck after a devastating car accident, a head on collision. While both survived, Nicole suffered irreparable damage to one location of her body–her reproductive system. At that moment, she lost her unborn baby and all ability to ever have a biological child.

Overwhelmed by grief and feeling betrayed by her own body, Nicole struggled to cope. Detaching from her marriage–the life that was envisioned for herself came crashing down right in front of her. 

While everything felt numb, her career was the one thing she could still control. Nicole threw herself into work. A facade of healing and recovery was crafted that garnered the support of hospital therapists and board members in order for her to return to the operating room early. Until January 1st, 2021, when a surgery went awry under her hands—one wrong cut that could have cost a patient's life and her career–if not for Dr. Ricardo Martin stepping in.

After two years of counseling and attempting to salvage her marriage, Nicole–ridden with guilt and grief–was ultimately the one who chose to walk away. Filing for divorce and moving back to Wilmington in an attempt to rebuild herself. It was a town where no one knew what happened and any record of negligence under the hands of Dr Nicole Martin was covered up by the esteemed Dr Ricardo Martin. Now, she has stepped back from surgeries–preferring to consult, volunteer, administer aesthetic and medical injectables, as well as provide emergency care at Mercy Hospital. Surrounded by her family, and friends, and their kids–that she could help with taking care of or mostly spoiling. It was the closest she had to her own little family.

MISC. INFO:

Personality wise she's very sweet, kind, caring, and loyal. Always there to help anyone in need. Charming, witty and adaptable (except when it’s her own emotions).

She played several sports growing up: soccer, tennis, golf, surfing, track and field, and horse riding. She still tries to find time to play.

Extremely competitive..never play sports or games with her. She will cancel any plans she has to rematch all day.

She’s still in therapy (sometimes), working on not being so much of a perfectionist and shutting down her emotions..though it’s not working. 

Fluent in Spanish, French, Italian, German, and learning Russian!

She can’t have her own kids so her friends’ children and her nieces/nephews will always be treated like her own–she’s the aunt that always brings 600 toys and treats. 

POTENTIAL CONNECTIONS:

Friends: Nicole spent most of her life in Wilmington so anything from childhood friends, family friends, high school/college best friends–party buddies, maybe sports teammates, besties–anything works!

Co-workers: anyone working in the field of medicine or first responders – the emergency room, hospital, etc.

Past relationships/flings: a high school or college relationship–maybe they thought they would be together forever or they're from two different worlds and one of their families wouldn't have approved, so so many options!

Current relationships/flings: anything!!

Neighbors: Nicole lives in Carriage Falls so anyone there or that frequents the country club.

Family: her siblings i'll eventually put up a wc for, but cousins maybe?

[readingforsanity]

The Soulmate | Sally Hepworth | Published 2022 | *SPOILERS*

Prepare yourself for a thrilling, addictive novel about marriage, betrayal, and the secrets that push us to the edge in this latest book from the bestselling author of The Good Sister and The Younger Wife.

Picture a lovely cottage on a cliff, with sloping lawns, walking paths, and beautiful flowers. It's Gabe and Pippa Gerard's dream home in a sleepy coastal town. But their perfect house hides something sinister. The tall cliffs have become a popular spot for people to end their lives. Over the past several months, Gabe comes to their rescue, literally talking them off the ledge.

Until one day, he doesn't. When Pippa discovers Gabe knew the victim, the questions spiral...Did the victim jump? Was she pushed? And would Gabe, the love of Pippa's life, her soulmate...lie? As the perfect facade of their marriage begins to crack, the deepest and darkest secrets begin to unravel. Because sometimes, the most convincing lies are the ones we tell ourselves.

For Pippa, the night a young woman falls to her death from the cliff behind her house is the night that her entire world changes. Gabe, her husband, attempts to placate the woman and bring her to safety, but despite having done this same thing 7 times before with a 100% success rate, this time, he is not.

The police conduct their investigation, and Gabe and Pippa answer their questions truthfully but to Pippa, Gabe is hiding something and she is disheartened to learn that the woman that had jumped to her death was none other than Amanda Cameron. Gabe had previously worked for Amanda's husband, Max, at a media company. He had been an executive, quickly rising to through the ranks, until his diagnosis of ADHD and later on, bipolar disorder, left him reeling and without a job.

After Gabe's meltdown in the office left a path of destruction in its wake, and Pippa ultimately tried to give herself over to Max in a sexual manner, the couple moved with their two daughters to a coastal town, away from the hustle and the bustle of the city. Their daughters, 4 year old's Freya and Asha, are the apples of their eye. While Freya is Pippa and Gabe's biological child, Asha came into their life after Gabe had a presumed one night stand with an unnamed bartender, became pregnant with Asha, and later dying of an overdose. Pippa took the girl in, and has been raising her as her own for the last several years, having gained custody of her when she was six months old, though Asha is aware of her mom and the circumstances surrounding her death in a way only young children can.

The investigation begins to ramp up, and Max's seedy business dealings are brought up. We are led to believe that Pippa had had an affair with Max, at the very least a one-night stand, and Amanda had come to know about this after finding the CCTV footage from his office, which was filming due to security reasons behind Max's seedy business dealings. While working with a particularly awful criminal investor regarding a streaming service, Max began dealing with him in the only way that the criminal mastermind knew how...by abducting him with the help of his security guard, Baz, and Gabe, who came along for the ride.

When that criminal is later found to have been murdered, we realize now that Gabe was the one who had shot him, though he said he had only intended to scare him and miscalculated where the gun was aimed. This evidence, also on the USB drive that Amanda had in her possession that night on the cliff, could ruin Gabe and he is going to do whatever it takes to get his hands on it.

He spends a day with his family searching the rocks for it, but when Max calls to further threaten Gabe, Gabe explains that he has it and that he should come and get it, but not with Pippa and the kids in the house. Pippa agrees to take the girls to her parents house, but it suddenly comes to her while she is driving away, that Gabe intends to harm Max in some way. To further her thoughts, Asha has come into possession of the USB drive, which she had found on the beach the same day that Gabe was looking for it.

Pippa drops the girls off with her parents and returns home, where Max says that he has never intended to go to the police with the information. Gabe explains what truly happened the night of Amanda's death. He explains that she had found out about Max and Pippa, and that the only thing she had always asked of him was fildelity, and that he had ruined it by having slept with Pippa. Amanda had come to their home in order to talk to Pippa but wasn't aware that Gabe was already in the know about what had happened.

Max is saddened to learn that his wife had died believing that he had been unfaithful to her. Gabe is also shocked to learn that Pippa had lied about sleeping with Max, as Max had politely turned her down on the evening of his meltdown.

Max later throws himself off the cliff as well. We learn that Max, who spent a lot of time dealing with charities surrounding mental illness and suicide prevention, lost both his mother and his brother to suicide. Originally telling people that they both died of overdoses, he explains that he did this to avoid having to relive the harsh realities of what truly happened to his brother and best friend. After his brother, Harry's, death, a woman he had been seeing had arrived on his parents doorstep to say she was pregnant, but they turned her away.

When that child was 15 years old, they conducted a DNA test to confirm that he was indeed Harry's child, ultimately making him Max's nephew. Despite wanting to have a relationship with Gabe, he was unsure of how it would be received knowing that Gabe knew the truth about his parents behavior toward his mother. Max began looking after Gabe financially, even doing so after Gabe's mother died. It wasn't until Gabe began working for a landscape company did Max truly meet him for the first time and get to know him. He then offered him the job, but was accutely aware of Gabe's notions for mental illness and knew it was only a matter of time.

A year later, Pippa and Gabe have gone through a divorce or are in the proceedings to finalize it. Gabe is unable to have unsupervised visits with the girls for the time being, but he doesn't complain. He loves his daughters so much that he'd take anything. Pippa has begun seeing Dev, the owner of a cafe, unofficially, though the two of them are enjoying each other's company. She knows now that despite having said that Gabe was her soulmate, she can breathe, happily, without him, not needing him to get through anything that life throws at her. That she can do it herself.

[explicit-tae]

Public Enemy (Part 4)

Masterlist l Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 5 } Part 6 | Part 7

Meet the In-Laws: (Part 2 to Public Enemy Part 4)

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader (Italics meaning flashbacks/Past tense)

Genre: Smut, Angst, Mafia!Hitman! Taehyung

Word Count: 6,099

Warning: oral ( m & f receiving ), fingering, voyerism, gun-play, nipple-play, display of death, blood,

Description: You’ve been with your boyfriend, Shin, for 3 years. The relationship wasn’t perfect and the two of you butted heads often which resulted in him buying whatever designer items to get back in your good graces. For the last few months, you begin to notice a slip in his character and question just what he does when he isn’t with you.

You were raised by a single mother - your father being around yet not always present. You watched as your mother worked 2 jobs day and night so you and your siblings - now estranged since you ventured to Seoul - could have a roof over your head, clothes on your backs and food in your mouths. You loved her for that, even if you only spoke to her every few months. Being the youngest girl of three, you come to note how your elder sisters lived and what to and not to do. 

Your eldest sister was overly submissive, submitting to her first boyfriend she had at the age of 15, moving with him and starting a family - all without a ring. Even with the constant amounts of times he put his hands on her and stepped out of the relationship, she was faithful and now trapped with 4 young children, all under the age of 10. You were estranged with her once you pulled a knife out on her boyfriend, threatening to slit his throat if he came near her again. Needless to say, she refused to forgive you for that. 

Your middle sister was less submissive, but more dependent (at times) on a man. She was pregnant by the time she was 18 and though she didn't stay with the useless man - a mommy's boy who claimed the unborn fetus would never be her grandchild, she was onto the next.  An older man who was more respectful and didn't tolerate any disrespect from your hot headed sister. They balanced one another out and soon your sister and your niece were in good hands - however forced to stay in Icheon while her husband lived in Japan to support them due to the useless man claiming rights over your niece he only saw once a month. 

You would like to say you learned from your mother and sisters. You refused to tolerate any man that wasn't worth the time of day. As soon as he flinched to put his hands on you, your hands were already on him and the relationship was over - them deeming you as "insane".

You had boyfriends before that talked of marriage and babies, and that did nothing but make you run further away from them. Not that you were against it, but their pockets didn't say what their mouths did - and that was the issue. 

You worked hard for what you had - as a cook in a local restaurant - and went about your business. You refused to let any man bring you down with their talks of fantasy without any proof of showing it. 

Maybe that was what brought you to Shin - his words rang true. He wasn't all talk - he had the money to prove that he was genuine. When he said he was going to do something, he did. It wasn't about the money or designer items when it came to the man - even if it was well appreciated - but it was him in general. You could say this was the first time you ever felt different about someone.

Until the facade dwindled and you saw him for who he was - sadly a year down the line. He didn't tell you what he did exactly, but you always figured he either came from money or worked hard for it. When you visited his apartment to surprise him to find massive amounts of drugs of all sorts - powder, pills - you name it. At first you were disgusted with the lifestyle and wanted nothing to do with it. But as always, Shin had a way with his words and convinced you what he was doing was temporary - that he would stop once he made his savings goal. 

It wasn't until 2 years after that when you noticed that he was never going to stop, and you no longer cared. Especially when you find the messages of other women. All of them asking where he was at, when he'd be home, when he'd come over. Your world had tumbled and from there you knew you were the same as your sisters. Submissive to allow this man to walk all over you without putting your foot down. Trapped when you allowed him to buy you a brand new car and apartment when there was nothing wrong with the ones you had prior. 

You needed proof of it all, however. The messages were enough to anger you, but not enough for you to leave him completely. So you waited until he left and followed him, using the money he has given you to get a rental car to follow him closely, but far enough so he wouldn't know it was you. You followed him to another luxury apartment about half an hour away. He strolled inside and your eyes caught him through the windows. He was arguing with a woman - you'd come to know he had stood her up, a typical move coming from him. 

You followed him on dates watching as he kissed and hugged other women. Your lurking turns to obsession at this point and now you desire nothing more than revenge. You were fine before this man entered your life, demanding you pay him attention and be with him. You were independent, free and now all your mind could think of was ruining him. 

But how? You couldn't ruin his career - the man sold drugs (good drugs because he made amazing money). You couldn't cause a scandal and get him fired - it wasn't like he was causing a company their own money. 

But, there were other ways to ruin a man. Ruin his pride, his ego - mess with his insecurity. And that's where you started. 

You visited his apartment often - so often that now he expected you to. You noticed the same man coming and going without saying a word to you and little to Shin himself. He was tall, had a heart shaped face with - you are ashamed to note because you stare at him far too long - that he has one monolid and one partial double eyelid. He was a beautiful man who drips with luxury and power, it was in the way he often stepped into Shin's home without as much as a greating. 

It became a habit of the man coming to the home where Shin would give him the money requested. Each time, you make your way into the kitchen - having to stroll through the sitting room to do so - in the smallest, tightest attire you own. Each time, you caught his eyes and would do nothing smile at him in return. The man didn't make his stares discrete and Shin has come to notice. The arguments you held with him each time did nothing but fuel your revenge plot; it excited you to know that you were hurting him just as much as he hurted you and the other girls. 

But it wasn't enough. It never was enough with you. Not when he continued on, adding another woman to the mix. This time, an intern at Seoul's hospital. It was made worse when you noticed he paid for her medical schooling. 

Any sane woman would've left by now, and you questioned why you hadn't. You had a job, after all. You had a few friends that would be willing to assist you before you could manage on your own. But each time you thought about leaving, it made no sense to you to leave while this man could coninue doing whatever he pleased. 

So, you had another plan you conjured up. 

"Shin...are you-"

The man is pacing back and forth with wide eyes. Around his eye was now a forming black bruise. His lips were split and dried blood smeared around it. His shirt was torn when he first arrived and all the man could do is pace back and forth and yell at the top of his lungs. He was ready to pull his hair out at the unfortunate events. 

"V's going to be here soon." Shin's voice quivered - this was the first time you ever seen the man sound terrified. 

"V...the guy that always comes?" you ask. The man - V - was a sight to behold, but he was always serious, never returning your smile. 

Shin nods, his eyes wider. "I...I was robbed coming home and...I don't have his money. Or the drugs." 

Shin watches as your eyes widen at him and his heart begins to melt. The look of pure terror in your eyes was enough to make his own eyes tear up. He was going to be a failure - to you and the others. He would surely leave here with a bullet to the head - V was not one to be played with. He met the seven men that made the entirety of Bangtan, only speaking with two - V and Suga and that was purely business. Now, he worked beneath V and had to pay up his money every month - no later. He was present when V sent a warning shot to a dealer who didn't have their entire payment - the warning shot being his shoulder. Shin had no desire to be that man. 

Would V listen if he told him he was robbed? He has never been robbed - not in his districts. His districts were high end - he sold to business owners and those in powerful positions. Being robbed for all his money and worth was not something that happened in his district - or at all with dealers. 

"Maybe you can explain to him that-"

"He's not going to listen." Shin hisses, his frustration not with you but with himself. "He's...V's not a dealer. He's one of the big bosses, Y/N. It was an honor to work directly under him and now I fucked it all up!"

Shin allowed the tears to fall now, his body shaking. He feels your hands on his and you start to pull him close. He feels you wrap his in a tight hug, your face buried into his chest. He likes when you're close to him, you were warm and smelt nice - feminine. While you stayed with him, he kept the bodywash he adored most on you, the jasmine and chamomile scent. "It'll be okay." your words murmur against his chest. 

Your words were soothing - they always were. However, you didn't know the extent of his job as a dealer. You knew (and somewhat supported) his decision to do this. This is how he survived - how he was able to care for you. You had no idea the way V operated and how cruel the man could truly be.

A knock sounded against the door that had Shin's heart leaping. He pulls you away from him, your eyes widening at the pace. "Go in the room!" he hisses. "And be quiet. I don't want him to know you're here."

He would deal with V, even if it cost his shoulder or another part of his body. This was his first mistake, he'd admit, but V could possibly let it slide without taking his life. But he wouldn't allow V to see you and think of other ways of punishment. He'd never forgive himself if he lost you. 

"Shin-"

"Go!" Shin pushes you towards the hallway of the room. "And don't come out. I don't care if you hear anything, don't come out." he warns, eyes serious. You gulp and nod, your own heart racing. 

Shin waits until he hears the door shut before making his way to the front door. Taehyung knocks three more times, annoyed with having to wait. 

Shin pulls the door open and greets the man with a bow. 

"Shin." Taehyung's voice is deep as he enters, his shoes clicking against his tiled floor. 

"V-ssi." Shin nods, closing his door. 

Taehyung eyes the black eye and scars, the blood on his shirt and face and scoffs. "Got into a scruffle?" he taunts, raising a brow. He makes himself at home on Shin's leather couch, legs spread as he waits for Shin to get his money. One foot places itself against the glass coffee table. "Well?"

"V-ssi...I....there's been a problem?"

Taehyung leans back and hums. He takes note of Shin's terrible appearance and his nervousness around him. He knows now that the problem has to do with his pockets, and now Taehyung was irate.

"What kind of problem, Shin?" Taehyung was losing his patience at the shivering man before him. Shin was tall and had some type of bulk to him. Him trembling before Taehyung made the man do nothing but scoff. "Where the fuck is my money, Shin? Cut the games."

Shin clenches his hands in nervousness. "I-I was jumped and-"

"Jumped?" Taehyung laughs loudly. "In Seoul? In Gangnam? By who, some rich kids?" Taehyung shakes his head and lifts himself from the leather couch. "Are you that much of a coward that you got robbed?"

Shin steps back. He was now ready to cry - as cowardly as it did sound. Taehyung was a terrifying man when he was upset - especially when his money and buisness was involved. 

"Tell me why, Shin, I shouldn't kill you now?!" Taehyung roars, his eyes wide and veins popping from his neck. "You've tested my patience and wasted my time by having me come here to receive no payment. Chan-yeol has been begging for your territory and you're allowing it to slip from your fingers."

"Please don't!" Taehyung snaps his head to look at you, your trembling figure falling to your knees in between the hallway. "Please don't kill him-"

"Shut up!" Taehyung hisses. And you do. "Is this your bitch or just a common whore?" Taehyung asks Shin. 

"S-She's my girlfriend." Shin answers, mentally swearing at you. Why didn't you listen to him and remain in the room?

"Ah." Taehyung scoffs. "Your bitch then. You let all your bitches speak for you, Shin?"

Taehyung removes the gun from his waist and aims it at Shin who dramatically waves his arm into the air. "V-ssi, please-"

Taehyung shoots just above Shin's shoulder. The bullet hits the mirror behind him. It falls against the floor at the impact and crashes against the floor, shattering into pieces. You yelp against the floor. 

"Get up, girl." Taehyung tells you, the gun now pointing at you. 

"V-ssi, please don't-"

"Shut the fuck up, Shin, seriously." Taehyung snaps. "I'm talking to your girl here. I'm sure she won't be after today seeing as you put her life in danger." Taehyung fake pouts. His eyes reach yours and he tilts his head. "Well...get the fuck up."

You do as you're told, wasting no time in standing. Taehyung's eyes scan your appearance, as scandalous as always is what he thinks. You're not wearing any shorts like you usually would, instead just in panties. They were basic purple cotton panties but against your skin it pops. He licks his lips at the white tanktop you wore, your nipples peaking at him. "Aren't you a sight to behold." Taehyung chuckles, glancing at Shin. "Come here, girl."

You slowly make your way to Taehyung, Shin's eyes watching your every move as you do so. He's scared of what Taehyung might do to you - or force you to do. 

When you reach Taehyung, hums. "Open your mouth." he orders.

Hesitantly you do. Taehyung enters two fingers inside your mouth. His fingers were long and they reached your uvula in no time. You nearly gagged but kept your composure, eyes blinking away tears. "Do you gag on him all the time?" Taehyung says, his fingers - now moist - removes from your mouth. "I bet you don't. How can that coward make you gag?"

Shin catches your eyes and he steps forward, enraged at what V was doing to you. He was willing to take whatever punishment he was ready to give as long as it didn't involve you. 

Taehyung pressed the gun to your head and you stiffen, as does Shin. His vision blurs when he feels a red dot in his eye sight. 

"You should really close your curtains, Shin." Taehyung chuckles. He trails the gun down your chin to your breast. He licks his lips again and continues. "Yoon...Suga-hyung never misses a shot."

Shin breathes heavy. By Taehyung's words, Suga was near and he had a gun pointed right at him, waiting for a moment to shoot. He stands still, unable to move to save you or himself and now he feels exactly like the failure he is - he should've listened to you, to all of his girlfriends when he was told to leave the game of a dealer. But he was selfish with it, just as he was with having 4 girlfriends in the first place. 

Taehyung lowers his gun. He lowers his head to trail his lips to your forehead, temples, to your cheeks then lips. He leaves a kiss, a quick and light kiss that you barely felt. You feel his free hand away from the gun on your panties, long fingers trailing to your clit. "Oh, you're wet." Taehyung quips, glancing at Shin. If looks could kill, Taheyung would be dead. But, afterall, this wasn't about Shin now. 

Taehyung's fingers dip into the cotton panties and spread your lips apart. You bite your lip to hold a whimper as you feel the man's fingers against your bare clit. He rubs circles against you, making it more wet than it already was. This felt scandalous - you allowing this man to rub against you now while your boyfriend had a red dot on his forehead and watched with angered eyes. 

You yelp when you feel his fingers enter you, your eyes fluttering when he begins to thrust. The dirty sounds of your wetness are evident in the quiet sitting room, and soon you're moaning and breathing heavy. "You see, Shin...I don't have to harm you physically to fuck with your head." Taehyung allows you to lean against him as you rode out your high, unknowingly opening your legs for him to enter more of his fingers. "All I have to do is show your girlfriend what an actual man could do for her."

"Y-You have to stop." you warn, your hands gripping his wrist.

Taehyung points the gun at underneath your chin, his fingers going in harder. "Cum." he hisses, his eyes darkening as he witnesses your fucked out expression. "Cum against my fingers."

You do. You cum hard, the hardest in months. You're shivering as you ride it out, his fingers feeling amazing inside of you - along with his deep voice and threatening demeanour. He removes his fingers from you and places them inside his mouth. He moans at the taste, his eyes on Shin. "You have the sweetest pussy."

Taehyung lightly slaps the gun against your cheek. You open your eyes, low and full of lust. "Get on your knees." he tells you, eyes following as you do so. He removes his cock, enjoying how you lick your lips. "Suck it in front of your pathetic boyfriend. He can't do anything about it...he'll get shot if he does!" Taehyung laughs aloud. 

Your mouth wraps around the head of Taehyung's cock, licking the precum surrounding it. You got deeper, his tip hitting the back of your throat. Your moans are evident as you sucked him off, but you don't care. You're enjoying it - especially when his left hand grips your hair to fuck into your mouth. His right hand is still holding the gun against your temple as he does so. Something about this was amazing - and alarming. The gun being one, the fact that there's a possibility that he might shoot you is another. But you don't dwell on that - you can't. Not when he's grunting and groaning so heavilty because of you. 

"No one's ever been able to take me so well before." he grunts, slapping you with the gun (he put the safety on a while ago, but you were too naive to notice). "Doesn't she look so beautiful with a cock shoved in her?" Taehyung asks Shin, who does nothing but tear his eyes away from you. 

Taehyung rips your head away from him. He leans down to your level. You were gorgeous - a messy gorgeous. You had saliva dripping down your mouth and chin, your eyes held tears and lust but it was nothing but beautiful for him. If he could take a picture and frame it, he would. "Tell him how pathetic he is." Taehyung commands. He turns your head so you can look at Shin. 

You do, eyes meeting his. He looks miserable, tears trailing down his cheeks as he trembles - in fear? Sadness? Anger? You don't know - nor care at the moment. 

"You're pathetic." you say to him, throat throbbing. 

Taehyung scoffs. He releases a loud laugh. "She takes orders so well, Shin...maybe I could keep her." he enters his cock back into your mouth and you allow him to fuck into it. It was a harsh pace and it was evident he was ready to cum to prove a point to Shin. The sound of your choking grunts allows his to cum deep down your throat, he curses out how much of a whore you were for him and he would make sure to have you ride his face later. 

"Oh shit..." Taehyung laughs, face red. "Stand up." he tells you, lifting you up by your shoulders. He places a kiss to your lips, tasting his own cum in the process. "You're so beautiful." he hums, licking your cum stained lips.

"She...what?" Hoseok tilts his head to the side with a furrowed brow. "The girl who you say always walks around you half naked?"

Taehyung nods his head, his head spinning at the memory of your lips wrapped around his cock while Shin was away.

"Is she being abused?" Jin ponders. "I'm not sure why she would want you to do that if it wasn't that."

Jungkook hums. "He's cheating on her." he says to his brothers, his mind going to the argument he saw between Shin and his oldest girlfriend, the woman who refused to be with him. Even after he cleared the restaurant after the insolent man stood her up. "He has about 4 girlfriends at this point."

Taehyung nods, tongue licking his lips. "She's upset." he shrugs.

"Obvious." Hoseok snorts. "If she wants you to kill him."

Taehyung was shocked to say the least. When he came over for his usually drop, the last thing he expected to see was you. You opened the door for him, smile on your lips as you wore no shorts and a tight tank top. You hesitated at first, but then you dropped to your knees and pressed your wet tongue against his clothed cock. Taehyung is nothing but a man - and of course he had you wrapped around him in a manner of seconds. You choked against him, throat aching but you never stopped - not until he came down your throat.

You were beautiful to him, tears down your cheeks and cum dripping from the corners of your lips. What came new was what surprised him even more - you pleading that you would pay him whatever he desired if you killed Shin. His eyes watches as you proceed to run around the small apartment to find your purse to pull out stacks of cash, holding it in front of you with those same eyes.

"What did you say?" Yoongi asks. He's leaning against the wall, his eyes on his.

"I told her I'll have to think about it." Taehyung admits. "I would have to discuss it with you all. After all, he is running our products."

"Yeah but," Jungkook shrugs. "We have more."

Yoongi clicks his tongue. "How do you come to this conclusion?" he proceeds to sit down with a grunt and cross his legs. "There has to be a reason why we would even consider killing the man."

"True." Jim chimes in. "After all, him cheating on her doesn't have anything to do with us."

Taehyung meets Jungkook eyes, and both youngers are thinking the same.

"It does when that new intern you're trying to fuck is his girlfriend." Jungkook retorts, his fingers tapping against the large table. "Don't try to deny it, Hyung, I know you're smitten by her."

Jin rolls his eyes, leaning back into his chair. "You're obsessed with me. How do you even know that?" he hisses. He didn't recall ever telling Jungkook of the new intern that interested him - mainly because she was so uninterested in him.

"You know how Jungkookie is, hyung." Namjoon shakes his head. "But, nonetheless, is the sole reason for you killing him is to...what exactly? What are you going to do next?"

"Indeed. What if she feels guilty?" Hoseok chimes. "It seems risky to put our dealer on the line just for her."

"There was a glint in her eyes." Taehyung recalls the way your eyes pleaded with him, the lust and longing gone. You were hurt, he noticed. The years of being with a man that went against the relationship had driven you to feel vulnerable. He ponders why you didn't leave him - but maybe, to you, that wasn't enough. You appeared sane, but your actions said otherwise - but nonetheless, you had caught his interest. You being vulnerable to kill the man, but unable to do it yourself. There were two sides of you. The one he seen that was quiet and reserved, often smiling at him, and the next claiming that she wanted her boyfriend dead and feeding into your lust for him.

"What do you get out of it? Pussy?" Jimin snorts, finally speaking for the first time. He turns towards Taegyung. "Or do you want her?"

The pairs of eyes were on him now and he feels small. He gulps, opening his mouth and closing it.

"You do." Jimin snickers. "Her mouth must be amazing."

"What if she tries to kill you next?" Hoseok gasps.

"Who is she going to ask? You guys?" Taeehyung scoffs with a pointed look. "Besides, I'm not a useless dealer on the street."

"How about we think about this." Jungkook pipes in. "We get rid of Shin...add Chan-yeol-"

"Chan-yeol is already in charge of Jungno and Yongsan." Namjoon pipes in. "Giving his Shin's districts would be too much."

"Chan-yeol has been with us for years now, a year after Shin." Jin says. "He has been consistent and asking for more territory."

"But...three districts on top of his two? That sounds like too much for a man to handle." Yoongi disagrees.

Over the years, Shin has been giving three districts; Guro-gu, Gwanak-gu and Gangnam. He was reliable, yes, and made them and himself an abundant amount of money. However, the thought of having you in his bed every night was far better to risk than not.

"How about we give him just Gangnam." Jungkook suggets. "That would be the raise he was asking for. He can handle it, surely."

Jimin nods. "We can give Guro-gu and Gwanak-gu to someone else or even split them."

"It'll have to be after he's dead." Yoongi murmurs. "If we give them out now, it'll be known we had something to do with his death."

"Right." Hoseok agrees. "We don't need our dealers thinking we're killing them off."

Taehyung lets himself smile. His eyes catch Jungkooks who gives him the same satisfied look. Soon, they were on their way out of their meeting, Taehyungs minds wandering as to how and when he'll be going through with his plan. How would he kill Shin - after all you begged him to do it. Would it be a simple killing - quick and easy for him to get rid of. Or would he let him die slowly and painfully.

Possibly, he should ask you what you desire. You were hurting after all. He would let you decide what you wanted him to do and how - and he would. Payment would be free - he didn't need your money when he had his own. But, what he did want in the end would be you.

Shin is horrified, his eyes can't get away from you and V. He doesn't want to place the blame upon you, knowing that it wasn't your fault. However, witnessing you seemingly enjoy V's advances made the jealousy in him soar - especially when he couldn't step in without risking getting shot.

Taehyung takes a few steps back, bringing you with him. He turns you towards the small glass coffee table and pushes you against it. His fingers hook beneath your panties and rip them off. His head turns to smirk at Shin, throwing your panties towards him. They fall at his feet, Shin managed to keep his composure.

You feel Taehyung's hands slap your thighs apart. You're embarrassed at how close he is against your clit, but nonetheless you allow his face to get close to you. He dives into your clit, his tongue licking harshly against it. The feeling felt amazing, even while Shin watches a few feet away. Your head hangs back and a moan erupts through your throat when his tongue flicks through your folds. His fingernails dig into your thighs as he devours your clit, licking and suckling. Your juices are now on his lips and cheeks and he wouldn't have it any way.

Taehyung's ring hand reaches your breast underneath the tanktop, your hardened nipple sending chills up his spine. He twists the nipple, moaning against your clit. Your moans were music to his ear - far more because they were true moans. You weren't faking anything for him for the sake of Shin, and that's why he was growing engrossed by you. You were a little nymph for him, legs spread wide for him while your pathetic boyfriend watched. It was amazing - the rush of it all.

"T-Tae..." your lips murmur out, trying your hardest to close your legs at the overstimulation.

Shin's eyes widen, his head snapping to your moaning figure. "What did you say?" he asks you, stiff in his spot. He didn't forget about Suga not far away with the red dot still on his head.

Taehyung chuckles. He finally lifts himself up from your clit, his head turns to Shin. He smirks at the man, his fingers rubbing your clit now as he watches Shin. "Oh, you realized." he murmurs, faking pouting. "It took you this long to realize that your girl is now...mine." Taehyung laughs over your moans.

You join in on the laughing, the grunts coming out of your throat soon after. Your clit was engorged and wet as he rubs it - you wanted nothing more than to fuck him. The first time being in front of Shin would be a memory you'll never forget.

Shin clenches his first. Now, he's pissed. You were enjoying it for real - it wasn't just a bodily reaction. He examines your reaction to Taehyung pleasuring you, the way you don't seem scared in the slightest - even when he had the gun pointed at your head. How you openly moaned for him, how you willingly did as he said. This wasn't your first time doing this - and he is coming to the realization.

"You see, Shin," Taehyung pulls you up and towards the leather couch. He sits down, you on top of him. You center yourself, his tip at your entrance. You were ready to fuck him, it was all you were ever waiting for. As you sit upon him, you shudder, eyes rolling. As you slowly ride him, Taehyung continues. "while you were busy having an affair with other women, your girlfriend - well, ex now," Taehyung moans, slapping your ass to move faster. "was coming up with ways to get revenge upon you."

Taehyung's hands grip your ass as you bounce against him, pussy clenching. His cock was amazing - the perfect length and girth just for you now. His tongue pokes out to catch a bouncing nipple. 

"And she contacts me in assisting her. And how could I say no to a beauty like this?" Taehyung flips the two of you, him now on top between your legs. He pushes your knees against your shoulders as he pounds into you, skin slapping roughly. "Why don't you tell him?" Taehyung smirks down at you, his eyes on your breast bouncing roughly in reaction to his thrusts. 

You bite your lips. You turn your head to face Shin, the look of betrayal and hurt on your face nearly makes you laugh. But you opt to moan instead. "I was the reason you got robbed." you admit, eyes snapping close. Taehyung seems to go deeper after your confession. "I asked Taehyung to..."

Taehyung pounds into you at a rougher pace, the fact that the truth was almost out amazes him. It makes him want to fuck into you harder and harder each time. "Tell him!" Taehyung hisses. 

"...to kill you." you release a low hiss, feeling your stomach clench. You were cumming, Taehyung driving you over the edge. Or maybe the two of you were just sick, fucking in front of your ex who you begged him to kill while someone named Suga was outside waiting to shoot any moment now. 

"Shit, shit, shit!" you feel yourself cumming now, stomach flipping.

Shin stops himself from moving, the red dot blinging his eyes now. He gulps, feeling the rage pass through him as you rode your high out. "I gave you a better life." he hisses through his teeth. "Your sister gets beat and the other one can't even better herself without my money!" he screams suddenly.

You jump at the sudden scream, Taehyung cumming at the same moment. It was esquisite to hear the anger in Shin's voice - it was a melody. 

Taehyung slips his pants up. He frowns at Shin. "Stop causing a scene." he rolls his eyes. "You're the one who cheated on her. What else was she supposed to do?"

Taehyung points his gun at Shin, turning the safety off. "Get outside and go in my car. You know which one." he commands. "Suga and J-Hope are out there. I'll be seeing you soon, Shin." 

Shin does as he's told, his eyes watching you until he couldn't anymore. Was this what he deserved? To be killed because of the affairs he's done - as if he hasn't cared for you and your situation. He allowed himself to send money to your siblings while they were in need. He bought you luxury items and cars, got you out of your old shitty apartment into a brand new one. 

And now, he was going to die.

"I'll see you later." Taehyung murmurs, his lips on yours. "Remember the plan, right?"

You nod your head, feeling sleepy and satisfied. 

Taehyung smiles. "I'll be back for you."

It wasn't long when Taehyung drove to their destination, Hoseok's own gun to Shin's head. He made it his mission to look in the review mirror at to look at Shin, smirking at how miserable he truly was. And to think all of this because he couldn't be faithful - truly tragic for him.

However, Taehyung had what he desired. You. Were you a little bat shit crazy? Yes, indeed you were. But then again, so was he for agreeing - and so was Jungkook for allowing to go through with it simply because he wanted his own girl. The things a man would do for love.

He stops 30 minutes later, the sky was now dark as he parked outside the apartment complexes, it was quiet and no lights were on besides street lights - it was perfect.

"Your college girlfriend will be expecting you." Taehyung unlocks the door. He removes himself from the car, as does Hoseok, ski masks on. He points his gun at Shin. "Walk." he commands. "Until you're right outside her door."

"Did Y/N force this onto you?" Shin asks. He was already going to die - he mind as well get the information he needed. "You don't need to involve-'

Taehyung pulls the trigger, a bullet flying into the man's stomach. He coughs, dropping to his knees. Luckily they were a few feet from the woman's door - another girlfriend of his that was expecting him soon.

Shin's eyes look up at Taehyung, his eyes glaring down at him through the ski mask he wore. He points his gun once more. "I'll make sure Y/N is in good hands." he assures. "And hopefully, your other affairs find the love they deserve." Taehyung sends another shot into his chest, the blood splattering against the white door.

@silversparkles11

Next | Meet the In-Laws (Part 2 to Public Enemy Pt. 4)

[bellemorte180]

i don't really have a prompt, but maybe something with exes to lovers?? pretty please?

“You. Owe. Me.” Caroline hissed through clenched teeth, glaring at Klaus as they stood by the Christmas tree at his parents house. She gripped the champagne flute and glared at his family. “I simply do not understand why you did not tell them that we broke up. I shouldn’t be here.”

“I froze. Mom asked me if you wanted the same wine as last year and I said yes. Okay. I forgot.”

“You forgot we broke up??” Caroline hissed, plastering a smile on her lips as one of Klaus’s nephews ran past, chocolate covering his hands and Rebekah chasing him as he ran screaming through  the house. She winced, hating how both Finn and Sage just let their children run screaming, expecting his siblings to chase after them every year. “What are you not telling me?”

“Nothing.” Klaus snapped, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her closer; Caroline hating how she fell into it so easily. “It's just that Finn was goading me. Telling me that we were doomed for failure and I simply could not give him the satisfaction that we ended things.”

“Fucking Finn.” Caroline mumbled, narrowing her eyes at the man who sat across the living room, talking with Mikael while he ignored his own children. If there was one of Klaus’s siblings Caroline hated the most, it was Finn. “Fine. We will play the happy couple for this week. Then, come New Years, we will stage a massive fight and be done with it.”

“Whatever you say.” Klaus replied in a bitter tone, downing his own champagne and turning away from her. Rolling her eyes, she handed him her own glass and stepped out of his arms, making her way across the room, by passing Hayley who appeared to be watching them like a hawk. It annoyed Caroline to no end that she and Elijah married within six months of knowing each other while her relationship with Klaus lasted the better part of a decade with no hint of commitment in sight.

Reaching for the bathroom handle, Caroline nearly collided with Sage as the door opened. The tall red head stumbled backwards, glaring at Caroline as though she was the one at fault. While the rest of Klaus’s family adored her, for the most part, there was something about Finn and Sage that made Caroline feel unwelcome whenever she was in their presence.

“You really do lack grace for someone who was once a beauty queen.” Sage snapped, pushing out the wrinkles in her dress. “I simply do not see what Niklaus sees in you. Making a big deal about tonight as though it is something special. He will regret it, you know.”

“What are you talking about?” Sage had a nasty smile appear on her lips and her green eyes appeared calculated. Perhaps it was uncharitable, but Caroline seriously hoped that her marriage to Finn was not as happy as they claimed to be. Given the nightmare their children were in, she supposed that the show of the perfect family they gave was just a facade.

“You honestly don’t know?” Sage laughed, moving around her and looking over her shoulder. “Klaus asked for grandma Dahlia’s ring and Esther actually gave it to him. It's rather rude isn't it? When she wouldn’t even give it to Finn when he wanted to propose to me?”

Caroline froze, her eyes wide and shocked. The final argument that had sealed the failure of their seven year long relationship came down to the fact that she assumed he never wanted to marry her. Caroline wanted a family, and she knew she wanted it with Klaus but had assumed that he never wanted it with her. Watching as Sage walked away from her, essentially ruining something that had already been ruined, Caroline realized something important.

“Oh I’m a fucking idiot.”

Forgetting the bathroom, Caroline set off back into the living room, caring little for the screaming children and Klaus’s extended family, she sought out the man himself. Still standing by the Christmas tree, Caroline marched up to him and kissed him. Not giving him a second to react or realize what was happening, Caroline just pulled him into a kiss and seeing how easily he wrapped his arms around her, she knew that not everything was lost.

“Yes.” Caroline whispered as they broke apart, Mikeal’s irritated cries about public decency fading into the background. “Sage told me that you asked for Dahlia’s ring. She told me that you were planning on asking me tonight and my answer is yes. A thousand times yes.”

“Sage told you-?” Klaus paused, sucking in a breath before letting that dimpled smile come over his features. “Are you sure? If I asked you, would you actually say yes?”

“Yeah. I just never thought you would ask.” Leaning in to kiss him again, holding him as close as she could. “All I ever wanted was to have a life with you.”

[an-ambivalent]

WARNING: This post contains yandere and violent themes (mentions of murder and brainwashing) and other toxic and creepy behaviours that can be triggering and uncomfortable to read. So read at your own risk. This work is purely fictional. I do not condone this toxic behaviour irl. 

Fandom: Naruto 

Pairings: Itachi x Reader | Shisui x Reader | Sasuke x Reader

Status: Headcanons and scenarios mixed hybrid, requested. 

Ask:  Scenario where Yandere!Itachi, Yandere!Shisui, Yandere!Sasuke and Yandere!Obito realizes that they all have feelings for you and since they're family, they decided that they are going to share.

A/N:   I’m didn’t add Obito to this scenario because I don’t see this dynamic working with him in the mix. Although Obito is an Uchiha, frankly speaking, Itachi didn’t ever trust him. Sasuke used him for his own means didn’t care about him other than that either way. As far as Shisui is concerned, he never really interacted with Obito. 

Itachi and Shisui are best friends, and Itachi and Sasuke are siblings (who do care for each other). Sasuke is stubborn about his own ideals but he can still be persuaded by Itachi, and given that Itachi and the Uchiha clan respected Shisui a lot, Sasuke would do too. So, a dynamic with these three choosing to co-operate is plausible. But with Obito.... not really. I just don’t see how he would fit in this scenario.  So, hopefully this explanation clarifies why Obito wasn’t added to the scenario.

No beta, we die like men. I wrote this at like 2 am so idgaf about grammar errors atm ^.< 

Your background: To be in a position where you can interact with all these three simultaneously, you would have to be part of the Uchiha clan yourself. The only other way might be that you’re Itachi’s classmate and progressed exactly like he did. But then, it just feels like copying and pasting Itachi’s character and that’s no fun.

No ‘duplicate version of another character’ in this household. So there’s two choices for your background that can nonetheless lead to the same scenario. Thus, you can choose whatever floats your boat: 1) you’re the first daughter of the main branch of another clan of your choice, and for some time now, your clan and the Uchiha clan have been planning to form an alliance together. What better way to do that than to arrange a marriage between the two first children of the main branch from both clans that “coincidentally” have to be the same age?

2) You’re an Uchiha child, born to parents who are from one of the side branches of the clan. There isn’t many other kids to interact with, and despite being a side branch member, your father is one of the most respected shinobi in the clan. So, your future as a ninja is given, and with his interactions and meetings  with Fugaku, he takes you along with him. As a result, your introduction with Itachi is inevitable. And so by extension, you will also meet Shisui and Sasuke. And given your father’s good relationship with Fugaku, mayhaps your parents went ahead and arranged your marriage with Itachi behind your back and not notifying you yet.

PSA: For the age balance, you are Itachi’s age in this scenario. Shisui is 2-4 years older than Itachi and Itachi is 4 years older than Sasuke. Having a maximum of 8 years age gap if you were Sasuke’s age, or Shisui’s age, would be a lot LOL. Besides, Itachi would be the mediator between Sasuke and Shisui, so you building a relationship with him first makes the most sense.

Introduction / Meeting

Itachi

You and Itachi are forced to spend time together as ‘playmates’ while your parents discuss ‘official business’ (the arrange marriage) with Fugaku and Mikoto. Itachi is overly polite but there’s an icy coldness underlining his polite greetings and one-word answers he gives to your questions when you try to start a conversation.

You aren’t dumb. You were raised with high expectations placed on your shoulders so although you’re not a prodigy at his level, you have more than enough intelligence to know that he’s patronizing you. And unlike him, you aren’t an immature coward who hides behind their passive-aggressive remarks. Whatever you have to say, you communicate it bluntly. So, you don’t hesitate to spew out what you really think of him (a coward who takes his frustrations out on others aka you, who is also in the same situation, instead of facing his problems), and leave his pretty boy face behind in shock.

You were five when this happened.

Sasuke: Overtime, your ‘playdates’ with Itachi became a norm. You were forced to visit him many times and spend time with him given that he is your future husband. (You don’t know that yet, but at this point, Itachi has his suspicions that something is up).

His baby brother is his entire life. Sasuke makes him smile in the way no one else does, so its no wonder you met him eventually.

You were first held Sasuke was he was about fourteen months old. He was a small, chubby, innocent little thing with his already haughty attitude. He had no problem crying in the arms of the people he didn’t like, which was almost everyone outside of his immediate family. But when you held him, despite Itachi’s warnings that “he doesn’t like everyone” but he instantly liked you (much to his displeasure), you instantly became attached to him. Then in the following years, you babysat him a lot. He was the cute little younger sibling you wanted but never had, so you spoiled him to bits. And with the attention and love you gave him, Sasuke loved you too. Not to mention, unlike everyone else in his family, who picked Itachi over him, you picked him over Itachi.

How can he not fall in love with you?

Shisui: More often than not these days, Shisui would silently watch and observe Itachi. For a six years old, it was terrifying for him how he was already adapting to the shinobi lifestyle is so easily; being an emotionless robot and extremely talented.

But, over the past few days, gone were the seemingly emotionless robot. Instead, he had changed into a boy who acted like how a six year old was supposed to act: whiny, pouty, and frustrated (to an extent), but happy at the same time. It was entertaining for him to watch Itachi’s expressions shift from one to another every moment as he grumbled about you underneath his breath. Shisui was ready to tease him about it, but you had beat him to it.

You had appeared out of nowhere and were hosting the two-years-old Sasuke on your shoulders for a piggy back ride. No one was given any time to react, before rude remarks were slipping out your lips that just humiliated his precious friend into a fumbling mess.

Itachi had tried to get back at you, he really did. But your mouth ran like a sailor and you had a witty remark prepared for everything. It was such a contrast to the “perfect princess” show you put on before your and his parents. And each time, your response was more embarrassing which eventually made him lose his cool. Seeing him flustered, despite how much he loved you, little Sasuke tried to  jump to his nii-san’s aid. Shisui was prepared to snicker and chuckle to himself, if he it wasn’t for the most beautiful sound he had ever heard: your laughter. It was so raw, pure, genuine and innocent, he was instantly immersed. Barely anyone from shinobi clans, and given how they were raised, acted so open. And you brought out a different side to Itachi -- it was intriguing for him to witness.

He wanted to get to know you more. He wanted to hear your life more. He wanted you to share your secrets with him on how to bully Itachi so easily. So immediately, he put out his hand and gave you a wide grin.

“I’m Shisui. What’s your name?”

Realising their feelings

Shisui: Shisui knew he loved you ever since your first laugh. It was love at first sound. However, with the respect to you belonging to his best friend, he would never make a move on you.

Maybe, there might be some lingering touches here and there that lasted a bit too long between ‘friends.’ Maybe sometimes he was harsher on you during your training spars so he would have an excuse to touch you and help you bandage up your injuries. Maybe sometimes, he ‘jokingly’ wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed your cheek to ‘get a rise out of Itachi’ and not because he wanted to touch you.

But he never made a move on you because he knew you were Itachi’s. And as long as you were still his friend and spent time with him, he didn’t care too much.

But he should’ve known better. Just as how he can understand Itachi and cares for him like he is his brother, Itachi is the same towards Shisui. He knew how Shisui felt about you, and although one part of him just wanted to you have all to himself, it didn’t feel right that Shisui had to hold himself back when he needed you too. If only, it wasn’t for your clan, and the Uchiha, and their damn village that believed in monogamous relationships, then he would happily share you with Shisui.

Itachi: There were many rules and obligations Itachi has to adhere to due to his clan. Although he did them, he didn’t want to. He hated it. His thoughts were different from his actions so he was constantly experiencing cognitive dissonance. But, you weren’t part of that. For some reason, when he was eleven and his suspicions were confirmed by his parents and the clan elders that you were set up to wed him when you both turn thirteen, that was one thing he didn’t hate or didn’t want to do. In fact, it was alarming for everyone in the meeting how easily he obliged.

Confirming how he felt towards you, it honestly did not surprise him. He had assumed this was the case for a while. Ever since you called him a coward due to his habit of upholding a facade, he tried to be more honest. Not in front of his clan, evidently, but to the people that mattered. Shisui, Sasuke, you, and himself.

The old Itachi, had he not met you and fell in love with someone, would have buried his feelings without a care. But for you.... it was a different story. He acknowledged his feelings and never tried to get rid off them. How could he? You were the perfect lover for him. You got along swimmingly with Shisui. You took good care of Sasuke, and his younger brother was so attached to you. You were an exceptional kunoichi, put up the perfect facade before your own parents and his, and weren’t afraid to challenge him and speak your mind.

And best of all? You were already promised to him. So, he saw no reason to bury his feelings for you.

Sasuke: Sasuke always knew he loved you.

Ever since he can remember, you had always been by his side no matter what.

His father didn’t pay attention to him. His mother did, but she scolded him too when he just wanted to spend time with Itachi.

Itachi spent time with him but lately, he has been ignoring him. It’s not the same. And him and Shisui always leave him behind to get things done that they say he’s “not mature enough to know.”

But Sasuke does know.

He knows what they talk about his and your back because thinks of those things too. It’s everywhere: princesses, their prince, their love story and happily ever after.

He wants to kiss you to show you how he loves you like the couples in fairy tales. He does. Despite his nerves that are causing fluttering butterflies in his tummy, he builds up the courage to have his first kiss with you.

But you’re faster than him. You just move your head so he kisses your cheek instead, and then laugh out loud before ruffling his hair and telling him, “you’re adorable. But you should save your first kiss for your true love.”

He likes being adorable for you, but why won’t you understand?! You are his first and only love.

There will be a day when you finally understand that.

Sharing You:

ok.... listen.... Uchiha clan massacre (and yours too for scenario A) but both Itachi and Shisui. And although its mission issued by the damn village, that’s not why they’re doing it. It just so happens that its the perfect solution to all their problems because they get rid off the obstacles in their way, and they will have to leave the village. They can take you away far, away from everything, so you only have them left.

Obviously, they will take Sasuke with them too. Except this time, there’s no also hurting and torturing him and enticing him to seek revenge. If anything, when Sasuke is horrified, Itachi tells him the truth. There’s lies as well, but, they would need to brainwash him to some extent so he willingly stays with them. Itachi tells him of how if the clan lived, then he would never get to be with you, or see you again because they were going to hurt you.

“Do you want that foolish little brother? You made big claims to make [Name] yours and protect her, so are you really going to mourn those who were going to take her away from you? She’s my bride, and because I care about you, I will share her. But for that to happen, you need to listen to me and Shisui and not be pathetic as to get in our way.”

Itachi had a way with his words, and it was terrifying how much they could influence Sasuke. And now that they had, and no one else was going to be in the way -- not any clans, the village -- nothing.

It is just going to be you and them for the rest of your life.

[sofwrites]

You're Glowing, My Darling

Polin Week Day 4: favorite headcanon and domestic fluff

+ touching prompt: pushing a strand of hair behind their ear for @sofisanchez

Headcanon: Penelope can spot any pregnancy with nearly perfect accuracy

Themes: fluff, married! Polin | Length: 1.5k

ao3 link | masterlist | or read under the cut

Penelope Featherington Bridgerton had a wide array of talents. She was a graceful dancer, knew how to carry a tune, and was fairly adept in arithmetics.

But likely her most impressive talent? Penelope had a remarkable ability of being able to fish out pregnancies, particularly those of her very extended family. And once upon a time, when she called herself Lady Whistledown, she’d practically made spotting pregnancies an art form.

And so it came to be on a December afternoon when, with a small tug on her husband’s hand, Penelope pulled Colin into their bed-chamber at Aubrey Hall. Wearing a proud little smirk, she leaned towards him. “I know a secret.”

Colin bit back an amused smile, running his hands down the lengths of her arms. “And that is...?”

“Lucy’s pregnant again.”

Colin blinked at her, his hands stopping at her elbows. “Excuse me?”

“Lucy, our sister-in-law, is pregnant.”

He paused for a moment before his hands slid down to meet hers, interlacing their fingers. He gave her a look that was part-dubious, part-indulgent. “And what makes you so sure?”

Penelope fought the urge to huff in exasperation, swinging their hands. “Trust me, I know. I was right about Kate with Mary, and Eloise with Frederick, and even Francesca with Janet, and not to mention all the times when I was Lady Whist-”

“Yes, yes, you’re always right,” Colin interrupted, squeezing her fingers. “What makes you so sure though?”

She looked at him carefully for a moment, eyes narrowing as if deciding whether or not she wanted to let him in on a secret. After what felt like an irritatingly long time, Penelope answered in a matter-of-fact tone, “She had kippers with toast and marmalade at breakfast this morning.”

Colin didn’t say anything for about ten seconds, merely stared at her. And then, in a tone that was bland and very clearly effortful, he asked, “Pardon me?”

Penelope gave him a dry look, lips pursed just enough for him to find absolutely adorable. “Trust me. What person in their right mind eats kippers with toast and jam?” And just before Colin opened his mouth, she gave him a pointed look and added, “I said person in their right mind.”

The corner of his lip twitched as he nodded for her to continue.

“I noticed that the last two times Lucy was pregnant, she mixed her breakfast foods in the same way. And she’s more talkative than usual- that’s one of her tells as well.” Penelope had taken back her hands to tap her fingers as she listed off her examples, speaking at an alarmingly fast pace. “There’s also just the probability that in a family as big as ours, someone has to be pregnant, and it’s definitely not Daphne, Sophie, or Francesca. And I don’t think it’s Eloise, Kate, or Hyacinth either. And it’s obviously not me.”

Though Colin had done a fairly admirable job of looking placid as his wife laid out her suspicions, it was when her widened, shrewd eyes moved up to meet his, awaiting a response, that his facade completely fell away and he let out a roar of laughter.

“Is this how you reported on pregnancies as Whistledown? You inspected everyone’s eating patterns? How much they spoke at parties?”

Penelope sent him a scowl. “It was more than that. I looked at who was of proper age, which couples actually appeared enough in love to be producing children, their energy levels, complex-”

“Alright, alright. More science than guesswork, is that a fair assumption?” He was still grinning down at her.

“You may laugh, husband, but I have never been wrong before.”

Colin let out a humored sigh before leaning down to kiss her cheek and wrap both arms around her. “Believe me, I would never doubt the brilliance of my wife.” He flashed her another grin before resting his chin on the top of her head.

He heard Penelope grumble against his chest even as her hands moved to meet on his back.

Two months later, the couple’s illustrious butler, Dunwoody, glided into the drawing room and delivered a letter from Gregory informing them that Lucy was, in fact, expecting once again. As Colin read the missive aloud to his family, he couldn’t help but spot Penelope’s small smirk over the top of her book.

So, naturally, later that evening, Colin paid fortune to his wife’s brilliance in only the best way he knew how.

And, naturally, one additional month later, he came to his very own conclusion as he watched as his wife finger-combed her hair at her vanity.

Penelope smiled at him in the reflection, her hand moving methodically as she swept through the locks. He watched the amber highlights he loved so much get picked up in the candlelight- making them look like little flames themselves. Softly, he returned her smile before stepping around her, leaning against the table to look at her directly.

She blushed slightly, looking back to her own reflection in the mirror as Colin continued to watch her, his mouth tilting upwards. His eyes roamed her face, taking in the rosiness of her cheeks and the steadiness of her focused brow. He noticed the light sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks, which though technically unfashionable for the time, were absolutely beloved by him because they reminded him of the sun- and even more so, of her in the sunshine.

After a few minutes, when Penelope looked as though she might burst with color, she glanced at him with a bashful smile. “What is it?”

“Am I not meant to gaze adoringly at my wife with every passing opportunity?” His grin only grew as her blush deepened and Penelope looked down to smooth the skirts of her nightgown.

Slowly, he stepped closer to her, kneeling down as he cupped the bottom of her chin. When her eyes met his, Colin let out a humored sigh before whispering, “I know a secret.”

Almost instantaneously, Penelope’s shyness melted away, replaced instead by an excited expression. “And that is...?”

Colin grinned, one finger gently reaching up to stroke her warm cheek. “I’m not sure I should tell you.”

And even though her face leaned into his touch, Penelope’s eyes narrowed. “And is it not a wife’s prerogative to know all of her husband’s secrets?”

“Hmm,” he moved his hand to push a lone curl out of her face, gently tucking it behind her ear. And then he whispered, “You’re glowing.”

Penelope flushed once again, her tongue reflexively reaching across her lips. “What?”

He leaned in a bit closer, just enough so that she could feel his breath against her ear. With a slight growl in his voice, Colin repeated, “You’re glowing, my darling.”

And just as Penelope sucked in a breath, he moved back, studying her with a small smile. “You glow when…” He trailed off, gently running a finger along the side of her face.

Her head tilted a bit, staring at him with wide, confused eyes. Colin chuckled under his breath. “You glow like this when you’re pregnant.”

And that was when he lost her.

Penelope’s eyes seemed to grow even as her brow furrowed together, her lips parting in surprise. “Pregnant? ” She let out a small laugh. “Colin, don’t be silly. I’m not pregnant.”

He raised his own brow, still grinning. “Yes, you definitely are.”

She laughed again, giving him a little incredulous shake of the head. “I’m not! Don’t you think I’d know if I were pregnant?”

“And don’t you think I know you better than you know yourself sometimes?”

She smiled at him affectionately, placing her own hand on his cheek. “I do love you, but I know I’m not pregnant.”

And even despite her conviction, Colin smirked, equally convinced in his own. “What makes you so sure?”

Penelope blushed despite herself, despite their literal years of marriage. “I keep a log and…”

And then she trailed off. Because suddenly, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d opened her little book.

And then her wide eyes lifted to meet his. “Oh my-”

“Baby,” Colin cut in, grinning, and Penelope let out a small huff that was part annoyance and part amusement. “I told you that you glow.”

Penelope rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “I appreciate the sentiment, but there is no such thing as a five-week glow.”

He shrugged, beaming at her. “Well you have it, believe me.”

Leaning in, Colin met his nose with hers until all he could see was the beautiful brown of her eyes. “You also have another tell.”

Penelope smiled. “And that is?”

Colin grinned as his eyes trailed downwards. “When you’re pregnant, you develop incredibly voluptuous bre-”

“Colin!”

“Penelope.”

[trulyhumblenarcissist]

Abourt Rei Himura and BNHA Chapter 301

Now that I've read the official release of chapter 301 I can finally try to gather my thoughts. I think this time the particular rendition of dialogues and inflections provided by Caleb Cook is more crisp and clear than usual, especially in throwing "shade" upon Endeavor as a father figure. But let's do things in order...

Title: THE WRONG WAY TO PUT OUT A FIRE - a simple, but stark message that doesn't leave space for ambiguity. There was a fire, an imminent tragedy that could and should have been avoided, but whoever tried to fix it, did it all wrong and now we have to deal with a huge arson.

CARLESS HANDLING OF FIRE, on the other hand, doesn't quite cut it for me, because it seems like everything was caused by a foolish mistake. "I was carless and now I'm in a pinch"- type of situation, while it's perfectly clear that Endeavor and Rei decided purposefully which "strategy" to use with Touya. A BAD one to say it lightly. Rei's contribution and complicity is debatable, of course, and I'll touch on this later.

Let me get this clear though: I'm not trying in any way to critique the hard work of unofficial translators. I can't say anything relevant because I'm not a translator in the first place (I can barely understand English and my native language on a good day) and also because I am so grateful for everything they do in order to give us really good material FREE OF CHARGE basically a second after the release in Japan. I'm just interested about the different shades of subtext we can catch if we read the story through multiple filters. Every translation is unique because it carries the personal spin of the author even if the bias should be inexistent or ideally undetectable...

However, back to the chapter

REI'S CAGE

The first scene opens on a luxurious classic Japanese villa, with Enji, Rei and her parents discussing the motivation behind Enji's proposal. Or at least we initially think that's what's going on... Because in reality Rei's family couldn't care less about the motivation. Everything these people see is a wealthy, famous guy the next number one hero ready to take their daughter in marriage. I guess the Himuras are pretty broke, thight on cash, their old prestige is definitely gone and all they can do to save themselves from shame and poverty is "to sell" their only remaining asset.

During the whole ordeal, Rei is standing still, silent, cold as ice. She knows she doesn't really have a choice. How mortifying and sad is this? An adult, capable woman has no agency whatsoever, she is used again and again and she stoically accepts this treatment from every single dominant figure in her life until she can't be stoic anymore. I really hope Horikoshi's going to give her a much more proactive role in saving her family and it seems the narrative wants us to expect this type of character development.

I'd like to point out 2 panels in particular:

First one

In this scene the Todorokis are back from their trip to the doc, who clearly said they shouldn't try to conceive a child with a perfect quirk mix because it is dangerous (and morally questionable too). Rei understands this fact and tries to dissuade Enji, but he doesn't listen, because he's projecting all his pent-up resentment and frustration onto Touya. He knows how it feels to crush against an unbreakable wall, since he can't surpass All might and his son can't too. He had to learn this truth the hard way, so Touya needs to do the same. Enji is purposefully throwing upon his son years of failures, self consciousness and despair, just because the boy has to get it into his thick skull that he is a dud, just like his father. This is not a hopeless dad making a mistake bona fide, this is a broken man trying to destroy his self reflection by proxy, annihilating everything Touya is, swiping the kid's identity under the rug. He describes his son's dreams and sadness as something birthed from stubbornness. He is auto-convincing himself however (because Endeavor is not stupid). A little bit later he's basically saying: "Touya let's play make believe! We can go on like everything I had engulfed in your psyche never existed, you're a failed attempt so you don't exist. Your needs and wants are silly and useless, nothing worth dealing with now that I can't make you my prodigy. Why don't you go play with the other failures so that I don't have to look at myself while taking actually care of you. I don't want to see you, because it's too painful, because you're a remainder of my own inadequacy."

Note: If you want to read an incredibly well done analysis about Endeavor's motives and psyche, you can get it on @thyandrawrites , she's dwelt on everything extensively and way better than me.

I really want to talk about Rei though. In the panel I showed above, her expression is a bit tricky to analyse. At first she is very vocal about her position. She doesn't want to put Touya through useless suffering, especially since they have a scientific reason not to. They have no guarantee of success with other children, besides, they could possibly have to deal with other health related issues. However, all it takes to convince her in the end is Enji's half assed attempt at the "It's for Touya's sake" shtick. Is it really? Why doesn't she question her husband anymore?

Well... I think before Natsuo, she was probably hoping Touya would let go "naturally", with time and growth, maybe by taking interest in his other siblings. Rei said she wanted to have more children because in her mind they would have supported and loved each other. Maybe she was naive enough to think that a big family full of kids few years apart from each other was all Touya needed to distract himself from his purposes... BUT and here is the point I want to get across: She was deluding herself too, much like Enji. The ugly truth, in my opinion, is that Rei is a person prone to protect herself by going with everything other people want, especially if said people are capable of hurting her. Yes, she was hurt time and time again, but what would have happened if she really tried to stop Enji?

What I am trying to say is that Rei is the kind of person who endures to survive. She holds a "captive" mentality in which, by indulging her captor's desires, she can continue living with less possibile damage. If I stay still and silent, if I don't make a scene, I can go on, I can hold onto the few things I have that actually make me happy.

Let's think about it... Enji was so obsessed with his psychotic, power-hungry quest that he would have probably disown Rei. She would have been thrown away for a more compliant woman with an ice quirk, or something similar, this resulting in her probably losing everything, the respect and love of her family (the Himuras) and also her own children. Because we know Endeavor can definitely hold a grudge and is vendicative.

So, clarifying, Rei doesn't put up a fight because she is scared for herself in a way... She is scared to be hurt in the worst possible way (by losing her little bit of serenity), so her strategy is to endure and to keep up a facade of control and purpose.

Rei, ironically just like Touya and other characters in mha, doesn't really get what unconditional love is. Her family loves her until she can be useful to the Himura name and status, her husband loves her for her quirk. Her children, however, love her for who she is and she wants to stay with them... Only to be forced to leave them later anyway.

The few times Rei actually smiles are when she is with her babies. She is a deeply loving mother in her core, but her declining mental health makes her a very lacking caregiver.

This panel, in my opinion, shows the point of no return for Rei. She can't keep the glacial facade forever...

After Natsuo's turn to be deemed a failure, Endeavor is crazier than ever, because All Might is as popular and loved as ever and he hasn't make any progress into his eugenetic games. The last two images of Rei are very telling. She is exhausted, but she knows what her husband wants from her this time too. She looks like a lifeless doll and honestly I can easily see Shouto's conception as... Non consensual and I will stop here.

Then Shouto is born, the last, perfect specimen... And Rei isn't doing much for Touya, we can see she's apparently blind towards her eldest son's distress already after Natsuo's birth... But why?

Because she is actively avoiding to face the Touya's problems too.

If Touya is still suffering, is still feeling stressed and worthless, then everything Rei has endured, everything she pretended not to feel for the sake of her family has been completely useless. What Rei cannot look at is her own parental failure, is the concrete proof that while protecting herself and her peace she did not protect her children too, because the two interests were never really aligned, even if she really believed so. She never had a functional family to preserve in the first place and everything she accepted to do was all for the sake of a false sense of belonging.

However is too easy to say she should've rebelled against Enji and dumped his sorry ass. Abuse traps you and your abuser too in a cage tricky to escape.

What I imagine will happen next chapter is one of two things:

Enji stops Touya by using brute force, probably also saying something really scarring to reinforce the notion that Shouto is the only child he cares about.

Rei stops Touya by using her quirk. This act could be considered by Touya another confirmation that even his mother actually does something by her own accord only when Shouto's safety is at risk

Necessary conclusions

I don't blame Rei for her actions too much. She is a victim turned abuser by circumstances, but more importantly she's actually taken mesures to prevent herself from hurting her children again. She's trying to heal for her family's sake, really this time. Ten years spent dealing with guilt and having actual therapy seem a good plan to me. And now she's the one ready to snap Enji back to reality.

Enji, on the other hand, is trying too. It's too little too late, but if he stops avoiding reality and hardly works on understanding his family's point of view I don't think he is completely unredeemable. I don't see him surviving his last confrontation with Touya, thought... But I could be totally wrong.

Obviously everything I've said it's my personal analysis on Rei's character, as I interpret her actions and words, so feel free to contradict me and/or to add anything you might see fit.

[hoe-imaginess]

hostage | madara uchiha

Madara x Tobirama’s s/o

summary: Tobirama’s wife is held captive when the Uchiha invade Senju territory. She does what she can to keep the peace. It doesn’t last long.

word count: 9.5k 

warnings: sex as a bargaining tool, physical/emotional harm, heavy angst, mentions of miscarriage/abortion, brutal use of sharingan

a/n: part of a long and self-indulgent founders era fic I was writing, but recently gave up on. so this is just a very choppy rough draft. it’s all over the place. apologies for the poor & skimpy writing style. fair warning: bit of a darker rendition of Madara than what I usually write on this blog. IM me if you want more details before reading

⤰

They attack in the dead of night. 

With the main host of the Senju army battling in far-away provinces, Hashirama and Tobirama with it, few seasoned shinobi are left to protect the plot of land which the Senju call home. 

The Uchiha overwhelm the paltry resistance quickly and efficiently, then set about infiltrating the rest of the territory to claim as theirs. 

They’re met with little defiance. Of the Senju who don’t escape into the woods, slipping through Uchiha clutches before they can fully surround the vicinity, a majority left to endure the raid are civilians with no real experience or means to contend the invaders’ assault. 

Chaos ensues. Uchiha chase down fleeing families, drag them back to the center of the camp where hostages are corralled. They bark and shout orders at stubborn Senju who refuse to abide, sometimes resorting to violence to win obedience. 

Then come the fires. The Senju, in one final, practiced act of loyalty, set ablaze as much property as they can in an effort to destroy any intelligence on Senju affairs which the Uchiha might find and use to their favor. 

Some of these renegades are stopped before they can succeed, others manage to do their part before being apprehended. 

She is one among them, burning the room in her home which her husband uses so often to practice and hone his jutsu; where plots of war are imagined and scribed; where important records are stored. 

Tobirama would balk to see all his work going up in flames, but she knows that it’s what he would want her to do. 

The anguish that beats mercilessly in her chest as she watches her home catch fire is dreadful. 

Such a small little place, she thinks. Just big enough for the two of them. They hadn’t been married for more than a few months now. Arranged, like so many unions those days. 

Yet the little, perfect home held such memories in that short time; watching smoke rise from the walls and foundations makes her sick with sorrow. 

But it must be done. Whatever the invaders might pillage from her home, they would find nothing to their benefit, and nothing that might end up hurting Tobirama, or the Senju. 

Two Uchiha men grab her just as she watches the roof of her home collapse in on itself, pillars weakened and corrupted by flame. 

It’s a sodden and meager thing to find so fulfilling, but it’s the only thing from which to reap comfort. 

Doomed as she may now be to whatever her captors have planned, she, too, has plans: plans to remember Tobirama’s prudence, adopt it as her own. Whatever awaits her, she can face with her chin held high.

As she’s herded into a crowd of the Senju hostages, uncertain of their holistic fate, the cries and tears of anguish from men, women, and children alike hurt her beyond words. 

When the leader of the invaders stands before them and addresses them, with his coal-black eyes piercing every one of them even in the dark void of night, she feels anger beyond words. 

And when she learns of his plans to occupy their land, to keep them as prisoners of war, she feels determination. 

⤰

When she’s brought before Madara Uchiha in the coming days for the purpose of interrogation, he senses immediately that she isn’t a Senju.

Arranged marriages aren’t uncommon, and Madara knows Hashirama is quick to support alliances with clans he finds trustworthy enough. Madara wonders who, among the Senju prominent enough to be pursued for political marriage, might call this woman their wife. 

Feeling foolish for having not expected such a question in advance—though somewhere, she’s hardly able to blame herself, given the chaos of the last few days—her mind races for explanation when he inquires about her husband. 

“I’m a widow,” she lies. “He died months ago.”

She remains with the Senju to uphold the alliance her marriage created, she says, hoping he believes it. 

His gaze is startling, and she fears intermittently that he’s staring right through her with those merciless eyes, extracting the truth under her lies, truths that needn’t be spoken, only simmering underneath the surface for his scrutiny to grab. 

She feels apprehension like she’s never known when, after her explanations, he’s quiet. Utterly quiet. 

Then, just as she tries and fails to steel her heart’s rapid beating, he dismisses her. 

As she’s led out of the tent the Uchiha have constructed for their own purposes of war, she takes a calming breath. 

If she plans on putting her wits to use and curbing the punishments soon to be expounded against the Senju innocents, she needs to leverage herself with composure. 

She can’t let Madara Uchiha rattle her this much if she plans on contriving against him. 

If she plans on winning his trust.

⤰

It’s fairly easy to be granted an audience. 

She’s rigid in her loyalty to the Senju, and answers any of Madara’s interrogations about Senju information with silence or ignorance. Still, she’s compliant with otherwise basic facets of the Uchiha occupation; she tells him where best to find food and water in the land; from which fields they might find the most harvest; offers insight on neighboring clans that may contend the Uchiha occupation of Senju territory, loyal to the Senju as they were. 

In compensation, Madara is usually merciful with her requests. She asks that the Senju hostages be given more daily rations and more room in which to sleep and live, now that the Uchiha occupy most of their old homes. 

Generally, entreatments to the betterment of their well-being are met with leniency. Something for which she is glad, but the brother, Izuna, is not. 

She hears them arguing sometimes: Izuna claiming that his elder brother is being too forgiving on the enemy—she assumes she is the enemy in question—and Madara stating in response that he has no quarrel with Senju commoners, and that amending some of their grievances is no harm to their cause. 

These small victories continue to mount, until she finds herself at his side almost daily, discussing hostage afflictions, enduring his queries and, occasionally, even his frustration at receiving no answers. 

This frustration burgeons quickly, until she’s half-convinced that her play at ignorance is one he sees right through. But he always dismisses her when his irritation becomes visible and unavoidable, almost as if to save her from facing the brunt of it. 

It’s the first of the strange, apprehensive intimacies that he gives her. 

More apparent, soon after, are his long-held gazes. 

They sweep over her, inspect her while she talks, greedily scrutinizing her responses. He doesn’t miss the shiver that runs through her when his dark eyes linger for too long. 

She isn’t naive enough to think this prolonged regard is devoid of any suspicious undertone, nor is she naive to dismiss the lust behind his gazes; the careful inspections of her very body that describe something hidden and desiring under his facade. 

She doesn’t want him to look at her like that. She doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like the way it makes her skin crawl, or her heart stutter. 

But how can she be ungrateful for his dangerous admiration when it might prove profitable?

⤰

She reaps the benefits of his greed not long after their invasion. 

He’s taken up residency in one of the precluded houses near the center of the camp. No guards stand watch outside; he doesn’t need them. 

When she asks for entrance to his room he gives it, albeit cautiously. She doesn’t bother disguising her visit under any pretense; she’s there for him, and he knows this, apparently, judging by the careful look he gives her when she walks in and shuts the door behind her. 

Shame and irritation sizzles underneath her skin, but she ignores it. Her efforts have guaranteed the safety of the innocents under Uchiha rule so far, but those efforts won’t last forever. There’s more to be done. 

It’s not long until she’s pressed against him. Insistently her hand rubs over the space between his thighs. He’s soft, unaffected by her touch. It discourages her, but she continues, regardless. 

“What do you hope to gain from this?” he asks, eyes steely and trained on her, as if her eager hand isn’t even there. 

He hasn’t made a move to stop her, so she urges herself on. 

"Isn’t this what you want?” she implores.

“What makes you believe that?”

“The way you look at me.” 

It’s a calm declaration, though she’s still explicitly hiding something under her tone, he sees, something like frustration. 

“How do I look at you?” he inquires.

When she refuses to answer, he lifts a finger under her chin and forces her gaze to him. 

“Like you want to control me,” she answers bitterly.

The bulge under her hand twitches to life. She rubs harder. His face changes; his expression is tighter, more concentrated. 

“And that’s what you want?” His hand stretches across the back of her neck, keeps her head still. Fingers brush at the nape in deceptively gentle tandem. “To be controlled?” 

“No.” She squeezes her hand, hard. He replies with an angry, swift breath. “You could never control me.” 

The hand at her nape curls into her hair and yanks hard, so hard that her rubbing stops. 

“I already do.”

She’s infuriated by his words, he can see that plainly on her face. But he doesn’t care. She’s made the mistake of dangling her seductions in front of him, and he’ll rise to the occasion, if she's so determined to stir him. 

It shocks her how smoothly he maneuvers her to the futon at their feet, lays her down and climbs over her; how expertly his mouth captures hers and his tongue slides over her lips. 

She opens her mouth obediently, lets him explore. Shame courses through her when a hand between her thighs coaxes a pleased, albeit startled hum from her mouth. 

His fingers work her up quickly, pull her clothes off without a hiccup or delay. 

She had, foolishly, underestimated the strength of him. After she’s stripped bare, when he holds her arms down, there’s no room for her to fight back. As he looms over her, powerful and dangerous, she realizes she should be shaking in fear, in hatred, in uncertainty. 

Instead, her body is calm, forcefully calm. 

Sensing this, he sees it not as her resolve, but as a challenge. 

She refuses to close her eyes when he starts, and stares up at him, disputing his gaze. The pleased sigh that leaves his mouth when he starts rocking into her makes her shiver, despite her determination to keep her body still, keep it pliable for his pleasure but loyal to her convictions. 

His thrusts are deep and hard, reaching into her in ways she didn’t even know possible until now. Her breath catches with every snap of his hips, until those breaths are choking off into surprised gasps when he angles his body a certain way, hits a certain spot inside of her that makes her legs jolt with pleasure. 

One hand is planted firmly into the sheets beside her, keeping his body suspended over her. The other holds her thigh, keeps it pressed down to ensure she’s stretched as open as he needs her to be. 

When pleasure urges him to go harder, he takes her leg and curves it around his waist to dig into her deeper. With the new angle she can peer down, watch his cock spear into her with precise finesse. She tears her eyes away, the sight of it making her nerves tingle, making the unbidden pleasure that much more potent. 

Even if she wanted to vacate her mind, to numb herself to all feeling until she could be sure he was done and her task finished, it’s an impossible feat. Too many sensations; his heavy breath coming in low pants; strong thighs shoving against her legs with every thrust; his eyes, even when she turns from them, searing into her, pinning her down.  

A flush spreads over her body, hot and feverish and anxious. In the scant light she sees his skin giving way to his own pleasure; sweat lines the curve of his prominent clavicles, a drop on his brow as it furrows with the heightened pace of his thrusts. 

She starts to tremble uncontrollably as he roughly pounds into her, losing some of his rhythm, a basic need for release urging him. Rumbling, chest-born moans spill from his lips, and against her body’s wishes, she cums with a hard-fought whimper. 

As she shivers through the onslaught of pleasure, he stares down at her, his face an emotionless canvas.

She doesn’t even realize he’s near his end until he grabs onto her hard, grunts loud and staggered, then stops moving. 

He takes a moment to let the pleasure sink in, eyes closed to revel in the wet heat surrounding him, pulsing and twitching. Then he pulls out.

He leaves her on the mat, naked, curled into herself as if to hide the shame of her orgasm. Nothing in his posture speaks of an identical sentiment on his part. The sex she finds so monumentally impairing, he sees as nothing more than what it is: sex. 

No sooner than he moves away from her is he dressing, the raw muscle of his back moving with every motion, his sweat-glazed scars glistening in the moonlight that invades from closed curtains. 

Before he leaves, he says, “I assume you have herbs.” 

Her eyes open. 

The herbs. 

She had almost forgotten. She hasn’t needed to take them since Tobirama left, since there was no one else to share her bed…

The thought of Madara’s seed quickening inside of her makes her nauseous. She’s almost grateful he’s reminded her of the contraceptives. 

“Yes,” she says. She’ll take them first thing in the morning. They were made to work even after the fact. No need to panic. 

“Good.” 

He leaves her in his room, and she falls asleep despite her errant thoughts.

⤰

She draws a bath for herself and slips into the lukewarm water. 

The bruises and love-marks haven’t gone away. Every time they do, every time her skin is returned to its unsullied state, she’s in his bed again, tempering him, giving herself over to his rough desires in some hope it will continue to coax leniency out of him. 

She’s been bathing more often, she realizes: some meager attempt to wash his scent and his touch from her, no matter the pleasure she takes from it in kind. 

But there’s still much resistance in her thoughts when she gives herself over to him, a chiding reminder in the back of her head that says what she’s doing is shameful. 

She’s a married woman, after all; widow, in Madara’s eyes. 

But the masquerade doesn’t take away from the guilt she feels every time she opens her legs for his lust. It’s not even easy to imagine it’s Tobirama anymore. Tobirama isn’t so purposefully rough, isn’t keen on making pleasure so hard-fought with such domination that she receives from the Uchiha. 

A chill runs through her to think of the difference between them, to think she might never again know the softer, more loving touch of her husband. The possessive, taking nature of Madara’s intimacy might be all she ever knows. 

She touches the skin under her breast, feeling no texture on the flesh, but knowing the seal Tobirama left is still there: a risky, but comforting reminder of his caresses. 

She so misses them. She misses his voice, his touch, his earthy scent. The room around her is so devoid of it. The very air feels seized by the conquest of her Uchiha captors. Every breath she draws is more of their smoke, their fire, their danger.

She sinks underneath the surface of the bathwater, eyes closed, a calming air reserved in her lungs. 

The water is comforting, reminds her of Tobirama. She imagines it’s him surrounding and warming her skin, if only for a moment. 

She lets the world around her numb to nothingness, hoping at some point, so too will her anxieties leave her and make this dilemma all the easier to endure.

⤰

Izuna hadn’t meant to come across her this way.

The woman isn’t answering his brother’s summons, and the guards stationed outside her home say she won’t respond to the calls or demanding knocks they make at her door. 

Izuna isn’t a patient man. He has much better things to do than fetch his brother’s stubborn whore. 

The guards at the door had apparently been warned not to intrude on her sanctity more than necessary, and utter a protest when Izuna barges into her home unannounced. He ignores their murmuring, unfamiliar with the respect—or whatever it is—that keeps them compliant. 

The living area is empty and so is the kitchen. He calls her name once, then twice, irritation coloring his shouts. They garner no response. 

At the back of the house, he hears a sound, and goes to it. He hears it again once he’s closer, coming from the washroom, he thinks. 

He knocks once. 

No response.

He knocks again.

Still, no response. 

Sufferance all but worn, he pulls open the door. 

There’s a bath of water, her form distorted underneath its surface. His intrusion is apparently louder than any previous call for her attention and she folds up quickly from underneath the water, breaking the surface and sending splashes everywhere in her haste to glance around, size him up, and cover herself for modesty. 

Too late. He’s seen it. 

Never mind her naked body. Even if he needs to be forgiven for barging in on her later, he doubts, now seeing the mark that she quickly goes to hide under her breast, that she’ll be getting mercy from him or any other Uchiha from this point on. 

⤰

When Izuna drags her into the war tent, Madara is more startled by the interruption than irritated. 

She’s half-clothed, body and hair wet from the remnants of what he assumes was an interrupted cleanse; Izuna has a distraught look of fury on his face that never bodes well. What surprises Madara most, however, is the way she cowers into herself when Izuna throws her down at his feet. 

“What is this, Izuna?” Madara demands of his brother, mildly offended to witness this treatment of her, at his brother’s hand, no less. Madara’s intimacies with her are common knowledge, if not frowned upon by some of his Uchiha lieutenants. 

Izuna points an accusative finger down at her. “Look at it.”

Madara blinks through his confusion, waiting for clarity. Izuna hisses in anger, grabs her hair, and yanks her upright. 

“Show him,” he commands her.

She groans angrily in response. 

He yanks a little harder. 

“Show him.”

Madara’s suspicion gains with rapid unease. The doubt always tugging at the rear of his conscience comes to the forefront, ready to be fed with truths, ready to reap its victory. 

Izuna forces her to stay still, then claws at the hand she has wrapped about her stomach, hiding something beneath the haphazardly-adorned clothing. 

Madara catches on, and approaches. 

She slows her writhing when he crouches down in front of her. Then something like preemptive defeat rushes through her when he puts his hands on her, and she stills completely.

Madara doesn’t know what he expects to see beneath the fold of the robe he pulls away from her skin—the skin which is always covered by bandages when he strips her bare at night; courtesy, she always says, of a wound received during the invasion—but Tobirama’s Senju’s hiraishin mark is definitely the last.

The silence that ensues as he scrutinizes the seal is far more tormenting, she thinks, than any punishment he can possibly have in store for her. 

He’s enraged, of that she’s sure. And the indignant, defiant scowl on her face which receives him when he looks at her undoubtedly makes that worse. 

But she’s been found out, she knows. There’s little else she has to her aims at this point except her resentment, a resentment which she can now display with liberation. 

Her masquerade is extraneous now; any excuse she can possibly make redundant. She has to accept her fate, with her chin held high. 

Like Tobirama would. 

But the conviction doesn’t last long. 

“Hold her down,” Madara tells two of the Uchiha men in the room. 

She panics. 

When Izuna’s hands leave her and more vindictive ones take their place, she starts kicking away, trying to fight and make their hold on her that much more difficult to win. 

But it’s useless against the pure fear that runs through her when Madara slips out of the tent and returns a moment later, in his hand, an iron poker which had been mending the campfire outside. 

When he brings it over to her, she feels the heat radiating off of its glowing, orange, sharp tip. 

Her heart rate skips into the margins of delirium and she shakes her head. 

“Don’t—” she pleads, glaring up at him. “Don’t—”

Madara presses the singeing iron against the skin below her breast and she screams. Loud and ragged. He doesn’t care. 

Even before the deed is done, the smell of her own burnt flesh nauseates her beyond the limits of her endurance, and she passes out. 

⤰

The burn is so severe that it leaves her bed-ridden for days on end. 

Every twist and turn of her body stretches the thin, pink skin and leaves her whimpering in pain. 

Uchiha medics tend to her wound. She isn’t allowed the relief of healing jutsu; the burn is treated with oils and creams which alleviate only some of the pain, and none of the superficial scarring. Something for which she knows she has Madara to thank. He wants her to bear the mark of her deceit, wants the charred flesh to serve as a reminder of mockery. 

She had slighted him with her seductions, made a fool of him with her deception. The burn itself would be a meager sanction in comparison—he could have killed her, after all—if not for the scornful significance it held that did more justice to his condescension than any words could.

Any semblance of superiority her secret had once given her is all but crushed with the wound. Tobirama’s seal had soothed her, served as a pillar of faith and courage; a warm breath of comfort on her skin whenever the chill of her captors’ doujutsu fixed her, whenever Madara’s gaze searched her for weakness. 

Knowing her husband’s latent protection remained hidden from the eyes of the invaders had been enough, amidst all the turmoil, to shield her from fear. 

Now it was gone, rendered useless and indiscernible under corrugated skin. 

Like her home, her body now, too, at the hands of the Uchiha, denied her refuge. 

Yet in some twisted, ironic way, the wound still grounds her. The pain is a bittersweet reminder that her body is alive, and not a shell for the hopelessness she feels inside. 

It’s a degrading and pitiful comfort. But it’s all she has now. 

⤰

Madara makes infrequent visits during her recovery. 

The first few are made in silence. As she lies there, pitiful and motionless, he stares without a word to spare. His scrutinizing gaze, both spiteful to set eyes upon her and satisfied to see her agony, is the only acknowledgement he gives. 

The patronizing graduates to interrogation. He stands over her impotent form, leering down as he demands to know the reason for her having the seal on her skin, demands to know her relationship to Tobirama Senju. 

The line of questioning betrays the deductions he’s already made. He’s already decided that the woman is Tobirama’s spouse, or at the least, some sort of lover. The intimate placement of his seal is telling enough, and her previous elusion on the subject of her purpose on Senju land is further proof. All the suspicions piece together and exploit her lies. 

But he wants to hear the truth from her own mouth, the very mouth which conspired to deceive him with its pleasure, keep him pliant with its warm caresses on his body. Only then will he be satisfied, only when she admits who she is, what she is, who she belongs to—

Then he can remind her that it’s he who owns her now. He who conquered her home as easily as he had conquered her. 

Her silence isn’t as defiant as she thinks, not by a long shot. To patronize her is a pleasant notion, but the hooded, resentful gaze she gives him fails to stir him in any way besides to sing praises of his own power. 

⤰

“Kill her,” Izuna insists. 

His determined indignation on the matter comes like a chant in the days following the revelation. 

Madara’s commitment to deciding how best to deal with her is only marginally interrupted by his brother’s input, but it does disrupt his logic and feed his own fury. 

He should kill her. Should string her up for the rest of the Senju to see: let her be an example to whoever else among them may have delusions of defying him. 

“What point is there in keeping her alive?” Izuna presses on. “Kill her. Send her body to the Senju army. Let them know we won’t be trifled with.”

“No,” is Madara’s decisive reply. “She serves more use to us alive.”

“I fail to see how. She’s done enough to outwit you. I would’ve thought you eager to be rid of her.”

Madara resents the comment, but tempers his irritation. “I know your dislike for Tobirama makes you enthusiastic to do her harm. And why is that? Because you know harm done to her is harm done to him.”

“Precisely.”

“Then you should understand the benefit of keeping her alive.”

“Fine. Keep her alive. But not unscathed. If you want to use her as leverage, deliver a gift to the Senju. The correspondence between you and Hashirama has been pitifully civil so far. Send something with the next envoy. Something of hers. A finger will do.”

“No.” Madara’s tone is unequivocally firm. “We will do no such thing.”

Madara has little doubt that his brother’s enmity runs deep enough that an adequate offense on her part, no matter how slight, might be cause for Izuna to damage her. That’s not something Madara can allow. 

His conscience forces away the fact that part of his aversion to his brother’s threats are rooted in possessiveness; Izuna has no claim to her, has no entitlement to her punishment. 

That’s Madara’s. That’s his. And his alone.

⤰

How she finds herself sharing his bed again, she may never know, and will never be brave enough to ponder. 

She’s silent when he moves inside of her. Even when he makes her cum, as easily and powerfully as he always has, she barely lets the ragged, frustrated moan loose from her lips for a second before closing her throat and swallowing down the tightness.

When he rolls off of her he lies in silence. Where he would usually get up to bathe or leave, he remains, like he's done so often recently, to sleep beside her. 

He taunted her once, told her he had no fears of sleeping beside her now, because she knows what it would mean for the Senju hostages if she tried anything. 

That aside, she’s half-convinced that he’s awake at all hours of the night regardless, waiting patiently for the opportunity to catch her plots and punish her accordingly. 

But how difficult would it be? To kill him, leave him, save as many hostages as she can while he bleeds out in the room, alone and cold. 

It’s a fantasy she allows herself to imagine over and over again. A fantasy too opportunistic to ignore after their nights of scornful passion leave her weak and spiteful. 

The kunai she left under her pillow feels cold as ice when she slowly reaches for it, hiding the purposeful movement behind a comfortable stretch. 

It’s been a long hour since she first played at sleep. She never hears him breathing, but considers his silence as good a signal as any that he’s unconscious. 

When she carefully turns over, she confirms that his eyes are closed. He sleeps on his back, always, as most shinobi do. Alert and at the ready even in slumber. 

Slowly she rises from under the sheets, ever so careful not to let the fabric move an inch across his skin. She should just slit his throat, she realizes. But piercing into him will be swifter, and more profitable. 

The kunai wavers in her hand. Killing unwitting men in their sleep isn’t so difficult a task; shinobi and kunoichi alike do it all the time, don’t they? That was war. 

It should be easy to stab down into his heart and twist, to watch him wake in tormenting shock as the blood fills his lungs and chokes him. She would enjoy that. 

But the wavering in her hand worsens to a subtle tremor. 

He’s not an unwitting man, not some simple enemy to kill for convenience. That makes her confidence ever harder to steel, but she has to. She has to kill him. 

She won’t wait a moment longer. Kill him, destroy him, and be done with it. 

But just as she raises the kunai, a strong hand wraps around her wrist in an unforgiving grip.

His eyes are open, glaring at her. 

She shivers with fear and rage as his hand tightens to a bruising grip. Her panic sends her mind into a frenzy of action. 

She can still do it. Just one stab downwards and she can end it. 

But even pushing down with both hands doesn’t overwhelm his strength. He still glares and scowls, infuriated.

She tries again, putting her entire body’s weight down on the weapon, limbs shaking with the effort. 

He doesn’t budge. 

He flips them instead, and the kunai is suddenly in his hands, pressed against her throat. 

“There are easier ways to kill me,” he mutters. If his blood is boiling at her trespass, nothing in his bored, thin voice betrays composure. “You could be more creative.”

Tears prickle her eyes. Her hands press desperately against his, trying to push the cold blade away from her skin. But he keeps it there. Even the smallest movement will slice the flesh. 

“Remember that you are the one at my mercy. I could kill you and every Senju in this camp any time I wish.”

“You’re horrible,” she seethes, breath shallow in anger. "I hate you.”

“I’m aware. Yet you continue to share my bed night after night. You still think you’ll gain anything from it?”

The words sting her pride, split her open to let the doubts and faults and fruitless depravities spill in. 

“You do nothing but shame yourself. Look at you. Spreading your legs for me like a dutiful whore, thinking it will somehow save you and your people. It’s pathetic—"

She slaps him, hard. 

Though his cheek burns with redness, he’s otherwise unfazed by pain. He scowls and slams her arm down to prevent any more of her rage. 

“You may think you have control over me,” she says in a seething whisper. Even with the kunai pressed against her jugular, the expression on her face is nothing short of brazen. A lofty, defeated brazen that comes across as scorn. “But you don’t, and you never will. There’s only one man I’ve ever loved. When you’re on top of me I think of him and only him. It makes it bearable. You’ll never be half the man that he is.”

He scowls at her, his eyes like burning, silent daggers. She knows she might have sealed her fate right then and there. But so be it. Let her last moments of life be spent spiting him. 

Her body relaxes, unconcerned with fighting whatever comes next. 

She doesn’t expect him to laugh. 

“Tell yourself that, if you must,” he says, with a sadistic, grim smirk. “But you know very well the power I have over you.”

His eyes turn crimson and she gasps, but by the time she makes to look away, it’s too late.

In the illusion, Tobirama is frowning at her, eyes wide, a sneer of disgust on his face. 

She doesn’t understand why, at first. Why does he look so gloomy? She feels only joy to see him. Joy and unbearable relief. 

She tries to run to him. But burning hands at her throat summon her back. Despite no voice, face, or body to accompany the unforgiving grip, she knows it’s Madara who impedes her by the ferocious strength alone. 

“Whore.”

It’s not Madara’s voice, but Tobirama’s. It carries over to her, like they’re separated by a valley despite his being only yards away. If she could reach out to him, touch him, feel his embrace—

“Uchiha whore,” he barks at her again, scowling now. 

“No,” she pleads, eyes stinging with tears. She tries to pull the grip from her neck away and escape, but Madara locks her arms down to her sides, rendering her utterly trapped. 

“Tobirama,” she begs for his sanctity, for his forgiveness. But he’s backing away from her now. 

She cries and cries desperately, screeching in frustration when Madara’s grip tightens to a visceral degree, until she feels like her skin is alight with flames. 

She looks down, and sees that they are. And the skin which these flames scorch dies off to corrupted, pink flesh as it travels up her arm in a slow crawl. An agonizing, horrible, slow crawl. 

Hours elapse as she endures the torture. Hours of raw, inhuman pain and her husband slurring his vile insults at her. The sheer destruction it pillages on her mind and body makes her feel small, makes the flames which take their time in exploring her skin burn brighter and hotter until finally she feels like nothing but ash. 

The last of her willpower billows away with that ash, as she watches Tobirama’s form start to disappear on some horizon that defies logic. 

She still wants to touch him. Still wants to be held by him. She still wants him, despite how clearly he doesn’t want her. 

His obscenities circle her thoughts, all-encompassing, completely and finally defeating her. 

Whore. Slut. Traitor. Weakling.

She cries a voiceless cry when Tobirama disappears, and Madara takes the illusion away shortly after. 

She blinks for clarity, eyes adjusting back to a reality no less harrowing than the previous artifice.

He leers down at her, takes in her anguish and her seedy frame with gluttonous cruelty in his gaze. 

Numb, teary eyes stare up at him as they slowly read his form. Realizing her predicament, she starts to hyperventilate, and tears run down her face. 

She shuts her eyes in one last attempt of modesty, forcing the stream of salt to sluice more violently down her cheeks. 

“Tobirama,” she pleads weakly, the only thing that she can think of in her hazy pain. 

It angers Madara. 

“He doesn’t want you. Now look at me.”

She refuses.

His hand twists into her hair and snaps her head back so hard that she almost sees stars behind her eyelids.

“I said look at me.”

“No,” she cries weakly, though she obeys, regardless. Her bloodshot, desperate eyes feed his sadistic vengeance. Then she’s turning her head away from him. Meager defiance. “Please—”

Satisfied with the short admission of her defeat, he takes her face and forces her look at him. 

“Try anything like that again and I’ll make sure you spend an eternity in a nightmare of my making. Do you understand?”

She has no energy to respond. 

“Answer me.”

All she can offer is a weak nod, tears still streaming down her cheeks. 

In a moment of triumphant vindictiveness, his fingers press harshly against the burn under her breast, bringing to life a reminiscent pain, a crushing reminder of what he’s done to her. 

He pushes her face away and she curls into herself, thinking of Tobirama.

In these makeshift quarters he’ll find no sleep; his mind is a mess of anger, desperation, and confusion. He needed to hurt her, didn’t he? She had defied him again. What other choice did he have? 

Another moment spent in her presence is another pin of irrational emotion nudged into his chest. He needs to leave.

He catches her glaring at him when he climbs off and starts to dress. It’s a look full of pure, searing hatred.

But he says nothing. He’s extracted enough triumph from her. 

His silence is in victory; hers in defeat.

⤰

She feels less alive each passing day. 

She doesn’t see him very often, not since the incident in the night when she’d failed to take swift revenge. 

Occasionally she hears him on the other side of the door, inquiring the guards who stand watch outside about her disposition. Rarely does he enter and see for himself. 

When he does, they exchange no words. He examines the room for any plotting demonstration of escape or sabotage, disguising his observation of her underneath these sweeping inspections. 

However, sometimes he gives up on the pretense and simply stares, studying her, trying to decide how he feels.

His actions are regrettable, of that he’s sure and self-condemned, but there’s still a glimmer of insolence in her eyes when he catches her gaze: one which rekindles the spite within him, fans vengeful flames and reminds him that she brought this upon herself. 

She would see no pity from him. 

Any words of apology on his tongue fizzle away then, and his visits conclude as silently as they begin.

⤰

The fight in her dwindles helplessly, and as it dwindles, so too does all sense of reservation. 

The prodigious determination there once had been to contend Madara and his Uchiha conspirators is all but spent. What good does it do her now? She’s broken, subjugated, and without leverage. 

Her body, which had once enabled her to use its seductions to the advantage of her people, is now depleted and only a shell. A shell for the hollow, cold heap of defeat that she now is. 

How deluded was she to think she could save all the people here? How had she ever thought that she alone could protect the hostages from the evil at their door? 

And Tobirama, whose embrace was denied to her even in dreadful illusions—what would he think of her? Madara was right. What else was she now but an Uchiha whore? Obsolete, ruined, soiled. 

Tobirama won’t want her. Not now. Not ever again. 

What more is there for her?

As the weeks go by, Madara’s distrust ebbs away. Suspicions of subterfuge die with her audacity; the times he does happen upon her, she’s nothing but a husk of the sharp woman she had made herself out to be. 

House arrest soon becomes a superfluous precaution, and even when the guards leave their posts, she makes few attempts to leave her home. And when she does, she wanders aimlessly, meanders without direction and without purpose. 

She’s pitiful, Madara decides. Pitiful and crushed. He has nothing to fear or suspect from her. Her fire is gone. 

What he doesn’t expect is that the last ember of that fire holds one desperate dredge of scorn. One which she won’t allow to be extinguished. 

When she wanders into the Uchiha war tent that day, she isn’t stopped. 

She’s given no second-glance by any of the Uchiha shinobi. Even if they were to give her careful inspection, they would never know of the kunai in her pocket, the steel icy and begging to be utilized for one final, desperate fight.

Madara isn’t there. Instead, she finds Izuna.

“Where is he?” she asks weakly. 

Izuna pays her so limited attention these days, regards her as little else except the harlot his brother broke in and conquered, that her presence has nothing more than a fleeting impasse on his patience. Like a gnat buzzing around his head. 

“My brother? Who knows.” 

When he accords her his attention he sees that she’s looking lifeless as ever. Sometimes he ponders the nature of the unkind things his brother has done to her, with a fraction of a fraction of pity. Then he’s reminded of the trespasses she’s made, and the pity is gone. 

“What?” he mocks. “If you’re hoping to charm some leniency out of him, you’ll get nowhere looking like that.” He tsks, a sneer marring his lips as he pulls his eyes over her form, like it’s a harrowing task to complete. “You’re better off groveling on your knees... save him the displeasure of looking at your face, at the least.” 

Although she doesn’t react, he sees humiliation simmering underneath the hardened, broken surface of her expression. He would have favored a more promising response to his taunts, but he’s satisfied to see her tamed of her previous unruliness, nevertheless.

He turns his back to her. Her misery is pleasant only for so long; the more he looks, the more unsightly it becomes. 

The Uchiha sigil stares back at her, stitched proudly and delicately onto the back of his garb. 

It mocks her, does more to incite her than any of his degrading condescension can. 

Unthinking, she moves to him. 

Hearing her approach he turns to meet her, the same bored sneer on his face. 

The melancholy is still in full bloom on her features, but there’s something else there, too. Something that tells him she’s struggling to express a grievance on her tongue.  

He scoffs.

“What is it, woman?”

He’s not Madara, she decides, but he’ll do. 

Aimlessly, she yanks the kunai from her pocket, then brings it down on his neck, not caring for whatever consequences will follow.

⤰

She wondered why Izuna didn’t kill her the moment he wrangled the kunai from her grip.

Blood spills from his neck; thick crimson pours in rivulets down his shirt, down the hand that presses against his wound. 

It may not be fatal but it’s certainly critical. Sharingan had worked in his favor. An inch more of the dagger’s descent studied without the activation of his doujutsu might have guaranteed his death. He inched away just in time.

She doesn’t have time to lament her failure. 

He did throw her to the floor in his anger, but nothing else comes. If he hadn’t been so occupied with sealing his wound, she imagines his ire would prove much worse, if not terminal. 

She doesn’t bother pushing up from her place on the floor when another Uchiha, hearing the din of Izuna’s angry hollers, barges in, sees the chaos, and sprints away after taking orders from Izuna. She doesn’t hear the essence of these orders, numb to the world as she is. 

Had the kunai been in her hand, she would slit her own throat in defiance. Death would have been preferable to what comes next.

When Madara storms in, she’s still a pile of hapless defeat on the floor. 

He says not a word, but the pure rage boiling behind his gaze says all it needs to: She made a grievous mistake. 

She gasps when he grabs a fistful of her hair and yanks her to her feet. She screws her eyes shut, unwilling to look at him. He doesn’t seem to care whether she does or doesn’t. 

She’s certain that he rips hair right from the roots when he whips her around, shoves her forward with enough force to break every bone in her body. A bookcase greets her as she barrels into it. That’s when her eyes open in pained shock, a rushed gasp escaping her as she struggles to regain the air thrown out of her lungs. 

She wants to collapse, but a hand clasps around her neck and keeps her standing. Then the fingers tighten around her throat. She chokes pitifully for oxygen. 

“I told you that if you ever tried something like that again that you would regret it.” His voice is cold with anger. “But to make an attempt on my brother’s life?”

She doesn't answer. Apparently, he doesn’t expect her to.

He shoves her back to the ground. It knocks the wind out of her, and when she pushes herself up on shaky limbs, a heavy boot in her back sends her to the floor again. 

She yelps as he digs his heel into sensitive muscle. A burst of hot and red pain spreads through her back. Her kidneys, maybe? She doesn’t know. But he’s damaged something internally, and she wishes she were dead. 

Her breaths are pitiful and scant when he finally takes his foot away. She says nothing. Thinks of nothing. 

“Get up,” he demands, in a rigid, thin voice devoid of anything except fury.

Even if she wanted to obey, her body refuses. 

“Get up,” he snaps, and the unforgiving hand returns to twist into her hair, sending webs of pan across her scalp as he hauls her to her knees.  

He crouches in front of her, a hand still fisted in her hair. Now he wants her to look. His other hand takes her face and squeezes, so hard she’s half-convinced he plans to crush her skull. 

“Open your eyes and look at me.”

Desperately, she tries. But it’s a task to keep her eyes open without nausea seeping into her gut. Her eyelids force themselves to shut in an effort to quell dizziness. 

But then he jostles her around by the grip in her hair, so hard and so viciously that her entire world blacks out momentarily. The motion sends her mind reeling and her vision swimming. 

“Open your eyes.”

Adrenaline shoots through her and demands her to obey. 

She isn’t surprised when the red of sharingan is there to greet her. 

Everything goes black in the world of his making. She almost expects to see Tobirama there, for him to shout at her and degrade her again. 

Instead, she feels pain. The worst pain she’s ever felt. So painful she can’t breathe, can’t think. The only thing that exists is the hot, searing flame of anguish that stings every inch of her skin, every gap of her insides, down to the very organs. 

A hundred kunai stab into her head. She hears them slicing flesh to ribbons and digging fractures into her skull. Her blood curdles until it’s set aflame. That too, she hears, bubbling underneath the surface of her skin like thick, boiling water.

Everything hurts. Everything is endless agony.

When air finally fills her lungs, she wails. 

So loud, so violently, so wretchedly, that it’s almost itself anguish to hear.

Then he takes it all away. 

The relief is heavenly. She crumples into a ball. 

She hates it. She hates the weakness. If Tobirama could see her…

Then the pain comes again. She screams in tandem, then bites her tongue so hard it bleeds.

The cruel routine goes on, for what to her deluded, frenetic mind seems like hours, but is in reality passed in mere minutes.

Izuna watches as his wound is tended to, his expression as devoid of any mercy or sympathy as his brother’s. 

⤰

Two weeks later, when her body and mind make the slow, pitiful climb back to equilibrium, she notices the change. 

It’s unlike one she’s felt before, but not entirely unrelated to an irksome nausea: a queasiness in her stomach that neither food nor rest alleviates; something new, like an aura, that swathes her and accompanies her every second of the day; an extra weight added to the burden of her body.

Then comes the fearful ascent of logic. 

Amidst her turmoil, she’s forgotten about missing her monthly bleed. Its absence could be blamed on the toll her body has taken, but she knows better. 

The revelation brings her into a spiral of hectic anxiety, of despairing conflict. 

It’s not long before she finds herself sneaking into one of the medical tents, decision already made on how best to deal with the new predicament. 

She shuffles through the stock of vials and herbs which the Uchiha medics keep at the back of the tent, finds what she’s looking for and almost escapes as covertly as she had infiltrated, when she’s stopped. 

“What is that you have?”

She pauses a foot away from the tent’s exit, her body in a mode of panic.

“Some herbs for my wounds,” she mutters.

An elder Uchiha woman, a medic, turns her around and inspects the filched items in her grasp. 

“That is ginger root,” the medic observes warily. “If you need something for the pain, I would suggest dried poppy.”

The young woman stares fretfully at the old woman; the old woman stares back.  

“Thank you,” the younger stutters blankly, unable to make a step in either direction; play along and heed the advice to go search for the proper herbs, or flee and risk suspicion? 

“You look ill,” the old woman says, eyeing her, putting a hand to her forehead.

She backs away. “I just need rest.”

“Let me examine you. I can help you find the right medicines.”

“No,” she says. Any medic will be able to feel the life inside of her, given the chance. “I’ll be alright.”

She tries to leave then, but the old woman doesn’t let her. 

⤰

When Madara answers the request for his presence at one of the medic huts, he’s surprised to find her there, sitting on a cot, hunched over and distressingly quiet. Two Uchiha men stand at her sides, supervising her.

“What is the meaning of this?” Madara asks. 

Recently, he’s appreciated any reason to stay away from her. The sight of her makes him sick, makes a conflict of rage and confusion and culpability dance angrily in his head. 

The old woman offers him the ginger root, and a small vial of clear liquid. “She was after these.”

Madara takes them into examination. “Am I supposed to know what this is?” His patience, already thin, dwindles considerably for the roundabout elucidations.

“A toxic mixture,” the old woman explains plainly. “Boiled with regular tea and these will certainly destroy whatever grows inside a womb.”

With subdued bafflement, Madara looks at the woman on the cot, understanding all at once. 

She doesn’t dare meet his eyes. Even now her body trembles with frustration, with fear, with defeat. 

Izuna, who had accompanied his brother, scoffs, incredulously loud. “So either you managed to put one in her, brother, or it’s the Senju’s.”

“Can it be determined?” Madara asks the medic, ignoring his brother, and never taking his eyes off the frail form on the cot. 

“In a month’s time the chakra should be durable enough for us to sense.” 

“Kill it,” Izuna insists, coming to stand next to his brother, a voice of frustrated reason. “If it’s a Senju, better off unborn. And if it’s an Uchiha... you would pass on the clan’s power to halfling filth.”

Unperturbed, Madara stares in silence. Finally she meets his gaze, unsettled by the look of dark concentration in his eyes. 

“Why attempt to destroy the life inside of you unless it’s a burden to you?” he ponders out loud.

She realizes his train of logic: it must be his, for her to be so adamant in her pursuit to terminate it. 

“If it was my husband’s,” she says, “and it is, I would do the same. You would kill my child the moment I bring it into this world. Why let life grow that is destined to be murdered in cold blood?”

“And if it were mine?”

“It isn’t."

Madara scowls. 

“And if it were,” she goes on dangerously. “All the more reason to destroy it.”

That visibly infuriates him. 

“Give her the herbs,” Izuna asserts again. “Let her solve the problem. Either way she’s doing you a favor.”

Madara doesn’t speak for a long time. 

His careful inspection of her lasts long enough to make her doubts rise afresh, make her feet fidget uncomfortably and her heart pound in desperation.

“She stays here tonight,” he decides ultimately, looking to the Uchiha guards at her side. “She doesn’t leave.”

Izuna looks muddled, and somewhat irritated by the decision. 

She just looks afraid. 

⤰

He doesn't return for many days, but his absence can’t be appreciated as much of a reprieve at all; her mind is a mess of anxiety and denial the entire time. 

This can’t be happening, she tells herself countless times. She can’t be pregnant. And worse, can’t be ignorant to the father. There’s no possible way. It can’t be happening.

Part of her reasons for the better: it must be Tobirama’s. No more than three months have passed since the Uchiha first conquered and occupied the land, no more than three months since she’s been with her husband. 

The other part of her, downtrodden and beaten into pessimistic depravity, knows that with the chaos Madara brought, so too came a negligence to her normal routines: was she taking the contraceptive herbs as diligently as she needed to, given their intimacies? Amidst the turbulence he caused, had she remembered each and every time they were together to make sure nothing was conceived from their depraved liaisons? How could she not, when the way he touched her and took her made her sick?

But then, doubt: leading her astray, reminding her that everything horrible and miserable that could happen already had, so what was a bit more to the mountain of suffering she already endured? What was stopping fate from deciding that the life inside her womb belonged not to her loving husband, but to her unforgiving captor?

Thinking about it drives her to depressive insanity. By the time Madara comes to see her, she’s depleted almost all of her brain power. 

“Leave us,” he commands the guards who have been assigned to watch her. 

They obey, and the pair are left in silence. 

Her mind pleads with her to run, to attack, to simply scream—anything. Anything that will quell the distress of the pause in the air, the distress of not knowing his intent. 

When he takes a step forward she inches back. Noticing this, he’s dissuaded from approaching any closer. 

“So long as the child is inside of you, you have nothing to fear from me.”

Her heart pounds so furiously in her chest that she’s sure it’s audible in the quiet of the room. 

The statement angers her, scares her, and much to her shame, relieves her. 

“It’s not yours,” she claims.

“Unless I’m miscalculating, the Senju host left a week before my arrival. And not long after that, a fortnight at most for the sake of assumptions, this child might have been conceived. Between us.”

Bile rises in her throat and she wants to protest, but he goes on, badgering her with the logic she’s thus far refused to entertain. 

“If it were his, you would be farther along. Visibly, for one. And more than likely, I would be able to sense the chakra, deduce which clan it belongs to.”

By now she’s trembling quietly with her fear, fighting the urge to deny him, to preserve the hope that the reality he speaks of is in fact skewed.

“The child inside of you is an Uchiha,” he says determinedly. 

She shakes her head.

“You know I’m right.”

“You’re not,” she argues. “You said yourself there's no way of knowing. Not yet.”

He cocks his head. “Then you really have no idea, do you? No idea who it belongs to? Normally mothers can read the chakra within them at this stage. Can you not?”

She won’t grant him an answer, instead stares down at her feet as they dig into the ground, as if in a desperate attempt to escape underneath. 

Madara watches her with careful scrutiny. “I suppose we’ll have to see, then. But somewhere in that head of yours, you know I’m right.”

You’re not right, she repeats in her mind. You’re not. You’re not.

Just as he makes to leave, he stops. 

“And let me be clear,” he says, menacingly. “If you make any attempt to destroy what grows inside of you, you won’t be the one suffering the consequences.”

The glare he gives her speaks volumes: The Senju hostages. The violence that would ensue. The atrocities he might commit if she disobeyed. 

He leaves her. She clutches her stomach, letting the first, long-suppressed tear roll down her cheek. A warm, wet trail is left in its wake. 

In the turmoil she finds evidence for and against his claims when she lets her thoughts run away with logic. A wash of anxious desperation enlivens her, makes her conscience grab for a reprieve to her doubts. But even that is denied by the crushing reality of her situation. 

The life inside of her might belong to the enemy, to the Uchiha. 

And still, it might not. 

She stumbles between one acceptance and the next, each clouding her ever more until the tears are spilling in streams down her cheeks. 

When she puts every morsel of her ability into sensing the life within her, she can’t tell if the faint trace of Senju chakra she feels is authentic, or a desperate manifestation of her mind’s making. 

[faejilly]

being by her seen

A series of scenes on motherhood in the Shadow Word for my @shadowhunterbingo​ square “Single Parent”

Imogen stood by the bier, kept her chin up and her face still.

She would not cry.

Would not scream.

Would not let a bit of her thoughts free, would not.

She had spoken her son's name in a steady voice, as if this wasn't any different than any other memorial she'd attended, no more important than any other ceremony she'd led.

As if the world was the same today as it had been before he'd died, as if the world hadn't ended, as if there was room for anything as useless as ritual in her heart.

Her son was dead, his child dead with his wife, nothing left, no one, nothing...

Nothing but vengeance.

Valentine would pay, if it was the last thing she ever did.

Every ounce of pain he'd inflicted, every atrocity he'd led... she'd feed it back to him, drop by drop by drop.

Ave atque vale.

Hail and farewell.

*

Jocelyn stared down at the pregnancy test in her hand.

There were other ways to find out, but this was private, mundane, something no one would notice.

This was positive.

She dropped the test, broke it under the heel of her shoe. She'd have to make sure to throw it out somewhere else.

She remembered the way black had filled her Jon's eyes...

She couldn't do that again.

She wouldn't.

Better to be alone, than to let Val...

Better to be alone.

Her hands settled on her stomach without her consciously deciding to put them there.

Not entirely alone.

But definitely better for the both of them, to get as far away from Valentine as possible.

*

Lilith stroked a single finger down the boy's shoulder, watched the black flakes of former skin fall away at the gentle touch.

He was asleep now, passed out from the pain, so he only shivered a little, no more screams, no more fighting.

He had such beautiful screams.

She inhaled, closed her eyes as she let it out again, as she let the smell of his blood, her blood, fade away.

There was still an acidic-sweet tang of angel as well, but not as much as there had been. She couldn't burn it all out, had to make sure she stopped just before it was gone.

Too little left, and he'd just be another demon-spawn, barely more powerful than all the Warlocks running around on earth, for all he had her blood in him, rather than just echoes of her power, her curse. Too much left, and Edom would kill him before he grew into his powers. She had to get it just right.

She wondered if the Nephilim who had helped make her boy realized what he'd wrought, had any idea what he'd given back to her.

She smiled, and waited for her precious gift to wake before she started again.

Mine own, at last, forever and always.

*

Elaine closed her bedroom door behind her, leaned back and pushed her head against the wood, hard, harder, harder.

She pressed her lips together until she could feel the shape of her teeth grinding together, until the tension in her neck was so high she was afraid she'd snap.

But silently.

That was the important thing.

Simon had been fussy all night, Becky too quiet, both of them missing...

They were both finally asleep, she couldn't wake them up. She had to hope that when they were asleep they could forget, for a little while, everything that they'd lost.

Everyone.

Elaine refused to open her eyes, refused to look at the bed she hadn't made properly in days, only one side messed up, only one side.

Her fingers curled, her nails digging into the grain of the door behind her.

Her nostrils flared as she tried desperately not to count the steps in her head, how far to get to the cabinet, how long to open it, to pull out the bottle...

It was just her, she couldn't...

It was just her, she couldn't.

She couldn't do this, not by herself, not without him...

She ignored the burn in her chest, the heat in her eyes, her throat, flushing across her chest.

Just one drink.

Just to help her sleep.

She'd get rid of it tomorrow.

She'd try again.

Tomorrow.

She just had to make it to tomorrow.

She opened her bedroom door, and walked back towards the kitchen.

She needed it. Just a little.

Just enough to make it through.

*

Maryse stood in their office, her hands clasped behind her back as she pretended to look out the window, as she pretended to care about anything happening here and now.

She didn't put her hands over her stomach, though it ached a little to deny the impulse, cold between the bones of her wrists.

She could pretend she didn't know yet, could let Robert go, as they'd considered, could let this charade of a marriage be over.

Would it grant her freedom, or would she fall from the precarious perch they'd built up after the Clave begrudgingly took them back?

She didn't deserve the freedom, she knew that, but she'd take it, hold it tight with both hands, because it meant her children were free, would survive, would outlast Valentine's legacy and the Council's bitter mercy.

But they hadn't made it public yet, because even though Robert had his mistress, he knew as well as she did how they'd bought their second chance from the Clave with Alec's life, with the facade they presented of a perfect, loyal, Nephilim family. They knew that taking one step outside of their assigned duties could mean they'd all fall, not just her.

They chafed, these chains that tied them together, but...

But wouldn't unlocking them be worse?

How far would she fall?

Would Alec and Isabelle fall with her, or would Robert be able to save them?

She closed her eyes, and swallowed. She couldn't let it all be up to Robert, couldn't count on him to save them all.

Especially not...

She let a sliver of her control slip, moved her hands where they wanted to be.

She couldn't risk her fall injuring the one that wasn't here yet.

She'd tell him she was pregnant again, and he'd stay. She knew he would, he'd understand his duty.

She'd pretend she was glad of it.

She had enough practice, after all.

She'd do what she had to do.

She always did.

*

Magnus brought the poor girl right over, as soon as he got her away from the Institute. Catarina almost fluttered about her apartment as she waited, though it hadn't even been a minute between his warning and his arrival, a portal swirling to life in the middle of Cat's living room.

She looked scared, barely even holding Magnus' hand, caught between wanting to hide behind him and from him, from the both of them.

"Madzie, right?" Cat dropped down to her knees without even thinking about it. "Are you all right?"

Madzie looked half a step away from bolting, but she firmed up her frown and nodded, and Cat's heart broke just a little more. She was so small, and yet she stood there all on her own, straight and strong and so damned young.

Cat could barely remember being a hundred, much less... what, five?

"Are you sure?" Cat asked again, her voice low, her magic warm between her fingers, her heart aching to reach out. "It's all right if you're not. We're here to help."

Madzie's frown shifted, as if she wanted to let it go, but didn't think she could.

Didn't trust that it was safe.

Cat knew that there was no real way to convince her, nothing besides time, but she wished...

She wished magic worked like that.

Only, maybe it did? Cat let her glamour go, so used to holding it she hadn't realized she'd left it up, and Madzie's eyes widened at the wave of blue appearing across Cat's skin. She reached out, and Cat carefully stretched her arm so Madzie could choose when to touch her, to feel the warmth of normal skin beneath her fingers, could see the contrast between the blue and dark brown.

Madzie sniffed, and something behind her eyes broke, and Cat almost fell over from the sudden weight of a child in her arms.

Cat wrapped her arms around her, swallowed against the urge to swear as Madzie started crying into her shoulder. Rather than risk startling the poor girl again, she just let her weight settle and waited.

Waited, as her heart grew heavy and her arms tightened and she realized she was never going to be able to let go again, not really.

She looked over her girl's head at Magnus, drowning in the same helpless heartbreak in his expression that she could feel in her own chest.

Only not quite the same.

Madzie was still just a girl to him, and Cat realized, looking at him, that she couldn't say the same. Her heart had chosen.

Madzie sniffed, and Cat kissed the top of her head, and when she looked up again it was to the sight of Magnus' eyes widening, somehow recognizing what had happened by the look on her face.

Congratulations, Mama, he mouthed, and Cat felt her eyes burn even as she smiled at him.

Thank you.

[markynaz]

7/26

Belief / Dragons Written for @tes-summer-fest 2021 Wordcount: 3146 Content Warning: slight emotional abuse mentions, as appropriate when discussing Bastian Hallix's upbringing AO3 Mirror: here

“And who’s your favorite Divine?”

It was a common question for children in Daggerfall, usually asked in lieu of the small talk one would make with adults. It wasn't exactly proper to ask a child - no matter how well bred - about court gossip, or the price of bolts of Redguard cloth, or the war news that was on everyone else's lips. And it was unspeakably gauche to ask a child about their parents or family. A society as full of intrigue and gossip as the Bretons cultivated couldn’t stand for a child’s truth in any answer. No well-bred Breton of any variety would even think to put a child in the place of guarding family secrets.

So, inoffensive questions it was, and Bastian Hallix, ward of the influential Silvelles, had grown quite sick of them all by the time he was old enough to hide his annoyance.

The one about the Eight Divines was perhaps his least favorite. The easy answer was Julianos, protector of mages, but admitting it would mean admitting his magical aptitude - something the Silvelles were loathe to have Bastian say in company for reasons of their own. Barring that, it would have been easiest to make up a stock answer and stick with it, but lying never sat right with Bastian.

He was thinking about this instead of listening to the priest one Sundas afternoon. They sat - him, Quistley, and the Lord and Lady Silvelle - on the cushioned pews in King Emeric’s chapel, the sun glittering in through the stained glass windows and setting every piece of pristine silver or gold in the place glittering. Large statement jewelry was in fashion that summer. It was a fad from Cyrodil, according to Bastian’s tutors, and the concave silver brooch on Lady Silvelle’s breast was reflecting sunlight right into Bastian’s eye. He looked up to avoid the glare and examined the artful stained glass windows of the Divines while the priest started another prayer for the war effort.

Mara, goddess of love, was the first his eye fell on. Bastian stopped himself from making a face. He remembered, very faintly, thinking she was pretty at one time - remembered her being his favorite Divine when he was very, very young. Every artist put such an expression of goodness in her countenance that her face was always the first Bastian looked for. But… it was hard to believe in Mara, knowing what he knew of marriage from Lord and Lady Silvelle. Knowing what he knew of love from them, and from his brother, Quistley.

A priest had once told Bastian that Mara’s love was unconditional. Bastian didn’t think there was such a thing, but he supposed if there wasn't, Mara wouldn't still be watching over the world.

Her gentle face made him sad. He shifted his gaze.

Arkay, god of death and cycles. His sphere sounded more serious than the stained glass looked. He had one hand raised, and a kindly expression, so much that Bastian could almost forget or ignore the dead wolf at his feet and the graves filling the background of the picture.

When he'd been particularly angry with Quistley once - actually lost his temper on his foster brother, an incident that made his ears burn with shame to recall - he'd been quietly pulled aside, still fuming, by a priestess of Arkay who’d seen the whole of the confrontation. Quistley had run off to his parents, Bastian assumed to tell them how he'd behaved, and he was in no hurry to follow. Going with the priestess to calm down was by far the most agreeable option.

She'd had him hold the holy oil she was using to bless unmarked graves of paupers and disgraced women and men in the back alleys of Wayrest, talking softly to him in between murmuring prayers to her Divine. Cycles showed in life as well as death, she'd said. Bastian might have been angry with Quistley then, but one day Quistley would be angry with him, and he should always try to model the behavior he'd like shown to him in the next cycle. And - because she was a priestess of Arkay - she had added, one of them would very likely outlive the other. A life spent in cycles of rage was one the survivor was very likely to regret.

It had made sense to Bastian once he'd calmed enough to hear words. He'd returned to Lord and Lady Silvelle resigned to whatever punishment they'd assign him, and hoping to be a better brother and foster son going forward.

And then he'd found out, upon returning, that Quistley hadn't said a word to his parents, and was going to use Bastian’s fit of temper to blackmail him into doing favors for the next half year.

Bastian was fairly sure Arkay would never be his favorite Divine. Quistley shifted in his seat next to him, and in a burst of irritation, Bastian realized he was blatantly asleep in chapel.

He set his jaw and cast his gaze to the other row of stained glass.

Dibella, goddess of beauty. Her form was pleasing enough, but it held nothing for Bastian’s eyes. He could do little more than admire the artwork - for artists tended to be closer devoted to Dibella than any other Divine, and most would jump at the chance to depict her in their ideal of beauty.

Last year, Bastian had seen an artist depict Dibella in a male form for the first time in his recollection. He finally understood what had Quistley and his friends so enamored with the sculptures, stained glasses, and art pieces. He hadn't been able to tear his eyes away from the perfect musculature- the long hair flowing over defined back muscles - the chiseled features with just a hint of facial hair - the eyes, glimmering with intent behind his courtly Breton facade-

His ears were burning for a different reason, thinking about it.

The Silvelles hadn't cared one way or the other when his preferences were revealed. Bastian thought he even detected a hint of relief in Lady Silvelle’s voice, and thought - though it shamed him to think so meanly - it might be from the lowered likelihood of Bastian fathering children someday. It would mean fewer Hallixes for them to connect themselves with.

Not that he would force them to, if that ever came to pass. He knew his place.

Stendarr, god of justice and mercy. Bastian hadn't connected the cup on his altar to the object held in his hand for an embarrassing number of years. In his defense, the artist who’d rendered it in the Silvelles’ home chapel had either painted it very ill indeed, or it had been later ruined by some splash of ink.

The Redguard training master who’d been brought in to tutor Bastian and Quistley on the art of conflict swore to Stendarr sometimes, when he was mildly displeased. When he was really angry, he would revert to the Redguard pantheon. Bastian rarely heard that directed at him. More often, if he wasn't performing to standards, the wiry old man would heave a great sigh and say, “Young Bastian. One day, you'll either be delivering Stendarr’s justice, or begging his mercy at the other end of the sword. Which will it be today?”

He could almost hear it in the training master’s voice, really. Once Tutor Thierren told him about about Bastian’s aptitude for magic, he'd set to training him with a staff as well as a blade - setting up obstacle courses to get through with a weighted stave in hand, sessions where he'd give Bastian a staff with an iron core and come at him with a sword. It was always better to be on the correct side of Stendarr’s hand, and if his magicka was depleted, he needed to be able to survive and get away.

Bastian flattered himself that Thierren saw more in his future than court etiquette and uncomfortable questions answered by half-truths that made him burn inside. He was nearly seventeen now, almost a man grown. Lord Silvelle had been hinting recently that it might be time for Bastian to look after the family's interests without such a stern hand guiding him, and Bastian relished the thought.

Kynareth, goddess of the wilds and the winds. Bastian had named her as his favorite several times in response to the condescension of noble adults. Lord Silvelle’s comments that Bastian might start beginning to pay the Silvelles back for his excellent education and shelter by looking after their interests in other parts of High Rock were starting to seem more appealing the longer Bastian thought about it. Being blown about by Kynareth’s winds, seeing more of both civilization and the wilds…. It sent a little thrill through him. Being out from under the Silvelle’s roof was scarcely less exciting.

But if he kept daydreaming in that line, he knew he’d grow quite insensible to the speeches of the priest. That wouldn’t do if anyone asked him about it later. Reluctantly, he shifted his gaze.

The stained glass at the front of the chapel was the grandest of all. Akatosh, the One, head of the pantheon. Bastian could appreciate the artistry in the massive stained glass, tracing with his eye how every sliver fit so perfectly into the illusion of glittering dragon scales. Most recently he'd been reading about how Akatosh,, in some manner or another, appeared in almost every pantheon across Tamriel. He'd had an animated discussion with Quistley’s tutor about it, which saved him from the more awkward conversation on why he had been caught doing Quistley’s assignments.

But unlike some of the other stained glasses, Bastian felt nothing in his heart when he looked at the image of Akatosh. After a moment of consideration, the only thing coming up seemed to be a slick, greasy guilt at not feeling anything greater.

The other Divines had expressive human faces to feel things about, he tried to rationalize to himself. And usually, it was older Bretons who took amulets of Akatosh as their personal guide, kept close to the heart. Perhaps one day he'd feel what he ought to for such an important figure. For now, he averted his eyes almost as quickly as he had looked away from Mara.

Next to him, Quistley half-snored. Bastian quickly jabbed an elbow into his ribs to keep him quiet. Quistley shifted and jabbed him back, catching Bastian in the side with not just his elbow, but the sharp, hard bit of statement jewelry on his wrist down and catching Bastian’s hip.

Bastian bit his lip to stop any sound of pain.

The bubble of resentment that burst in his throat was startling in his vehemence. This wasn't fair. If Quistley was caught sleeping in chapel, Bastian would be scolded along with him - chastised for not keeping his foster brother attentive and polite. Even when Quistley got himself into deserved trouble, he always seemed to drag Bastian down with him until they were both flailing, covered in shame, neither looking good.

No. No. He was getting angry. He couldn't. Bastian took a deep breath, exhaled as quietly as he could through parted lips, and then, catching Lord Silvelle’s head begin to turn toward him, tucked his chin and closed his eyes as if in prayer. He stayed that way until he felt his face was under control.

When he lifted his gaze again, it fell on Zenithar. Bastian examined his wizened face, how the artist had used space between the glass pieces to give the impression of lines.

Zenithar, god of fair work and commerce. Maybe one day Quistley would get his just desserts, Bastian thought with sudden savageness, and just as quickly reeled in and tempered those thoughts. No. No, Quistley didn't deserve any such thing, and in any case, he would never be allowed to fail. Anyone with the Silvelle name couldn't be allowed to show proof of family weakness.

So, perhaps, one day he would step up and be the son his parents so wished him to be. That was a much more charitable thought fo fix on, and Bastian set himself on it with the same ferocity which a deer rubbing the velvet off his antlers might set himself on a tree.

Yes. It would be so much better if Quistley would stop grieving his parents. If he would pull his weight, step up to the responsibility of being the Silvelles’ heir. Divines knew there was enough to manage and look after, from what Bastian had been able to find out. There was certainly enough of an opportunity for Quistley to earn the life he seemed to want to live.

He didn't realize until several minutes had passed in this fashion that his hand had slipped into his pocket, seeking and finding the small medallion of Julianos that he wore on a chain connected to his belt whenever he could. His fingers had fallen into the familiar habit of tracing the sharp edges of the triangle, one, two, three, four, and then twice more in that fashion before the count matched up again with the point where he'd started. The counting, the rhythm, soothed him, even enough to ignore that Quistley had slipped back into even breathing and slumber in the pew beside him.

Still tracing the edges of his amulet, his eyes lifted to the stained glass of his own protector, Julianos.

~~|\|~~

Ten years later, in the same chapel, Bastian traced the now-worn edges of the medallion as he glanced over the stained glass windows.

This time, he wasn't in King Emeric’s chapel on the good will of the Silvelles. No; those days were long past, and Bastian was learning to look on their passing with more and more relief.

The windows weren't as grand as he'd remembered them in his childhood memory. He supposed after the better part of a decade spent traveling Tamriel, seeing the wonders of the continent, it was no surprise that fading pieces of art in a Breton king's chapel would carry less mysticism. Still, something in his heart throbbed at the loss. There was just a little less beauty in the world now that he saw the images for just images, and not stand-ins for his belief in the Divines.

And yet….

Still tracing the edges of Julianos’ symbol with the pad of his thumb, Bastian looked to his companion.

Arcturus Crane. Adopted son of noble merchant lord Earl Crane, and adopted in a sense of the word that had made Bastian nearly gasp with alarm the first time he'd heard them talk to each other with frankness bordering on insouciance. Arcturus Crane, who had helped him drag Quistley out of trouble twice without complaint, who was now speaking so casually with the priest of High King Emeric’s chapel in an effort to find out the date and particulars of a certain Clairene Auzin’s marriage.

Bastian kept his focus on Arcturus’ animated hands - he always gestured so much when he talked, a habit stopped only when one hand was curled around the heavy haft of a stave - and tried to keep his breathing steady. His pulse didn't sound steady in his ears. He pressed the tip of his index finger into a worn point of the triangle on his medallion with quickly increasing pressure until he could almost feel an edge.

It might be most natural for his eye to fall on Julianos, abusing the Divine’s symbol in nervousness as he was, but instead he found his gaze on Mara instead. Mara, who had never been a Divine he understood, flowing hair and expression of kindness and warmth.

Unconditional love.

In untangling what, exactly, he felt about things the Silvelles had told him to feel a certain way about - not least of all their own actions - Bastian was starting to think he might have misjudged Mara’s sphere. Unconditional love.

The Silvelles loved Quistley unconditionally, not that he could justify that. He'd spent decades trying. Lord Crane, in contrast, didn’t treat Arcturus like the Silvelles coddled Quistley. He seemed to hold something a great deal like respect for his adopted son. Perhaps not love - he didn't act like there was any sort of paternal feeling there, and Arcturus didn't bother to affect a child's adoration - but there was still…. Something. Something Bastian couldn’t quite put a name to.

And in Arcturus’ own behavior to him. The way he grinned when Bastian got excited over a scrying eye or a new bit of magic, his instant expression of chagrin when his twisting path of shadows caught an innocent mouse and Bastian couldn't bite back his disappointment in time. Bastian had lain awake several nights chastising himself over the outburst, but… now, thinking about it, Arcturus had been rather more careful about how he placed his traps and barriers and magical effects.

Unconditional love was Mara’s sphere. He’d never understood.

Perhaps, Bastian thought, it was less of love, and more of…. trust. A trust baseless enough to be belief, that the other person would do as you expected. And a fondness strong enough to stay steady even if that belief was proved wrong.

His sister. Bastian had no expectations of her, but in the few short weeks he'd known her to be alive… he’d begun to hope. Could she harbor the same feelings for him?

Could she believe in him like he wanted to believe in her?

Bastian released his medallion of Julianos, letting it drop at the end of its short chain back into his pocket as he stood straight. There was no way to find out except by finding out. Arcturus was turning from the priest, and from the look in his bright blue eyes, he didn't come away empty-handed.

The shock of fear that struck Bastian at the thought wasn't a surprise. Rather, he was surprised at how quickly it passed.

Why should I be scared? I won't be alone for this, he told himself, and the thought was quickly chased by, I trust him to stand by me through whatever happens.

Belief. Trust. He still shied away from the word ‘love,’ but….

Perhaps. Perhaps, in time. For now, as Arcturus strolled back to him and flashed a crooked smile (intended to put him at ease, he realized, when normally it was him scrambling to make others easy) and offered a sardonic comment in the way of letting Bastian know they had a lead, the belief in his good will was quite enough to stop the fear from freezing Bastian dead.

He walked out of High King Emeric’s chapel. He held the door for Arcturus, stepped into the bright midday sun, the sounds of Wayrest muted beyond the mage-protected castle wall. He stood there and waited for his eyes to adjust, and hoped - wished - believed, that the end of this road might finally be in sight.

[sondepoch]

Part 1/2

Have Strength, My Lady (Barbatos x Reader)

Where there is the jewel of the heavens, there is the pearl of the abyss—a title that you have the misfortune of bearing. It’s only natural that Lord Diavolo wants to add you to his collection of treasures, you’re not surprised to find yourself engaged, despite feeling entirely unprepared for it. Thus far, you’ve done a good job of hiding your fear with a smile, of hiding your emotions away so that no one but you knows how you feel. But on the way to the palace, a certain demon butler sees through your facade. And when his involvement in your life increases, you can’t help that you’re falling in love with the wrong man.

Part 1 | Part 2 | ✔

MASTERLIST

It's been centuries since you last wore this many pearls.

Your maids always make sure the balls of light are somewhere on your body, be it a single one centered on a collar, or two delicate studs in your ears, or a subtle bracelet that peeks out when you raise your arm—but today, they've dressed you from head to toe in the gemstone of your namesake. No matter how you turn your head and body, the shimmer of the pearls never fails to catch the light.

"Isn't it lovely, m'lady?" One of your dressing maids asks, smiling fondly as she gazes upon your figure. "Your father said he wanted you to wear this. Fitting, for the pearl of the abyss, wouldn't you agree?"

You nod your head, casting the maid who's been serving you for the past four millennia a soft smile.

The woman has the truth of it: if your natural beauty doesn't shout pearl of the abyss, then the dress does. The fabric alone is mesmerizing: a silky satin, blacker than the midnight sky. The color is a stark contrast to the pearls that decorate it, perfect spheres of white that trail delicate patterns around your dress. They dip low and high, at the base of the gown where it ghosts over the floor and around your the V-neck where they trail deliciously around the hints of exposed skin.

You twist your body, hypnotized by its beauty.

The way the dress ripples as you move makes it look like ebony water, little pearls floating on top to bless it with their brilliance, and of course wherever there's a chance for an accessory your maids have taken it—pearls decorating your ears, neck, wrist, and hair like snowflakes eternally bound.

"It's at times like this when I see you that I can't help but think you must be even more beautiful than Asmodeus himself, m'lady." Your maid wipes a tear from her eye, knowing all too well that this is the last time she'll be dressing you.

You nod, holding your tongue.

You've always disliked being compared to Asmodeus—it makes you feel guilty. He was the original, the jewel of the heavens whose beauty was unrivaled in all of the Celestial sky. Your birth was exclusively to maintain the balance between the Celestial Realm and the Devildom, to give Hell its own gem to be proud of. If not for Asmodeus, no one would have needed a pearl of the abyss; it never would have been created. You would never have been created.

"M'lady?"

You blink, realizing that your maid had been calling your name.

"Sorry," You murmur, forcing another smile to your face. It's all fake, a mask you wear to hide the sheer terror within, but you maintain the facade. "Father said that I'm to leave now, right? I shouldn't waste any more time."

Your maid smiles gently, kissing your cheeks. "Tis been an honor serving you. May you find eternal peace with Lord Diavolo, m' lady."

You return the smile, curtseying lightly as your teachers have taught you. Your words are scripted, memorized long ago with all the other manners you've been taught: "Thank you. I will never forget your service."

Your goodbyes with the rest of your family are even briefer, each one of them eager to see you off. It comes from a good place in their hearts, you know. They simply wish to see you wed and happy—and who better to give you eternal happiness than the prince of the Devildom himself? But still, the laughter you force past your lips comes out choked, and you're holding back tears the entire time as you bid your family farewell, not a single one of them realizing just how desperately you don't want to leave.

Your act is convincing.

You're sure of that much, at the very least. For the past month, ever since you learned the details of this arranged marriage, you've been practicing your facial expressions in the mirror: how to hide your fear with a smile, how to mask your quivering lips with a sigh, how to stop yourself from crying with a laugh.

It works well for you.

The beaming grins of your parents and siblings are a testament to that, none of them the wiser to your true feelings.

But the moment you enter the carriage sent to deliver you to Lord Diavolo's palace, the mask begins to crumble. You've been maintaining it for barely two minutes, and you're already so drained.

In front of you, the butler who came to fetch you from your home lets out a light laugh. "You look exhausted, my lady."

You glance upward into a pair of olive eyes, calculating as they stare into your own. Instantly, you avert your gaze. "I am a little tired, good sir. That is all."

He stays quiet as he continues to study you, and you're grateful for it. This is perhaps the first time someone has gazed upon you and not instantly made a comment about your ethereal beauty. Indeed, being created to be the most beautiful woman in the world has its merits, but there are more downsides than one would think.

"I might suggest a remedy for the fatigue, if my lady wishes to hear it."

"Go on," You say, trying to be polite. The way to Lord Diavolo's palace is nearly two hours from here, and you'd rather the carriage ride there be as pleasant as you can make it in the company of this strange man.

"Anger." The butler flashes a cryptic smile your way, one that makes you suspect he's masking his emotions just as much as you are. "Find a person to blame for this situation you fear so, and the flames of your fury will burn too brightly for any lassitude to slip through."

"Your words are noted, but I'm afraid you are mistaken. I do not fear this situation at all." You flash him the same graceful smile you've been practicing in the mirror, repeating the words you've said half a hundred times: "It is an honor to have been chosen to be the bride of Lord Diavolo."

Once more, the butler chuckles.

"Very well," He says, though you're certain he doesn't believe you. "Though might I offer a piece of advice?" At your nod, the demon continues speaking. "You hide your fear from your face well, but it shows in your hands. Flatten your palms, my lady, and I might not notice next time."

A blush creeps onto your face, suddenly realizing that you had absentmindedly been clutching the satin fabric in an attempt to quell the sick feeling in your stomach. Taking his words to heart, you smooth your dress out and lay your palms flat on top, sitting up straight as you avoid the demon's gaze.

You can't be sure whether he hears your quiet "Thank you" before the sound of hellhorse hooves beating against the ground takes over, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence. If you strain your ears to listen, you can hear a soft gasp every now and then as people gaze upon the royal carriage you're in—undeniably aware that it's you, the pearl of the abyss, sitting inside.

It's not surprising, though. Lord Diavolo's engagement has hardly been a private matter.

The moment your father accepted his written proposal on your behalf, the entire realm seemed to enter a period of celebration. It's barely been a month since the headline hit the newspapers, and over that short period of time, every demon in the land has come to know of the engagement. It's common knowledge that you're set to arrive in Lord Diavolo's palace today, and the gaudiness of his royal carriage leaves little to the imagination. Doubtless, every single passenger who crosses your escort knows that it's you sitting inside.

A soft smile pulls at your lips when you hear a child call your name in the distance, begging to see your face.

The butler in front of you hears the request, too, eyes instantly flitting to yours.

"Can we?" You ask, heart softening at the child's continued cries to catch just a single glimpse of your perfection.

"As you wish, my lady." The demon snaps his fingers, and the hellhorses halt in an instance, and you can hear the sound of a child racing to catch up with the carriage. The butler opens the transport, offering his hand to you as you step out, eyes watching carefully as the child exclaims in joy when he realizes that his wish has been heard.

"You're... you're so pretty!" The little boy exclaims, mouth wide open as he stares at you in disbelief. You can't help but chuckle at his inability to glance away, knowing that it's the youngest of children who are most swayed by your beauty. And, of course, they're also the ones who have yet to develop the sense not to stare—but you don't mind.

"Thank you," You bemd down to the child's level. You wish you could give him something, a token to remember you by, but all you have are the pearls on your dress, and you doubt the butler behind you would approve of you tearing one off and giving it away.

"C-can I touch?" The boy asks, eyes round. You give him a small nod, watching as he lifts a finger to your cheek and gasps. "It's so soft!"

A smile blooms on your face, the most genuine smile you've worn since learning about your arranged marriage. "You're a very kind boy," You tell him. Deciding that you can't give him a souvenir of this exchange, you settle for kissing his cheek. "Thank you."

Standing back up to your full height, you watch as the boy waves you goodbye while the butler helps you back into the carriage, the hellhorses moving forward once more with another snap of his fingers.

"You didn't have to do that, you know," He says, studying you with a perplexed expression. "There was nothing to gain in showing your face to that boy."o

"Why not?" You respond, still smiling softly at the memory of the child's eyes round in wonder. "It made him happy, even if only briefly."

"You would go out of your way for the happiness of a mere child?"

"Of course," You respond. "You wouldn't?"

The demon shakes his head, an amused smile appearing on his face once more as he pulls out a handkerchief. He offers it to you, and you glance at the lettering. Barbatos, it reads in cursive embroidery.

"What is this for?" You take the square of fabric from the demon's hand, staring at it in confusion.

"When the boy touched you, he left a smudge of dirt on your face." The demon, who's name you reason must be Barbatos, points to his own cheek. "I assumed you would want to wipe it off."

You nod your head, grateful that he told you. Suddenly thankful that you have no need of makeup, you rub the left side of your cheek harshly, hoping that you got the dirt off.

In front of you, Barbatos grimaces.

"You made it worse, my lady."

"Oh," You mumble, flustered once more. You stay seated with the handkerchief in your hand, not quite sure what to do, when the demon in front of you sighs. He holds his hand out.

"Give it here. Let me assist you, my lady."

You return the dark green square to its owner, shifting forward as Barbatos folds it and begins swiping at your cheek, lifting a gloved finger under your chin to turn your cheek into the light, angling your jaw up and then to the right until he's confident that all traces of the child are gone. It takes all your effort to fight back a blush, ignoring the fact that your family never allowed any boy to get this close to you, much less touch you so comfortably.

"Thank you..." You begin, once the demon is done. "...Barbatos?"

Your words sound like a question, hesitant and unsure whether you got the demon's name right. To your relief, he nods. "Correct." He folds his hands in his lap.

"Barbatos, as in the duke of hell?" You say, eyebrows raised.

"Duke of hell, butler, what's the difference?" He wears a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye, and you can't be certain if he's joking or not. Though it's obvious that he finds humor in your confusion. "I serve both Lord Diavolo and the realm, however unorthodox my methods may be."

"Ah," You finally say, still not quite understanding. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Barbatos."

"And you, my lady." The edges of his lips curve upward as he glances down at your dress. "I suppose you might be even more beautiful than the rumors say. A good deal more foolish, as well, but that matters not."

"Excuse me!" You exclaim, crossing your arms. "I have done nothing that warrants being called foolish!"

"Nothing?" Barbatos asks incredulously, shaking his head. "My lady, you are to be a queen soon. Danger lurks where you will least expect it, and letting little children close enough to touch you will only cause problems in the long run."

"But didn't you see how happy the boy was?" You ask, eyes softening at the memory. Your voice is hopeful, recalling the moment with bliss. "His eyes lit up like a thousand suns."

Barbatos sighs, deciding not to make any further comment. You're certain he disagrees, that he believes a child's smile is not worth risking your own safety for, but he stays quiet for the rest of the ride, staring at the landscape as it passes by.

You keep track of the time by the location of the sun: it was perfectly overhead when you departed from your home, and it had slowly crept lower and lower as the carriage ride progressed. It was ghosting over the treetops when you stopped to meet that little boy, and by now, it's dipped low enough to be considered sunset.

You swallow, realizing that it's been long enough that you should be at Diavolo's palace any moment now. You pull your gaze from the sun, opting to study the buildings around you.

It's no longer an empty plain you're traveling through—rather, the land you're passing through has been settled, lived upon. It looks almost like a city with how modern the buildings are, though you're not riding on the formal roads you see in the distance. After another long minute of staring, you slowly begin to realize that you're in the heart of the Devildom: the campus for the Royal Academy of Diavolo.

A sick feeling roots itself in your stomach as you glance at the buildings, realizing that they are indeed classrooms and dormitories. Just two months ago, your family had been waiting for your five thousandth birthday so that you could apply to the RAD and attend the most prestigious academy in the entire Devildom, though it seemed that they had dropped all those plans when Lord Diavolo requested your hand in marriage.

You blink back tears, trying not to think about the life you could have had, if only you weren't summoned to be Lord Diavolo's bride. If only you weren't so beautiful. If only you weren't the pearl of the abyss.

"Palms, my lady."

You turn to Barbatos, eyebrows raised. What is the demon on about?

He gestures to his own hands, making a motion of flattening them before you catch his meaning. Your gaze flits down to your own hands, and you're embarrassed to find that they're clenched into tight fists once more, almost turning white with how hard you're squeezing them.

"Not afraid, you said earlier?" For the second time today, his smile seems to laugh at your flustered state, catching you in another uncomfortable situation. "Do not worry; I will not run to Diavolo and tell him his bride is afraid of this marriage."

You hold your tongue, not sure how to respond. Is Barbatos doing you a kindness? Or is repeatedly calling you out a cruelty?

The opportunity to find out never comes, and the sound of hellhorse hooves, which has actually grown somewhat comforting over the course of these past few hours, comes to a stop.

"We're here?" You ask Barbatos, remembering to wear a pleasant smile before your true emotions can surface to your face.

"Quite so. Welcome to the royal palace of Diavolo," He responds, exiting the carriage and offering his hand to you. "The grounds of your future."

Lord Diavolo's palace is in the middle of the RAD campus, and students are still walking around on the grounds, all of them stopping to study your figure as you exit the carriage.

"Do not look at them," Barbatos says quickly, stepping in front of you when one of them attempts to take a picture. "Come, my lady. My lord awaits you within."

You follow the butler's fast pace as he walks forward, suddenly thankful that the heels your maid had dressed you in aren't especially high. The walk through Lord Diavolo's palace is long, almost long enough for another bout of anxiety to root itself in your stomach, but Barbatos finally stops in front of an unusually large door.

You don't need him to say a word to know that Lord Diavolo is inside.

The demon halts, hand raised to open the door before he abruptly turns around, studying you from head to toe. "You're terrified to the core," He comments, not an ounce of hesitance in his voice. "But no one will be able to tell."

A small smile appears on his face when he glances at your hands. To your merit, they're hanging loosely at your side, not even quivering. You let them dangle delicately, acting as though it doesn't take all your effort to ensure as much.

"I'm ready," You say, a confident smile appearing on your lips. Barbatos can see past it, you know. He can tell that you're trembling inside, that you the only reason you haven't thrown up in terror is because you've yet to eat, that your heart only beats the thumping rhythm of fear as you prepare to meet the man who has already changed the course of your life.

"You are not," He answers smoothly, turning around. "But, by now, the students at RAD will have raised enough of a fuss on Devilgram over your arrival, so Diavolo most likely already knows that you've arrived."

Barbatos sighs at your silence, probably feeling bad for you. He places his hand flat against the door, readying himself to open it, when he pauses.

"Have strength, my lady," He whispers enigmatically, before turning away.

And then the doors have opened.

The words stay with you as you follow Barbatos into what appears to be the dining hall, drawing closer and closer to not just Lord Diavolo, but the infamous Lucifer himself—another demon you've grown up learning about, never imagining that you would actually be in the same room as him.

Have strength, you tell yourself, pushing your shoulders back as a delicate smile comes to your face, the same smile you've spent a month practicing in the mirror. Confidence is easy to fake as you continue walking, only further advanced by the way both Lord Diavolo's and Lucifer's eyes widen as they take in the sight of you. You're certain it's the first time either of them has witnessed such beauty.

As soon as you're an appropriate distance from Lord Diavolo, Barbatos pauses. You follow suit, curtseying gracefully as you lift your dress. The words that roll off your lips are automatic: "It is an honor to meet you, Lord Diavolo."

As soon as your voice breaks the silence, the two demons in front of you seem to be snapped back to reality, freeing themselves of the natural stupor that your charm induces. Lord Diavolo speaks up, his princely voice filling the room, "The pleasure is all mine, young MC. You are even more beautiful than all the rumors say."

The prince approaches, and for a moment, you can't help but marvel at the sheer size of the man, already looking like a king. He's standing proudly in his demon form, showing how he's made of nothing but muscle and more muscle. He gently takes your hand and bends low onto one knee, laying a kiss over your knuckles as he stares up at you, eyes still slightly round in wonder. "The pearl of the abyss is even more enchanting than the jewel of the heavens, I dare say." Lord Diavolo rises, letting your hand fall to your side. "Wouldn't you agree, Lucifer?"

The ebony-haired demon glances away, seemingly uncomfortable with the question. "Her beauty is unrivaled," He mutters softly, the light pink dusting on his cheeks enough for you to know that he is telling the truth.

You maintain your smile, fake as it is lovely.

Lifting your eyes for a moment, you can't help but marvel at Lord Diavolo's fiery red hair and amber eyes. Indeed, he's what every little demongirl dreams of marrying one day—a literal prince—but you suddenly wish that Barbatos had taken longer while walking you here. You feel nauseous. Nauseous, hesitant, and afraid, standing here in front of this man whom you've been engaged to for a month, despite having only just met him.

"Come, my love," Lord Diavolo says, walking over to the table. He pulls a chair out for you, the seat closest to his own at the end of the table, while Lucifer sits across from you. It feels strange, and somewhat unnatural, for you to be sitting next to not only the prince of hell but the fallen Morningstar himself, before you realize that you, yourself, must be just as foreign to them: the pearl of the abyss, MC of hellfire.

"Tell me," Diavolo begins, eyes still drinking in the sight of you, "Is it true that you were shaped to perfection by the very same flames that nurtured Cerberus?"

You laugh, smiling sweetly at the man. "A woman must keep some secrets, no?"

A quiet laughter bounces around the table, the two demons seemingly comforted by your false sense of normalcy. It's easy for you to pretend to be fascinated by Diavolo, to act as if you understand what Lucifer is saying. Where other girls had learned needlework and laundry from a young age, your father sent you to teachers who helped you master the art of being a woman. Learning how to charm men was a natural part of that.

"How are you feeling?" Diavolo asks after a brief silence. "Your father mentioned to me in a letter that you haven't been looking well as of late. Are you feeling better?"

"Yes, Lord Diavolo." Your response is mechanical, though the word you'd use to describe yourself right certainly wouldn't be 'better.'

"Just call me Diavolo!" He exclaims, grinning widely. "Or you can call me 'honey,' or 'dear,' or whatever else you'd like!"

You can't help but laugh at that, your smile becoming a little more genuine. "Alright, Diavolo. It is a pleasure."

The demon smiles at you, and continues to make polite conversation. It feels almost normal, with the redhead eagerly talking on and on at both you and Lucifer, while both you and the fallen Morningstar exchange glances of amusement every now and then at your prince's words. Indeed, it feels like something you could grow used to, and by the end of the hour, you've almost forgotten your fear at marrying the man.

But it's at this end of this hour, when the sun has finally dipped beneath the horizon, that Diavolo's expression turns serious.

"My love," He says, voice no longer merry. "There is one thing we need to address."

You fold your hands in your lap, gazing at Diavolo expectantly. Eyebrows raised just the slightest, you try to maintain your mask of delicate tranquility. "Go on?"

"I'm afraid our marriage will be rather unorthodox. Specifically...the timing may be shorter than what you are accustomed to."

You nod your head, following along. A typical demon engagement will last for a few centuries, or whatever the age difference is between the bride and the groom. It is not rare for royal engagements to be shorter, as princes and princesses attempt to come into power, but even so, you should have a few decades at the minimum.

"My personal goal is to bring the Devildom closer to the Celestial Realm and human world. Over the years, our realms have grown apart, and I wish to reunite them."

You hold your smile like a mask, still not understanding what the 'unorthodox' part is.

"My current plan spans over eight thousand years in the future, ending with all three realms reunited and in balance once more, but when you account for a margin or error with diplomatic relations and all the trouble that traditionally accompanies revolutionary changes like this, it grows even longer, and..." Diavolo sighs, folding his hands and turning to you. "It is imperative that I am crowned as soon as possible, so that I can execute my plan in a time-efficient manner. As such, it is critical that we shorten the traditional engagement period as much as possible."

You nod, the sick feeling you had before entering this room suddenly returned, and twice as strong. You can't help but remember Barbatos's words when you told him you were ready.

You are not.

Had he known?

You force a smile to your face, trying to look as encouraging as possible while Diavolo hesitates. The prince glances into your eyes, searching for something that you're not sure he finds.

"My love, we are to marry in one month."

And with those words, the sick feeling in your stomach spreads to every inch of your body except your face—which you keep painfully frozen. Your eyes are locked onto a figure in the distance, locked onto a set of eyes that are staring straight at you.

Barbatos, you think, as he continues to smile cryptically. You search his face for answers, for advice, for something that can help you figure out how in hell you should handle this situation, but then you recall his words to you from earlier, a quiet whisper that you weren't even sure you were supposed to hear.

Have strength, my lady.

Barbatos's smile seems to turn genuine as you remember his earlier whisper, and within moments, you've turned away, looking into the amber eyes of Diavolo.

"I understand." You smile. The fear that had previously settled in your stomach has bloomed into a gigantic tree of terror, only further nurtured by the prospect of sealing your hand away in marriage so soon, but you ignore it. "I'll do my best to learn the ways of this household so that I may serve you as a worthy queen."

***

When you next wake, you're in an unfamiliar room. It takes a moment for your memory to return, vaguely recalling being escorted here by Barbatos after an uncomfortable dinner with Diavolo. Looking down, it seems that you passed out on the bed without even changing your clothes.

What a wonderful way to start the morning, you can't help but think. The thought weighs heavily on your mind as you drag yourself from bed, memories from last night continuing to flood through your mind. Diavolo had apologized profusely over dinner about the shortened engagement period, but you could only smile and tell him it was alright. Your facade threatened to collapse when he revealed that your training would begin today, giving you literally no chance of a break, but you had managed to accept his words with a tight smile.

Training.

You groan.

It's customary for the bride in any wedding to be trained in the ways of the household so that she may seamlessly transition into her new role after the wedding, but your training will be on another level entirely. You're literally going to have to learn the ways of being a queen, not to mention all the extra nuances that accompany the title. Just the thought makes you groan.

A knock pulls you from your thoughts, likely a repetition of the very thing that had woken you in the first place.

"Coming," You call drowsily, not even bothering to straighten your appearance before opening the door. You blink the sleep from your eyes, expecting to see a maid here to help you dress, but it's none other than Barbatos who stands on the other side, his expression amused as ever when his eyes take in your still-sleepy form. "You!" You exclaim, it still being too early for you to remember your manners.

"Yes, it's me. I do all the bidding of Diavolo at this castle, so you can expect to be seeing me quite often." Barbatos glances down at you, the disheveled dress that you were wearing yesterday. He looks unimpressed. "May I come in?"

You immediately step back, allowing the butler into your room. He does all the bidding of Lord Diavolo, you think. All the bidding. All.

"A-are you here to dress me for the day?" You ask, fingers fidgeting.

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

"Not at all," You say smoothly, sighing to yourself. You've only been dressed by women before, young maidens you've known all your life; but you suppose that this will be just the beginning of the many changes about to overtake your life, so there's no point in fighting it. Suddenly registering that the only people you've seen in Diavolo's castle have been the prince himself, Lucifer, and Barbatos, another realization dawns upon you. "I assume you're also the one who'll be training me this month?"

Barbatos nods.

You sigh as he opens a drawer and hands you a stack of smallclothes, guiding you to the bathroom and instructing you to prepare for the day. The process ends up being simple enough; you don't want to question how the drawers are equipped with the very same face wash and cleansers that you used at home, or how the underwear fits you perfectly, or how even the toothpaste is the same flavor that you've been using for the past two thousand years. You simply go with the flow, laughing to yourself when you see that the circular laundry basket is also familiar, the same model as the one that used to be in your room.

It's rather uncomfortable to exit the bathroom in nothing but underwear, but Barbatos barely looks at you, pulling your body to a mirror where he lifts your arms into a T-pose and begins dressing you.

"Starting tomorrow, Diavolo wants to have breakfast with you," He says as he works, tightening a corset behind your back. "You'll be at his side for all parties and important events, and perhaps for a few RAD student council meetings. The rest of the time, you'll be with me," Barbatos tugs sharply on the strings of your corset, and you have to bite back a gasp. "Learning how to best serve Diavolo as his future queen."

You flinch as Barbatos's fingers tug on your corset once more, the man prioritizing efficiency over gentleness. His gloved hands are cold against your skin, and you're not used to the roughness with which he handles you. "Too much?" He asks, noticing your grimace.

"I'm fine," You lie, but you can tell he doesn't believe you because when he resumes working, his pace is slower. It's not quite gentle, but certainly less painful. "Tell me more. You said I am to have breakfast with Diavolo from now on. Does he not eat the other two meals?"

Barbatos laughs. It's a short, abrasive sound, but it's charming in its own right. "I also told you that you would be with me for the rest of the day, my lady." He pauses, stepping back to study your figure before lifting a deep blue gown from your drawer. He raises it to your chest, wrapping it around you before beginning to lace up the back. "I assure you, you will be too exhausted to give Diavolo proper companionship under my training."

"Is there a reason he does he not wish to dine with me this morning?" You ask, somewhat concerned. You thought you had done a good job yesterday acting like a lovestruck girl, but could Diavolo have recognized your apprehension over the marriage?

You glance at Barbatos uneasily in the mirror, silently recalling all the instances where he had called you out on your fear. Could he have said something to Diavolo?

"Do not fret, my lady. As president of the RAD student council, he had to attend their meeting today. There is no other reason."

You nod your head at the butler's words, letting your mind drift as he continues to work.

What will this month be like? You have nearly an eternity of being a queen laid out in front of you—it seems impossible to learn everything you'll need to know in a short thirty days. Then again, if Barbatos approaches teaching the way he approaches the process of dressing you, it'll go by quicker than you're used to, and will be twice as efficient in the process.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, mouth slightly agape, when you realize that the demon has successfully dressed you in barely five minutes.

"I'm sure it's less extravagant than you're used to," Barbatos says, gesturing to the blue dress he's put you in. "But you'll find that it's much more practical, this way."

You can certainly see where he gets that idea from. The dress you're wearing is pretty, no doubt, but it's far from beautiful. Still, you can't help but savor the blissful freedom you have in this specific gown. It has three-quarters length sleeves and hangs just above your knees, tight in all the right spots but equally loose where you desire—and it allows the perfect mix of comfort and movement. You can't deny that you find the velvet fabric preferable to the stunning satin gown you'd donned yesterday.

"So, where do we go from here, Barbatos?" You ask, turning around. You notice the demon's eyes widen just the slightest as he takes in the sight of your body first hand, vision unobstructed by the mirror, but he masks his momentary awe soon enough.

"Breakfast, my lady." He gestures for you to follow him as he leads you down to the dining hall. "And then your training will begin."

***

Breakfast with Barbatos may very well be the most uncomfortable thing you've ever endured. The demon stands in front of you as you eat, studying your posture and your dining manners with calculating eyes as you try to ignore him.

"I thought you said training would begin after breakfast," You protest, almost laughing, after his staring gets to be too much. "Stop gawking at me like that!"

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" He asks, an amused smile on his face. The butler leans in close to you, temporarily halting your breath as he smirks. "You are going to be queen, my lady. Not only that, but you are the pearl of the abyss. At all hours of the day, men will be staring at you, be it because they are enchanted by your beauty or because they are waiting for you to make a mistake. Get used to it."

You flinch as the demon abruptly pulls back, taking your plate of breakfast with him.

"I-I'm not done!" You protest, staring open-mouthed at the butler's retreating form.

"Close your mouth!" Is all he responds, chuckling as he dumps the dish in the kitchen.

It's a moment before he returns, but when he does, he's gesturing for you to follow him once more as he continues to lead you around the castle. You almost think he's wandering around aimlessly until he finally brings you to a large hall, a single throne in the center.

"Come, my lady. This is your first lesson: I want you to sit on this throne."

You raise your eyebrows, walking forward without a hint of hesitance. "My first lesson is in sitting?" You ask, tone reflecting how ridiculous the prospect is. You take your seat with ease. "I'm afraid I learned proper posture early on, Barbatos."

The demon chuckles at your confidence, eyes gazing over your form with satisfaction. No doubt, he recognizes that your posture is impeccable. "You can sit properly, yes. But for how long?" The demon raps his knuckles on the back of the throne, walking around you. "As queen, you'll be sitting on this throne for four hours straight, twice a day, six days a week. Let's see if you can last a single hour."

Your mouth instinctively curls into a smile—a real smile. You like the challenge in Barbatos's voice.

You should have the upper hand in this, you know. As a child, your education had never been centered around the sciences or the arts, but on learning how to be a lady: prim, proper, and perfect. Not only was posture taught, but also the ability to stay still for hours on end without fidgeting. This lesson should be easy for you.

But five minutes in, your confidence begins to waver.

"Starting to understand the purpose of this exercise, are we?" Barbatos is amused, noting the way your throat bobs as you swallow and shift uncomfortably in the chair. The bottom of your butt is tender, only used to cushions and luxury. Even the carriage that had driven you here was rather uncomfortable. But it's not just the thin padding that makes this throne uncomfortable. The metal underneath seeps through, chilling your thighs with an intensity that makes you think your rear will be ice by the time you're done. Another five minutes, if not an hour, will be torture.

"Distract me," You mutter, frowning. "I might be on this throne for hours on end, but the queen of the Devildom hears the requests of her people. I will never be on this throne aimlessly, with nothing to think about but the uncomfortableness of this seat."

"Very well," Barbatos says, nodding. He looks somewhat impressed with your request, as if he hadn't expected you to be so assertive. You're thankful that the pleading inflection of your voice went over his head. "Let me give you a scenario, then. A thief has been caught stealing a handful of jewels from a local store. He insists that he stole them not for his own gain, but so that he could sell them and feed his family. What do you do?"

You bite your lip, thinking deeply. The Queen's Justice is law in the Devildom, and your wish is everyone's command—but for that same reason, it's critical that your rulings are sound. You hesitate for a moment before coming to a decision. "I ask him how he stole the jewels, and using that information, I help the jeweler protect themself from future attempts at thievery."

"And then?" Barbatos asks, eyebrows furrowed. Whatever he expected to hear from you, that clearly wasn't it.

"I return the jewels he stole to the jeweler and give him and his family food so that he won't need to steal again?" You say, though it's more a question than a statement. You won't pretend to be confident—you know your solution is poor.

Barbatos shakes his head, sighing. "Your idea is bad, but not as bad as I would have expected for one who has never been educated in this field."

Is that a compliment?

Barbatos doesn't give you a chance to dwell on it, moving on immediately.

"There are various methods of dealing with thieves. You are aware of the fact that the Queen's Justice is the only justice in the Devildom; even Diavolo will honor your rulings. But for that reason, you must decide how you wish to deal with these issues. There is a gradient of strictness, and you will traditionally want to fall in the center. Some queens might cut off the thief's hand, while others may let him go with nothing more than a slap on the wrist. Your idea of finding out his methods and revealing them to the jeweler was intelligent, but it is incomplete if it stands on its own."

"Fine, then. What would you do, Barbatos?" You can't help but ask as you stare at the demon in front of you.

The butler raises his eyebrows, amused. "Do you truly wish to know?"

You nod, somewhat interested in finding out.

"I'd flip a coin," He says, smiling. "Heads—and the perpetrator becomes Cerberus's next meal. Tails—he goes home free."

"That's awful!" You exclaim, eyes wide with horror. Stealing jewels doesn't warrant death, nor should it go entirely unpunished. Both alternatives to Barbatos's punishment are equally awful, making the solution as a whole entirely ineffective. You stare at his unnerving smile, quietly hoping that this is just a joke. "You don't truly mean that, do you?"

Barbatos lets out a light laugh, circling behind your throne once more. "I might not, but that doesn't change the fact that whatever punishment I'd deal would be infinitely crueler than anything you could. Justice is meant to appeal to reason, which is why we call it the Queen's Justice, and not the king's. A king can rule however he likes, but queens are always selected for their good sense."

You raise your eyebrows. Now it's your turn to appear amused. "Do you take me for that much of a fool? I was chosen for my looks, Barbatos." A light laugh spills from your lips, a soft sound you haven't heard in a long time. "I could have been crazy, for all Diavolo knew."

"Perhaps, but my training would have remedied that." Barbatos smiles, turning to you. "So tell me, my lady. How will you rule as a queen? What will be your justice?"

You lean back in your throne, understanding the weight of Barbatos's question. He is here to train you, to develop your skills and turn you into the woman who will serve the realm for thousands upon thousands of years. Your decision here will mark how he educates you, what he teaches you, and where he guides you.

"A queen who makes her people happy," You say, more to yourself than him.

"Pardon?" The butler seems entirely shocked by your response, his eyebrows furrowing together almost cutely. "You're choosing to prioritize happiness?"

"What else?" You ask, lowering your eyes. "We are blessed to live in a time of prosperity. Does it not make sense that those in power should do everything they can to make sure that those in the lower rings of society can share in our happiness? They deserve joy just as much as we."

Barbatos is silent, letting your explanation wash over him.

No doubt, he's recalling all the previous times your actions have said the same thing: when you stopped the carriage to speak with that little boy, when you protested Barbatos's apathy afterward, and a certain other detail that you pray goes over his head.

It's a long time before he speaks, and when he does, he's looking straight into your eyes for the first time since you entered this room.

"My lady, why did you agree to this marriage?"

He noticed.

You try to look away, try to avert your eyes from Barbatos so that you can attempt to come up with an excuse, some more innocent justification for your words. You forgot your place when you were speaking, you forgot that this is Diavolo's butler you're speaking to and in equal parts someone you should be fearing, not man you can trust the emotions you're keeping hidden. But before you can turn your face, Barbatos's finger somehow ends up under your chin, and you're forced to continue staring into those impossibly green eyes, never faltering.

"It makes the realm so happy," You whisper after the longest time. "The night my father accepted on my behalf, I couldn't sleep through the cheers. For the past month, they've lit fireworks every night, the festivals in honor of our marriage have already begun, and even the youngest of children are excited at the prospect of getting to watch our love."

"So what is it that you are so afraid of?"

You smile softly, hearing the question you were hoping so desperately he would ask. You're certain Barbatos is recalling your fear-stricken expression from yesterday, your body's instinctive response whenever the subject of your marriage came up. Still, you keep quiet. He studies your expression, but his question is one you cannot answer—one you refuse to answer, as long as you are in this palace.

Barbatos sighs, lowering his finger from your chin. It still feels like you're locked in by some invisible force, keeping your gaze fastened to the demon as he turns away, hiding his expression.

"Very well then, my lady." His tone is cold, far away once more. "A queen who makes her people happy you shall be."

He continues walking, leaving the prior moment behind in favor of continuing his lesson. "Now tell me, how does such a queen handle thieves?"

You swallow, realizing that Barbatos's tutelage will consist more of him guiding you to answers rather than giving them to you outright, and you strain your brain to think. It's a while before you respond, but you eventually find the words: "The same way she handles all crime, right? To ensure happiness, she will have to get to the root of the issue. She'll need to understand it's source, and work from there."

"Indeed. But the thief has already told you: the reason he committed his crime was because he needed to feed his family."

"But surely there must be a reason why he was so poor in the first place! For him to resort to thievery while knowing the risk means that he has tried other things. What if the underlying cause is that the district he comes from doesn't have enough jobs, or that a drought is approaching and food is growing too expensive to afford?"

Barbatos nods encouragingly, forcing a smile to his face. "Very good, my lady. Those would be true underlying causes, but should you wish to eliminate them, you would need a means of doing so. Let us say, in this specific example, that the reason the thief was unable to afford food was because he could not get a job. In his district, he is among many others who are out of work, and this issue is spreading. What do you do?"

You pause, turning the butler's question over in your mind. What would you do? The answer that comes to you is hesitant, but it's the best you can think of: "I would ask Diavolo to start a project that requires workers. Perhaps a construction project? Something located near the district in question, so that it can employ those without jobs as construction workers, but also something that can continue to create jobs for them when the project is complete."

"Can you think of any specific examples of what might serve as a useful building to be built?" Barbatos asks, eyebrows raised. Even when you shake your head and tell him no, the somewhat impressed look never fades from his face. "Regardless. That plan wasn't entirely awful, my lady."

He chuckles, and you have to physically stop yourself from pouting at his words. You're certain he saw the millisecond where your lower lip jutted out, because when he next turns to you, his eyes are filled with mirth. The demon grins. "You may be more ready to be a queen than I thought."

The remainder of the hour passes by quickly. Barbatos continues to provide you morally questionable scenarios and you try your hardest to distinguish right from wrong, the two of you working together to brainstorm creative alternatives to conventional punishments.

By the time the demon is telling you to rise from your throne, you've almost forgotten the initial purpose of the exercise—but your attempt to stand brings the crushing realization crashing back to you.

"I cannot."

Barbatos blinks, raising his eyebrows. "Pardon, my lady?"

"I cannot," You repeat, a blush creeping onto your cheeks as you glance away. "Rise, I mean. From the throne. I cannot."

Barbatos stares at you in puzzlement, evidently not having expected this of all things. "My lady..." He begins, his words coming out slowly. "Do you mean to tell me that you actually allowed your legs to go numb while sitting on this throne?"

A meek nod.

"Goodness," Barbatos mutters, closing his eyes in exasperation. "I take back all my compliments for the day. You are a bigger fool than I had ever imagined."

You stare at your feet, trying not to wonder how you hadn't realized earlier that there's no feeling in anything lower than your back. It's a moment before you break the silence. "So...what now?"

"What do you think, my lady?" Barbatos walks over to you, scowling profusely as he offers his hand. "Hold on to me," He mutters.

Hesitantly, you palm your hand into his—and then his other hand has snaked around your body, lifting to your feet as you awkwardly stumble on your legs. "Relax," He says quietly when your first flailing attempts to find your footing fail. "I will not let go, my lady."

His words have a calming effect, and he grips your upper body tight enough for you to stabilize your legs, hissing as the feeling begins to creep back into your body.

"Help!" You exclaim when you lose your balance, and instantly Barbatos is bending his knees with you, wrapping a hand around your waist as he steadies you once more. Against your will, you begin to hear the familiar thump of your heart as it beats faster and faster when he quietly tells you to calm down, to take your time in regaining stability on your feet.

You're hesitant, unsure of what to do other than cling to Barbatos as he supports you. This is entirely uncharted territory for you, unfamiliar in every regard! You've never been allowed to get this close to a man. Your parents had explicitly forbidden it! Yet still, there's nothing you can do to tame the fast beating of your heart or the blush that spreads across your cheeks like wildfire, your only mercy being the fact that Barbatos is looking away from you as he continues to hold you.

"Barbatos?" You ask, once you're confident that your voice will not betray you.

"What?" He responds swiftly, and you're certain that he means for the word to come across as irritated, but his voice is soft. It's strange, you can't help but think. For the first time today, his grip is gentle as he holds you in place—a stark contrast to the rough pace at which he had worked when dressing you this morning.

"Thank you," You murmur.

And as he whispers a quiet "You're welcome," you don't need to look up to know that there's a shyness in his expression, both of you suddenly pink with embarrassment at the undeniable intimacy of the moment.

It's quite lovely, you can't help but think.

For the third time since meeting him, a genuine smile forms upon your lips as you stare at the ground. You are unfamiliar in the language of affection, always kept far from anyone who might taint your pearly innocence—but there is no denying the strange feeling in your heart.

Thump thump, it beats, but not with fear as it had yesterday.

The rhythm is slower, steadier, gentler.

You smile, exhaling lightly as you bring the hand clutching Barbatos's shoulder down to his chest. Indeed, it's not just you: under your touch, his heart accelerates as well.

Thump thump, you feel in his chest, and you hear the same sound your ears.

You gasp lightly, eyes round in wonder as you strain your ears and feel your hand tremble, listening and feeling the sound of your hearts.

Thump thump. Thump thump.

They beat in unison.

MASTERLIST

Word count: 8.7k

Part 1 | Part 2 | ✔

Notes: The sheer amount of times I had to rewrite this is insane >.> i have three other drafts all over 5k because i could not decide how to characterize our favorite butler T^T Also part 2 is going to be hella angsty, just a heads up ;)

Comment & Like

Next Update: 5/31/20

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

[palettepainter]

Could we have a looksee at Haiya’s parents? The ones he had before being adopted by evtoplasm and Powerloader

Here are the dick parents-

I’m still figuring out parts to their story so I’ll drop some notes here too just so I don’t forget them

WARNINGS: Mentions of emotional abuse

-Haiya’s dad Juden was generally a good student. He was his classes class representative and is very good at organizing events. His quirk isn’t the best in terms of brute force, and the draw back being he has to create a large amount of static by moving if he wants to really affect an objects movement. The business world can be harsh, so Juden learns to adapt to the harsh world of work - he’s very good at twisting words and arguments in his favor. Due to the nature of how his quirk works he knew becoming a top hero would be much more of a challenge, accepting this fact is something he has trouble dealing with, to the point that if it’s brought up into an argument he’ll become very enraged (it’s one of the few things that can break his aloof, calm facade)

-Haiya’s mother Sokudo is a tough student born with a quirk far stronger then Juden’s. Sokudo as a child is confident and bold, filled with spunk and energy, when her quirk came through all the attention and adoration from her family and friends gave her an ego boost, which was only made worse when her family got her into a top hero school on recommendations. This put her in the mindset that she deserved to be the number one hero! She was obviously far more gifted then anyone else in the class, and she proves this fiercely by climbing to the top of her class. Despite her strengths Sokudo did not have a good reputation, and had a habit of starting fights with those she thought where stronger then her, as well as being known for going overboard in training. Sokudo does not believe in her own limitations (when she’s an adult she matures and learns to not go full out crazy), and views anything else other then physical training to be a waste. Her over enthusiasm can be mistaken for stubbornness, and this only made her reputation worsen among her classmates  

-Juden and Sokudo where not friends in high school despite being in the same course. Sokudo didn’t care for making friends and didn’t go out of her way to try and make conversation even in joint training. Juden had heard of Sokudo through other people in his class, and didn’t think much of her until around their second year when Juden had begun to take an interest in the business world, but had yet to figure out how to still make it to the top. Juden sees an opportunity in Sokudo, and Sokudo see’s right through his act, and turns him down. She was powerful, not an idiot. Juden remains calm and persistent, and his efforts are worth it. In the start of their third year Juden and Sokudo form some kind of alliance, really the two where just using the other to achieve their own goals: there was no real friendship between them. Sokudo was using Juden’s boost quirk to give her even more speed, to accelerate beyond the limits others had given her. And Juden was using Sokudo’s popularity to make himself known. This arrangement continues on after their graduation, but things don’t stay good for the two for long

-Sokudo became a pro hero, but could not go beyond being a sidekick. Her attitude and overly violent fighting style could often be seen as off putting, this was something she couldn’t understand - they where supposed to beat up villians, so what was the big deal? Who cares if she roughed them up bit. Who cares if she didn’t give the press or her fans much attention? No one said she had to be, she’s just here to live the high life. Her stubborn nature leads to her and Juden falling into fights, Juden taking the place as her right hand in the office and side kick on the field (Juden knew he was the brains behind her entire career, but he allowed Sukudo to believe she was in charge the whole time) is often the one dealing with teh consequences of Sokudo’s actions, which left him feeling more like her babysitter then work partner. Their fights become more and more frequent, until fights would break out over the smallest and mundane things. Juden reconsiders going solo with the way things where going for him, but that would mean more work in the long run as he’d have to build up an entire new work relationship with another hero, so that was a last resort. He looks into other methods, ponders for months on how to properly bring himself to the place in society he deserved. Juden had heard of quirk marriages, but had never considered the idea until he hit rock bottom. Sokudo, naturally, was not fond of the whole marriage idea, Juden was too much of a hoity toity for her tastes. Juden did not view her as his type either, far from, but with his way with words he persuades her, this could be just the thing they needed, so that they could both get what they deserved. What she deserved. 

-During Sokudo’s pregnancy the two put up the act of being a happily married couple when out in public, at home, it was a different story: Juden was strict in what Sukudo could and couldn’t do, and Sukudo acted like a whinny child the entire time. It was straining for both of them, but he pay off was worth it when they are gifted a baby boy - Haiya - who as they hoped, was gifted with both quirks when he turned five. Sukudo was eager to start training (btw want to clarify here their way of training wasn’t the Endevour way of training, Sukudo nor Juden ever laid a hand on Haiya despite how bad they where as parents), but Haiya just wasn’t all that interested in being the strongest, he much rather preferred to climb trees or colour. Sokudo is confused at her sons behavior, stating that neither of those things would get him far in life, didn’t he want to be someone people adored? Didn’t he want to put that power to use? What good was having such powerful quirks if Haiya didn’t use them? Sokudo didn’t intend to be mean, but her harsh wording and her uninterested tone made it come off as more of an insult - she would praise Haiya..when he did stuff she thought worth praising. Juden neither was very good at being a dad. He already had short patience, which only got worse when he and Sokudo started working together. He couldn’t understand why Haiya couldn’t solve a simple maths equation, or read a small block o text, or complete the homework his teachers set him, and he was bad at hiding at his annoyance at times. His parents had high expectations for Haiya, which Haiya - being a small child - just couldn’t meet 

- His parents sent him to a high expectations hero school out in Tokyo which was run by members of the hero public safety commission, but one year into his education and Haiya began to have increased difficulty in moving his arms. Haiya returned home the same year after failing a physical combat exam, where his parents made the discovery after a trip to the doctors of the condition with Haiya’s arms, and how it was likely in years to come in his adult life, he’d soon loose all mobility with them. His parents where frustrated at this failure, angry at the other for something neither could control - Juden blaming Sokudo that her recklessness caused Haiya to be born with weak arms, and Sokudo blaming Juden and his dumb quirk for messing them up. They begin home schooling Haiya in a last, desperate attempt to fufill their goals. More and more each day Haiya began to loose movement in his arms, and more and more his parents began to view him more as a ticket to their own successes, rather then a child who just wanted to do his own thing.

-The day Haiya had his arms removed in surgery was a shocking day to both of them, they felt ashamed, angry and spiteful of the other, their fighting continuing on even after they had Haiya sent away to live in a family in Tokyo until they could think of a solution, Despite this, they stay together - not because they hoped for a ‘happy family’, not becasue they wanted to put up the act of happy parents for their son - just because the two needed the other to get where they wanted. Sokudo needed Juden’s smarts, and Juden needed Sokudo’s strength - and they both needed Haiya, the perfect mix of both of them. Later on down the line Haiya runs away from his adoptive family, and finds his home shuffling around Tokyo, until he winds up in the therapy centre and in the care of Ectoplasm

-Not really related to Haiya’s parents but gonna put it here anyway. Haiya still suffers from occasional nightmares of his parents, and has a deep fear of disappointment because of them, often thinking that he HAS to do his best, otherwise he’s not accomplishing anything. As well as that Haiya also isn’t keen to try new things out of his comfort zone, linking to his fear of disappointment - but he’s gradually coming out of his shell with the help of people from UA.

-(This is something I want to explore more with my characters to make them a bit more related to some audience members, this is the first time I’ve decided to incorporate this into a character so forgive me if I make some mistakes. Also going to add that if you have dyslexia and are in any way offended by this I’m sorry, that was no my intention. Again, first time writting a character with dylesixa) Haiya has mild dyslexia, it’s one of the reasons he struggles so much in school when he was younger, but his parents never caught on to his disability - in Haiya’s case has difficulty interpreting words and letters, easily distracted and has trouble remembering verbal instructions. Haiya himself didn’t know he had dyslexia until he came to live at the centre. Eri who runs the centre gives children living their books to read as well as simple educational quizzes to keep them up to date, Haiya struggles with quizzes and so was brought aside by Eri so that she could help him understand the problems. Haiya at the time of learning he had dyslexia was very upset about it, it made him think he was dumb or inferior to others. With Eri and eventually’s Ectoplasm’s and Powerloaders help he’s learning to find ways to manage his dyslexia. Haiya keeps a calendar to help him remember and plan his day, carries a notebook to write down his thoughts to certain tasks, practices decoding words and reading small pieces of writing and he also has a cubix cube and lego pieces to help him relax.

Haiya still gets emotional and panicked when presented with tests, but he’s gotten a lot better

[fillingthescrapbook]

Rewriting The CW's Kung Fu, Part 1: The Characters

Hello. I've written a few posts complaining about how The CW's Kung Fu was written and plotted. So instead of just complaining, I decided to do something productive: I'm going to rewrite the show.

This will be the first part in an eight-part series that would detail the things, I think, could've made the first season much stronger in terms of story-telling and character-building. Do take note that I will be writing this for The CW's target market: teens to young adults who are looking for both entertainment and representation.

Before we start with the story, let us first start with re-configuring the characters.

NICKY SHEN, mid to late 20s. The eldest daughter of first-generation immigrants, she feels pressured into following the path made for her by her parents. She carries a lot of guilt, having seen her parents struggle to raise her and her siblings in a land that's not always welcoming to foreigners--and then running away when she felt like she no longer had control over her life. She has spent the last three years in a monastery where her days are spent training in the martial arts, meditating, and farming. Upon her return home, she doesn't know what her place is in the world--and in her family--anymore.

HENRY YAN, mid to late 20s. A martial arts instructor at the Chinese community center, he becomes intrigued by Nicky's unique background and insight into their community. A working student, he has only recently continued his collegiate studies because of a checkered past he needed to deal with, as well as his family's financial struggles. He feels like he has a lot to prove because of people's preconceptions of who he is, based on what he had to do to survive.

EVAN HARTLEY, mid to late 20s. A San Francisco Assistant District Attorney, he is Nicky's best friend from childhood to law school. He is part of a hiring initiative that prioritizes people who can speak in multiple languages, and gets assigned many cases that come from Chinatown. He has recently proposed to his girlfriend, a fellow classmate of his and Nicky's from law school, thinking he has finally moved on from being left behind by the woman he loved three years ago...and then she, Nicky, comes back into his life.

RYAN SHEN, mid-20s. Nicky's younger brother who has just recently finished his internship at a local hospital; he is currently working as a resident physician at the same hospital he interned for--while volunteering his free time at the Chinese community center's free clinic. He is gay but has yet to tell his parents the truth, blaming Nicky for abandoning him when he was just about to confess. (Yes, I put him back in the closet for storytelling purposes.)

ALTHEA SHEN, mid-20s. Nicky's younger sister has put her career on hold to get married to her high school sweetheart. A sought-after computer engineer, Althea has surprised everyone--her parents included--when she suddenly gave up her high-ranking position at Cloudrush Capital to focus on her wedding. She is the most adjusted and mature out of the Shen siblings, seeing as her parents didn't have as much expectations from her as they did Nicky and Ryan.

SHEN MEI-LI, late 40s to early 50s. Nicky's mother comes from a very strict family and this has made her guarded with her emotions. She is very protective of her children and will do anything to keep them safe--including hide parts of her history she thinks will lead them astray. She works as the manager of Happy Dumplings, the restaurant she built with her husband Jin.

SHEN JIN, early to mid 50s. Nicky's father immigrated to San Francisco when he was a young man, inspired by the American Dream. He has a go-getter attitude which was further bolstered when he married Mei-Li, pushing him to move on from being a line cook at a faux-Chinese fast food chain to opening his own restaurant. Having been denied of better opportunities, he works hard to make sure that his children never has to face the same challenges he had in the past.

Okay, those are just broad strokes of who the characters are when the story begins. I've upgraded Evan to becoming an actual main character with a romantic subplot with Nicky since, if I'm not mistaken, that was the intention when they introduced him in the pilot. I've also downgraded Pei-Ling Zhang, Nicky's mentor to a recurring character--who we will get to now:

ZHANG PEI-LING, early 40s. A female monk at a Shaolin monastery, Pei-Ling helps Nicky escape from an arranged-marriage "love" tour by allowing her to hide in her truck. Pei-Ling is in charge of the martial arts training at the monastery, teaching her students that to keep a strong hand steady, one must also have a strong heart.

ZHANG ZHI-LAN, mid to late 30s. A businesswoman whose worldwide travels hide an international hunt for eight mystical weapons that would give the collector untold powers. She is Pei-Ling's sister who holds a lot of resentment because of the way their family broke apart. She keeps a cold and calculating facade to keep people away from her, afraid of being vulnerable enough to get emotionally hurt again.

DENNIS SOONG, mid 20s. Althea's fiancée who is the heir apparent of the Soong business empire. He has the practiced charm of a high school outcast who was slow to grow into his looks; although he became part of the popular crowd by the time he graduated, he never forgot the people who treated him as an equal back when he was a societal pariah. He is also a loving son, brother, and husband-to-be.

JOE HARPER, mid to late 20s. A freelance graphic artist who uses his talents, and his gift of gab, to fight for human rights. He is passionate, headstrong, and he never backs down from a challenge.

CHLOE SOONG, late teen. Dennis's younger sister who has fallen in with a bad crowd of bored rich teens. She feels out-of-place in her parents' perfect world, which draws her towards Nicky--who identifies with her plight to break out of the mold assigned to her.

SABINE SMITH, mid to late 20s. A classmate of Nicky's and Evan's from law school, Sabine is Evan's fiancée. She is nurturing and helpful, she is the one who pushes Evan to help Nicky settle back into her San Francisco life--not realizing she is also pushing Evan's feelings for Nicky back into the picture.

KERWIN TAN, late 20s to early 30s. A young socialite who becomes part of Nicky and Zhilan's race to find the eight mythical weapons of power. He is the youngest son of a business tycoon, Raymond Tan, who is also interested in collecting the weapons. He resents the competitive upbringing his father has given him and his siblings, which makes him decide to also join the hunt for the weapons.

MEI-XUE, late 40s. Mei-Li's younger sister, she ran away from home after discovering their family's warrior lineage--wanting to be the one to find the mythical weapons so she could keep them from falling into the wrong hands. In her journey to find the weapons, she discovers more about the power they can wield--which scares her into hiding in the mountains of Canada, with the help of a rich friend she made in her journeys.

STANLEY ANG, early 30s. He is an original character that I wanted to include for additional Chinese diversity. The only son of an old couple who were Mei-Li's friends before she migrated. He is intelligent, very savvy, but isn't very fluent in English. He works as a software developer for a programming company who had him (and his parents) move to their US office so he could oversee the projects he manages better.

Kung Fu has a few more important characters they introduce, but I'm staying with the ones who will make an impact to the story I'm rewriting.

If you've read my past gripes about the show, you would know that I don't like the fact that Zhi-lan (and Kerwin, later on) was shoved into our throats even when their storylines didn't need to be told. That opinion remains. But it doesn't change the fact that they do make an impact to the story--especially with the finale the show left us with. So they're retaining their recurring status in my rewrite.

And this is where we end for now. In the next post, I will be rejigging the pilot to better set-up who Nicky is and what her relationships are at the start of the series.

[ofriparian]

DID WILLA HENLEY chase one of seven sins seven miles down the coast? Originally from KINGSTON UPON THAMES, ENGLAND, the THIRTY YEAR OLD CIS-FEMALE is a SOCIALITE AND PRESIDENT OF THE KEY WEST WOMEN’S CLUB and has lived in the Key for FIVE YEARS. SHE is suppose to call THE MEADOWS home, but there is always temptation lurking between the streets and the ocean that keeps HER from heading back. Sinners and saints take many forms, but they look like JODIE COMER and on their way to make decisions, good and bad, they always seem to sway to the beat of THAT BITCH BY BEA MILLER.                                                 ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴    ✴   ✴   ✴

full name: willa victoria henley. 

nicknames:  wills (only if you’re close to her). 

age: 30. 

marital status:  married for one year. 

date of birth: march 21st. 

zodiac: aries.

gender:  female

pronouns: she/her

extra

sexuality: bisexual, leaning more toward women. 

occupation: socialite and president of the women’s club of key west. 

hobbies: traveling, rich girl things, shopping, plotting for revenge, manipulation. 

physical

hair color: blonde.

eye color: brown.

height: 5′6″

weight: 115 lbs

family

parents: victoria and wilson henley. 

siblings: none.    

full biography ~ * : mischief and true beauty takes the form of a young girl born into one of the wealthiest families in london, england, in the form of a girl named willa victoria henley. born into the henley family, personal friends of the royal family, the henleys, from the very beginning, were posh and knew it. from the beginning, willa wasn’t hugged, kissed and cuddled like other kids, wasn’t allowed to make messes and spill things - she was taught from the moment she could walk that she had to be the perfect little lady, a poised, cold british woman that was made of steel and ice - that was what her grandmother always told her. you must always remember that everyone, and i mean everyone, my dear, wants to be us. willa took that and ran. all behind a pretty smile, willa learned early that she could use her charms to manipulate, to use things to her advantage, lie and cheat and get what she wanted. it was a game to her, a game she always seemed to win and she liked to watch her opponents lose again and again. henley women were made to get married to other wealthy men, as it was part of what the london elite did, but willa knew from a very early age she wasn’t like everyone else. although she fit in like a pretty picture, willa knew she liked women too - more than men at times, and she knew how scandalous it was. 

willa didn’t care, though. 

in fact, it was mischievous little willa that manipulated the maid’s daughter out of her dress at a social function, but pinned it all on the maid’ daughter when she was found out. that was who willa was- throw people away because they were disposal and she could charm you with a hint of a look. she knew, also from the very beginning. how different she was from other children. her dark thoughts, her thoughts that weren’t at all childish, but the desire to deceive, cheat, lie and make others hurt, not necessarily in a physical way, but in a mental way. she wanted people to pine after her, and emotions be damned. she loved being talked about and at her private academy and even when she went to oxford for literature, she was always talked about. 

always with the utmost admiration, though. 

graduating with a master’s in literature with no real intent to use to - although she always did love to read books, shutting herself away into her massive library, the time had come that she had to be married off. her parents completely arranged the entire thing and willa, knowing that whatever man that put her with was going to be another boring, british man, she didn’t complain. he would be wealthy as sin, and she could run circles around him and travel, do what she wants and that’s actually what she did. a year ago, she was married, but kept her last name and in public, her and her husband seem like the most precious, attractive young couple, but in fact, they aren’t. willa and him tease and fight with one another, loving to scrape the other up and their marriage is a complete facade. willa cheats with women, left and right, and doesn’t care if he sees - in fact, she prefers it, but there’s a playful aggression in the way she sees the man she married. she adores to torture him - and perhaps that’s what she loves most. 

it was that year ago, after she came home from a solo trip with the dog walker’s daughter, wink wink, that her husband announced that there were lucrative business to be had in the states, particularly the florida keys. willa, in all honesty, didn’t protest at all. the sun, the beautiful warm weather and girls in bikinis? what could go wrong? from the moment willa stepped onto the keys soil in her big house in the meadows, she was talked about all over. the icy, british socialite with the devil’s smirk, but whenever anyone spoke to her, she was sweet as anything, always kind, always inviting them inside for a nice cup of british tea. they didn’t know that behind that facade is a real piece of work, which precisely led her to her position of women’s club president of key west. 

willa runs that club like its her own backyard, and likes to dabble in illegal drug money, writing and scamming, all the fun stuff she likes to dabble in - not that she needs the money by any means, but because it’s fun for her. to dance naked around in a pile of money is the best heaven she can think of and as for her husband? he can watch, or he can join - they’re together forever, aren’t they? the criminal behind the pretty face is all but alluring, just remember.- don’t get caught in the pretty sociopathic socialite’s web - she’ll wrap you around her finger.