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psychotrenny · 7 months ago

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I think one of Imperialism's most evil strategies is the national scale torture you'll see inflicted on countries that dare to dream of freedom. Like it's not just about overthrowing the anti-imperialist regime itself, but utterly breaking the very social, economic and in turn psychological foundations it's built upon. Prolonged periods of destruction that are as systematic as they are sadistic with the aim of making life unlivable until the government either collapses or gives in, accepting whatever concessions are forced upon them as the nation is remoulded into an dependent and obedient little neocolony.

Sometimes an imperialist power will act directly to achieve this (just take the gratuitous and deliberate destruction of civil infrastructure during the bombings of Yugoslavia and Iraq), but the preferred strategy is to employ local proxies. Groups like RENAMO in Mozambique or the Contras of Nicaragua. Bands of reactionaries, traitors and general desperadoes are gathered up, trained, armed and transported over the border at the expense of the Imperialists and their local collaborators. These armed groups have no interest in build mass support, of representing an alternative way of life. Their only purpose is destruction; killing, torturing, looting, burning whatever they can in order to bring their country to its knees. Frequently targeting important nodes in the networks that sustain the nation and the people's faith in it (bridges, rail depots, factories, hospitals and schools) but ultimately happy to attack whatever they can; every house burned or person tortured contributes to the climate of terror and corrosion of government credibility. Because when they kill these groups don't like to do it cleanly; their attacks generate countless reports immolation, disembowelment, victims hacked to pieces and left to bleed. But when possible they prefer to leave their victims alive and capable of further spreading their terror, inflicting the most vicious sorts of rape and mutilation on a mass scale

It's not just just evil for the sake of evil mind you. The cruelty has a point; human destruction to accompany the physical. Every person killed is someone who can no longer contribute to the development of the nation, while even living yet physically and psychologically broken victim places further strain on their country's increasingly fragile support systems. Meanwhile the terror of these actions spreads the impact beyond their immediate victims. The murder and torture of peasants makes the survivors too scared to go back into their fields, slowly starving the nation as the rural economy grind to a halt. The gruesome deaths of traders and travelers leaves the survivors too terrified to continue their business, shutting down the distributive networks that make national development and often life itself possible. The terror unleashed on foreign professionals can prompt the survivors to flee and discourage newcomers from arriving, depriving the underdeveloped economic and education systems of the skilled workers they need to improve or even function. And every broken body, ever broken mind, is proof of the government's weakness and ineptitude; a humiliating failure to protect their own people that demoralises supporters and empowers dissenters. The motivated sadism of these terrorist attacks is a microcosm of the motivated sadism displayed by their Imperialist backers

But why go to all this trouble? Why not just send in the paratroopers or organise a coup to end those troublesome regimes quickly? Sometimes it's a matter of possibility. As great as they are, the powers of Imperialist nations are not unlimited. All manner of constraints (domestic unrest, international condemnation which advantages dangerous rivals, the simple financial and human costs of such operations) limit what actions are viable or desirable. This is especially significant when the targets are motivated and disciplined anti-imperialists with a base of deep-rooted popular support, the sort of regime that won't go down to a simple commando raid or bribe to the right general. But sometimes, it's not enough to merely cut down a dissenting government; you have to salt the earth and make sure nothing similar ever grows back. I'll finish with the words of an anonymous Jesuit priest, talking about Nicaragua yet in terms widely relevant enough to be published in John Saul's conclusion to A Difficult Road: The Transition to Socialism in Mozambique (1985):

In Chile the Americans made a mistake. They cut off the revolution too abruptly. They killed the revolution but, as we can see from recent developments there, they didn't kill the dream. In Nicaragua, they're trying to kill the dream

#stella speaks

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snail-day · 1 month ago

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I can only imagine how much mind-numbing paperwork comes with being a sorcerer. Endless expense reports, tedious travel logs, and the dreaded damage assessments. If a building collapses mid-battle, who even handles that? There are probably only one or two people meticulous enough to do it right (and fewer who don't cheat the system), and naturally, one of them is Nanami.

Right now, he’s perched at his desk in the soft glow of his home office lamp, golden light casting a warm cast over his neatly organized stacks of documents. His broad shoulders are slightly hunched, tension lingering in every movement as he flips through pages, pen scratching diligently across the paper. But the moment you step inside, his focus shifts. His tired eyes lift to meet yours, and despite the exhaustion weighing on him, his lips curl into the gentlest, most affectionate smile.

“You should be in bed,” he murmurs, voice thick with quiet fondness. Wedding ring glinting from the glow of his desk lamp as he taps his pen “I told you not to wait up.”

And yet, without a second thought, he’s already opening his arms for you, inviting you into the safest place you know. You waste no time, slipping onto his lap, pressing yourself against the solid warmth of his chest. The steady rise and fall of his breath soothes you as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, sighing happily at the familiar scent of his cologne, an earthy, rich scent with a hint of coffee clinging to his skin.

His stubble brushes against your cheeks, the ticklish sensation making you giggle softly before melting further into him. His big, strong arms wrap around you, holding you tightly against him. One of his hands settles to your back rub slow, lazy up and down movements. You shift, nestling closer, enveloped in his warmth, the rhythmic thump of his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. He presses a chaste kiss against your temple before returning to his work. Even as he writes, one hand remains against you.

And as sleep finally pulls you under, wrapped in the comforting embrace of the man who loves you, you let yourself believe - just for a moment - that this warmth will last forever. That no matter how many nights like this you share, no matter how many battles he fights, he will always find his way back to you.

#jujutsu kaisen #Nanami kento #Nanami fluff #Nanami x reader #Nanami kento x reader #Kento x reader #I just know this man embodies warmth #This is also higuruma coded

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rahuratna · 10 months ago

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Suited up

More fatherly goodness from the gentleman sorcerer, Nanami Kento. This time, featuring Ino!

Ino was excited. Not in the usual sense, when he had a mission with Nanami lined up. Today was different. Today would be the day he nailed that sweet, sweet grade one sorcerer recommendation from his mentor, the sorcerer he admired the most.

Ino had been watching, you see. He couldn't do without his own signature ski mask, as that was completely necessary for the functioning of his unique cursed technique. There were other things he had taken note of, however, that might be worth a change.

For starters, the suit. No matter where the mission, whether in the sparkling heart of Tokyo or in the depths of the most squalid sewer, Nanami would always appear in his impeccable and tasteful suit. Tailored to perfection, sitting perfectly at the wrist and ankles, comfort and flexibility reserved at no expense to the clean, fitted outline on the powerful frame they enclosed, Nanami's suits were a thing of beauty.

Then, the handkerchief. Nanami never went without. There was always a clean square of linen, folded in a perfect square, in one of his pockets. Nanami had used his handkerchief to help Ino mop blood off his face once, and, although the cloth had been ruined, Ino knew that the threadcount on that little square made it more valuable than the entirety of his baggy shirt and trousers.

Of course, there were the shoes. Nanami's sturdy leather brogues, hand sewn and always polished to high shine, saw a lot of wear. Of course they would, considering the speed and power of the sorcerer who wore them. But no matter how soiled and worn they were by the end of the mission, the care invested in their restoration was evident. Nanami would show up the next day with his shoes back in such good condition you could see your reflection in them.

Then, there was the way he wore his tie, the way he combed his hair, the coveted wristwatch. But there would be time enough to speculate on those things later. For now, Ino would be satisfied to see Nanami's reaction to his own get up.

The mission was straightforward. They had been assigned to clear out an old warehouse on the docks near the harbour. A curse infestation had been reported in the area, probably triggered by the recent wage protests the dock workers had engaged in due to cutbacks. Of course, Ino's affinity for crowd control would come in handy, and so, he had been dispatched with Nanami as a two-man team.

As he stood on the sidewalk not far from his apartment, Ino shifted from one foot to the other, still growing accustomed to the outfit he had on. As a grade two sorcerer, he earned a fair salary. He'd saved up for a month or two to splurge out on these clothes.

He had invested in a good tailor and had a dark grey suit made to fit. He wore a black polo shirt beneath and the best leather belt he could find. His socks were polyester, but comfortable enough and wouldn't slip or bunch inside his new black leather shoes. Ino had neatly combed and parted his hair, using a high hold pomade that gave a shine he wasn't sure he liked. It would prevent his hair from going haywire when he had to use his ski mask, though. And he had a handkerchief, of course. Bought cheaply in a pack of five because he'd been in a rush, but who would be looking that closely, anyway?

A dark sedan pulled up to the kerb where he waited and Ino felt a clench of nervous anticipation in his stomach. Would Nanami approve of his new look? Had he gone overboard? Did he look like some kind of copycat freakshow now? Steeling himself, Ino opened the rear door and slid inside, sending a tense greeting to the experienced sorcerer who sat beside him.

Nanami greeted him back and then stopped short. Sweating slightly, Ino kept his gaze straight ahead as Nanami's eyes travelled from his perfectly combed hair down to his new shoes. Ino coughed slightly and fidgeted with his belt.

"So ... any ideas on how we should tackle the warehouse?"

Nanami regarded him in silence for a moment, before pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and tapping his fingers on his knee, as he sometimes did when he was thinking deeply about something.

"We'll approach as we usually do. I'll go in and guage the strength of the spirits before making a tactical retreat. We perform a second sweep, with you flanking me. Then we use your targeted attacks to hone in on any remaining curses that may be concealing themselves."

"Got it."

There was a short spell of silence.

"That's a fine suit you have on."

"You think so?"

Ino released a breath he had been holding, elation swelling in his chest.

"It is." Nanami paused. "Having said that, there are a few pointers I'd like to give you, as you've chosen to dress in this manner today."

"You will?"

Ino could barely contain his excitement now. Nanami nodded and folded his arms.

"Yes. For starters, have you worn those shoes before today?"

"Uh, no. Didn't want them to ... you know. Get all dusty and stuff before the mission."

"Place your feet against the seat in front of you right now and bend your toes."

"Huh?"

"Like this."

Nanami demonstrated, and Ino followed suit, slower due to his confusion.

"Leather always needs to be broken in. I've been wearing these shoes for close to a year now. And I alternate between pairs, so that I minimize wear and tear and allow the leather to rest, especially if I've been out in wet weather. If you go in as you are, the new leather will not have had time to take on the shape of your feet. You'll be in some discomfort a few hours in."

"For real?"

Balancing in his seat, the younger sorcerer hurriedly began to rock his feet back and forth against the seat in front of him, wondering how he couldn't have noticed how stiff the leather was. He could thank his lucky stars that Nanami had forewarned him.

"There's more, Ino."

"There is?"

"That pomade you have on your hair ... it's going to form stiff peaks as you perspire inside the ski mask. Next time, opt for a softer styling wax."

"Ohhh, damn. I didn't know that."

Nanami now reached across and ran his fingers along the hem of Ino's jacket, then grabbed one of his sleeves and tugged.

"Oh dang, what is it?"

"I'd also advise you to lose the jacket when you go into combat. I ask my tailor to perform a specific type of stitching that allows for more freedom of movement. You're going to need to remove the jacket if you want to move freely and effectively."

Ino's bubble of excitement was rapidly deflating. He'd wanted so badly to impress Nanami today, but all he'd succeeded in doing was showing off his inexperience and making himself look like some kind of desperate wannabe. He cleared his throat and straightened his posture, giving Nanami his signature bright smile and thumbs up. He hoped that he had somehow concealed how embarrassed he was feeling.

"Thanks Nanami. I promise I won't let you down today!"

By the end of the day, Ino was feeling a lot less chipper. Scratch that, he was feeling downright miserable.

The mission had started off promisingly. They'd found the warehouse infested with cursed spirits, some of them rather powerful. After drawing the bulk of the spirits out into the open, Nanami had retreated as planned, so that Ino could use his Reiki to shield himself from attacks and move swiftly between the raging curses.

This was where Ino's problems had started.

Due to the huge amount of cursed energy he burned through, and the highly physical nature of his technique, Ino perspired a lot in combat. His baggy clothing normally allowed ample air circulation around his body, letting him cool down faster, but the polo shirt and the thicker material of his new trousers did no such thing.

As sweat poured down to sting his eyes, Ino was hyper aware of how the soaking material clung uncomfortably to his chest and back, how his legs felt like they were encased in a damp, restricting vice.

The leather shoes had started out comfortable enough thanks to the stretching Nanami had had him perform, but even they lost elasticity over time. Sore red ridges had been rubbed into his ankles and the area around his toes felt as if it had been chafed raw.

To add insult to injury, a vat of putrid fluid, that had been lying stagnant for God knew how long, had been upended all over Ino by one of the cursed spirits, ruining any chance he'd had of salvaging some dignity and completely ruining his outfit. Somehow, Nanami had dodged the spray of fluid and darted towards the offending spirit, ending it with a deadly, but elegant stroke of his blade.

Ino had given it his all, of course. He'd fought with every ounce of determination he possessed, and they'd eventually decimated the spirits that infested the warehouse. At great cost to his body and dignity, of course. His muscles were screaming because of the unnatural strain he'd put them through, and his shoulder throbbed where a spirit had grabbed him and damn near dislocated it.

By the time they left the warehouse, Nanami was striding along at his usual pace, suit spotless, collar open, cufflinks gleaming, hair stylishly dishevelled, while something that looked like a veritable swamp monster hobbled along at his side, emitting feeble groans now and then.

"Ino."

"Y - Yeah?"

"Take off those shoes now."

"But - "

"Do as I say."

The shoes came off with a very distinct and soggy noise. Undaunted, Nanami reached for them and scooped them up so that they hung from the fingers of one hand. He then went down on one knee, facing away from Ino.

"Get on."

" ... what?"

"Climb on. Your can't make it all the way to the car in this condition."

"But - but I'm filthy, Nanami! I'll get this smelly shit all over your clothes!"

"Don't worry about that. The dry cleaners I frequent are excellent and ... accustomed to my requests by now."

With a great deal of reluctance, the young sorcerer climbed onto his senior's back, head flopping forward in sudden exhaustion when Nanami lifted him in piggy-back fashion. They made their way back to where the car awaited them.

"Nanami?"

"Yes?"

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"How do you manage to look like ... you know. Like you can do anything you put your mind to. And why in a suit, of all things?"

The strong shoulders beneath Ino's chin jerked in a small huff of amusement.

"I'm not sure what you mean, but I suppose experience is the best teacher. I've been on my fair share of missions. I know what to expect and plan accordingly. As to why I wear a suit, well ... "

His voice trailed off, but Ino remained silent, aware that if he stayed like this he might probably hear something that would give him greater insight into the man he admired above all others.

"Hmm. I suppose, it was something I learned when I worked as a salaryman. In society, the clothes you wear define who you are. They speak to others of your personality, your preferences, the way you want to be perceived and your standing in a certain social setting. I chose my clothes so that I would blend in. I wanted ... an ordinary life. A life that would let me pursue ordinary goals and let me retire in comfort."

"But you came back. Back to being a sorcerer, I mean."

"It wasn't that I missed this life. It wasn't that I wanted to be a sorcerer either. But my talent for working efficiently, and working hard, was best put to good use in a manner where I could help others."

"But you still kept the suit?"

"Indeed. The suit reminds me of who I am, at heart. I've never wanted more than a regular life. I never will want more. If I have to exorcise spirits looking like I used to as a salaryman, then so be it. Let the spirits experience my effort, my work ethic, my real and very ordinary self."

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of Nanami's footsteps on the damp paving stones that led to the car park. Ino gave a weak chuckle.

"Ordinary? You know, I think I can get behind that."

"You can?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty much a regular guy too. But you know, Nanami ... "

The younger man's voice trailed off, and for a moment, Nanami thought he had drifted off into an exhausted sleep. Then Ino spoke again.

"I don't think you give yourself enough credit. There's a reason I wanna be like you, more than other sorcerers. If being a run-of-the-mill guy means always choosing to put other people first, if it means choosing to do what you feel is right, and if it means ... that when you're gone, someday in the future, people will always remember the things you taught them and miss you like hell, then you wouldn't call yourself that ordinary, would you?"

Nanami was quiet for a long time after that.

Ino had never felt greater relief than when he was able to shower at Jujutsu Tech later that night, sling on a clean tracksuit and receive some treatment from Ieiri for his bruised and twisted shoulder. Feeling far more human, he made his way down to the foyer, wondering what he could have for a late-night snack.

To his surprise, Nanami was waiting for him.

"You're still here? I thought you'd have left already."

Namami held up a small bag.

"You left your jacket behind in the car."

"Ah." Ino scratched the back of his head. "Thanks. But I don't think I'll be wearing that again."

"Understandable. But, if you like, I can take you to my tailor to make some ... additions to your regular work clothes. You can still look your best, even while comfortable, you know."

Ino brightened considerably at this.

"Oh? I never thought of that."

"And I suppose you're hungry after the mission. We can go and get fried chicken and beer."

Whooping slightly, the younger sorcerer loped happily out the front doors, before stopping and glancing back at Nanami sheepishly.

"Uh, I'm kinda broke right now after splashing out on that suit ... "

"I'm paying."

"Now we're talking!"

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gulnarsultan · 1 month ago

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Girly, give me anything with Yandere Husband Manuel I, please 🙂‍↕️

Hello dear. Thank you for your request. I am very eager to write for this man. I hope you like it.

Yandere husband Manuel I of Portugal headcanon.

~ You were the first child and first daughter of Ferdinand II of Aragon and Isabella II of Castile. You were raised and educated as befits a Princess. When you reached the marriageable age, you married Prince Afonso of Portugal. You traveled to Portugal to start your new life. When you arrived in Portugal, the first person to greet you at the port was your husband's cousin Manuel, Duke of Viseu. Although your marriage was a political match, a warm relationship developed between the two of you. However, your marriage ended when your husband Prince Afonso lost his life after falling off a horse.

~ You returned to Spain upon your family's request. You were heartbroken and in mourning. You gave your family an ultimatum that you would never marry again. Your family tolerated your request at first. Six years later, Manuel ascended to the throne of Portugal. And the first thing he did when he ascended the throne was to ask your parents to let him marry you. At first, you tried to explain softly that you didn't want to get married. Your parents offered him to marry your younger sister Maria. However, Manuel immediately rejected this offer. He was very determined to marry you.

~ Manuel's request to marry you quickly turned into a demand. With the last letter he sent, you were forced to accept the marriage. Because if you didn't accept, it was written that relations between the two countries would deteriorate and even war would start. When you reached Portugal, Manuel himself welcomed you, just like the first time.

~ You got married in a magnificent and perfect wedding. Manuel showed you love and attention. He treated you with care and attention. He made sure that you had a large wardrobe with the most expensive jewelry and dresses made of wonderful fabrics. You had a lot of servants and bridesmaids working for you. Your husband Manuel would regularly report to you to make sure you were eating every meal, drinking enough water and fruit, getting enough sleep and rest, and getting enough sunlight and fresh air.

~ You were pregnant in no time. Manuel was literally on cloud nine. You were going to have a baby that would be proof of your love and a symbol of your commitment to the woman he loved. Moreover, you would now be a family and would stay together forever. Moreover, if your baby was a boy, he would be the future King of Portugal, Castile and Leon, and Aragon. Manuel treated you like you were glass throughout your pregnancy. The most skilled midwives and doctors were already at the Palace for the birth. When the labor started, Manuel didn’t leave your doorstep for even a minute. He was so excited and stressed. He was so afraid that something would happen to you or the baby.

~ When the doors finally opened, Manuel rushed in with excitement. You were lying exhausted on the bed. Your newborn son was in your arms. Manuel had a look of happiness and pride on his face as he approached you. He kissed your forehead and carefully took the baby in his arms. He said, "You did a great job and he was proud of you." Manuel named your son Miguel. He was the Crown Prince of Portugal, as well as the Prince of Asturias and Girona.

~ Being married to Manuel isn't all bad. Apart from jealousy attacks, his outbursts are rare. He is a good husband and a good father. He is ready to do anything for you. All you have to do is ask. In fact, most of the time you don't even have to ask. Because Manuel is a master at understanding what you want, what you think, and what you feel, whether it's from your gaze or your body language. He wouldn't hesitate to go to the ends of the earth to protect you and our children.Manuel never had a lover or a mistress. He remained faithful to you until his last breath.

#yandere historical characters #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere male #dark!fic #yandere headcanons #yandere manuel I of portugal #yandere manuel I of portugal x reader #yandere male x female reader #yandere #yandere king #yandere emperor x reader #yandere emperor #manuel I of portugal x reader

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mybelovedfleur · 4 months ago

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,,𝐵𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓃𝓃𝒶" 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝐼

(Yandere!Silco x Amnesiac!Fem!Reader)

─ ⊹ ⊱ -'♡'- ⊰ ⊹ ─

!TW! FantasyAU! Heavy Yandere Themes, Silco is ooc for sure, vomiting, sick!reader, violence, mention of death, I will tag every chapter seperately! :)

Description: ,, A series of unfortunate events causes you to completely lose your memory. Now, you find yourself thrust into the role of the Duchess of Zaun, married to a man you don’t recognize. But was this ever truly your life? And why does the scent of blood cling to you, no matter where you go? "

Note: english is NOT my first language, I am very much open for critique and suggestions but pls be nice and respectful :c

Also a big ty and ily to @ink-and-dagger because DWM is the best fic on the internet and you should read it immediatelly! They're the main reason for me coming back to writing after YEARS, yes it is that good C: GO READ IT NOW OR REREAD IT IDC

─ ⊹ ⊱ -'♡'- ⊰ ⊹ ─

A violent cough escaped your lips, food remains mixed with blood landed on the undoubtedly expensive silverware before you. A warm hand found its way to your back, moving in soothing circles, while you tried to catch your breath. You frowned at the mess you made, tears slowly clouding your vision.

,,I'm so sorry" you whispered in embarrassment, looking down at your weak, trembling hands.

"Don’t," Silco muttered, his brow furrowed as he wiped your face gently. "I shouldn’t have let you eat at the table. You’re too weak, my love." His tone was firm, but the action was oddly tender. It felt as though you were a child being cared for by a doting mother. But the difference was evident - you were a grown woman, and he was your husband, at least that’s what he told you.

"We're going back to bed now, that's enough stress for you today, beloved," he said without a second's hesitation, immediately picking you up and heading towards the bedroom as you whimpered in his hold. It was the first time Silco had allowed you to be anywhere beyond your bedroom or the bathroom. Sitting at the table, rather than being spoon fed by him while lying in bed felt strangely liberating, a brief moment of freedom you hadn’t realized you craved so much.

,,It's morning" you were certain he heard your complaints, yet he chose to ignore them as he tucked you under the covers of an annoyingly comfortable bed. You felt like you had explored every nook and cranny of that room a hundred times, and stepping outside of it felt like a trip to an amusement park.

The matress beside you dipped under his weight, while his hand started to softly carress your hair

,,I'll bring you your medicine, you'll feel better then, alright?" his touch traveled over your temple, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear ,, I'll be right next to you, I'll read the reports and you'll fall asleep cuddled up to me, warm and soft" a delicate kiss landed on your head "Just like you used to"

It's been 2 weeks since you woke up. A dense fog shrouded your mind, obscuring everything. Who are you? What is your name? These seemingly simple questions only deepened the ache in your head. The pain had been unbearable then - every little movement was difficult. Your body felt exhausted and weak, as if it was pushing against the limits of its own capabilities.

It felt as though you had been dragged through hell and back—there was no other way to explain the state you were in. For the first few days, you burned with fever, teetering on the edge of consciousness, struggling to hold on to even a fleeting sense of reality.

In those brief moments when you managed to grasp even a sliver of reality around you, there was always that one hand gently touching your forehead, that one voice soothing your nerves, whispering sweet words of comfort.

You felt then as if some higher power took pity on your tormented soul, sending you an angel who became your only anchor in all this madness, his presence was like a silent ray of light piercing through the thick fog of pain. Every time his presence was felt, your whole body seemed to cry out for his touch, as if he was the only cure for the pain, the only being who could heal you. You were sure that if only you could, you would pull him to you, locking him in a strong embrace.

The reality turned out to be much more bitter than you expected.

When you first saw his face, a crushing feeling of terror ran through your body, unable to move on your own, completely at the mercy of this strange man. Your body trembled on its own with his every touch, almost trying desperately to scream for you to run away, the complete opposite of your imaginary savior.

At first you thought it was just his appearance that made you so terrified, and you couldn't help but feel disgusted with yourself.

Yet despite his terrifying, almost inhuman eye and wounded face, the fear you felt ran deeper. It was some intangible, subconscious force that told you to stay away, as if something in his presence dangerously shook your intuition.

At first glance, you could already tell that he was an extremely elegant and wealthy man. His clothes were woven with gold and silver threads, perfectly fitting his figure, as if it was an indispensable part of him.

You were convinced that this place belonged to him. The opulence and grandeur of this bedroom made you feel almost alien, like you had no right to be there, like all this luxury didn't suit you in any way.

But the way he looked at you made you feel like you were a priceless treasure, a million times more valuable and beautiful than anything he ever owned. Only then did you begin to consider that it was the same person who had been standing by your bed all those days. His face immediately softened when he noticed you were no longer desperately trying to get away from him.

He told you everything, not taking his eyes off your face, as if he was looking for any reaction in it, as if each of your glances could reveal something he hadn't said yet. "I am Silco, Duke of Zaun, you are (Y/N), my only, dearest wife" the way he said it, as if it was a sacred thing, known to the world for centuries. He knelt down in front of your bedside, took your cold hand in his and gave it a kiss that involuntarily made everything inside you instantly quiet, your fear, the trembling of your body, the accelerated heartbeat audible in your ears, and probably your common sense.

A month ago, when your carriage was attacked by his enemies, their goal was him - but fate would have it that he wasn't with you in that moment. Against all odds, despite your wounds, you managed to escape, the only survivor. Amidst the raging storm, you wandered breathlessly through the forest, with every moment your wounds were deepening, and your strength was fading. Surely at some point you had to fall, the doctors said that the wound on the back of your head was critical.

You felt the internal pain that he must have experienced, almost spilling over to you. Every word he spoke carried pain and indescribable sadness, as if what he was telling was not only a story but also a painful memory that would not give him peace.

You sat there, legs pulled up to your chest, heart beating at an accelerated pace. Although you tried to make a sound, the words died in your throat, and the huge lump that was stuck there prevented you from saying anything. Finally, unable to contain your emotions, tears began to flow, silently running down your cheeks.

The moment he pulled you to him and locked you in a tight embrace you were unable to resist , or tell if his embrace was a gesture of a savior or the bonds of an executioner.

You closed your eyes and gave yourself into his hands

You wouldn't get an answer.

─ ⊹ ⊱ -'♡'- ⊰ ⊹ ─

A terrible coldness took over your body, you opened your eyes the moment an icy gust of wind touched your face. You groggily sat up, to your surprise the door to Silco's office was wide open, compared to the darkness of the bedroom, a faint glow of a dancing candle flame was emerging from that room. Your feet touched the cold floorboards, and the sound of your own breathing seemed exaggeratedly loud

And it was only when the door handle was within reach of your hand that you realized you were able to move without Silco's help. Your legs no longer seemed to disobey you, standing no longer made you nauseous, and the inevitable headache disappeared.

The office was shrouded in mist, and its humidity made you slowly squint. The candle flame seemed to shimmer more and more intensely in your eyes, its light reflecting aggressively on the dark walls. Could it be smoke and not mist? Surely such a small candle couldn't do that, a fire had to start somewhere. As soon as that thought crossed your mind, you felt it,

As soon as that thought crossed your mind, you felt it - the sharp smell of burning forcefully entered your lungs. Choking, ragged breaths spasmed from your throat. As you grabbed your neck, and tried to back away to the bedroom, only a blank wall stood where the door had been, as if it had never been there.

"Ṣ̷͇͓͚̓̍a̶̭͒v̷͉̹̦̊̋̿ẻ̷̳ ̵̪͔̭̓̿͑͝ư̸̖ͅs̸̻͚̯͐" a desperate cry echoed in your ears, your eyes wandering around the room in panic. But the blinding glow of the candle flames made everything around them merge into one, as if time and space had ceased to exist.

"I̷͗͐͜t̷̢͇̪͗͆͝'̸̘̟̕s̶͈̘͝ ̶̺̞͈͓͆̒̓͘h̷̜̥̙͚̄͐̏̕ì̷̟̙͇̭̐̑̕s̶̢͖̏ ̶͇͝f̵͓͋ą̸̘͔̤͐̍̌ú̵̹̕l̵̨͎̈́̒̓́t̴͉̬͒̍.̷̡̣̭́.̵̡̯̠̋̓.̸̩̭͍͎̈́͊́͐" screams, sobs, dying breaths, desperate attempts to catch even a moment of respite. In the background, that terrifying, constant sound of burning wood, as if the world was about to fall to pieces.

"Y̴̜̎̔͛͂o̴͔̎ṵ̷̾͆̊̈r̴̟̜͚͂͌͘ ̵̢̖͙̫́̄f̵̰̚a̷͈̽͋̀͝ủ̵͙͑̕l̷̹̳̻͖̈͝ţ̸̐͋"

#silco #arcane silco #silco x reader #silco x you #yandere silco #yandere silco x reader #arcane #yandere arcane #silco fic #yandere #yandere themes #arcane fanfic #fantasy au #yandere x reader

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saint-vagrant · 10 hours ago

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i'm still trying to help my dear friend Ahmad campaign for his family— his parents, his siblings, his brother's children.

he's just over halfway to his goal. every little bit helps, especially as he's trapped in Gaza, where the cost of food, medicine (in this case particularly for his mother's deteriorated eyesight) and other resources keeps rising, adding additional expenses on top of his original goal. every day he walks to get gallons of water which he has to haul back to his tent. he sends me the sounds of planes and helicopters and harsh winds coming in from the sea, by which his family is camped.

Support him here

in the midst of all this, he recently completed his final exams! for him i want a future of safety and ease, where he can continue his studies and travel freely. if you're able to contribute to or share his campaign, it's much appreciated ❤️‍🩹

Palestinians are still being reported and suspended en masse on social media even as they're forced to advocate and appeal on their own behalf. Please don't report these people as spam as they try to stay alive.

#palestine fundraiser #saoirse don phalaistín #free palestine #gaza genocide #gaza #free gaza #ahmad

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milliesfishes · 6 months ago

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⋆౨ৎyou think there's a ghost in the mansion⋆౨ৎ fem reader x coriolanus snow

The full moon was a haunting spotlight in the sky that Coriolanus would have beamed from the very grounds of the mansion if he was able, just so you could have something so pretty outside your window every night. Tonight it was so round that he hardly needed the light in his study. Every candle could be snuffed, every light clicked off, and he would still be able to see every word in front of him clear as day.

It had been a terribly long day- reports piled on his desk like looming mountains promising nothing but work in the near future. He sighed, raking a hand through his hair tiredly. Today had been so full, bursting at the seams, that he hadn’t even been able to have dinner with you, opting to take bites of meat and potatoes in between written sentences. It was an action he wasn’t happy with, having not seen you for the length of the day, except when he’d bent to kiss your hair when he left for work in the morning. It seemed a full day had passed without him seeing you in daylight.

Coriolanus pushed back his chair, the scuff of the legs against the floor beating into his tired mind. Somewhere inside he knew he wouldn’t produce work worth a penny in this state, but stubbornly he persisted. It was coming up on a year since he was elected President, and the pressure was squeezing at him like an invisible hand.

Truly he was glad for his position, given the sheer amount of work he’d put into getting here. But there were some things he missed. Namely, the amount of time he used to be able to spend with his wife. You were the one treasure no money could buy, surpassing even the most expensive in value. In you he loved, and that outweighed anything coated in gold.

Raising both hands to his eyes, Coriolanus rubbed at them, bowing his head. Maybe after he read the next file he’d retire for the night. Would it even be worth it to make the journey back to the bedroom where you were surely sleeping peacefully at this point? Perhaps he’d make a bed of the sofa in his study and resume his work in a few hours.

There was a sharp noise, and his head jolted up just in time to catch the ornate door to his study open and shut, a blur in a little pink nightdress rushing over and crashing into him, nearly sending his chair toppling backwards. Coriolanus caught you in his arms, holding the back of your head and using the other hand to rub your back.

Any notion of work was promptly abandoned. His wife was in distress and you needed him. “Sweetheart, what’s the matter?” His fingers rubbed gentle circles into your back, against the silk of your soft nightdress.

“I keep hearing noises,” you murmured shakily into his neck, where your face was buried. “Coryo…I think…mm…”

“What is it?” Coriolanus frowned, adjusting you to sit on his lap, bottom situated on one thigh, legs sheathed between his. “Tell me, darling.”

“It’s silly,” you pouted, folding your arms and peering up at him adorably.

“Tell me,” he insisted. Coriolanus kept an arm wrapped around your body, using the other hand to rub your thigh soothingly. “I won’t laugh.”

Shifting on his thigh, you lowered your face to his shoulder, letting your hair fall as if a curtain over your neck. “I think this house is haunted.”

Coriolanus couldn’t help the way his eyebrows raised. Your face fell immediately like a landslide, and he could feel you drawing away. “I knew you’d think it was silly-“

“No, no,” he quickly affirmed, squeezing your waist and stroking your side. To your credit, you were half right. He did think it was a little silly, but he also knew his wife. You were smart, sharp, and you wouldn’t have come to him like this if you weren’t completely sure. So he attempted to understand. “What did you hear? Or see?”

You softened a little. “There were footsteps. Heavy ones. And I thought I saw something in the bedroom…” a tiny shudder travelled through you, and he held you to him tighter. “It was scary, Coryo.”

“Sweetheart…” Coriolanus held you right to him, letting you bury your face in his shoulder. His hand settled at the back of your head as the wheels in his head spun.

What he wouldn’t tell you was that the previous owner had passed away in this very house. That servants had whispered about spirits walking the halls. And he certainly wouldn’t tell you that he himself had heard things once or twice, even thought he’d spotted the faint outline of a whispery pale shadow in the darkened room where the man had died.

Instead, he bent, sliding one arm under your knees and lifting you up as he stood, kissing your forehead when you gasped in surprise. There wouldn’t be any sleeping on the sofa for him tonight. It had been foolish to even consider.

Coriolanus carried you all the way to your bedroom, placing you gently down as one would a flower on a grave. He straightened, beginning to strip his own clothes away until he was comfortable enough to slide beneath the sheets with you, pulling them up around your shoulders. His arms became your cradle, and he petted a hand lightly down your hair until your eyes grew heavy.

Pressing a kiss to your forehead, Coriolanus murmured, “I’m here. Nothing will bother my wife while I’ve got you.”

tagging @kellielovesmovies because <3

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